We repeat our demonstration a few more times, and each time, the kids react and look at Max—a little differently. When my time is up, Mrs. Bailey announces that it’s time to get ready for recess and then centers. I watch Max put his iPad back in his bag and take his seat, anxious to get to the planet center.
Before I leave, I pull Mrs. Bailey aside and ask her to keep an eye on Max’s bag and his iPad, and she assures me she will.
I can hear the kids running to the playground behind me while I walk out to the parking lot, their feet trampling the pavement fast to get to the monkey bars and ball basket. I spare a look when I’m putting my guitar back in my trunk, and I search for Max. Just like yesterday, I’m having a hard time finding him in the sea of five and six year olds running in all directions. My heart sinks a little when I finally spot his feet sticking out of the tunnel, and I feel stupid for even trying. But then a girl with long brown braids walks over and bends forward, saying something in the tunnel; I see Max’s feet shift, his body scooting closer to the end of the tunnel, then she climbs in the other side, and puts her feet up just like his.
They don’t talk, and I can barely make them out from the fence, but she’s staring at him. And she’s staying by his side, while the rest of the playground goes on like normal. My eyes are actually tearing up, and if anyone ever caught me crying, I’d deny the hell out of it, but seeing Max not be alone is maybe the best thing I’ve ever seen—other than his mother’s smile.
I text Avery the second I’m in my car.
Max did great. There’s a girl sitting with him. One down, the rest of kindergarten to go!
I wait for her to respond, and I know she will. I know she’s probably been staring at her phone ever since the time hit nine o’clock. Her reply comes seconds later.
I’m so happy!!!
Me, too.
Chapter 17: Jitters
Avery
“Why the hell are you so nervous,” Claire asks over the phone, while I toss every piece of clothing I own on the floor, looking for something—anything—that will make me feel like a pretty girl on her first date.
Max is staying with Claire at Dusty’s until the crowd lets up, and Cole is taking over her shift. I’d give anything for those two to hook up, but I know neither one would make the first move. Claire talks a big game, but she’s really quite the wallflower when push comes to shove.
“Claire, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date?” I say, not really thinking about it until she fires her answer back at me.
“Yeah, about half as long as it’s been for me,” she says. Ouch.
“Sorry,” I say, sitting down on my bed and hoping something will jump out at me. “Claire?”
“What, pumpkin?” she asks, the sass back in her tone. I’m about to make her day.
“I…slept with him,” I swallow hard, waiting for her reaction.
“What! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Avery Abbot, you better tell me everything this time—no glossing over the details. I want Cinemax p**n kind of details, you hear me? It’s not every day that your bestie gets to see the hottest man to ever be spawned in your hometown without his clothes on!” Her tirade has me laughing, and I promise her I will give her every last juicy drop. It will embarrass the hell out of me, but she’ll harass me until I tell her, so it’s best to just get it over with.
“I’ll fill you in tomorrow, while the band’s playing. But look, I’ve gotta go now. He’s going to be here any minute, and I’m still wearing sweatpants,” I sigh.
“Who cares, he’s just going to rip them off of you,” Claire teases.
“Not helping!” I giggle.
“Just go with simple and comfortable. I’d wear jeans,” she says, hinting that she might know a thing or two about my date.
“Jeans, hmmmm?” I ask, kicking out a few piles on my floor to unveil my favorite pair.
“Yep. Now have a good time, and don’t worry about anything. We’ve got you covered,” she says, hanging up before I can grill her for any details.
Jeans—I can do jeans. I slip on my favorite comfortable pair with the small jewels on the back pockets and pair it with a black tank top—this look never really goes wrong. I put my low black boots on just in case I need to do any walking—what if we really are tipping cows? I brush out my hair, and tip the ends with an iron so the waves look even, and then splash a little bit of my body spray on my neck just in time for there to be a soft knock at my door.