"No, this is great," I told him, glancing around the cafe's brightly lit dining room. It was one of those places where we ordered at a counter and then brought a number to our table. "I'd rather be early, anyway." He'd paid for all of our food. I tried to make sense of the dating rules my friends had bombarded me with. "What do I owe you for my ticket?" I asked tentatively.
Brayden looked surprised. "Nothing. It's on me." He smiled tentatively back.
"Thank you," I said. So, he was paying. That would make Kristin happy, although it made me a little uneasy - through no fault of his. With the Alchemists, I was always the one picking up the bills and handling the paperwork. I wasn't used to someone else doing it. I guess I just had trouble shaking that feeling that I had to take care of everything because no one else could do it right.
Academics had always been a breeze for me. But at Amberwood, learning how to hang out with people my own age in a normal way had been a much more difficult task. I'd gotten better, but it was still a struggle trying to figure out the proper things to say to my peers. With Brayden, there were no such problems. We had an endless supply of topics, both of us eager to put forth all we knew on anything and everything. Most of the meal was spent discussing the intricacies of the organic certification process. It was pretty awesome.
Trouble came when, as we were finishing up, Brayden asked if I wanted to get dessert before we left. I froze, suddenly in a dilemma. Jill had said to make sure I ordered enough to not come across as a cheap date. Without even thinking about it, I'd ordered an inexpensive salad - simply because it sounded good. Was I now on the hook to order more so I'd seem like someone Brayden had to work for? Was this worth breaking all my own rules about sugar and dessert? And honestly, what did Jill know about dating etiquette anyway? Her last boyfriend had been homicidal, and her current one was oblivious to the fact that she was a vampire.
"Uh, no thank you," I said at last. "I'd rather make sure we get to the park on time." He nodded as he rose from the table and gave me another smile. "I was thinking the same thing. Most people don't seem to think punctuality is that important."
"Important? It's essential," I said. "I'm always at least ten minutes early." Brayden's grin widened. "I aim for fifteen. To tell you the truth... I really didn't want dessert anyway." He held the door open for me as we stepped outside. "I try to avoid getting too much sugar."
I nearly came to a standstill in astonishment. "I totally agree - but my friends always give me a hard time about it."
Brayden nodded. "There are all sorts of reasons. People just don't get it, though." I walked to the park, stunned. No one had ever understood me so quickly and easily. It was like he had read my mind.
Palm Springs was a desert city, filled with long stretches of sandy vistas and stark, rocky mountain faces. But it was also a city that mankind had been shaping for a long time, and many places - Amberwood, for example - had been given lush, green makeovers in defiance of the natural climate. This park was no exception. It was a huge expanse of green lawn, ringed with leafy deciduous trees instead of the usual palms. A stage had been set up at one end, and people were already seeking out the best spots. We chose one in the shade that had a great view of the stage. Brayden took out a blanket to sit on from his backpack, along with a worn copy of Antony and Cleopatra. It was marked up with notes and sticky tabs.
"Did you bring your own?" he asked me.
"No," I said. I couldn't help but be impressed. "I didn't bring many books from home when I moved here."
He hesitated, as though unsure he should say what he was thinking. "Do you want to read along with mine?"
I'd honestly figured I would just watch the play, but the scholar in me could certainly see the perks of having the original text along. I was also curious about what kind of notes he'd made. It was only after I'd said yes that I realized why he was nervous. Reading along with him meant we had to sit very, very close together.
"I won't bite," he said, smiling when I didn't move right away.
That broke the tension, and we managed to move into positions that allowed us both to see the book with almost no touching. There was no avoiding our knees brushing one another, but we both had jeans on, and it didn't make me feel like my virtue was at stake. Also, I couldn't help but notice he smelled like coffee - my favorite vice. That wasn't a bad thing. Not bad at all.
Still, I was very conscious of being so close to someone. I didn't think I was getting any romantic vibes. My pulse didn't race; my heart didn't flutter. Mostly I was aware that this was the closest I'd sat to anyone, maybe in my life. I wasn't used to sharing my personal space so much.
I soon forgot about that as the play started. Brayden might not like Shakespeare performed in modern clothing, but I thought they did an admirable job. Following along with the text, we caught a couple of spots where the actors messed up a line. We shot each other secret, triumphant looks, gleeful that we were in on something others didn't know about. I kept up with Brayden's annotations too, nodding at some and shaking my head at others. I couldn't wait until we discussed this on the ride home.
We were all leaning forward intently during Cleopatra's dramatic death scene, intensely focused on her last lines. Off to my side, I heard the crinkling of paper. I ignored it and leaned forward further. The paper crinkled again, this time much louder. Looking over, I saw a group of guys sitting nearby who appeared to be about college-aged. Most of them were watching the performance, but one was holding an item wrapped in a brown paper bag. The bag was too big for the object and had been rolled down several times. He glanced around nervously, trying to be discreet and unroll the paper in small batches. It was obvious that was actually making more noise than if he'd just gone for it and unrolled it all at once.
This went on for another minute, and by then, a few others nearby were glancing over at him. He finally managed to open the bag and then, still in slow motion, carefully lowered his hand inside. I heard the pop of a cap and the guy's face lit up in triumph. Still keeping the object concealed, he lifted the bag to his mouth and drank out of what was very obviously a bottle of beer or some other alcohol. It had been pretty apparent right away from the bag shape.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, in an attempt to smother my laughter. He reminded me so much of Adrian. I could absolutely see Adrian smuggling in alcohol to an event like this and then going to all sorts of pains to be covert, thinking that if he just did everything slowly enough, no one would catch on to him. Adrian, too, would probably have the misfortune of opening the bottle right in the middle of the play's most tense scene. I could even picture a similarly delighted look on his face, one that said, No one knows what I'm doing! When, of course, we all knew. I didn't know why it made me laugh, but it did.