|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon Feb 15, 2010 10:35 pm
It seemed like meeting at Shufflepuck Cafe after dark was the modus operandi for Zachary Esther and Tate Konstantin.
On Presidents' Day, Tate had sent him a tersely-worded text message--asking that he meet her at the cafe in terms that made it clear, in her way, that she would be extremely put out if he refused to attend. Extremely put out, with Tate, meant only begging her would get her good will back; the fact that she'd actually bothered to make that clear was telling, in that what she wanted to say was very important, at least to her.
She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder, took a sip of her customary black cherry soda, and peered out the window. It was only 6:50, and she'd specified seven in the evening, so she had ten minutes.
That stupid redheaded tart. Not Zachary--tart was a word she reserved for despised elements of the female persuasion. Pierrette Genoise, closer in age to Ladon than anyone else had the right to be if they were going to be friends. Tate was practically green with envy... Ugh. Not worth concentrating on. She had to think about the proposition she was going to make to Zachary Esther...
...even if her stomach did feel like it was doing backflips as she thought about it.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Feb 15, 2010 11:10 pm
Zachary was not a "texting" type of guy. Sure, he had texting unlocked on his phone, and he received a few from time to time, but if he wanted to get a hold of someone, he just called them. It seemed like a more direct line of communication for the boy, who admittedly had a hard time figuring out all of the "text talk" people used. Now that he thought about it, Zachary Esther had to use a lot of quotation marks when he considered himself texting, because it just wasn't really his "thing".
Therefore, when Zachary got the text from Tate, he found himself more confused at the way the message was delivered, rather than the message itself. Would it really have been so difficult to call? He would have been happy to answer the phone for her, since he never had anything after lacrosse practice to eat up his time. But no, she just had to text him something about meeting up at Shufflepucks, and as he boarded the bus, he pondered what he should do about responding.
He considered calling her back. It would be the most direct, simple, Zachary way of doing things. But then again, she had texted him. Wasn't it in some sort of "texting code" (he had to break out the quotation marks again) that he was supposed to text her back? He ultimately assumed that he'd never gotten the memo on texting etiquette, but that he should respond in the same medium, and so he began to attempt his response, fighting with the tiny keys of his three-year-old phone.
Considering that he only got to "sure thing, i'll be rig" when the bus stopped outside of Shufflepucks, he let the message go unsent.
It was only after he was standing at the door of the coffee shop that he remembered the errant kiss from their last encounter and hesitated, his entire body tensing. Was this going to be...a talk? Like, a talk talk? Tate probably wanted to let him know that the whole thing had been a mistake, which is how his romances tended to go, and for a moment, he contemplated not even going to the meeting. But Tate was a friend, and Tate deserved better than that, even if it meant he had to sit through another rejection speech. Zachary could do that for Tate because, well, she was Tate.
And so, with a heavy sigh, the boy pushed the door to Shufflepucks open, waving down the girl from the other side of the room. He approached her table, but did not sit down, pushing his glasses up his nose again. It must have been a nervous habit. "Hi Tate. W...what's up?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 7:12 am
She didn't call. Almost never called, actually, since she had to use the speakerphone to make good use of her cell; Tate just didn't like talking to people, not enough time to think about her words, too much time to say the wrong thing. In fact, if this conversation were carried out over text messages, she probably would not be a third so nervous as she was at this moment. You just didn't do this sort of thing through text messages.
Normally she was pretty pale, but as she watched Zachary approached she went practically white, looked down at her hands and fiddled with the opaque straw. She did look up when he came in--and then right back down, contemplating the mulberry purple of her soda. Shouldn't dark cherry soda be... cherry in color? Not wine colored.
Whatever. She took a sip of her soda and said, "Not much. You?"
And then she set down her drink and continued, "So, um... yeah... about last time?..."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 8:17 am
Zachary had, for a moment, hoped that Tate would stop at the simple greeting, but supposed he had to respect the fact that she got down to business. Blunt and simple was the best way to handle something, really. So when Tate began to speak, he slid his way in to the chair opposite her, looking down at the table before building up the courage to speak.
"Tate, I can understand if it was a spur of the moment thing, or if you want me to disregard it or something like that," he began, his voice a little low as he looked back up to her. Quickly, his eyes shifted to the side, and he laughed. "I-I mean, it's not like I'm not used to stuff like that." His gaze went downwards again, and he sighed.
"My point is...you're my friend, Tate. I can respect however you feel about the situation." His gaze returned to her again, and for the first time, he really thought about her. Sure, there was "Tate the friend", but now he could notice things like "Tate the friend with the cute pony-tail" or "Tate the friend who could be endearing when she was awkward like this moment". Either way he put it, Tatiana Konstantin was not an unattractive girl, and she had kissed him. Either way, she'd made the first move. Could there be the possibility that this wasn't a fluke? Zachary stifled the hope before it had the chance to take root in his mind. He couldn't afford to make the emotional investment unless she agreed, too.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 8:38 am
"Ah, no!" She looked up, the sheet-whiteness turning quickly to an embarrassed look. "That's not it at all." But she didn't exactly seem inclined to tell him what it was; she was tying the paper of her straw wrapper into knots, bigger and bigger knots. When the paper finally gave in and broke, she looked back at Zachary.
It still took a minute for Tate to articulate what she had spent the better part of half an hour thinking about. "Actually, um, I..." Her hands were shaking a little; she wrapped them around the plastic cup. "I was wondering if you would like to... do it again sometime."
Pause.
"You know, go out with me?"
There. She'd done it. So... why could she only really think of Ladon?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Feb 16, 2010 9:48 am
And then time just froze.
This was not the reaction Zachary had expected, nor had it been the one he had prepared himself to answer. His posture stiffened, and despite himself, his cheeks turned a little red. "You mean, like...right now?" Getting kissed in front of Tate's home was one thing: getting kissed in Shufflepucks was something entirely different. It would almost be like they were dating or...
Oh.
By the time Tate got to her actual question, Zachary felt absolutely frozen in place, unable to think, speak, or even breathe. This was Tate, a friend from math class. But this was Tate, a girl, a girl showing interest in him, and that never happened. What if there was some sort of alterior motive behind all of this? What if this was just another game to play at his heartstrings?
But then he realized he wasn't dealing with a Crystal girl, or anything strange and feminine and unfamiliar. After all, this was Tate. He could trust her.
Slowly, the boy began to smile, nodding his head with a gulp. "I--I'd love to. Sure. Of course. Uhh...yeah." He felt a minor twinge of regret as the words passed his lips, but the better part of him told himself to not be so queasy about it. This is what he'd wanted all this time, right? Maybe this was his chance to make things work. Maybe it'd be like those silly romantic comedy movies, where instead of the slutty blonde the real girl had been the friend the whole time.
This could work. He could feel it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Feb 17, 2010 1:13 am
The wait for an answer was maddening; she clasped her hands in front of her soda, dug her nails into the backs of her palms. Pretty red crescent marks were engraved where she'd been particularly vicious, but she wasn't bleeding, and they would fade. Were fading. No harm done, right?...
Why was it taking him so long to answer. It was a simple question, not exactly one that would take a lot of thought--unless he was going to say no. Which wouldn't be unexpected, they hadn't spoken much since October and here it was, February, and she was asking him out! Tate bit her lip, looked at the fading crescent moons on the backs of her hands. After a moment, she risked a glance up: He was smiling. That was good, right? A good sign? Now he was nodding. And then--
There! Was that so hard? No. It hadn't been. She smiled, brightly. Everything was okay, he'd said yes, all that fussing and worrying had been for nothing.
"Great!" Tate didn't know why that was all that she could think of to say, so she reached out to take his hand. "Wonderful," she continued, smiling.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 10:07 pm
She was touching his hand, she was touching his hand. All sorts of bells and whistles were going off in Zachary's head, and for a moment he could hardly think straight, mostly because there was so much for him to think about and not enough brainspace, and every time he glanced over and saw Tate smiling at him, everything he had been thinking just wiped itself clean from his mind, leaving him with nothing but a blank slate and a blushing face.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers curled around her hand.
"So, uh..." Think, Zachary, think. Say something dammit! "I--I can kiss you now, right? Not to be awkward or anything, I just, y'know, I thought I should ask permission first." By now, the boy's face was almost as red as his hair, but he did his best to laugh it away, focusing instead on the pale hand holding his. "And, uhhh, then we can walk in the park if you want. It's nice weather outside." That's what boyfriends did, right? They took their girlfriends for walks in the park? Part of Zachary wished that they made some sort of handbook for how to be a good boyfriend.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
