Right Where You Left Me

failed date

The next day, I receive a text from Kate, reminding me about the boy she set me up on a date with. Jeremy Dawson. He's in her science class, and apparently he's cute and doesn't talk too much.

I yawn and roll out of bed. The date is in an hour, and I still need to get dressed.

I'm putting on blush when Nate knocks on my door. I tell him to come inside and he opens the door, leaning on my doorframe. He crosses his arms and meets my eyes in the mirror.

"You look good."

"Thanks," I say. I'm dressed in jeans and black boots, with a cardigan and a little tank top. My curly hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and a few strands escape the hairdo and fall into my face.

"Where are you headed?" he asks as I reach for my lip gloss.

"Nowhere," I shrug. For some reason, I don't want him to know I'm going on a date. I don't know why. I just think it would be better if he didn't know.

"Nowhere?" he echoes, raising a brow.

I nod and apply the lipgloss, which is tinted red. His eyes drift to my lips. I tuck the gloss into my bag and turn to him, praying he'll stop looking at me like that. It's hard to form sentences when someone is taking their time to admire your mouth.

"I'm going on a date," I say, grabbing my bag and walking towards the door. He doesn't move off the door jamb, so I look up at him questioningly.

His brows are furrowed. "A date? With who?"

"Jeremy Dawson. You probably know him." Jeremy is cute, and he's kind of nice, and he offered to buy me lunch which is mainly why I said yes to the date. But Nate doesn't need to know that.

"Jeremy, yeah?" He looks up and rolls his tongue in his cheek, as if he's thinking. Then he tilts his head close to mine. "You like him or something?"

"Sure," I say. "I mean, I wouldn't go on a date with him if I didn't like him."

He smirks a little, and that's when I realize how close we are. We are practically in each other's faces.

"You tell yourself that," he says, and then he turns around and walks away, out of my line of sight.

I furrow my brows. What's that supposed to mean?

When Jeremy pulls up in front of the house in his car, I hurry down the stairs and out the front door, towards his car. I slide into the passenger seat and shut the door.

"Hey," Jeremy says. He pulls out of the driveway.

"Hi," I smile. "How are you?"

"Good," he says. An awkward silence fills the car, so I reach over and turn on the radio. Wildest Dreams (Taylor's Version) is playing, so I smile and dial up the volume a little.

Jeremy breaks the silence. "Today in science class, we were learning about famous scientists, and then the teacher pulled up a photo of this woman scientist lady." He grins a little. "And then this dude in my class, who's fucking hilarious, goes: 'The only thing she probably knows how to make is a sandwich!' It was so funny."

I press my lips together and nod. The joke isn't funny. It's overused and sexist and gross. But I don't say anything. I simply go back to nodding my head to the beat of Wildest Dreams.

Throwing my head back to say the lyrics, I pull down the little mirror to check on my makeup. I'm retouching my lip gloss when Jeremy turns the volume down.

He wrinkles his nose. "Don't tell me you're another one of those Swifties," he says, barely disguising the disgust in his voice.

I narrow my eyes. "What's wrong with being a Swiftie?"