certified emergency.
"Oh my gosh, it was horrible."
"What did he say?"
"That he likes me."
Amanda squealed. "What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"Did he ask you out?"
"Yes."
Another squeal. "Well?"
I paused, then let out a groan. "I said yes."
You'd have thought from the scream on the other end I'd just told Amanda a publisher wanted to buy all her poems.
"When?" she asked.
"This Saturday. I told him he could come with us to Poetry Night."
"A double date! I get to see everything! We need to go shopping," Amanda rattled off, "and fix your hair, and maybe do your nails--"
"No," I interrupted before she could get too out of control. "I'm not doing any of that. I'm going as is or not at all. I shouldn't have even said yes."
"But you did," Amanda said, "and that calls for clothes. We barely got started shopping last weekend. We need at least three or four more outfits."
"No way," I said. "We're done."
"Come on, Cat, can you at least be a little bit excited? Please? For me?"
Of course she stared me down, even over the phone.
I groaned again. "Why did he even ask me out?"
"Why wouldn't he?" Amanda answered. "You're fabulous!"
There was no getting around it--this was actually going to happen. "Fine. But I'm just doing this for you."
"I accept," Amanda said.
So we made a shopping date for Saturday morning. Today.
Actually, it wasn't so bad. I have to confess it felt pretty good to hear Amanda say, "Look at that size! Cat, you're wasting away!"
I knew all my old clothes were feeling loose--I just didn't know how loose.
Wow. It's really working.
Amanda brought me some more pants and a few more tops. And a skirt.
"No," I said. "No skirts."
"It's time."
"I don't feel like shaving."
"Cat, are you a girl or what? Have I been mistaken all this time? Let me see your armpits."
"I shave those," I said, shrugging her off. "Why do I have to make such a big deal out of this?"
"Because it's your first date EVER. Well, since at least seventh grade."
"Those weren't dates."
"Uh-huh. Boy, girl, ice cream--that's a date." She waved off any further argument. "My point is, it's been a long, long, LONG time, and maybe we should give this the attention to detail it deserves."
"I'm not going to kiss him."
"Who said anything about kissing?" Amanda asked.
"I'm sure you were going to get to that."
"Well, now that you mention it--"
"Forget it."
"If he moves in like this--"
I pushed her away. "Forget it!"
She cocked her head and assessed my new outfit. "You look awfully cute!" she sang. She reached out and pinched my cheek. "A little makeup--"
"No makeup."
"--a little perfume--"
"Hominins didn't wear perfume."
"--and lose about an inch of hair on your legs, and we're talking gorgeous."
"I don't want to be kissed," I said.
"Of course you do."
31
G reg picked me up at six-thirty . I answered the door wearing the outfit Amanda picked out for me this morning--girl jeans, a white cami, and a cranberry-colored top. She fought hard to do my hair and makeup for tonight, but I stood my ground. Greg was going to have to take me in my native state or not at all. And I was secretly hoping for the not at all.
So why did I even agree to go out with him? He caught me off guard when he called the other night, but I could have backed out anytime these last few days. So why didn't I?
I thought about that a lot while I got dressed. And I decided if I had to be strictly scientific about it, it's because of that vanity thing again. I mean, when has a guy ever shown me the slightest bit of interest? And even though Greg isn't exactly my idea of a perfect match, I know there are girls out there who'd be flattered that he asked them out. And so maybe I'm one of them.
"You look great," he said as I stood in the doorway.
"Thanks. You do, too." And it was the truth. Which surprised me. I guess I'd never really looked at him before. I'd purposely averted my eyes when he showed up at lunch the other day, and same thing when he was standing in
"Oh my gosh, it was horrible."
"What did he say?"
"That he likes me."
Amanda squealed. "What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"Did he ask you out?"
"Yes."
Another squeal. "Well?"
I paused, then let out a groan. "I said yes."
You'd have thought from the scream on the other end I'd just told Amanda a publisher wanted to buy all her poems.
"When?" she asked.
"This Saturday. I told him he could come with us to Poetry Night."
"A double date! I get to see everything! We need to go shopping," Amanda rattled off, "and fix your hair, and maybe do your nails--"
"No," I interrupted before she could get too out of control. "I'm not doing any of that. I'm going as is or not at all. I shouldn't have even said yes."
"But you did," Amanda said, "and that calls for clothes. We barely got started shopping last weekend. We need at least three or four more outfits."
"No way," I said. "We're done."
"Come on, Cat, can you at least be a little bit excited? Please? For me?"
Of course she stared me down, even over the phone.
I groaned again. "Why did he even ask me out?"
"Why wouldn't he?" Amanda answered. "You're fabulous!"
There was no getting around it--this was actually going to happen. "Fine. But I'm just doing this for you."
"I accept," Amanda said.
So we made a shopping date for Saturday morning. Today.
Actually, it wasn't so bad. I have to confess it felt pretty good to hear Amanda say, "Look at that size! Cat, you're wasting away!"
I knew all my old clothes were feeling loose--I just didn't know how loose.
Wow. It's really working.
Amanda brought me some more pants and a few more tops. And a skirt.
"No," I said. "No skirts."
"It's time."
"I don't feel like shaving."
"Cat, are you a girl or what? Have I been mistaken all this time? Let me see your armpits."
"I shave those," I said, shrugging her off. "Why do I have to make such a big deal out of this?"
"Because it's your first date EVER. Well, since at least seventh grade."
"Those weren't dates."
"Uh-huh. Boy, girl, ice cream--that's a date." She waved off any further argument. "My point is, it's been a long, long, LONG time, and maybe we should give this the attention to detail it deserves."
"I'm not going to kiss him."
"Who said anything about kissing?" Amanda asked.
"I'm sure you were going to get to that."
"Well, now that you mention it--"
"Forget it."
"If he moves in like this--"
I pushed her away. "Forget it!"
She cocked her head and assessed my new outfit. "You look awfully cute!" she sang. She reached out and pinched my cheek. "A little makeup--"
"No makeup."
"--a little perfume--"
"Hominins didn't wear perfume."
"--and lose about an inch of hair on your legs, and we're talking gorgeous."
"I don't want to be kissed," I said.
"Of course you do."
31
G reg picked me up at six-thirty . I answered the door wearing the outfit Amanda picked out for me this morning--girl jeans, a white cami, and a cranberry-colored top. She fought hard to do my hair and makeup for tonight, but I stood my ground. Greg was going to have to take me in my native state or not at all. And I was secretly hoping for the not at all.
So why did I even agree to go out with him? He caught me off guard when he called the other night, but I could have backed out anytime these last few days. So why didn't I?
I thought about that a lot while I got dressed. And I decided if I had to be strictly scientific about it, it's because of that vanity thing again. I mean, when has a guy ever shown me the slightest bit of interest? And even though Greg isn't exactly my idea of a perfect match, I know there are girls out there who'd be flattered that he asked them out. And so maybe I'm one of them.
"You look great," he said as I stood in the doorway.
"Thanks. You do, too." And it was the truth. Which surprised me. I guess I'd never really looked at him before. I'd purposely averted my eyes when he showed up at lunch the other day, and same thing when he was standing in
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