front of me in his Speedo. But seeing him tonight in khakis and a short-sleeved knit shirt, I sort of got a new appreciation for the guy's build. His biceps are as big as hams. And he must be at least a foot taller than I am.
He opened the car door for me. Points for that. And he was a pretty careful driver, signaling before every turn. Points there, too.
We rode in silence for a few minutes. My palms were so wet I could have soaked through a whole roll of paper towels.
Finally Greg led with, "So, you're a math and science geek, huh?"
I didn't really care for the "geek" part--geeks can call each other that, but we don't really like it when outsiders do--but I just answered, "Yeah, I guess."
"You like science, huh?"
"Yeah."
"I hate it," he said. "I suck at it."
"Oh." I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say.
"You probably already took biology, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, "freshman year."
"Man, that class is killing me!"
"Oh. Sorry."
"Hey, maybe if I take you out to dinner a few times a week, you'll do my homework for me, huh?" He laughed. "Just kidding. But you're probably good at algebra, too, huh? I'd even buy you dessert--just kidding."
Thank goodness the ride was short.
Amanda and Jordan were waiting for us outside the cafe.
"How's it going?" Amanda whispered while the two guys did their male greeting thing.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," I whispered back.
"You'll be fine."
Jordan clasped Amanda's hand as we entered the cafe. I stayed far enough away from Greg that he wouldn't get the idea he should do the same.
We grabbed our usual table--the owner, Darlene, keeps it reserved for us on Poetry Night--and sat down, boy-girl, boy-girl. I really wished it were girl-girl so I could keep whispering to Amanda.
The three of us order the same thing every time, so we didn't need menus. Greg had to go back up front to ask for one.
I made good use of his absence. "Jordan, what did he say about this whole thing? I mean, does he think this is like a kissing date?"
Jordan snorted. "A kissing date? What, are we in first grade?"
Amanda elbowed him. "She's nervous. Be nice."
"It's whatever you want it to be," Jordan told me. "Relax. He's not going to jump you--"
"Here he comes," Amanda whispered.
We all straightened up.
Greg took his seat again, and then scowled down at the menu.
"Get the veggie burgers, bro," Jordan told him. "Extra everything."
"What are you having?" Greg asked me. I pointed to the sweet potato fries on the menu. "Wanna share?" he asked. I know this is ridiculous, but that already felt too intimate. But I stammered out a "sure." Amanda gave me a reassuring smile.
In that moment she and I both knew it: I am so not cut out for dating.
While Jordan and Greg handled the small talk for a while, analyzing some of the results from their swim meet this morning, Amanda looked over her poetry notes and I just sat there trying not to panic.
How do people even do this? Why date at all? You have to figureout what to talk about, how to act, what to eat, what to wear, what to do with your hands--the whole thing is just torture.
And then talk about your torture. The first poet stepped up to the mike.
The woman obviously has some issues, and for some reason she decided to inflict them on all of us tonight. We had to sit through three excruciatingly long epic poems about her horrible mother, her rotten ex-husband, and the abusive, sadistic, blankety-blank boss who recently fired her. I wish the woman had just gone to therapy.
"Are they all gonna be like that?" Greg asked me as we applauded the woman finally sitting down.
"Sometimes. But Amanda's are always great."
"Do you mind if I wait in the car until then?"
I wasn't sure if he was serious, but then Greg flashed me a smile. So he actually has a sense of humor. I guess that's something.
The second guy was pretty good. He had a long, sad poem about growing up in Maine and losing his father to the sea. There were some really good lines in there, but all I
He opened the car door for me. Points for that. And he was a pretty careful driver, signaling before every turn. Points there, too.
We rode in silence for a few minutes. My palms were so wet I could have soaked through a whole roll of paper towels.
Finally Greg led with, "So, you're a math and science geek, huh?"
I didn't really care for the "geek" part--geeks can call each other that, but we don't really like it when outsiders do--but I just answered, "Yeah, I guess."
"You like science, huh?"
"Yeah."
"I hate it," he said. "I suck at it."
"Oh." I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say.
"You probably already took biology, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, "freshman year."
"Man, that class is killing me!"
"Oh. Sorry."
"Hey, maybe if I take you out to dinner a few times a week, you'll do my homework for me, huh?" He laughed. "Just kidding. But you're probably good at algebra, too, huh? I'd even buy you dessert--just kidding."
Thank goodness the ride was short.
Amanda and Jordan were waiting for us outside the cafe.
"How's it going?" Amanda whispered while the two guys did their male greeting thing.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," I whispered back.
"You'll be fine."
Jordan clasped Amanda's hand as we entered the cafe. I stayed far enough away from Greg that he wouldn't get the idea he should do the same.
We grabbed our usual table--the owner, Darlene, keeps it reserved for us on Poetry Night--and sat down, boy-girl, boy-girl. I really wished it were girl-girl so I could keep whispering to Amanda.
The three of us order the same thing every time, so we didn't need menus. Greg had to go back up front to ask for one.
I made good use of his absence. "Jordan, what did he say about this whole thing? I mean, does he think this is like a kissing date?"
Jordan snorted. "A kissing date? What, are we in first grade?"
Amanda elbowed him. "She's nervous. Be nice."
"It's whatever you want it to be," Jordan told me. "Relax. He's not going to jump you--"
"Here he comes," Amanda whispered.
We all straightened up.
Greg took his seat again, and then scowled down at the menu.
"Get the veggie burgers, bro," Jordan told him. "Extra everything."
"What are you having?" Greg asked me. I pointed to the sweet potato fries on the menu. "Wanna share?" he asked. I know this is ridiculous, but that already felt too intimate. But I stammered out a "sure." Amanda gave me a reassuring smile.
In that moment she and I both knew it: I am so not cut out for dating.
While Jordan and Greg handled the small talk for a while, analyzing some of the results from their swim meet this morning, Amanda looked over her poetry notes and I just sat there trying not to panic.
How do people even do this? Why date at all? You have to figureout what to talk about, how to act, what to eat, what to wear, what to do with your hands--the whole thing is just torture.
And then talk about your torture. The first poet stepped up to the mike.
The woman obviously has some issues, and for some reason she decided to inflict them on all of us tonight. We had to sit through three excruciatingly long epic poems about her horrible mother, her rotten ex-husband, and the abusive, sadistic, blankety-blank boss who recently fired her. I wish the woman had just gone to therapy.
"Are they all gonna be like that?" Greg asked me as we applauded the woman finally sitting down.
"Sometimes. But Amanda's are always great."
"Do you mind if I wait in the car until then?"
I wasn't sure if he was serious, but then Greg flashed me a smile. So he actually has a sense of humor. I guess that's something.
The second guy was pretty good. He had a long, sad poem about growing up in Maine and losing his father to the sea. There were some really good lines in there, but all I
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