stood when I arrived—score one for Mr. August. “I’m Jake Faraday.”
“Hi Jake, I’m Layney Logan.”
Jake was cute. I think. Hard to say in the dark.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “But your sunglasses are still…um…on. In case you forgot or something.”
“Yeah. I know. I just came from the optometrist. My pupils are dilated. I’m very sensitive.”
“Okay.” He smiled.
I think.
The waitress brought us the special desert the staff had preordered for us—a huge hot fudge sundae for two, with whipped cream and cherries on top. At the risk of sounding like a girl, a dose of chocolate went a long way in soothing the rotten—not to mention confusing—day I’d been through.
“So, Jake, tell me about yourself.”
“I’m a junior. I don’t have a girlfriend…but I’m looking for one. And I’m on the cheer squad.”
The spoon of ice cream stopped short of my mouth. “You’re a cheerleader?” I blurted.
“Yes. And I’m straight. Just to be clear.”
“I would never have…okay, you’re right. I probably would have.”
“It’s okay. Most people do. But cheering isn’t just for gay guys anymore. In fact most are really there to score with the hot girls.”
“Um, oh.”
Jake had this strange way of punctuating the end of his sentences—like it was the last word of a cheer. He startled me several times and drew attention to our table. I wanted to wave to people. Hey, look, it’s Too Loud Guy and his legally blind, blind date.
“Actually, the first cheerleaders were all men. Did you know that?”
“I had no idea.”
“The first squad was from the University of Minnesota. They were called yell leaders.”
“Well, okay.”
“Females didn’t start participating until 1923.”
“Wow, you sure know your cheer history.”
“It’s my ticket out of this town.”
Jake then proceeded to fill me in on every detail I never needed to know about cheerleading. Including the difference between a Herkie and a hurdler, the correct spelling of pompon, and that he was hoping to get a full-ride scholarship to the state college after competitions next year.
My general disdain for the girls who wore the short, pleated skirts might have lessened a little when I heard how long their practices were every single day. Yeah, a lot of them were snotty and were granted privileges because they were pretty or rich—but it sounded like they also worked really hard. And I respected that. I just wished sometimes they would work a little harder on being less stuck-up.
Jake got louder and louder until I decided I was really glad I was wearing the anonymous dark shades. The further I shrank into the corner of my booth seat, the more gregarious he became. He was nice, really nice. He was just very…excited about his future.
“So, Jake. What do you want to do after college?”
“I’m hoping to get my Master of Library Science.”
A librarian? Mr. Herkie wanted to be a librarian. Once again, the sunglasses shielded my date from my incredulous eyes. I guess, in a strange way, Foster did me a favor by trying to break my nose.
“What about you? What do you want to do after college?” he asked before he shoveled another bite, totally encroaching the boundary between our separate scoops.
I sat back, miffed about the sundae poaching. Clearly I wouldn’t be giving Jake Farraday a rose at the end of this date. “An investigative reporter.”
“Like newspapers?”
“They are my first choice.”
He didn’t notice I had stopped eating. “Aren’t they, like, dying? I mean, not just the local paper. Aren’t a bunch of them going bankrupt?”
He would have ducked if he could see the überglare I shot him. Then again, he wasn’t wrong.
“You don’t really have that TV reporter vibe either.”
While I didn’t want to be a glossy newscaster sitting behind a desk on Channel 4, I could totally pull off live reporting in a war zone or an interview with the president. Better than Mr. Too Loud could
“Hi Jake, I’m Layney Logan.”
Jake was cute. I think. Hard to say in the dark.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “But your sunglasses are still…um…on. In case you forgot or something.”
“Yeah. I know. I just came from the optometrist. My pupils are dilated. I’m very sensitive.”
“Okay.” He smiled.
I think.
The waitress brought us the special desert the staff had preordered for us—a huge hot fudge sundae for two, with whipped cream and cherries on top. At the risk of sounding like a girl, a dose of chocolate went a long way in soothing the rotten—not to mention confusing—day I’d been through.
“So, Jake, tell me about yourself.”
“I’m a junior. I don’t have a girlfriend…but I’m looking for one. And I’m on the cheer squad.”
The spoon of ice cream stopped short of my mouth. “You’re a cheerleader?” I blurted.
“Yes. And I’m straight. Just to be clear.”
“I would never have…okay, you’re right. I probably would have.”
“It’s okay. Most people do. But cheering isn’t just for gay guys anymore. In fact most are really there to score with the hot girls.”
“Um, oh.”
Jake had this strange way of punctuating the end of his sentences—like it was the last word of a cheer. He startled me several times and drew attention to our table. I wanted to wave to people. Hey, look, it’s Too Loud Guy and his legally blind, blind date.
“Actually, the first cheerleaders were all men. Did you know that?”
“I had no idea.”
“The first squad was from the University of Minnesota. They were called yell leaders.”
“Well, okay.”
“Females didn’t start participating until 1923.”
“Wow, you sure know your cheer history.”
“It’s my ticket out of this town.”
Jake then proceeded to fill me in on every detail I never needed to know about cheerleading. Including the difference between a Herkie and a hurdler, the correct spelling of pompon, and that he was hoping to get a full-ride scholarship to the state college after competitions next year.
My general disdain for the girls who wore the short, pleated skirts might have lessened a little when I heard how long their practices were every single day. Yeah, a lot of them were snotty and were granted privileges because they were pretty or rich—but it sounded like they also worked really hard. And I respected that. I just wished sometimes they would work a little harder on being less stuck-up.
Jake got louder and louder until I decided I was really glad I was wearing the anonymous dark shades. The further I shrank into the corner of my booth seat, the more gregarious he became. He was nice, really nice. He was just very…excited about his future.
“So, Jake. What do you want to do after college?”
“I’m hoping to get my Master of Library Science.”
A librarian? Mr. Herkie wanted to be a librarian. Once again, the sunglasses shielded my date from my incredulous eyes. I guess, in a strange way, Foster did me a favor by trying to break my nose.
“What about you? What do you want to do after college?” he asked before he shoveled another bite, totally encroaching the boundary between our separate scoops.
I sat back, miffed about the sundae poaching. Clearly I wouldn’t be giving Jake Farraday a rose at the end of this date. “An investigative reporter.”
“Like newspapers?”
“They are my first choice.”
He didn’t notice I had stopped eating. “Aren’t they, like, dying? I mean, not just the local paper. Aren’t a bunch of them going bankrupt?”
He would have ducked if he could see the überglare I shot him. Then again, he wasn’t wrong.
“You don’t really have that TV reporter vibe either.”
While I didn’t want to be a glossy newscaster sitting behind a desk on Channel 4, I could totally pull off live reporting in a war zone or an interview with the president. Better than Mr. Too Loud could
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