I mentally review Hunter’s playful texts from earlier to renew my dedication to my cause. I want to go out with him. Maybe Mom thinks I’m too young, but I don’t, and it’s not her life.
“But school comes first,” Mom says, nodding and not even questioning our change of plans. And why would she? She’s always been able to trust me before.
Before Hunter.
My mood threatens to sink again, doubts about her being right fighting to the surface, but I shove them down.
“So, I can go?”
“Yeah. Now I don’t have to be a responsible adult and make dinner, I can just have a bowl of cereal in my PJs. What time do you need me to take you so I can mentally prepare for standing again?”
I shake my head. “Cool, I’ll text her and see what time she wants me to come. You don’t have to take me. I’ll just walk over.”
“You sure?”
I nod, standing up and making my way back to the kitchen. I need privacy to text Hunter because I have a feeling it would only take one look at my face and my mom would know it’s not Sara I’m talking to.
“The ‘yes’ is secured. I repeat, the ‘yes’ is secured,” I text him. “What time/where should we meet up?”
My heart pounds as I stare at the screen and wait for him to read my message and respond. It only takes a few heartbeats, then he answers back, “I knew you could be devious” with a winking emoji.
“Don’t say that, I’ll back out,” I joke.
“Let’s meet on the bridge, then we’ll walk to the movie theater.”
My brow furrows in mild confusion. “I thought we were going to watch a movie at your house?”
“We can if you want. I thought you might be more comfortable going out.”
“More comfortable?” I question.
“You, me, alone in my house. It’s dark. The movie’s probably scary… maybe you should come a little closer.”
My eyes widen and I type back. “Movie theater—good call. What time?”
“How’s 7?”
I flick a glance at the clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen. “Works for me. We won’t have time to eat first though. I don’t have a curfew, but I told my mom I’m studying at Sara’s so I have to be home before ten.”
“Not ideal, but doable. We can get hot dogs and nachos at the theater,” he sends back. “Next time we make a secret date, we should start planning earlier so we have more time.”
Next time. We haven’t even gone on a first date yet and he’s already assuming there will be a second. I want to play it cool and flirt back about how cocky he is to assume I’ll even go out with him again, but I’m too excited.
I feel floaty again as I head to my bedroom to get ready for my first date. I hate that my mom doesn’t know about it, though. I always imagined her sitting on my bed helping me pick an outfit the night of my first date. Like Hunter pointed out, I’m not super fashionable, so I would’ve felt a little more confident with her input.
This is how it has to be for now, though. Once she gets to know Hunter, maybe she’ll bend on her no dating rule. We can have a do-over first date that she can help me get ready for.
It still won’t be the same, though. It’ll just be another lie I have to tell to be with Hunter.
For a moment, that reality bums me out, but I shove it away and continue getting ready. I keep it casual with the black leggings Hunter’s mom bought me and one of the tops. I survey myself in the mirror, smoothing down my hair and frowning. I don’t like my hair, so I put it up in a high ponytail instead, then I carefully pull a few tendrils down on each side of my face.
I’m satisfied with my appearance, but I think I could do a little better.
I look over at my closet door. The purse I had with me at the mall is hanging there, so I go over and grab it, fishing around for the tube of mascara Hunter’s mom bought me. After locating it, I go back to the mirror and carefully apply a coat.
I smile at my reflection, imagining several different scenarios of Hunter reacting when he sees me. They’re all good, and I’m so happy I could ride a cloud to the bridge.
Once I’m ready, I slide my stylish new jacket on, completing the look, and head out the door.
I’m full of nervous energy for the first two minutes of my walk. I get lost in daydreams after that. I think about what movie we’ll see, but I don’t even care about that. It’s the little things. Will he hold my hand? Will he give me a tight, lingering hug at the end before I go home? Will he kiss me?
My imagination is brimming with possibilities.
I left a few minutes early, so I get to the bridge a few minutes early, too. I’m just in time to see the sunset through the trees. I sit down on the bridge and dangle my feet over the edge like Hunter did that first day we talked.
I would have never imagined that day that anything would come of it, let alone this.
Sitting here in the woods and waiting for Hunter to show up for our secret date, I can’t help smiling as I imagine his response when he gets here and I liken it to Gale and Katniss sneaking out to hunt in the woods.
I know he’ll be entertained. I’m sure he’ll call me a dork. He might even weaken my knees and call me Catnip again before he reaches down and takes my hand.
I guess I never know exactly what Hunter will do, but man, I can’t wait to find out.
Chapter Eight
It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight. At least, I didn’t think it was. But here I sit on the footbridge with my feet hanging over the edge, watching raindrops pelt the water below.
I’m drenched. When the rain first started, I was worried about dumb stuff—it was going to soak my hair and cause my mascara to run down my face like it does in the movies. I shrugged my coat off and held it over my head for a while to try to protect my appearance, but eventually I gave up.
That was a half hour ago. My arms got tired. My heart did, too.
Hunter never showed up.
I put my coat back on, no longer caring if the rain ruined my hair or made my makeup run. I don’t know how many times I can text him without appearing crazy. I went with three. One text for every half hour I’ve spent sitting on this bridge like an idiot, waiting for a guy that wasn’t on his way.
I thought about walking to his house a couple times. It’s not like it’s far. The first time I told myself to be patient. If I walked to his house, what if he came another way and got to the bridge while I was gone? What if his phone had died so he couldn’t text me to let me know he was running late?
The second time I was more stubborn. I’m not walking to his house to remind him he was supposed to go on a date with me. If he got busy and forgot, then screw him. If it’s more than that… I don’t even know.
As if the weather is keeping up with my mood, the rain starts to fall harder. It’s coming down so hard it stings a little when it hits my face, so I finally push myself up off the ground, fix my purse strap on my shoulder, and turn around.
Even though there’s no reason he would be, no reason he would stand there without saying anything and torture me, my foolish heart hopes he’ll be standing there, just as wet as I am, looking back at me.