“Did I say you could have some?” I ask, swatting his hand away. I’m annoyed with him for coming here, for sitting down at our table and making himself at home.
And I don’t like him with Danielle.
“James Dean said I could have some,” Andrew says, taking a sip anyway. Danielle sits down on the other side of the booth.
“Actually, I have a water bottle in my bag,” Dean says, rummaging through the pack next to him on the booth. “You guys can pour some in under the table and drink out of this. I’ve done it a million times.”
“You’re the absolute best,” Danielle says. “Keely, hold on to this guy. Seriously.” She reaches over toward the wine bottle and, looking around to make sure no one is watching, pulls it quickly under the table. A few moments later, she brings the bottle back up, placing it innocently on the tablecloth. Just as her hands leave the bottle, our waitress walks over, and Danielle snaps her hand back, bringing it up to examine her fingernails.
“Hey, two more?” She hands menus to Andrew and Danielle.
“No,” I say, “they’re sitting at a different—”
“Yeah, we can just sit here,” Andrew says, taking the menu. “Thanks.”
“Great!” the waitress says. “You guys drinking?”
“Not tonight.” Danielle smiles sweetly. “Just water.”
They order some food, and then when the waitress is gone, Danielle takes a long swig from the water bottle and hands it over to Andrew. He clinks it against her knuckles in a cheers before he drinks, and she smiles. I feel an uncomfortable swoop in my stomach and set down my glass, worried I’m going to drink too much before the food comes.
There’s a quick buzzing in my purse, and I pull out my phone to see a text from Danielle.
James Dean on a real date? Nice job. Didn’t think you had it in you
I look up to see her reaching across the checkered tablecloth toward Andrew. A few unruly strands of honey-blond hair have fallen forward over his brow, and she lightly brushes them back into place. I have a quick flash of running my hands through that same hair last night, and flush with heat. Danielle whispers something close to him, and he laughs.
It feels like she’s flirting with him just to torture me, just to throw everything in my face. But she doesn’t know anything about what happened. She doesn’t know about the Plan. I’m the one being ridiculous. I’m sitting across the booth from James Dean; I shouldn’t care about hands in Andrew’s hair—hers or mine.
I narrow my eyes and send her a text back.
Yup, definitely have it in me
Then I text Andrew.
What are you doing?? You don’t even like her
“So, is this the first time you guys have ever been on a double date together?” Danielle asks, motioning to Andrew and me. “Actually, forget that. I don’t want to know about this guy’s dating history.” She slaps him playfully on the arm. “Sophie’s already told me too much.”
“You couldn’t handle it,” he says to her.
“Whatever, Reed. I can handle anything.”
“Is that a challenge?” he asks.
“You’ll just have to find out.”
I don’t even know what they’re talking about anymore. Their flirting feels so dumb and scripted. Party Andrew is out in full force. I bring my wineglass up to my lips and try to take a sip but realize it’s empty.
ANDREW
Why do you think I don’t like her?
ME
She’s a hand grenade, remember?
ANDREW
That’s what makes it exciting
“Keely, do you want some of my water?” Danielle asks, holding the wine in my direction. I grab it from her gratefully, taking a long swig. It burns the back of my throat.
“So, what’s the deal with you two?” Dean asks, motioning a toned arm at Danielle and Andrew.
“Well, I mean, there’s always sort of been a thing,” Danielle says, reaching up to play with her necklace.
“Always?” I ask, because it’s definitely not true.
“Remember when you gave me that stupid valentine in sixth grade?” Danielle asks, ignoring my question. She leans forward, eyes sparkling.
“Um.” Andrew pauses, fiddling with the fork sitting on the folded napkin in front of him. There’s an annoying tap tap tap sound as it hits the table. His cheeks are tinged pink. “I try not to remember that.”
“It had one of those weird fighting turtles on it,” she says.
“Ninja Turtles,” Andrew corrects.
I think about the hours we spent on the couch in his basement watching reruns of the Ninja Turtles on TV; how we used cardboard paper towel rolls as weapons and ran around the room sparring with each other. I don’t know how sixth-grade Andrew could have ever thought sending a Ninja Turtle–themed valentine to Danielle would be a good idea.
“Whatever,” she says. “It said: ‘I love you more than pizza.’”
“I can’t believe you remember that,” Andrew says, running a hand over the back of his neck. He looks a little sweaty, like he’s just come down with a fever.
“Hard to forget something that embarrassing,” she says. “You were such a nerd.”
Why didn’t he ask me for advice back then? It seems like something he would have checked in with me about. I could have told him the valentine was a terrible idea; that he should have given her something with glitter. I’m surprised he managed to keep this secret for so many years. What else don’t I know about?
The waitress comes by with a basket of breadsticks, some butter, and dipping sauce, and puts it down on the table in front of us, leaving with a smile in Dean’s direction. I grab one and rip into it, spraying crumbs over the tabletop.
“Anyway, you’ve liked me for years,” Danielle says, cocking her head in Andrew’s direction.