Disclaimer: Who knew? For some strange reason, I don't own Nancy Drew. Stranger things…
Here's Chapter 2.
As my blind date approached, I kept coming up with reasons not to go. I must've called Bess at least five times sporting lame excuses. My back hurt, my herbal tea had scalded my tongue, I had a big homework assignment to finish – and so on. She disregarded each call without even hearing my case. And so, as the clock struck fifteen till, I grabbed my sunglasses and a purse and headed out. I didn't even bother changing out of my sweats or putting on makeup - I didn't even wash my face of the tear stains! Hopefully, I would project such an unattractive and unkempt image that I'd scare the guy off before we even ordered our drinks.
It was a short walk to the Tea n' Coffee Shop, ten minutes at the most, and as I strolled, I called Bess one last time. I had forgotten to ask her the typical blind date info – name, age, occupation, etc. "Who exactly is this guy?" I inquired sharply the minute her voice answered.
"You'll just have to find out,'' she teased maddeningly. "When you get there, he'll introduce himself."
I blew out air in exasperation, shoving hair from my face. "Bess, unless you want me to back out, give me the guy's name."
"I'm really sorry, Nan, I can't. You'll just have to find out," she repeated.
"BESS!" my voice was shockingly loud and shrill, and several passing walkers glanced at me with a mixture of annoyance and pity. I mouthed an apology to those who were disturbed and then lowered my tone. "Bess, if you don't tell me, I'm turning around and going back to my apartment this second. I've got better things to do then waste my time on a worthless jerk."
"Worthless jerk?" Bess echoed. "Are all guys worthless jerks, Nancy? Because if that's what you think, then you're being a hypocrite – you're cutting your life off because you can't get over a certain 'worthless jerk'!"
"Ned was one of a kind," I sniffed. "And even he broke my heart. That's all guys do – break your heart. So before I go meet another stupid heartbreaker, I think I at least deserve the courtesy of knowing his name."
Bess scoffed at my theory. "They only break your heart if you let them, Nancy. That's your problem – taking the reins, letting them know that they don't have as much power over you as they'd obviously like to. But that's irrelevant. Just go at least see the poor stiff, and then figure things out. I gotta go. Catch ya later." And then she was gone. I tried calling again, but her phone had been turned off.
I turned the last corner and headed into the Shop. It smelled strongly of cinnamon and spice, and as usual, a bunch of baristas were milling around, taking orders and delivering steaming cups of hot beverages, thick and creamy frappucinos, or jittery iced coffees to their customers. On the back of their mosaic uniform shirts, the baristas had their Zodiac Herb printed along with a description of the herb and its holders. The Herb Zodiac was a new fad, something about matching your date of birth to an herb, which determined your personality and preferred palette. I thought it was a bunch of hocus-pocus, but it actually seemed to be catching on quite well.
Because it was a Sunday afternoon, the Shop was packed, and it was therefore impossible to see any possible blind dates. I wove my way in and out through the tables, searching the crowd for a guy sitting alone looking like he was expecting someone. I could find no one.
I tried to call Bess one last time, but once again, her phone was off. I was about to turn and go back home, forgetting the whole ordeal, when I felt a warm, solid hand resting on my shoulder. I spun around, took one look at the person standing behind me, and burst out laughing.
I'm talking hysterical laughter. When Nancy Drew laughs, she laughs, snorts, holds her belly, caws, cries, grabs people around her for support, and may even roll around on the floor. My bout of laughter obviously shocked him, and he watched me with a little bewilderment, clearly wondering if I was going crazy.
It was because I recognized that man. It was Ian Riggs, a classmate from high school – and I couldn't believe that Bess had set me up with him!
The story of Ian and I was fairly hilarious. At the beginning of my freshman year, we had met each other and for some reason been convinced that it was love at first sight. He was a pretty romantic boyfriend. He took me out a lot, bought me flowers, sent me regular gifts, and when he was around me, he was extremely protective; very caring. Back then, I was friends with a girl named Marty Andrews. She was a sophomore, so we weren't in the same classes or anything, but we did go to the same high school, and she lived in a house not far from mine, so we often met up at school and hung out after hours. When I introduced her to Ian, she encouraged me, saying that he was a nifty catch and seemed very loyal and trustworthy. Because Marty was very picky about guys, I took her approval as a very good omen, and became completely besotted.
Hannah and Father were a little worried about how completely I threw myself at Ian. When they discovered a booklet of all the sappy love notes he'd ever sent me underneath my pillow, Hannah tried to have a conversation about me concerning my youth, and how I should reserve myself and not age myself prematurely. I, of course, didn't listen to a word of it. I got so ticked off at Hannah and them; I ran away to Ian's house and sobbed into his arms for an half an hour. When I was finished, after he'd comforted me for a little while, I kissed his cheek and told him that he was the best boyfriend ever – to which he replied, "Thanks, Nance. You're the best friend I've ever had – boys or girls!"
I, of course, was devastated at the discovery that my supposed future husband only regarded me as a friend. I found out that he wrote love notes to all his friends – to him, that was a mark of good friendship, not relationship. He even wrote such love notes to his sister! Ian was just a slightly weird kid with way too much romantic passion in his soul.
I told Marty about it, and she was rightly furious for me. She marched right over to Ian Riggs' house and beat the crap out of him. Ian lay crying on his front porch for much longer than I'd been crying in his arms. Still, thinking about the look on his face and his pathetic stance was highly comical to me.
When I was done, I wiped my eyes and apologized. "So, Ian," I said, after saying "sorry" a couple of times. "Are you my mysterious date?"
He looked embarrassed. He probably knew what I was laughing about. Seeing him blush made me feel a little sorry about the way I'd just mocked him, and I sat down at a small table and patted the seat across from me. "Go ahead, sit."
He sat, clearly very self-conscious.
"I'm sorry about that, Ian, I have no clue what came over me. You're looking good," I added; an offhand compliment to boost his ego back up to full potential.
"Thanks. You look fantastic," he said appreciatively. Same ol', same ol' – he always was a flattering charmer.
"Thanks very much." I smoothed my pants. "Let's order drinks."
We flagged a barista. I had a frappucino and he had a plain black coffee. That surprised me; Ian was always a little bit of a sissy; a mama's boy, I would never expect him to be able to stomach a drink a strong as plain coffee. He saw the surprise in my face and explained.
"My sophomore year, I had a big impromptu exam. I drank so much coffee to keep awake while cramming that I sort of developed immunity to it. Now the only coffee that has any taste is black."
I nodded. "That's nice. So how are you?"
And so began a fairly long catching-up conversation. Around six-thirty, I checked my watch and realized how time had escaped us. I'd finished my frappucino, and he'd already had his second cup of coffee. He was just finishing an anecdote about the Junior Prom, and so I graciously excused myself. On the way back, I called Bess. This time, she picked up on first ring; she'd probably been anxiously waiting by her phone to get the 411 immediately.
"So?"
she chirped excitedly.
"Ian Riggs?!" I exclaimed. "I mean,
he's a nice guy and all, but you do realize that I commissioned a
sophomore girl to beat him up in his own home? It was so awkward to
face him again!"
"Ian Riggs," Bess repeated dubiously. "I did not set you up with Ian Riggs!"
Ooh… cliffhanger. Tell me how you liked it.
You'll see who the date was REALLY supposed to be with in the next chapter, so don't worry!
Much
AnOxymoron
p.s. I will try to update ASAP. Unless you'd rather I not…