Kat pulls into our driveway at eight thirty in her dad's car. Although dinosaur on wheels is a much more appropriate term for what it is. It's a vomit colored van and it's got to be at least thiry five years old. Need I go into more detail on the crapiness of this thing? But anyway, that isn't especially important. I get in the car and am greeted by Kat singing along to an Elton John song at the top of her lungs.

I don't even bother to say anything. In-car karaoke is a normal thing for her. Yeah, that's right. I have to put up with shit like this on a regular basis. But she's always been a good friend to me, so I deal with it. Just like she deals with my often over dramatic laments on being a vampire. Although, to be perfectly honest, they still aren't as bad as her singing.

...

We take a ferry across the Hudson River and are in Brooklyn shortly thereafter. It's around nine, and the traffic isn't too bad for once. In twenty minutes, we've reached our destination. Alison is standing outside the building. She waves at us enthusiastically. We follow her inside, where the air reeks of booze and sweat. The band is already onstage, playing a half assed cover of a Radiohead song. But none of this fully registers with me, because Alison has brought someone over with her, and is shouting over the music that it's her brother, Matthew. And Jesus Leroy Christ, that boy is hot. Seriously, I'm in love the moment I see him. He smiles shyly and I nearly pounce on him.

Alison and Katyusha leave us to get closer to the stage. Fuckfuckfuck. This is not good. Not because I don't want to be around him, oh no, I most certainly want to be around him. But not alone. Because I know that if I talk to him one on one, there's a much greater chance that I'll make myself look like a total idiot. I don't know what to say, so I start by introducing myself.

"What? I can't hear you!"

I repeat what I'd said, but louder.

"Cool. Hey, do you want to go outside? It'll be easier for us to talk."

Like I said, I really don't want to be alone with him, since I know I'll fuck it up. But I also don't want to seem like a prick, so I nod, and we step out into the chilly night air.

"So you're a friend of Alison's?"

"Um, not really. But Kat is. Sort of. I don't know. I just got dragged along."

He laughs a little. "So did I." Okay, you're doing good so far. Just stay calm and you'll be fine. I tell myself this, but trying to stay calm is useless; I'm nervous as hell. I don't really have much in the way of skills when it comes to talking to new people in general, but the fact that I'm attracted to Matthew makes the problem a thousand times worse than it already is.

"Where are you from? I couldn't help but notice the accent." Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Is he trying to say he likes my accent? Or is he just asking a question?

"Um, the Netherlands. You?"

"Canada. Vancouver, to be specific. When did you move to Hoboken?"

"Seven years ago. Do you like it there so far?" Apparently, we're playing twenty questions or something. I don't know why, but it's slightly easier to talk to him this way.

"Eh, it's not so bad. I miss my friends, though. Do I make you nervous?"

"No," I lie. Fortunately, he buys it. "why? Do I make you nervous?"

He shakes his head. "I was just wondering. Uh, let's see. How'd you get your scar?"

I know exactly which one he's talking about. It's on my forehead, above my left eye, about an inch and a half long. "Crashed my bike into a tree when I was little."

"You know, this is nice. I like talking to you. Normally I'm really shy and everything, but I feel really comfortable around you for whatever reason."

Before I can say anything to this, Alison comes out.

"Yo, Mattie, we have to go home." I look at my watch, and am surprised to find that quite a bit of time has passed. Which is weird, because it doesn't seem like we've been out here all that long.

"Okay, I'll be there in a minute." Matthew tells her, and she nods and heads to their car. "Quick, think of one last question to ask me." I can only come up with one thing, but I'm not sure I've got the balls to say it. Finally, though, I do.

"Can I have your number?"

He blushes bright red; it's fucking adorable. "Y-yes. Got a pen?"

Luckily, I do, and I hand it to him. He pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, smooths it out, and writes out the digits, then hands it to me.

"Matthew!" Alison calls, sounding impatient.

"I'd better get going. See you around?"

"Definitely."