I suppose I've kept you waiting long enough for an update. Sorry, I was away on vacation but you were all still on my mind! Thanks for bearing with me.

It was uncomfortable at best. There were many abrupt silences that outnumbered the instances of normal conversation, the non-awkward interactions few and far between. When one would find nothing more to say, they both racked their brains for something to overpower the silence, blurting out whatever they could at the same time, reverting to the "you go," "no you go," method that was about as smooth as a pogo stick on a potholed road. This happened during the car ride to the restaurant, during the dinner itself, driving to the theater, and up until the moment the lights went down for the movie. For the first time that night, Beca sighed in relief for finally receiving an excuse to be silent as the movie started to play. She normally disliked movies, but she was hoping this one would be as long as Titanic for optimum no-talk pressure. Jesse was terribly nervous because he wanted to impress "his girl," where Beca was just terrible at one-on-one social situations in general. This was not an equation for a good first date.

The setup was practically a blind date, after all. Beca frequently wondered why he had selected her, out of all BU girls, and sweet Georgia peaches that he could choose , from what she could draw, was a nice boy. The good ol' boy-next-door type that did what his parents asked, never got in trouble. Had good grades, goals that he was supported in, a pretty much worry-free life. A classic rich boy, but without the asshole aspects. He was silly in a way that made her feel bad, apparent in his over-excitement for the movie and his sense of humor. She could tell because Jesse he was unfalteringly upbeat, outstandingly positive, and not easily deterred.

Sounds just like someone else you know, doesn't it?

The boy probably didn't even realize she had agreed to the date out of pity and the ulterior motive of getting her mind off of other people.

Don't you feel like a jerk, using him as a romantic diversion?

She had to admit, it was admirable how much he wanted a successful night. He may not have been as persistent as Noah was for Allie in The Notebook, there was no life-endangering Ferris wheel stunt, but Jesse was adhering to just as difficult a task by patiently listening to Beca list her favorite colors, clothing stores, what type of dog she wanted to own one day while they made their way home. Previously, the conversations had consisted of small talk and common ground- the weather, upcoming graduation, the ICCAs. But running out of similarities was a scary thing. So she transitioned to listing pithy details about herself to stave off any deeper questions that Jesse might throw at her, and she figured that she could keep him at bay if it all remained surface level for the duration of the ride home.

"And that's why aubergine is my favorite color," she concluded, sitting back in the seat. Perhaps that tidbit would tide them over for a couple of minutes. She didn't know of anything else she could have talked about otherwise.

He chuckled instead, no such luck on purchasing silence. "That's interesting. I would have just called it eggplant and been done with it."

"Actually, did you know that eggplant was first named as a color exactly one century ago to this year?"

"No I did not, Ms. Mitchell. You continue to impress me with your varied knowledge of culture, history, and the arts," he said while nodding his head and raising a cheesy imaginary toast to her.

She pretended to "drop the mic" in return, then looked casually out the window as she watched the streetlights passing overhead.

Maybe now he'll stop talking. For once, your useless factoids might have worked.

She was jarred out of her expectation of silence again."I can't believe we haven't talked about it yet!"

"It? What?"

"When you dropped the mic just now, it reminded me of hearing you on the radio!"

She scoffed. "You say 'on the radio' like it is a well-known station. It's just the BU broadcast."

"Who cares! I love your mixes."

For the first time on the date, she actually felt a shred of something happy, a sense of value that applied specifically to her personality.

"Yeah! That's that shit I do like. You really know how to get a party poppin.'"

"Thanks, Swanson. You know, I'm actually trying to be a professional sound engineer/ DJ. My ultimate dream is to move to Los Angeles and produce out there for a record label. Even if I'm only laying down the back tracks, I gotta start somewhere. I think it's what I'm meant to do in life," she said, excited passion seeping into her voice like it always did when she discussed her love of music.

He laughed. Hard. Too hard, actually.

"…What are you laughing at?"

His face was turning red with the laughter. "Oh, just the thought of someone actually trying to do a hobby for a professional career."

"Um… What?"

"Like DJ'ing! Are you trying to tell me that you want to be like P. Diddy?"

Here we go. You tried to avoid the deep talk, but you didn't see this shit coming, did you Mitchell?

He was being serious. The moron next to her was being serious. Everyone in Beca's life knew that music was central to her identity, that her life dream of mixing professionally was one of the only beacons of hope that saw her through the dark times in her past.

"No. Not like P. Diddy. I want to be me, Beca Mitchell. I can't believe you would say something like that."

"What?"

"Why do you think I work so hard at the station, make so many mixes? Why do you think I have an internship at a real production company? A real production company, might I add, that employs real-live adults. Who do the same thing that I want to do for a living." Her sentences were fragmented as she squeezed them out from between clenched teeth. "How dare you even say something like that to me?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender -one trick pony- and tried to brush it off. He was beginning to realize he made a big mistake.

"I didn't mean to offend you. I just think that you have so much more going on in your head than what DJ'ing could do for you."

You bet I have more going on in my head. And it has to do with Chloe, not with you.

"What the actual hell is wrong with you? You know, up until this moment, I thought you were okay. I tolerated you and your sweater vest and bowtie combo for the last three and a half hours, put up with your incessant listing of 'director's cut facts' during the movie, and heck I even started to like you a little bit. You almost had me fooled into thinking you were a good guy, but really you're just close-minded and selfish. I tried to ignore those little selfish details of yours, but why should I? Don't you think I noticed how you didn't tip the waiter, or how you carelessly left your popcorn bag on the floor of the movie theater when we left? And now you're insulting my dreams and my being. I don't have any place for people like you in my life. Stop the car."

"Wha- Becs. Wait. You can't be like that."

"Don't you call me Becs. Goodbye, Jesse." Beca stepped out of the car, slamming the door and strutting off in the opposite direction. Jesse's Prius idled on the curb, a distance widening between the two with every empowered step she took. They were almost a mile off of campus and she needed to walk back to the Bellas house. It was a potentially dangerous setting for a small 5'4" college girl like herself to be in as it was dark and nearly midnight, but no one would dare cross the path of this scorned woman now.

What an a-hole. You really almost started to like him?

She had, actually. Beca told herself that it would be good to focus on someone else other than the redhead that had been bouncing around her mind for the last week, and Jesse was just the opportunity she needed for that. She had tried with him, genuinely made an attempt to be more appealing, forcing herself to keep her snarky comments to herself during the date, stifling the off-putting parts of her personality when she wasn't being too awkward (the awkwardness came naturally, after all, there was no pretending there). But it was as if Jesse was playing Barbie and Ken, trying to make them go on a pretty little plastic date under his picture perfect standards. But Beca was never one to be sorted into a category neatly because she was always in the space between. Like the odd shape in the crossover of a Venn Diagram, the bit that made the colors blend. Why had she tried to fit neatly for him, be anything other than herself?

Beca reached up to let down the quaint bun that she had worn for the date, shaking out her brunette locks and throwing them over her shoulder. Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" would have been an accurate audio track, had this been a movie. She smiled to herself, feeling a release of pressure.

With every step, Beca gained traction in knowing what her next action had to be. After the awkward and frustrating night with a boy she had been insulted by, she could see clearly now that it was all building up to this. Accepting the date was the mechanism she used to deny her feelings for Chloe. She thought that if she could use the boy to take her mind off of her, give him a chance, maybe her feelings for her friend would disappear. All day she had deep-down regretted agreeing to the date because it put distance between her and the older girl. But now she could see that that's what she needed to give her the push. Jesse was the energy used to rip the cord of the lawnmower to get it all started, and now she was ready to roar.

For once, the voice in her head wasn't self-deprecating. Her feet had carried her back to the white-trimmed beige Bellas' house, and her mind was on board with her bodily actions.

It's time to go get who you want.