Chapter Two
Who am I and what am I doing halfway out my bedroom window? My sweater is caught on something and I tug at it, suspended between my mother's rules and the world outside. Just as I'm wondering if this is God's way of telling me to stay in my bedroom and go back to sleep, the stray nail relinquishes its hold on my sweater.
Dave is out there, sitting on the bridge, waiting for me. The moon is round and deep red, adding to the unorthodox evening. It began this afternoon at the diner after Rory and Jess abandoned Dave and me.
"I want to see you before next Friday," Dave said, earnest eyes intense on my face.
"I'm seeing you right now," I said.
"Can you sneak out tonight?"
"Of my house?"
"Yes."
"I don't know," I stammered.
"Can you try?"
If only he wasn't so cute, if only he didn't like me so much, if only I didn't like him so much.
Now I run along the barren streets of Stars Hallow, remembering last night when I was running to return Dave's bible to him.
"Wow, you run really quietly," he had said. Later it made me giggle, but last night I was too anxious to find anything humorous. And 24 hours later, here I am again, running toward him.
He is already sitting on the bridge, jeaned legs swinging. I slow my pace and try to stay in the shadows, taking advantage of the opportunity to observe Dave without him knowing. He looks up at the red moon and begins maneuvering his fingers into the shape of guitar chords. I wonder what song he is thinking of.
A sneeze creeps up on me and discloses my location.
"How long have you been back there?" Dave asks, hand over his heart.
"Not too long," I say.
"What were you waiting for?"
"Nothing. I was just watching."
"Watching me?"
"Yep."
"Trying to find out if I'm a nose picker or anything?"
"Something like that," I say, smiling as I take a seat next to him, our hips touching.
"Well, hi," Dave says, leaning in, kissing me.
"Hi," I say.
"Thanks for sneaking out."
"You're welcome," I say. "It's the least I can do after that elaborate lie you told my mother."
"You're worth it," he says, calloused fingertips touching my cheekbones, sliding through my hair. "It's really thick," he observes.
"Yeah," I say. Not very intelligent sounding, but it's all I can think to say when he's touching me like this.
"And really soft, like silk."
His hands tangle in my hair. Something deep inside my stomach stirs, a feeling that makes me yearn to touch and be touched. I pull him toward me, balance my body against his, explore the shape of his waist as we kiss.
"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever kissed," Dave breathes. "Of course you're the only girl I've ever kissed, so I could be kissing your mom and say the same thing."
"I'm your first kiss?" I ask.
"Yep. Why? Is that surprising?"
"A little."
"Am I your first kiss?" Dave asks, sounding amused.
"You can't tell?" I ask. My hands tremble against his hips. His hands quiver inside my hair. Thank goodness we can blame it on the cold.
Dave just smiles, pulls me up against him.
"I want to talk to you about something," he says. My breath catches. Did I say something wrong? Am I a bad kisser? Is he breaking up with me already?
"What?" I ask. I try to sound nonchalant but my voice comes out in a wavering whisper, causing Dave to laugh.
"If you could only see your face," he laughs. "You could pass for Irish."
"What do you want to talk about?" I insist.
"Lane, lighten up, it's nothing serious."
"Well, then don't use such serious terminology. Everyone knows 'I want to talk to you about something' means you want to talk about something bad. Usually breaking up."
"I didn't mean to scare you, I just really do want to talk to you about something. It's nothing bad," Dave says, grasping my hands with his.
"Okay," I say, reigning control over my heartbeat.
"It's good to know you don't want to break up with me though," he says with a boyish grin.
"Of course not," I say, blushing, lowering my eyelids to our linked fingers. Then I remember that he still has something he wants to talk about. "What did you have to say?" I ask.
"I really want you to meet my parents."
My face freezes. Is he serious? He looks serious, or as serious as Dave is capable of looking with his floppy hair, but he can't be serious. He wants me to meet his parents? His parents who have probably always imagined him with a petite career-oriented girl who could make money while Dave made music. A petite blond career-oriented girl.
"I…I can't," I stumble for words.
"Why not?"
"Because."
"Because why? They would love you."
"No they wouldn't."
"How could they not?" he asks.
I am silent but Dave understands.
"It's different at my house, Lane. Your family has such a strong hold of their roots that being Korean is important to them. My family is Scotch-Irish, English, Polish, and a mishmash of some other stuff. Nationality isn't as big of a deal to us as it is to your family."
I sigh, squeeze his hands.
"I wish I could share you with my family," I say. With Henry, I had no desire to tell my parents about him, too afraid that they would take him away. But Dave is different. Dave is making it clear that he's not going anywhere, that my big, scary Korean family can't shake him away.
"Someday," Dave says. He runs his fingers through my hair again, looks at me like he thinks I'm beautiful.
"Okay," I say, sighing. "I'll meet your parents."
"Good. Now come here."
And he fixes his arms tighter around me and kisses away my logical thoughts.