Chapter Three: An Unsatisfying End (or not?)

All week I was crazy with anticipation and nervousness. I couldn't really concentrate in school, my notes were for once in my perfect life, a mess, and all because of a guy. Amazing to think a guy could make me feel this much inside.

The week passed by in a whirlwind of a blur, and before I knew it, it was Saturday night and I was hearing the honk of Abigail's mom's car.

"Bye, Mom," I called giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Don't stay out too late."

"We'll be home before 2," I said, teasing.

My mom smiled. "Bye, have a good time."

If only you knew, I thought as the door flapped closed behind me and I squeezed into Abigail's minivan.

"Hey guys."

"Hello," and "Hey," They (Yifat was there too of course) answered, obvious meaning in their eyes.

We were let off just outside and we rounded the steps into the café. We walked inside, leaving the chilly September night air behind us. Immediately I spotted him, zeroing in on the beautiful guy with the windswept auburn hair in the two-seater table in the back. I waved and he looked up with a genuine smile.

"See ya guys later. We'll split here. Come get me when you're leaving."

They both just grinned. I left them, those kidders, and walked over to him in the back.

"Hey," I said breathlessly, slipping into the seat opposite him.

"I was beginning to think you had ditched," he said teasingly.

"Huh?" I looked at my watch and smiled sheepishly. It was 7:52. "Sorry."

"It's fine." His face softened. "Want to order?"

"Yeah, sure."

"What do you want? I'll go up to the counter and order for us."

What a gentleman. That was an inconspicuous way of letting me know he'd be paying. How sweet. No male other than my dad had ever taken the bill.

"If you insist," implying at the paying.

"I do," he answered, understanding.

I grinned. "Okay, I'll have a peanut butter milkshake." My safe drink, I have it every time and I didnt want to risk trying something new on my first date.

"Sure," he said and stepped in line at the cash register.

I heard giggles and turned my head. There were Yifat and Abigail. They had already ordered and were sipping cold milkshakes, eyes fixed on me and Michael. They were laughing. I felt my face grow hot and fiddled with a pen and a napkin, making little doodles.

Michael came back with my peanut butter milkshake in one hand and a ... a drink I couldn't place in the other. In his mouth were two straws and it all looked so comical, I had to laugh. He grinned and set down the shakes and straws.

"They have a new drink," he raised his cup, "cookies and cream with espresso."

"Sounds good. I'll have to remember that for the next time."

We sat down to sip our shakes when we heard a loud chorus of laughter. We both saw Abigail and Yifat, cracking up, staring at us.

I winced, embarrassed "I'm sorry, my friends."

He chuckled. "Why don't we move outside?"

"Good idea," I said gratefully.

We sat down outside at one of the four little tables in the front of the café.

He pulled out my chair for me to sit. I was delighted and whispered a thanks.

"So," he said, lips around his straw. "I see you once at a friend of my friend's bat mitzvah, and then find myself bumping into you, and wanting to, all over. You mystify me. I don't know what it is, but you've got me."

I flushed, a truly horrible characteristic of mine of my face to completely redden so easily, but I was also pleased and surprised. "Michael, how old are you?"

"You think that really matters?" his face fallen.

I sighed. "Michael, I'm thirteen, almost fourteen. I'm too young to be thinking of relationships seriously. While you must be seventeen. What could you possibly see in me?"

"Well, I'm not seventeen."

I frowned. "Then how old are you?"

"You want the truth."

"What else would I want? For you to lie?"

"Well, then, I'm 432." He said, his face completely straight.

I rolled my eyes, frustrated.

"Just kidding. Seriously? I'm sixteen."

"Still," I replied. "If this is a joke, it's not the least bit humorous. You're sixteen, three years older than me."

"Julia, when I first saw you at the bat mitzvah, you were chatting with your friends, having the times of your lives it seemed. I was there with an elderly-ish woman – tons of fun, right? No. When I was behind you in the line and I spilled ketchup on you, you didn't seem to care. When I talked to you, you were intelligent, and witty, and mature. You don't seem thirteen going on fourteen, you act older. You attract me, and I'm not the type of person who will readily admit feelings, but with you, I'm so comfortable, I can. When I'm around you, all my troubles seem meaningless compared to making you happy."

Michael had this annoying voice way of speaking that you could listen to for days, it was like honey, captivating, making you believe his words. Annoying because the part of my brain not affected by his voice was reminding me how cliche and romantic but untrue his words were. But that was only the smallest part of my brain. The other part, wanted to be enchanted by his words, listen solely to him, and believe what he was saying. And just as I was about to open my mouth, we heard footsteps and giggling.

We both looked up. It was Abigail and Yifat, bags swinging from their arms. They were prepared to leave.

"Ummm, Jule? You ready?"

Michael looked pleadingly at me one last time.

I wanted to believe him, I really did, but the spell was broken. I had to go.

"I-I gotta go," I said apologectaly to his look, not wanting to leave as much as I had to.

I picked up my milkshake (from which until now I hadn't realized I had not drank at all), slung my bag over one shoulder, and stood up, Michael sitting there forlornly.

All the way home, all I could think of was Michael. Yifat and Abigail tried "to get the juicy details out," but I wouldn't answer. I was upset. I liked Michael (it had been starting to be something more than like), and he seemed to really like me, but he was so much older than I, not to mention the fact I didn't know a thing about him other than a screen name.

Mrs. Thomas dropped me off at my house where I fumbled with my key and eventually let myself in. My mother saw how exhausted and upset I was and was courteous enough not to ask how it had been. I plopped onto my bed and fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.