...[CHAPTER 10].................

It’s true what they say — time really does fly when you’re having fun. I can hardly believe a whole week has passed since Harris and I have been a couple. It seems like a few moments or maybe a day, but not a week.

Even the Friday night football game goes by too quickly. It’s an away game and I manage to snag a ride with Libby, and throughout the game I keep my eyes on Harris and a couple of times I actually pray that he doesn’t get hurt. I can’t believe I’m praying since I thought I gave that up, but I suppose love makes us do strange things.

Then, even though our team wins, I feel sad when the final buzzer goes off and the game is over. Oh, I don’t show it. But knowing that Harris will be swept away by his parents as soon as he showers and changes from his uniform makes me blue. I want to be selfish with him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Libby asks as her mom drives us to Wet Willie’s.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re moping over Harris, aren’t you?” she teases.

“No, I’m not. I understand that he needs to go to his brother’s wedding. No big deal.”

“Harris’s brother is getting married?” Libby’s mom asks.

“Yes,” I tell her. “Tomorrow. In San Francisco.”

She makes some parental comments about how just yesterday Leo was in diapers, and Libby and I exchange glances. I try to act cheerful at Wet Willie’s and I remind myself I have a really great boyfriend who is taking me out tomorrow night, but it’s not easy. I’ve never been a real social person, and without Harris to keep things going, I feel a little lost.

“What, no boyfriend to make out with in the parking lot?” Buck teases me as I’m going to the ladies’ room.

I make a face at him. “Not tonight, Uncle Buck.”

He laughs. “Well, I’m happy to step in for your missing man, Haley.”

“Thanks anyway, but the idea of kissing Uncle Buck is more than a little disturbing.” I can hear others laughing at this as I go into the restroom, and I think maybe I can learn to pull this off on my own. Still, I wish Harris were here.

When I come out of the stall, Emery is standing in front of the tiny mirror applying lip gloss. “Oh, hello,” she says coolly. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Uh-huh.” I keep my eyes down as I wash my hands.

“Harris is at Leo’s wedding?”

I nod, then dry my hands.

“Yes, I was invited too.”

I look up. “You were?”

She nods, slipping the tube of gloss into her bag. “Julie and I were good friends. In fact, she’ll probably be disappointed I didn’t go.”

“Oh …”

“But under the circumstances, well, it didn’t seem right.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“But I’m surprised Harris didn’t take you.” She’s looking intently at me now, like she’s trying to figure me out. “Or maybe you didn’t want to go with him.”

I toss the paper towel into the trash and just shrug. “Harris and I have only been together a week. It seems a little premature to be going to a wedding together, don’t you think?”

She nods and smiles. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Then she turns and leaves the restroom.

I don’t know why this irritates me so much, but it does. It’s like Emery is the prickly pin, always on hand to burst my happy bubble. But I won’t let her. What Harris and I have, she cannot take away. I know it.

Still, after I’m home I wonder, did Emery write that mean letter? Is she trying to scare me away from Harris? It’s obvious she wants him back. Why wouldn’t she? But it just doesn’t seem like her style to write an anonymous letter. I suspect if Emery had something to say, she’d say it (sweetly) right to my face. She’d be smiling and acting concerned for me when in reality she’d just be concerned for her image. Emery wouldn’t want to risk her reputation as the nicest girl in school, not just one week before homecoming queen elections.

……….

On Saturday, I don’t feel much like doing anything. Dad even invites me to play racquetball with him, but I decline.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks.

“Sure, I’m fine. But I do have some homework to catch up on.”

“They sure pile it on these days — lots more than back when I was in school.”

“Back in the dark ages,” I tease.

He nods. “But a little fresh air and exercise is good for the brain, Haley. You sure I can’t talk you into it?”

“Tempting, but I’ll take a rain check.” I’m fully aware that my lack of interest is due to only one thing. I feel like I’m on pins and needles waiting to hear from Harris, hoping he’ll text me something about the wedding or send a photo — anything.

But the day slowly passes and I hear nothing. It’s after five and I’m not sure if I should even get ready for our date or not. I’m sitting in the living room, flipping through the channels on TV, when Dad comes out neatly dressed.

“I’m taking Estelle to a play tonight.” He adjusts his tie. “She’s had tickets for weeks.”

“Sounds nice.” I force a smile.

“I’d invite you to join us except the thing is sold out.” He chuckles. “I’d gladly let you go in my place, but Estelle would throw a fit.”

“No, Dad. I don’t want to go in your place. Besides, I think I have a date tonight.”

“Really?” He looks relieved. “With Harris?”

I nod and smile.

“He seems like a very nice young man, Haley.”

“He had to go to his brother’s wedding this morning, over in San Francisco. Hopefully he’ll get home in time to make our date.”

Dad glances at his watch. “Well, the night’s still young. But our play’s in Fresno and I promised Estelle we’d have drinks first, so I better get moving.”

“Have fun, Dad.”

“You, too. And I expect it’ll be another late night for me. We have reservations for a late dinner after the play.”

“Well, then I won’t wait up for you.” I wink like this is a joke.

He laughs. “Good, I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Shortly after Dad leaves and to my huge relief, Harris calls. “We just got home, but I made a reservation for seven. Does that work for you?”

“Sounds great!” I am dancing around the living room as I say this. I can’t believe he made a reservation. Not only is this a real date, it’s a real date with a reservation.

“I’ll be by a little before seven then, okay?”

“Perfect.” As soon as I hang up, I start scrambling. I want to look absolutely perfect tonight, and I think I know exactly what I’ll wear. Estelle talked me into getting a dress at the Gap and it really looks great on me. At first I balked because I’m just not a dress sort of girl. But she urged me to try on what she called “a little black dress,” saying it was something every girl needed in her wardrobe.

I still didn’t get why it was such a big deal — besides, the black dress looked kind of boring on the hanger. However, when I tried it on, I had to admit it looked pretty hot. Then when Estelle mentioned how guys like seeing a girl in a dress sometimes, I was sold.

I take a shower and do my hair and makeup, then slip into the little black dress, which fits me perfectly, and look in the mirror. It’s very sophisticated and sexy looking (in an understated and classic way), but the coolest part is that it makes me look older. Harris is almost eighteen, which sounds very grownup, and I’m only sixteen, which sounds much younger. But to look like this — I do a spin to see the back of the dress — well, I could probably pass for twenty.

“Wow,” Harris says when I open the door, letting him into the condo. “You look awesome, Haley.”

“Thanks.” I make what I think is a coquettish smile. It’s something I’ve read about and means something like flirty. “You look nice too.”

“It felt good to get out of that monkey suit,” he says as we go down to the parking lot. “If I ever get married, it’ll be on a beach somewhere and we won’t even wear shoes.”

My heart skips a beat over how he just said “we won’t wear shoes,” as if he’s planning in the same direction as me. “A shoeless wedding sounds like fun. I think if I ever get married, I’d like to do it in Hawaii.”

He nods. “Yeah, like Maui. I went there once with my family; it was great.” As he drives, Harris tells me more about Maui. He talks about snorkeling and surfing and sailboats, and the whole while I am imagining a wonderful honeymoon with him on that romantic island.

He pulls into a steakhouse parking lot and I feel a little disappointed. This definitely would not be my first choice for a special date. But once we’re inside, I realize it’s a much more romantic place than I expected. White cloths on the tables, flickering candlelight, a fireplace, soft music. It’s like something right out of an old movie and I love it.

“Great place,” I tell him after we’re seated.

“My parents used to love this place.” He unfolds his linen napkin, setting it on his lap like someone trained him well. At first I suspect his mom … then I wonder about Emery. She has fairly impeccable manners. However, I’m not going there.

“What do you mean used to?” I follow his lead with my own napkin.

“They don’t go out much anymore.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I think they’re going through some marriage stuff.”

I nod. “Oh … I know how that goes.”

“I don’t think they’ll divorce or anything. But they don’t seem to like each other as much as they used to. I guess that’s what it’s like to get old.” He laughs.

I consider telling him that my dad and Estelle don’t seem to have that problem, but talking about a parent’s love life just feels like a downer, so I change the subject. “So how was the wedding and ushering little old ladies down the aisle?”

“It was okay.” He takes a sip of water. “I never tripped or anything.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure your brother was relieved.”

“I think he was relieved just to get the whole thing over with.” Now he goes on again about how silly formal weddings are. And although I don’t agree with him on all of this (I’ve always dreamed of wearing a white lace dress and carrying delicate white rosebuds), I pretend that I understand his sentiments. Also, I imagine we’re discussing our own wedding, which sends shivers of joy up and down my spine. I can’t believe this is my life — sitting here with Harris, being in love … it’s magical.

There’s a lull in the conversation and I’m surprised no one has taken our order yet, but the place is pretty busy. Besides, why would I want to rush this evening when everything is absolutely perfect? “So how is your guitar playing coming along?” I ask. “Or have you been too busy to practice?”

“I’ve been practicing. Having that lesson with you makes me feel like I got over the hump, you know, the learning curve. Like I can sit down and work on stuff by myself now.”

I frown. “Meaning you don’t need any more lessons?”

He shakes his head. “No, not at all. I still have a lot to learn.” He makes a mischievous grin. “And maybe you do too.”

“About what?”

He just shrugs, and finally the waiter arrives and takes our drink orders. I go with my usual Coke and Harris orders the same. “I wish we were old enough to order something stronger,” he tells me after the waiter leaves.

“Oh … ?” I try not to look too surprised.

He nods. “But I have something for later.”

I divert my gaze to the menu. I’m trying not to react to this news, but I feel uncomfortable about it. I didn’t realize Harris drank alcohol. I thought athletes got in trouble for that sort of thing. Don’t they do some kind of testing? However, I try not to look flustered as I skim over the menu, trying to decide what to order.

Suddenly it occurs to me that the meals are not cheap here. Not like fish and chips. And I have no idea what kind of budget Harris might be on tonight. Most of his friends act like they’re not too concerned with money, and I suspect their parents are fairly generous. But I’m not really sure about Harris’s financial situation. He does have his own car — at least I think it’s his — but, seriously, how does a girl know what to order?

“Is there anything you recommend?” I hope this isn’t too obvious.

“All of their steaks are good.”

“But are they huge?”

He considers this. “Yeah, they’re pretty big. You might want something like the petite sirloin. My mom used to get that.”

I nod. “Sounds good.”

So when the waiter returns, I order the petite sirloin with a salad and Harris goes for a New York strip and the works. I am relieved — money must not be a big concern tonight.

“I feel like this is some kind of celebration,” I say as I sip my soda.

“It is. We are celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“Us.” He holds up his soda glass. “Here’s to us!”

“To us.” I clink my glass against his.

Our dinner is served and I’m not sure if it’s just me, but everything is absolutely perfect. If violins came and played at our table, I wouldn’t even be a bit surprised. That doesn’t happen but as we’re splitting double Dutch chocolate cake for dessert, I feel myself getting lost in Harris’s blue eyes. I truly can’t imagine a better evening — and I have a good imagination!

After dinner Harris drives us to the city park, where we walk all the way around the small manmade lake. While watching the sun setting, I tell him about my favorite places in Oregon and he promises me we’ll go there together someday. I feel like I’m truly in heaven. Really, how could a place in the clouds be any better than right here with Harris?

Finally it’s too dark to see much and we get back into the car. “I brought my guitar,” he tells me as he drives toward home. “I thought maybe I could come up to your place and we could play some more songs together.”

“I … uh … I’m not sure,” I say uncomfortably. I hadn’t counted on this, and the last time I had Harris over, things got a little out of hand. “I, uh, I don’t know exactly when my dad will be home.” Okay, that’s partially true.

“Does it matter?” He laughs. “I mean, I’m not really good yet, but my playing shouldn’t hurt his ears too much.”

Of course, that wasn’t what I meant, but I laugh and say it doesn’t matter. Then I tell him how it was my dad who originally got me hooked on the guitar. “He plays too. In fact, if he gets home while you’re still there, we could have a little jam session.”

“Cool.”

Of course, when we get there, Dad is not home. I don’t expect he’ll be home before midnight. Maybe later. Harris seems fine with my absentee parent, and when he unzips his guitar case, he removes what looks like a bottle in a brown paper bag. “Can I mix you a drink?” he asks with a lopsided grin.

“I, uh, I don’t know.” I feel nervous now. How am I supposed to handle this? I know what my mother would say — something like “get thee behind me, Satan!” — but what do normal people do in this situation? I don’t drink and I don’t think minors should drink.

“Come on,” he urges me. “I’ll just make you a small drink so you can try it. You don’t even have to drink it if you don’t like it. Okay?”

I nod hesitantly. “Okay.”

I go into the living room, nervously pacing. What would my dad say if he walked in right now? Would he be cool? Or would he turn into my mom? It’s not likely I’ll find out tonight.

“Here you go.” Harris hands me what looks like an innocent glass of Coke on the rocks. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” I take a cautious sip and am surprised that it doesn’t taste much different than regular Coke. Sweeter and tangier and a little bit like medicine — a regular Coke would be better. But, really, this isn’t too bad.

Harris and I sit down and play a few songs, and after a while he fills our glasses again. And eventually he stops playing and just listens to me as I finish up an old Beatles song, “Let It Be.” While I’m playing, he comes over and starts massaging my neck … and then I realize he’s kissing my neck … and soon I forget all about my guitar.