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Nearing the school gates after school, Skye heard someone shout her name. Turning, she saw Brent pushing towards her through the milling students.
“Hey. Cool book. Your mum’s book, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I liked the illustrations. I... I wanna be a graphic artist. I’m putting a portfolio together for art school. I’ve got a graphic novel I’m working on for it.”
“Oh. Cool.” She meant it. Doing something like that when she left school would be fun.
Brent looked pleased. “Yeah, so, there’s this exhibition... It’s at Portfolio Gallery on High Street. Do you know it?”
“Yeah, I do.” She and Morgan had spent an hour there on Morgan’s last visit to the city.
“It’s an illustrations exhibition, from books and graphic novels. The originals, framed and that. I thought, you know, you might like to go.” He looked self-conscious.
“Definitely! How long is it on for?”
“Today’s the last day. They close at six.”
“Wow, I better find a bus home quick. I should be able to change and make it there in time.”
“Oh. I could...take you?” He looked painfully embarrassed.
“Um...okay. Thanks. My house is only about ten minutes by car, but ages by bus, once it shows up. And all the stops between here and home...” She was babbling. She couldn’t read his expression, and an unfamiliar tension had arisen, making her feel like an idiot. What was she missing?
“No problem. It’s this way,” he turned, nodding towards the student car park. At his car, he shovelled belongings off the front seat into the back, mumbling apologies for the mess. It didn’t take long to reach her house, which she was grateful for. The silence was deafening, even with the car stereo on. Being in the car of a boy she’d only spoken to for the first time yesterday, completely nonplussed her, and he seemed just as tongue-tied.
“Well, thanks for the lift,” she said politely when the car stopped outside her house.
“Oh. Well. I can take you to the exhibition too. I mean, I’m going anyway, so... Still quicker than the bus, right?” His cheeks had reddened, and she felt more certain than ever that she’d missed a vital step somewhere in their conversation.
“Oh. Okay. Sure. That would be great. Thanks.” Was she supposed to invite him in? “I’ll just get changed and...tell my dad...” He looked happier at her response, and reached for a book in the back seat, she assumed to read while he waited. She hurried up the path and into the house.
“Dad?”
“In here,” he called from his study. He was at his computer, and turned, smiling when she entered the room. “Hi Honey. Good day at school?”
“Yep. Hey...is it okay if I go to an exhibition? At Portfolio?”
“What, now?” he checked the clock. “As long as you’re back for dinner. Do you need a lift?” She could see him calculating the interruption to his writing, clicking ‘save’ on his document, preparing to come with her.
“No, it’s okay. I’ve got a ride. I’m going with a...a friend.”
“You are?” He looked so pleased she wondered if he wasn’t as oblivious to her isolated existence as she’d assumed. “Who is she?”
“It’s a guy from my art class. Brent.” Her father’s eyebrows rose, and she felt her face heat. “He’s just a friend.” Barely.
It mortified her when he scooted his chair closer to the window and peered out to where Brent waited in his car.
“You’ve got a date?”
She couldn’t tell if he sounded incredulous or pleased. Or worried. “Of course not. It’s just a...he just...” A date?
“He asked you to go to this exhibition with him?”
“He told me it was on and wondered if I wanted to go.”
“Right. Go...with him. And he’s here, waiting to take you to it. That’s called a date.”
“No...” she tried to replay the exact conversation in her head but couldn’t because her brain was too busy throwing Brent’s increasingly embarrassed and confused expressions back into her consciousness. “Aaaggghh,” she groaned softly, closing her eyes and sagging. “It’s a date. I’m so dumb! No wonder he looked so thrown when I said I’d catch the bus.”
Her dad started laughing. Lines of sadness and stress vanished from his face, and her chest hurt at the happiness that rushed into her seeing it. There he was: Dad. She had missed him so much. She couldn’t help laughing with him.
“What’s this non-date’s name?”
“Brent.”
“You better not keep Brent waiting,” he smiled. “Or should I insist on meeting him?”
“No! Then he’ll really think it’s –”
“A date,” he laughed again. “Okay. So, he’s in your class at school, yes?”
She nodded, mortification gripping her again as her dad became more dad-like.
“And it’s an exhibition at Portfolio, did you say? That’s right in the city. Do you plan on going out to dinner?
The idea of dinner with Brent horrified her. “No!” Her father’s smile was too wide to make her feel less embarrassed. “It’ll just be the exhibition, then home again.”
Her father looked at the clock again. “I can hold off on dinner. If he wants to take you for coffee, you can –”
But she was already escaping upstairs and called over her shoulder, “Not, that’s okay. I won’t be long. Just getting changed.” She disappeared into her bedroom to the sound of her dad’s faint laughter. Regardless of the humiliation, she couldn’t feel anything other than delighted about his reaction. He was still there behind the sadness. She hoped he would stay. Happy Dad was someone she needed.
