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Through the week, Michael continuously asked Derek where they would go Saturday—for their first date. He would always reply, "It's a surprise."
How cliché.
Now, it's Saturday, 7:00 pm. Just a few minutes before Derek would pick her up for her first date. Not just with Derek, but with anyone. You see, Michael has always been known as the nerd, the geek throughout her whole school. Not exactly qualities looked for in a girlfriend.
Michael was in a simple black dress—one of her signature colors—black flats, and a completely make-up-free face. Michael never like make-up. She could never do it right and she hated how it felt on her face.
Michael sat on her living room sofa, staring at her fiddling fingers. Saying she was nervous was an understatement. Her anxiety wasn't new whatsoever, but it was reigning high at the moment. She jumped when there was a pounding on her door. Michael stood and quickly walked to it, opening it to be greeted by a very handsome Derek Hale, clad in simple dark-wash jeans and a grey baseball tee.
Derek stared at her, mouth agape, eyes wide as saucers. His stare made the girl slightly panic. "Oh, am I over dressed? You never told me where we were going, so I didn't—"
Derek cut her off quickly, using hand motions, "—No! No! Um, you look. . .you look beautiful, Michael."
Michael blushed, looking towards the ground, "Uh, thanks, Derek. You look nice, too."
Derek stood there for a moment, just smiling at her. He was kind of shocked when she said yes to the date. I mean, how could a girl like her like a guy like him? "Oh, uh, lets go."
Michael nodded and walked completely out the door, locking it behind her. Luckily, Derek had borrowed his mother's car—with her permission, of course.
They drove in silence, soft music playing in the background. The silence wasn't awkward, it was actually moderately comfortable. Derek had even gained the courage to hold her hand over the stick shift, lacing his smooth fingers through her course, calloused ones. Michael's hands were rough only from her constant note taking. She would write them in class in a scratch notebook, only to rewrite them nicely in her official notebook. Derek's hands should be as equally calloused from playing basketball so often, but because of his werewolf-y-ness, they would heal, and stay perfectly smooth.
Soon, Derek passed the sign that said "Now leaving Beacon Hills," effectively spiking Michael's curiousness. "Derek, where are we going?"
