Totally not proofread lol
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53 – Second Firsts
Maya Sumedh
“So what time is he picking you up?”
I only had to get through a day, but thoughts of Tuesday’s date still made me fluttery. When Zania Mausi posed the above question on Tuesday morning, I looked up from my plateful of scrambled eggs with a stupid grin on my face. I saw Dad roll his eyes over the Boston Herald. Ma was in the shower.
“Um, I don’t know.”
“Because you’re coming with me to yoga today,” Mausi said, pointing her fork at me. “Class is at five.”
I pouted. “No, but –”
“No buts.”
“That’s the spirit,” Dad said, nodding into the newspaper. I threw a napkin at him.
“Tell him he can pick you up from there,” Mausi said, waving her fork dismissively.
“Let me just call him,” I muttered. It was eight in the morning and I didn’t know if he’d be awake because we hung up the phone at like two the previous night. I dialed him anyway.
When he answered, his voice was sleepy and hoarse. (It was a little hot. Or more than a little.)
“What do you want?”
“Good morning,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What time are you picking me up today?”
There was silence for a second and then he muttered, “Fuck. Fuck, fuck.”
“Don’t tell me you forgot.”
Zania Mausi snorted into her cereal. I scowled at her.
“No, I didn’t forget, of course I didn’t forget. Nothing. Just – uh, wait. Just wait.”
“Okay,” I mumbled. There was rustling and silence and then he said “Hello?” again.
“Where are we going?”
“I do– I’m not telling you.”
He didn’t know. I just nodded, smiling to myself.
“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
“Oh,” I mumbled. “I’ll be at yoga then.”
“Then I’ll pick you up from yoga.”
“Luke –”
“No, that’s it. Six thirty. Text me the place.”
“I don’t like you,” I mumbled. Dad muttered, “Yeah right.”
“I don’t like you either,” Luke said cheerily. “So we’re on the same page. Now go away, I have to wake up properly.”
“Screw you,” I whispered into the phone. He laughed.
“Goodbye, darling.”
“Ugh, bye.”
(I subtly tried to ignore the jitters I got when he called me darling, even if it was sarcastic. Or was it?)
“So?” Mausi asked when I cut the call.
I pursed my lips.
“Six-thirty it is.”
YOU ARE READING
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