How to End It

It's not the date part that is nerve-wracking. You talk about whatever you're doing together (yes, my ravioli is great, thank you) or, if you're lucky enough, you go to a movie and don't even have to talk. Saying goodbye is what makes or breaks it. Do you kiss or not? What if he tries to kiss you when it's the last thing you want to do? Then it's awkward and when someone mentions his name you just want to excuse yourself to your locker to lock yourself in until one of you graduates.

My friend Sabrina set me up on a blind date without warning. When I looked him up on Instagram, I saw Homer Simpson memes and history jokes. She thought it was hilarious that someone who's dated every senior football player would go out on a date with a "lame, Star Wars-loving kid who doesn't stop talking."

She was right. It's like someone turned on Trent's word faucet and forgot to turn it off. But, he wasn't as bad as Sabrina made him out to be.

On the drive back from mini golf, we found out we both like Panic! At the Disco and were singing with the windows down, Trent purposely singing offkey to make me laugh. He banged on the dashboard as I tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel all the way back to his house.

I put the car in park and looked over at him. He had his head back against the seat, catching his breath, then looked over at me, causing his charcoal eyes to reflect the light of the center console screen.

"I talk when I'm nervous," he said, all of a sudden. My heart started beating faster as he spoke. He was so sweet and awkward, different than anyone I've dated before. It intrigued my jock-loving heart. "Which probably doesn't come as a surprise to you."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed." He smiled.

"I was nervous because it's not every day that you go on a date with the most beautiful girl in school." He looks down at his lap, embarrassed.

I reach out and take his hand that was resting in between us. He looks from our hands to me. "You were great, I had a lot of fun, Trent. I'd give you a solid B+."

"A B+? What did I get points off for?" I lean in a little closer with each point I make, my heart beating even faster now, and lower my voice.

"You get an A+ for dressing nicely, A+ for making the girl laugh, but an F for kissing the girl goodnight." I see his gaze flick between both my eyes, as if he were assessing whether I was being serious or not. I felt the pulse in his hand quicken as he took the other to push some hair from my face and tentatively closed the gap between our lips.

Guess I won't be needing to hide in my locker after all.