Terms and Agreements (on hold indefinitely)

The Part with the Not-Date-Date that Feels Like a Date-Date

                                                                               32 

Jenna came home with me after school. She'd insisted. To the point of threats. Ish. She wanted to help me get ready for my "date" with Flynn. I kept telling her it wasn't a date, it was a mutual gathering of two friends, but she wouldn't have it.

"It's a date, Ali, whether you want to admit it or not," she scolded me while applying mascara to my lashes as I sat on my bed. "And this is a good thing. He's actually nice, if you get past his stupidity of putting your name in the Goblet of Fire or whatever."

I groaned, rolling my eyes, only to narrowly escape being stabbed in the retina by the tiny-black-spiky-stick of death while Jenna screeched at me not to move.

"But what if I don't want it to be a date?" I grumbled, barely moving my lips because I was thinking so much about not moving my eyes.

"Ali," Jenna sighed, at last putting away the torture device that spread tar or something onto my eyelashes, "he has put all of the control into your hands. And if you want, I can arrange for Wes and Chase to just 'happen' to be going on a bowling date."

"Maybe have them on stand-by, and I can text you if I want back-up," I told her. The thought of Wes constantly winking at me and trying to bring Flynn and I into couple status through "discreet" seating changes and weird comments wasn't exactly appealing. "Why can't you just come with me?"

"He didn't ask me, did he?" She said, now attacking my lips with a lipstick, "Oh, if only I were in your place, Ali. You don't see how lucky you are."

"What, that the village idiot supposedly has a thing for me? Wow, I am lucky."

"Ugh. There's just no changing your mind, is there, Ali?" Jenna shook her head. "I know you know it deep down. I think you might actually like him, too. A few weeks ago you never would've done something like this."

"He's my friend, Jenna, nothing more." I shot back at her through nearly-closed lips.

"Yeah, and the mermaids attacking those sailors were just seagulls, nesting. Nothing more." She said matter-of-factly, placing the lipstick back in her purse.

"What?"

"You know, in the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean, when the mermaids attacked and Barbossa was like, 'I don't hear anything more than seagulls nesting' when the sailors were screaming and — wait, why am I explaining this to you? You're the reference queen."

"Yeah but that was the most confusing reference ever."

"Whatever."

~

When I first walked in, I didn't see him, but by the time I reached the front desk, Flynn came almost-slipping — even though he was on carpet — up to me in his bowling shoes.

"Hello," he said, grinning and sort of shouting above the '80s music that was pumping through the speakers. "8-1/2, right?"

"What?"

"Your shoes — you're gonna need 8-1/2s, right? Also, I didn't know what kind of pizza you wanted, so I didn't order that yet. Also, I got us the middle lane, which is the best and it's the closest to the jukebox so—"

"You're rambling." I interrupted bluntly.

"Right, sorry." He let out a nervous chuckle, then leaned his elbow onto the front desk before straightening up again and scratching to back of his head.

"And I wear 9s, actually." I told him, and before I knew it, the bored-looking guy behind the desk had slapped a pair of 9s onto the counter beside me. Great service here, apparently.

I mumbled an awkward "thanks" and grabbed the shoes, trying not to think of all the germs that must live within the over-used foot covers, and motioned for Flynn to lead me to the lane. It was hard to tell which one exactly was "the middle one".

He kept babbling about random things until long after I'd finished tying my shoes and getting a decent bowling ball. A part of me thought it was funny, the stupid weird teenage hormones part of me thought it was endearing, but most of me was petrified by the thought — nay, the knowledge — that Jenna was correct. This was a date-date. Otherwise, Mr. Hot Stuff over there wouldn't have been babbling like a bumbling band of baboons.

However, I could keep things from getting...mushy. Flynn knew I'd kill him if he tried something.

"So, you wanna get the pizza now, or start playing first or what?" He was asking as I set my ball on the little rack thing by the lane.

"Let's play a little first, work up a Hobbit-like appetite," I said, stuffing my fingers into the holes and hefting up the bowling ball. "Y'know, because Hobbits are always hungry?"

"Okay," he said, nodding, his ears a little pink. Come think of it, he'd been pink since I'd gotten there, and the color was only just now resigning itself to his ears.

Holy Hannah Abbott. This really was a date-date.

~

I'm trying to get back to writing this story, but I kinda feel like I've lost the flow. Hopefully I can get it back 😋