Seeing Shane Gray ✓

thirty five | dorky

November 30

*.*.*.*.*.*

Leaving my warm bedroom and walking through my eerily quiet house, I make it out into the dark and chilly night. Shane's blue navigator stands along the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of the street light that flashes off its polished hood. I hug myself, burying my hands in my armpits and hoping whatever Shane has to tell me isn't worrying. I don't know what to expect from him anymore.

Like last time, I pull open the passenger door and jump into the seat, closing the door behind me. Unlike last time, the inside of the car is dimly lit by the combined light from the lamppost and the full moon sailing leisurely across the black sky.

As soon as my eyes meet Shane's tired one, he smiles faintly.

"Happy birthday," he says.

I stare at him. "What?" I gasp.

He grins, letting out a self-conscious and husky laugh. Color rises in his cheeks as he scratches his temple and smiles sheepishly at me.

"How did you know?" I ask, still caught off guard.

"Sophomore year," he readily answers. "You and your brother threw this huge party at school and he invited everyone. I came too, hoping I'd get to talk to you. You didn't even notice."

I blink, unable to believe what I'm hearing. Not only is it highly surprising that Shane remembers my birthday -- and a party Carter and I threw two years ago -- but I'm dumbfounded that he came to it so he could get my attention. It's unbelievable to me, the confident and charming Shane Gray trying to catch the eye of oblivious ol' me who automatically assumed that he'd been there because he liked parties and didn't want to let anyone down by refusing to accept an invite.

His confession blows my mind.

"I couldn't come last year because Mom and Dad didn't let me but ... I got you something," he blurts out, popping open the dashboard and pulling out a rectangular box. He holds it out to me and I notice how stiff he is, seeming almost awkward.

Taking it from him, I open the box and look away from Shane at last.

"Wow, thanks for ... a pen," I say, frowning in confusion.

"It's not just any pen," Shane says quickly, leaning forward and taking the box from me. "It's an insulin pen."

I lift my gaze to his face and see childish excitement mingling with awkward hesitance.

"You know, how you said you don't like needles?" he asks.

"This is a needle too, Shane," I point out just to spite him.

"Yeah, but it doesn't look like one," Shane argues, trying to convince me of his logic. "It's like a pen and looks like a pen even though it's a needle. You know, so it kind of like fools the brain into thinking it's not a needle. And you don't have to fill it up every time or dispose of it after every injection. And you can carry it around in your pocket and nobody will know it's not a pen."

Shane's wide eyes are hopeful as the corners of his lips tilt upward to give me a cheesy smile. It's so incredibly adorable that I can't help but laugh.

"You're such a dork, Shane," I tell him.

Shane snorts. "Well, you know ..." He shrugs, beaming. "I wanted to get you something nice or romantic or something but ... I saw this and I liked it and I thought it would be something nobody else would think of getting you so ... I don't care if it's dorky, okay? I don't mind being a dork."

His argument is weak as hell but he's cute and I can't help but smile like a creep at him as he rambles on, telling me the specifications of the weird-looking pen and how it's clearly better than syringes because it doesn't look like a needle per se. Sitting next to Shane, I suddenly don't even care how he stumbled in front of his mom yesterday, telling her I'm not his girlfriend or anything.