"I can't remember what happened that night. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions; I mean a complete and utter blackout. Like I wasn't even there. Except... I know I was."
Since the death of her boyfriend six months ago, Morgan Cai...
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Hanna's excitement was infectious. Weirdly, anticipation outweighed my nerves as I descended the stairs of Willard Hall and headed for the parking lot, where Josh and I had agreed to meet.
Her going-out plans had been delayed by over an hour: the time it took for her to turn my closet upside down and pick me out the perfect outfit. It took one incredibly long discussion and countless outfit changes, but eventually we settled on a black-and-white spotted tea dress (hers), with a denim jacket (Devon's, on a third-hand loan after Hanna had already borrowed it), and white sneakers (mine). With no time to do anything drastic to my unruly curls, we left them long and flowing, and I resisted Hanna's attempts to start work on a full face of make-up, because I still wanted to look like myself.
An hour wasn't enough to work a miracle, but overall I was pretty happy.
Now, I headed over to the dark-blue Chevy outside my dorm in a way that felt kind of familiar. Josh leaned over and opened the passenger door for me; he was smiling wider than ever as I stepped up and climbed inside.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I said back.
Although he looked effortlessly casual in a black T-shirt and faded jeans, the craft to his hair and hint of cologne revealed he'd made an effort. The thought made me tingle all over.
"You look great," he told me.
I hoped the darkening evening would hide my slight flush. "Thank you. You, too."
The corner of his lip curled. He kept looking at me, fueling an intensity that burned hotter with every second of silence. Eventually, it got the better of me.
"So," I said, clearing my throat, "what's the plan?"
Shifting the truck into reverse, he began backing up out of the parking lot. "I was thinking we could catch a movie," he said. "You know, first date, and everything—that seems like the traditional thing to do. Plus, the movie theater downtown does the best nachos you'll ever eat. What do you think?"
"Sounds good to me."
The theater, roughly ten minutes away, was a small independent place with only two screens. With limited options, we settled quickly on a movie: an R-rated thriller following a group of friends at some creepy lake house over spring break, where there also happened to be a serial killer on the loose. Josh paid for the tickets without letting me protest, so I made sure to get my credit card out quickly when we ordered an extra-large portion of those famous nachos. Once we'd settled into our seats, and I finally got to dig into the pile of crispy, cheesy heaven, I discovered that they were exactly as good as he'd claimed.
If only the same could be said for the movie.
"I'm so sorry about that," Josh said two hours later, as we emerged from the darkness into the artificial light of the lobby, dazed and very confused. "Seriously. You should hold me personally responsible for making you endure more than five minutes of that movie. Maybe even take legal action."
