The Beginner's Guide to Henry and Gabriella

| 18 | Kim Kardashian is the Albert Einstein of our generation

Henry's POV

She said she was proud of me.

She told me she was proud, and like a damn fool, I walked away. A normal person would say thank you. A normal person would, I don't know, give her a $10,000 gift card to Gucci. She must think I'm an asshole, but it's not like she didn't before.

"I need you to do me a favor, Julia," Samantha ordered rather than asked as she paced back and forth in my living room, creating a slight draft. "Do you want a recommendation for captain next year, or not? I can forget your little slip-up with Hen─ That's what I thought."

I drowned out her conversation, heeding my attention to someone else. For a senseless, split-second yesterday, it seemed like Gabriella wanted to jump off her seat and throw her arms around my neck. Any day before that, I'd usually interpret it as her wanting to strangle me after I've irritated her, but her fidgeting fingers and soft stare said otherwise.

I would've welcomed the vanilla scent lathered on her hair and the warmth of her body. The image of her giddy smile replayed itself like a broken record player when it registered in her mind that I'd gotten a B on my quiz.

It was just a quiz, but the way she looked at me made it seem like I'd scored the winning shot at Championships.

And I was about to thank her, but then, her cheerleader friend came, and then the goth chick, and then she said she was proud of me.

The last time I heard those four words were from my father an hour before he succumbed to his injuries. There weren't any pictures of him hung on the walls or decked on the furniture—courtesy of my grieving mother. I managed to muggle a family photo out of the basement boxes when I was fifteen before she ordered Buckley to pack everything. It's in my drawer, underneath a pile of unfolded shirts.

"So, you're not completely useless. Text me the address," She huffed an annoyed sigh, ending the call.

"Is everything okay?" I observed.

Her mouth tightened, "Yeah. Everything's fine."

"That's not very convincing."

"Well," she kinked her eyebrow, "Now that you've mentioned it," she took two long strides before her toned legs straddled me on the couch. "I was wondering if you wanted to take a drive into the city and have dinner."

I snickered, "You're joking, right?"

She traced my shirt's neckline, "May I remind you, you sought me out at the pep rally last week and told me you wanted to make whatever the hell this is work. Couples go on dates, Henry. We spend hours on our make-up, we shave our legs, and we wear the best push-up bra to compliment the twins, all so we can have a decent kiss at the front porch of our house by the end of it."

I grinned and grabbed her chin, "There's only one problem I have with that."

"Yeah?"

"I don't do decent."

She dug her face into the crook of my neck and giggled.

"Fine," I caved. "Where do you want to go?"

"At the Magari Amore," she responded in one rapid breath.

"Okay..." I said skeptically, "but you're going to have to change if you want to go there. I don't think they'll appreciate your cheerleading outfit as much as I do."

"You're a dirty boy, Brooks."

She brought a hand to the back of my head. I anticipated her mouth to meet mine, but someone else had other plans.