Like You Like Me ✔

6

Apparently, Nicole basically went from school to Mass and back (rinse, lather repeat), which meant I had to holler at before the last bell. Connor said she usually chilled around the old maple tree with her girls before first period, and that's where I found her. As I was walking over, it hit me that I hadn't really hashed out a plan for asking Nicole out.

Guess I'm gonna have to freestyle this.

I thought about hitting her with a few smooth lines, delivered with the right level of swag-hashtag be that guy. But then I remembered being that guy is what got me into that spot with Celia in the first place.

Taking Nicole out mostly to win a bet-jersey or not-would make me mustier than Mike.

My remaining options were pretty thin, so I decided to just be real with her; it was risky, but it felt better than lying. I walked over, said "What up" and asked if we could talk for a minute. I did my best to be calm and cool. But even after all that, I still didn't expect the response I got.

"Okay," she pushed her brown hair back. "Let me get this straight, you, Damian Pryce want to take me to Liam's party to stop Musty Mike from getting your signed Kobe jersey?"

I nodded. "Basically."

Nicole stared at me. I was seriously waiting for her to throw hands or something, but all she said was, "Okay."

Did I hear that right?

It took a solid second for her response to register, but I still needed to make sure I heard what I heard.

"Okay as in you're down or okay as in you're not down?" I asked.

"I'm down," Nicole said.

She legit looked so chill about it like I'd just ask to borrow a pencil. That would have been the prime time to thank her and move on, but I had to know why she was so chill.

"Why?" I blurted out.

Nicole smiled. "Well, Mike's an uber creep who's been trying to ask me out since last year. So seeing him seeing me with you is just too parfait to pass up. Plus there's something super wrong about Musty Mike getting his grimy fingers on a signed Kobe jersey." She shook her head. "I just can't let that happen."

Good enough for me.

I couldn't help grinning. Nicole was really cute when she was being petty, or maybe it was just her freckles. But my basking moment faded faster than Yao Ming's career when I remembered Nicole's parents. I didn't have a clue about how to convince them to let me take their daughter to a party.

"Is everything okay?" Nicole asked. "You look like you just remembered there was a quiz you didn't study for."

Might as well come clean.

"It's about your parents," I spat out. "Rumour is they're kinda-"

"Strict?" she finished my sentence.

"Yeah..." I gripped the strap of my backpack.

"Okay," Nicole put her hand on my shoulder. "How well do you know the Rosary?"

"I'm pretty decent," I shrugged.

"You might wanna brush up."

I nodded.

"But," she continued. "There's one thing my parents love more than being Catholic-mess that up, and it won't matter if the Pope said you could take me out."

"K," I said, feeling my palms starting to sweat. "Shoot."

Nicole smirked. "Here's what you need to do..."

***

I pulled up at the Bouchard residence two days later, wearing my favourite grey sweater with a silver cross hanging from my neck and a rosary in my pocket. I was there fifteen minutes before supper time, just like Nicole suggested.

As I strode up to the front door, I brushed off the nerves and went into game mode. This was about playing my position and holding it down like I did on the court.

"Let's do this," I exhaled and rang the doorbell.

A few moments later, Mr. Bouchard opened the door; I greeted him in French, and the smile on his face said I'd scored a point. He returned my greeting and invited me inside. I took my shoes off and followed him towards the dining room, where he introduced me to Mrs. Bouchard and Nicole's little sister. And just before the cuckoo clock hit six, we were seated at a nicely prepared dining table.

Mrs. Bouchard asked if I wanted to say grace; Nicole said they'd pull that, so I was ready. My Trinidadian granny made sure I knew how to say grace the old school way. When I was done, Nicole's parents looked surprised but low-key impressed. I played it off as a successfully executed play and waited for their offence to come at me.

While we were cutting into our roast beef and excellent boiled potatoes, Mr. Bouchard hit me with a few easy lay-up questions about my family. I told him my mom was a lawyer, and my dad was an accountant, etc. But he gradually turned up the heat as the Q&A session turned to church attendance and the Rosary. I delivered my answers like I dish out assists on the court, all in the game and the thrill of the sport.

Then, Mr. Bouchard dropped the trick play: Habs (Montréal Canadiens) hockey trivia.

When Nicole filled me in on that trade secret, I legit didn't think hockey would be the thing to get in her parents' good graces. It made sense after the fact, but I wasn't expecting that. Apparently, Mr. Bouchard met Mrs. Bouchard at a Habs game. Fast-forward three years and Mr. B straight up popped the question during half-time at a Habs game.

However, unlike their Catholic-ness, Mr. and Mrs. Bouchard kept their Hab-ness on the down-low; something Nicole used when musty guys wanted to ask her out. That way, she could pretend it was her parents being strict instead of her not feeling them.

Most guys around these parts are Toronto Maple Leafs fans (for some reason), so they usually just outed themselves or failed the Rosary test way before that point. I had developed a soft spot for Montréal after spending a summer there for a French program when I was sixteen. My host family was dope, and Montreal Bagels just hit different. So I didn't have to fake that part at all.

By the end of supper, the mood around the table was chill. Mrs. Bouchard all smiles, and Mr. Bouchard and I were cracking jokes like old bros. All in all, the night was a win; Nicole and I would be hitting up Liam's place on Friday.