girlfriend. The sad clown. She would never get hurt or embarrassed again. What was that expression? Once bitten twice shy?
Once bit-ten twice shy. Once bit-ten twice shy. Once bit-ten twice shy . . .
For the next twenty minutes, Dylan scrubbed the same spot to the rhythm of her new mantra.
Once bit-ten twice shy. Once bit-ten twice shy. Once bit-ten twice shy . . .
Her trance was interrupted by a text message sent from five cars away.
Derrington: U R a girl, right?
Dylan bit her bottom lip, hating herself for not glossing. Hating herself for not wearing prettier clothes. Hating herself for not being the kind of girl who normally thought washing cars was fun.
Dylan: looking for proof? Cuz u can forget it.
Derrington: LOL!
Dylan casually pulled a white earbud out of her ear and listened. He really was laughing out loud.
Once bit-ten twice whatever!
Since when was she the shy type? Yes, she was funny, but not
every
guy saw that as a threat. And since they were soul mates, he ah-bviously appreciated her—
Derrington sent another text.
Derrington: U know what a 16-yr-old grl would want 4 her bday?
Dylan’s chest deflated like a popped water bra. Of course he had a girlfriend. He just wanted to be friends. Same story, different outfit. Who was she kidding thinking that an alpha-dater would ever in a million years like a—
Derrington: Hu-llo? Answer pls.
Oops.
What was the question? Dylan quickly scanned the conversation bubbles on her screen and then forced a convincing sad-clown smile.
Dylan: easy. A 16-yr-old grl wants an 18-yr-old boy.
Ha! Let him think I’m racy and experienced too.
She peeked at him through the side of her dVbs. He was laugh-typing.
Derrington: Ew! Not 4 my sister!!!
Dylan exhaled. She had to have more faith. According to Massie—or was it
Family Feud
—after “funny,” the number two thing that turned boys off was “insecurity.”
Dylan: Massie never told me u have a sister.
Derrington: There are a lot of things massie doesn’t know.
Dylan: Like ???
Derrington: My name is Derrick. Not derrington. I wore shorts last winter cuz I lost a bet. I think red hair is cool.
Dylan lifted her eyes, silently asking the universe if maybe it had sent the wrong message. Maybe the suds had been a
good
sign. Representing a clean fresh start, not tears.
Derrington: So will you b-day shop with me tomorrow after doodie duty?
Dylan: Given.
She dunked her sponge, squeezed out the excess water, and happily moved on to another car. But the more she scoured, the more insecurity frothed and foamed inside her brain like an overloaded bubble bath. Had Derrington asked her to shop because he wanted to hang, or because he wanted to make Massie jealous?
The more Dylan scrubbed, the more these doubts bubbled, until they spilled from her eyes and tasted like salt. Was this pendulum swing of emotion a normal by-product of meeting one’s soul mate? Or was it her gut instinct, warning her not to get her hopes up? Fool in love, or just a fool? The facts were in, but the jury was out.
THE PINEWOOD
STAIRWELL B
Monday, September 21st
4:04 P.M.
After waiting in the lobby for fourteen minutes, Kristen began climbing the two hundred and ten steps to her apartment, wondering the whole time if her mother had spite-stalled the elevator because she’d found out her daughter was showing leg.
Once her horror-film panting downgraded to human breathing, Kristen exited the stairwell and scanned the dimly lit hall for signs of her mom’s early arrival, keeping an eye out for giveaways like:
A) White nurse shoes on the teak welcome mat.
B) A forgotten grocery bag dangling from the doorknob.
C) David Beckham running loose in the hall.
D) The smell of tomato sauce and/or fabric softener.
Thankfully, Kristen noted none of the above. Apartment 10F and its perimeter were secure. The only things that stood out were the new neighbor’s creepy totem pole and the team of First Rate Movers who were force-jamming it into
Once bit-ten twice shy. Once bit-ten twice shy. Once bit-ten twice shy . . .
For the next twenty minutes, Dylan scrubbed the same spot to the rhythm of her new mantra.
Once bit-ten twice shy. Once bit-ten twice shy. Once bit-ten twice shy . . .
Her trance was interrupted by a text message sent from five cars away.
Derrington: U R a girl, right?
Dylan bit her bottom lip, hating herself for not glossing. Hating herself for not wearing prettier clothes. Hating herself for not being the kind of girl who normally thought washing cars was fun.
Dylan: looking for proof? Cuz u can forget it.
Derrington: LOL!
Dylan casually pulled a white earbud out of her ear and listened. He really was laughing out loud.
Once bit-ten twice whatever!
Since when was she the shy type? Yes, she was funny, but not
every
guy saw that as a threat. And since they were soul mates, he ah-bviously appreciated her—
Derrington sent another text.
Derrington: U know what a 16-yr-old grl would want 4 her bday?
Dylan’s chest deflated like a popped water bra. Of course he had a girlfriend. He just wanted to be friends. Same story, different outfit. Who was she kidding thinking that an alpha-dater would ever in a million years like a—
Derrington: Hu-llo? Answer pls.
Oops.
What was the question? Dylan quickly scanned the conversation bubbles on her screen and then forced a convincing sad-clown smile.
Dylan: easy. A 16-yr-old grl wants an 18-yr-old boy.
Ha! Let him think I’m racy and experienced too.
She peeked at him through the side of her dVbs. He was laugh-typing.
Derrington: Ew! Not 4 my sister!!!
Dylan exhaled. She had to have more faith. According to Massie—or was it
Family Feud
—after “funny,” the number two thing that turned boys off was “insecurity.”
Dylan: Massie never told me u have a sister.
Derrington: There are a lot of things massie doesn’t know.
Dylan: Like ???
Derrington: My name is Derrick. Not derrington. I wore shorts last winter cuz I lost a bet. I think red hair is cool.
Dylan lifted her eyes, silently asking the universe if maybe it had sent the wrong message. Maybe the suds had been a
good
sign. Representing a clean fresh start, not tears.
Derrington: So will you b-day shop with me tomorrow after doodie duty?
Dylan: Given.
She dunked her sponge, squeezed out the excess water, and happily moved on to another car. But the more she scoured, the more insecurity frothed and foamed inside her brain like an overloaded bubble bath. Had Derrington asked her to shop because he wanted to hang, or because he wanted to make Massie jealous?
The more Dylan scrubbed, the more these doubts bubbled, until they spilled from her eyes and tasted like salt. Was this pendulum swing of emotion a normal by-product of meeting one’s soul mate? Or was it her gut instinct, warning her not to get her hopes up? Fool in love, or just a fool? The facts were in, but the jury was out.
THE PINEWOOD
STAIRWELL B
Monday, September 21st
4:04 P.M.
After waiting in the lobby for fourteen minutes, Kristen began climbing the two hundred and ten steps to her apartment, wondering the whole time if her mother had spite-stalled the elevator because she’d found out her daughter was showing leg.
Once her horror-film panting downgraded to human breathing, Kristen exited the stairwell and scanned the dimly lit hall for signs of her mom’s early arrival, keeping an eye out for giveaways like:
A) White nurse shoes on the teak welcome mat.
B) A forgotten grocery bag dangling from the doorknob.
C) David Beckham running loose in the hall.
D) The smell of tomato sauce and/or fabric softener.
Thankfully, Kristen noted none of the above. Apartment 10F and its perimeter were secure. The only things that stood out were the new neighbor’s creepy totem pole and the team of First Rate Movers who were force-jamming it into
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