“Yeah, well, I guess that’s why we aren’t friends anymore.”
Ouch, that hurt.
Molly cocks an eyebrow at stares at me, lobbing a challenge across the table at full force. I grab it and volley back, “I wouldn’t be sitting here groveling if I didn’t want to be friends.” I stress the word friends, hoping my tone is suggestive.
“I wouldn’t exactly call what you’re doing groveling. If that’s what this is, it’s pretty pathetic.” She takes another bite of noodles and chews slowly.
I really don’t think Molly has a clue how hard it was for me to come over here—especially with a table of my friends nearby, friends who have turned into spectators and who, with a quick glance, I can see are watching us intently. So even though I’m sitting here making wise-cracks, my stomach is in knots and my palms are sweaty.
I wipe them on my jeans and take a deep breath. “You’re the wind that swept me off my feet. Say we made it through the storm. Here comes the sun, here comes the rain.”
For a few moments, Molly just sits and stares at me with a really confused look on her face. Then, as if a light goes off inside her head, she launches her body to the corner of the booth and begins laughing her ass off, gasping for breath. “Oh my God,” she eventually pants. “You did not just quote Bridgit Mendler!”
My face gets bright red, and because I’m embarrassed, it feels like she is practically shouting. “Would you please keep your voice down? People are listening.” And by people, I mean my dickhead friends who would never in a million years let me forget something like quoting a cheesy pop star to earn forgiveness from a girl.
“Say more, say more. Please,” Molly begs.
“Oh great, I’m really glad you think it’s so freaking hilarious. Well guess what, smartass, it’s not. It’s how I feel.” I cross my arms indignantly as she watches me, studying my face with a scrunched-up mouth. Then, just when I think she’s going to drop the subject—or at least take pity on me—Molly busts out in hysterics a second time. In fact, she’s laughing so hard I’m pretty sure there are actual tears coming out of her eyes. For about five more minutes, I sit here seething and silently wishing I had kept my mouth shut.
I could seriously curse the fact that I’ve taken dating advice from Kendall, of all people. In fact, what was it she said to me as I was leaving the house this afternoon? “Girls like when you say mushy stuff to them, Wes, like movie quotes and junk. They think it’s romantic. Here, take this CD and listen to it. It has some super good material.”
That ‘super good material’ happened to be her new Bridgit Mendler CD, and, being the good brother that I am, I considered it my duty to at least give it a listen. Like I said, I’m an idiot for taking advice from an eleven-year-old—especially from one with a peculiar delight in making me look like the world’s biggest ass in public.
Across from me, Molly is wiping her eyes and grinning at me, which I take as a good sign. At least she’s not trying to stab me with her butter knife or crafting a voodoo doll of me in her free time.
“In my defense, that was all Kendall’s idea,” I finally say, picking up the paper napkin on my tray and ripping off the end pieces.
“You went to Kendall for help?” Molly tilts her head and studies me. Her eyes go a little soft around the edges as she says, “Aw, that’s kind of sweet…in a totally weird sort of way. I mean, come on, Weston, she’s eleven. Of course she’s going have you listening to some star from Good Luck, Charlie. Heck, you’re lucky she didn’t have you listening to One Direction. Now that would have been an embarrassing train wreck.”
“Thanks a lot. Thank you, as if I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Well, then why would you—”
Interrupting her I say, “Listen, Molly. If I’m taking advice from my little sister, someone who really likes you and wants us to be…um, together…and she tells me to quote lyrics from a pop singer, well, that’s what I’m going to do, because I’m that serious. I want to try again, and I want this to work.”
* * *
Molly
I study Weston for a few seconds, my heart beating out of my chest. Okay. He’s definitely got my attention with all this try-again-and-make-this-work talk. “So what other advice did Kendall give you? You know, since you brought it up and all…”
Weston takes a minute to think, and a slow grin almost lights up his face, but then he glances over his shoulder across the restaurant to where his friends sit watching us with intense interest. A disdainful scowl mars his handsome face as he shoots a look in their direction for good measure before focusing his attention back on me. For the record, his friends clearly don’t give a crap, because they’re at their table laughing like a pack of hyenas, each guy laughing louder than the next.