“Well, if he tries anything you’re not ready for, you sock him in the nuts.”
I burst into laughter. I loved when Marley got vulgar. It was such a Josie thing to say and do, and it made me miss her. I couldn’t wait until she was here this summer.
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
We finished up at the studio, locking the building back up with the key the studio owner, Miss Alicia, had given us for this exact purpose. I followed Marley to the minivan parked at the front of the studio. Marley had been raised by her grandparents, and they prioritized safety over anything. Though Marley hated the old minivan, at least she had wheels. It was more than I could say.
“So, where are you going on this date?” Marley asked as we left the studio and headed toward my house.
Marley’s grandparents lived only a few blocks over. I’d spent as many nights there as at my own house, growing up. Since I didn’t know any of my own grandparents, they’d stepped in.
“One, it’s not a date. And two, I don’t know. We’ve been texting.”
Marley squeaked. “You’ve been texting!”
“Just like normal things, Mars. Calm down.”
“His family owns, like, half of downtown. They’re in real estate. You could be, like, going to Pink House.”
I rolled my eyes. “No seventeen-year-old is taking a date to Pink House,” I said of the fanciest and most iconic restaurant downtown.
“So, it is a date,” Marley said with mischief in her eyes.
“Fine, Miss Inquisitive. Maybe it is a date.”
“Eep!”
Marley dropped me off, I grabbed the mail, and entered the empty house. My mom had still been sleeping this morning when I left for work, and there was a note on the fridge when I got home, saying that she was going to be working late, with a twenty-dollar bill to order pizza. I stuffed the twenty into my purse. Should cover dinner tonight if this wasn’t a date.
Then I darted upstairs to rummage through my mom’s makeup drawer and use her curling iron. She didn’t care about me wearing makeup or anything, but she didn’t buy me the nice stuff. My lashes looked twice as long with her mascara than my crap.
A text beeped on my phone from Ash.
There in five.
My stomach flipped as I hurried back to my room and tugged on black leggings, an oversize pink thermal, and knee-high black boots. As I waited for Ash to show, I thumbed through the mail I’d picked up earlier. Ninety percent of it was bills and trash. But then my hand froze on the envelope addressed to me.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
It was from the University of Georgia. Early acceptance letters weren’t supposed be sent out until next week. No one else had said whether or not they’d been accepted yet.
I was still clutching the envelope, debating on whether or not I should open it, when there was a knock on the front door.
“Coming,” I called. I stuffed the envelope into my purse, unopened, and then went to the front door.
My breath caught. I’d never seen Ash in anything but a school or football uniform. I was unsurprised to see him in the typical Savannah prep clothes, but somehow, they looked better on him than anyone else. The pressed khakis and button-up. He even had on the quintessential boat shoes. His dark brown hair was brushed off of his face and artfully arranged. Those clear blue eyes set solely on me.
“Hey, you ready?”
I nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.”
Nerves pricked at me as soon as I locked up and was in his car again. Maybe this was a date. It wasn’t like this was my first date. Marley and I had doubled with some guys from the public school. I’d grown up with them, so it wasn’t weird, but it was also very weird. One tried that awkward stretch at the movies to put his arm around me and subsequently punched Marley in the side of the head. It shockingly hadn’t worked out.
“Where are we going?”
“I hope it’s not too corny, but I was thinking we could ice skate.”
“Not corny at all. I actually love ice skating. We just can’t hurt my ankles,” I told him. “I have a three-hour pointe intensive tomorrow.”
His eyebrows rose. “That sounds painful.”
“No, it’s wonderful.”
“Don’t ballerinas have terrible feet from the shoes?”
“Yeah, that’s true. It does hurt, but when I’m on pointe, I’ve never been happier.”
“Must be nice to have found your passion.”
“Haven’t you? Or did I imagine you throwing the winning touchdown last night?”
He shrugged as he veered left down Liberty Street toward the Civic Center, which was converted into an indoor ice skating rink every year. “I love playing football, but I’m not going to do it in college or professionally or anything.”
“Well, I love dance, but I’ll probably never dance professionally.”