Another Day (Every Day 2)

It’s even worse when I’m next to him. I feel miniscule.

“What’s up?” he asks, like this body is no different from any other.

“Just taking you all in, I guess,” I say. It’s like a test. Let’s make A as different as possible from last time, and see how you deal.

I’m not in the mood to be tested. I’ve been tested enough.

“Don’t look at the package,” A says. “Look at what’s inside.”

I get it. I do. But still, I don’t like the assumption that this is natural.

“That’s easy for you to say,” I tell him. “I never change, do I?”

God, I don’t want to be fighting. I think this even though I’m the one who’s being fighty.

And then I take the thought one step further, and think, It’s like it was with Justin.

No. It’s not. With Justin, I fought because he backed me into corners.

A is not doing that.

Like now. A could easily say, Yeah, sure you change—the girl I met was really nice, and the girl talking to me right now is acting like a bitch.

But the thing is: A wouldn’t say that. Which is why I’m here.

Instead of confronting me, A says, “Let’s go.” Taking it forward instead of getting stuck here.

“Where to?” I ask.

This gets a smile. “Well, we’ve been to the ocean and to the mountain and to the woods. So I thought this time we’d try…dinner and a movie.”

Ha. Not what I was expecting. But much better than trying to find a desert.

“That sounds suspiciously like a date,” I say, smiling myself.

“I’ll even buy you flowers if you’d like.”

I like the sound of that. “Go ahead,” I tell him. “Buy me flowers.”

I’m both joking and not joking. And he’s serious, because instead of going into the bookstore, he finds a florist and buys me a dozen roses. It’s a little crazy, but this whole thing is a little crazy, so I accept it.

He gives me options from the movie theater down the road, and I say if this is a date, then we have to go see one of those superhero movies that seem designed for dates—enough action for the guys and enough banter for the girls. Of course, as soon as I say this, I realize that this equation doesn’t take into account people who are neither boys nor girls—and also makes some pretty big assumptions about what guys want and what girls want.

A doesn’t call me on it, though. Instead, he tells me it’s something he wanted to see, without telling me why.

When we get to the theater, it’s mostly empty. The only other people there on a Thursday night are a posse of teenagers who clearly don’t care about homework or school tomorrow. I can see them staring at us and making sniggering comments—maybe because of A’s size, maybe because I’m this girl going to the movies with a bouquet of roses, like it’s Valentine’s Day or something.

It’s funny because A is clearly having a little trouble navigating in this guy’s body. It makes sense—he’s not used to being this big, and he has to adjust. He barely makes it into the chair next to mine—and even though he does, it’s clear I’m not going to have any part of the armrest. He tries to move his arm around me, and it’s awkward—I’m basically stuck in his very active armpit. But honestly? I think it bothers A more than it bothers me. By the end of the previews, he’s given up, and moves one seat away so we can have some breathing room. But that’s not exactly what you should do on a date.

To make things better, he moves his hand to the seat between us. I know what this means. I move my own hand there, too, and as the movie starts and the world is threatened with destruction, we hold hands. It’s nice—but not as nice as before. Partly because his hand is so much big

ger than mine. Partly because of the angle. Partly because it’s sweaty, and because he keeps shifting in his seat. Eventually, I give up, and he doesn’t try to get me back. I would be okay leaning against him—his body would be really good for leaning. But he’s moved too far away. So we just sit there in our separate spaces for most of the movie. I don’t mind, but it doesn’t feel like a date.

—

After the movie, we head to an Italian place. I still don’t know what to do with the flowers, and wish I’d never asked for them. In the end, I put them under my chair.

He asks me again about how school is going, and I give him the update. I also tell him about letting my parents know, and about Rebecca calling him Mystery Man.