“Elliot” is all Elliot says, without extending a hand.
“Okay!” I say, grabbing Will by the arm, because Elliot is not going to ruin this for me. Tell some annoying joke about my childhood or give me a noogie. “A ride would actually be great,” I tell him as we walk away. “My family bailed on me and nobody else offered,” I say the last part loudly, so certain parties will hear. And as we peel out of the parking lot in Will’s car, certain parties are still leaning, still staring, still frowning.
Will’s car is cleaner than my house looks when my grandmother comes to visit. Which is amazing, since he has a surfboard on the top of his hatchback.
“Is the surfboard just for show?” I ask as we pull onto Ocean Boulevard.
“What?” Will says as he finishes putting my address into his GPS. “No way. I’m from Hawaii. My grandfather taught me as soon as I learned to swim. I go almost every morning. At least I used to, before we moved here.”
“I didn’t mean to assume,” I explain. More often than not, I have to apologize after asking a question. My dad says my tone can be a little abrupt. “Just most of the guys I know who surf a lot tend to bring the beach home with them.” Without even realizing it, I reach down and run my hand along the seam of my jeans again, searching for stray pieces of sand from Elliot’s car.
Will shrugs, looking embarrassed. “Not very cool, huh,” he says. “I’m kind of a clean freak. Check it out.” He flips down the sun shield to reveal a clear sheet of pockets for all the necessities: gum, Advil, an extra USB cable, gas card, quarters. “Lame, huh?”
But I am in awe of the organization. Everything in its proper place. “Where can I get one?” I breathe.
Will makes a small groaning noise. “I wish you hadn’t asked that,” he says.
“Why?” I ask, and I can’t help smiling every time I look at him.
“Because I made it myself,” he mutters, as though maybe if I don’t hear him I won’t ask him to repeat himself.
My mouth falls open a little bit. “You made your own car organizer?” I ask.
Will shrugs. “Well, I really just like when there is a spot for everything. I went to, like, six hardware stores and auto shops, and nobody had what I wanted, so yeah . . . I made it.” Again, his tone drops off at the end of the sentence.
I reach up and run my hand over the sleeve. It’s absolutely perfect. “You’re perfect,” I tell him. “I mean—” I straighten up and try again. “You’re perfect. I mean”—I put a hand over my face, shaking my head—“it’s perfect.”
Will is laughing and blushing, too, and deep in the center of my rib cage, something flutters. The car smells a little bit woody, but also a little bit sweet.
“So where’s the pocket for the air freshener?” I ask curiously, thinking maybe I’ll get one for myself. And put it on my pillow at night.
Will looks confused. “I don’t buy those.” He wrinkles a nose. “They make me kinda nauseous. What, is that a hint?”
“Then what smells so good in here?” I say before I can stop myself, before realizing it’s probably just him.
“Is this it?” Will politely dodges my question, and I realize we’re already outside my house. Where did the time go? “Your house is cool,” he says, leaning forward across my seat to look out the window. The closer he gets, the sweeter it gets. Yes, it’s definitely him. I swallow. And suddenly I want to lay a hand against his perfect olive-skinned cheek, but then I remember we just met five hours ago.
“Sensitive subject at the moment,” I say instead. “My parents are selling it.”
“Been there,” Will says. “Doesn’t feel great, does it?” He’s looking at me so intently, his entire body facing me. Not like I happen to be where he is. Like I am where he wants to be. I remember Ava telling me about an article she read on body language that stated if a guy’s body faces toward you, even his shoes, he probably likes you. At the time it didn’t mean very much to me, since I hadn’t spent enough time around any guys to notice. But now I am noticing.
“They told me this morning.” I sigh. Then, even though I just met him, I add, “And they told me they are separating.” I don’t want to look at Will, so I look to the right, but that only forces me to stare at The House, my world, ready to fall apart. So I look up. The sky is strangely gray, considering how sunny it was only an hour earlier. Then I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Will says. “I don’t know what to say, except . . . that really does suck.” He gives me a squeeze, and it tingles.
“Thanks” is all I can say back, and something sits between us.
“Will you go out with me?” Will says suddenly, and my mouth almost falls open.
“Um,” I say.
“I know you don’t know me very well,” Will continues. “I know I’m supposed to get to know you a little better and then maybe pretend I don’t like you or something, and then ask you out as soon as you get jealous. But I hate games, and ambiguity makes me nervous. I think I already like you. And I think once you get to know me better, you might feel the same about me.”
“I . . .” is all I say. Because really?
“I know it’s kind of last minute,” Will presses on, “but there’s a show tomorrow night. You said you like music, and this band I’m pretty obsessed with is playing.”
My face is on fire, and I look down at my hands, because I don’t have a lot of experience with this. I’ve never been asked out on a date before. I’ve never even really been asked out on ambiguous hangouts.
“What band?” is all I can manage to get out. Then even more nervousness piles up in my belly. What if it’s something awful? Could I really date a guy with poor taste in music?
“Not sure if you’ve heard of them, but they’re called Paper Girl. I promise, they’re amazing.”
My eyes jerk in Will’s direction. “I love Paper Girl,” I whisper.
Will’s head pulls back in surprise, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Seriously?” he asks.
“Seriously.” I nod. Suddenly, I can’t take my eyes off his face.
The silence is broken by a noise on the windshield. I jump.
“It’s just rain.” Will laughs.
“What’s rain?” I ask. “This is Los Angeles!”
“Good point,” he says. “Do you have a raincoat?”
“This is Los Angeles!” I say again. And Will just throws his head back and laughs.
“Okay, let me help you,” he says.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, and am just about to get out, when it starts coming down hard. I duck back in quickly. “This is so weird!” I exclaim. “I can’t remember the last time it rained like this.”