“Well, when you put it like—”
“When you look like her, ninety-nine percent of everyone who talks to you, male and female, is just trying to get you or get something from you. They’re lying or saying what they think you want to hear so you can’t trust anyone or even find the one percent who aren’t. It’s horrible to even think about but that’s her every day.”
“Molly…” I don’t know what else to say.
“Sorry, Parker. I… I know this isn’t what you wanted to talk about now. It’s just that she calls me on the phone from all over the world, usually crying… She’s done it more times this year than I’ve cried in my whole life. It’s exhausting just being her sister; I could never survive actually being her. Everyone thinks Dani is sooo lucky but she’s the saddest person I know. I’m glad no one can see my cheekbones under all… this. I wouldn’t trade places with her for anything.”
FOURTEEN
It’s twelve minutes after five and I’m sitting alone on the bench outside Running Rampant. The fact that I haven’t heard from Jason is at the bottom of the list of things I can’t stop thinking about.
I had a lot of fun today but what Molly said about Dani has me feeling like someone turned up gravity a few notches. I feel like I was no different, using her like everyone else. I know it’s not true—I’m obviously not wowed by her looks. I liked hanging out with her for the same reasons I like Molly; she’s fun to be with and talk to. Yet there’s no denying a lot of it was the craziness that only existed because she’s crazy beautiful. What if my friends only liked me because they thought it was fun watching me fumble around and bump into things all the time?
And if that’s not enough, now I wonder why anyone talks to anyone. Not later, after they know each other, but why the first time? When someone you don’t know just starts talking to you without actually needing something like directions to the bathroom, why are they doing it? I don’t know—I’ve never done it. I guess it’s just based on what people see. Because they find someone attractive.
Why did Jason ask me out? First he helped me buy shoes, but after that we talked, what, three or four times, never more than sixty seconds. Why did he want to talk to me again or ask me out? Does he think I’m cute? He can’t like my personality—I haven’t really unleashed it on him yet—if anything, the way I’ve fumbled around every other time we’ve spoken, he’s had plenty of reasons to not talk to me. And if I’m cute, wouldn’t a lot of other guys have asked me out by now? Maybe they don’t because I’m blind, or it’s because of my personality and Jason doesn’t know any better yet. Once he gets to know me he’ll change his mind. Or what if he’s just got some bondage fetish and my blindfolds turn him on? God, now that I’ve thought that, I really wish I hadn’t. Damn, that’s creepy. Troll brain in action.
Even more mysterious is why I like him and said yes to this date so fast and why I’ve been excited about it. I could claim the high ground and say it’s nothing as superficial as thinking he’s hot to look at, but without that, what have I even got? Because he’s charming and treated me with lighthearted respect? That’s all it takes to give me butterflies? Jesus, that’s pathetic. A kind word delivered in the right tone that properly navigates my disability minefield and I’m all aflutter? God— “Hey, Parker,” Jason says. “Sorry I’m late. My shift supervisor literally had us pinned down for the last twenty minutes going over stocking procedures. We were all standing together so I couldn’t even come out and tell you.”
I stand. “It’s okay. Do you have to change or anything?”
“Uh, no, I did already. It’s just the shirt. You ready to go?”
“Yep.”
“You look really nice.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m sure you look nice, too. But really it’d be fine if you didn’t.”
“Um, okay,” he says. “You hungry?”
Wow, that was poor planning, eating a burrito three hours ago. “I can eat anytime,” I say, surprising myself with this level of evasion. I mean, I certainly can eat, just not much… “Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” he says. “I didn’t get lunch. I made dinner reservations for six.”
“Reservations?” I say. “Fancy. Where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I don’t actually like surprises much. But I guess that’s not fair. The day Scott kissed me was full of surprises and I liked that at the time.
“Okay.”
“Here, let’s go out the front, to your left.”
“Can I take your arm?” I hold out my hand. “It’ll be faster than caning.”
“Of course,” he says. His sleeve touches my fingers. Thin, smooth fabric… maybe a dress shirt of some kind.
“Also fancy,” I say. “Your shirt, I mean. Long sleeves and cuffs.”