“Give me a second,” I say, pulling my phone out and firing off the text to Casey that I won’t be able to make it.
He types back.
CASEY: You’re a dick. What am I supposed to do now?
ME: Sorry. Try the computer commons. They have lots of geeks there.
CASEY: They’re not as geeky as you.
ME: You can’t sweet-talk me. I’m sorry. Something important came up.
CASEY: You owe me beer.
ME: When don’t I?
Casey sends me one final text, an icon of a middle finger. I toss my phone down to my backpack, smirking, and lean forward, my elbows on my knees, ready for Paige to work a miracle.
“I’m all yours,” I say, and she looks at me the same way she did when I stared at her boobs—eyes hazed, but mouth curled. This girl is an enigma.
* * *
I feel a little guilty. I’ve checked Paige out; I even look forward to her coming in to pick up orders, pulling the tickets before Sheila has a chance to go through them, just to make sure hers are in my pile. I do it because I think she’s cute. But—and I’m an asshole for assuming—I never thought she was smart. I’ve been sitting on the floor for the last two hours, my legs stretched out under the coffee table while she grills me on Spanish vocabulary, forcing the words into my head, and somehow pulling them from my mouth correctly. I’m going to pass my Spanish final, and Paige is a genius.
I can tell she’s sleepy. She keeps standing and stretching, yawning with her arms over her head. We’ve got a few empty energy drink cans on the table between us, and I feel wired enough to run home. I kind of don’t think Paige would make it past the fountain out in front of the library before curling up and dreaming.
“You’re tired. I think I’ve got this now. Let’s call it a night,” I say, moving to close the book and gather my notes.
“No, it’s okay. I’m not that tired, and we still need to go over your verbs again.” She’s shuffling through papers in front of me, searching for the one she wrote the verbs on. I list off the verbs in order, my pronunciation as close to perfect as I’m going to get.
“See, I think I’m good,” I say. Paige lets out a big breath, her eyes grazing over the pile of papers in front of her before flicking them up to meet mine. There’s the blue.
“You’re…sure?” She twists one corner of her lip up, scrunching her right eye.
“Honestly, if I would have been here alone all night, no…I wouldn’t have been sure. But you are like a Jedi master,” I say, and she rolls her eyes, standing to pack her things, pulling a thick sweatshirt out from her bag.
“Boys and Star Wars. I don’t get it,” she says.
“Ohhhhh, do not bag on Star Wars. The force is not to be reckoned with. It’s strong with you,” I say, feeling the twitch in my lips as I try not to laugh at the way she’s looking at me.
“Wow. You just went all convention there on me, didn’t ya?” she says, waving her hand from side to side.
“I did,” I laugh, zipping up the last of my things and pulling my bag over my shoulders. She walks next to me all the way to the door, and I can’t help but think how much nicer she is when that asshat she’s dating isn’t around. I’m about to bring him up, when she speaks, stopping me.
“You don’t have figurines, do you? Please tell me you don’t have figurines,” she says, and I keep my eyes forward. I may have one…or three or four. I don’t remember. They’re in a box in Mom’s closet. But only because I asked her to hang onto them for safekeeping, and…
“Ohhhh my god! You have dolls! Like, figurines! You should meet my sister’s boyfriend. You two would so get along. He has a thing for teddy bears,” she’s talking fast, and there’s this smile on her face that I’ve never seen on her before. “What?” she asks, pausing in the middle of her make-fun-of-Houston-fest.
“Nothing, I just noticed…” I start, but then rethink where I’m going with this. Ah, what the hell. “I just noticed you have a nice smile. You don’t show that one a lot. You should; it’s….” I stop before the word pretty slips out, but that’s what I’m thinking. Paige’s smile is pretty.
“What do you know?” she says back, the smile gone and her defensive tone right back where I’ve grown used to it. I nod and make a mental note to add another second to my think-before-talking rule. “It’s not like you’ve seen me a lot, or even know me very well. You work at the deli counter. Whatever.”