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Chapter Twenty-Five

      “Are you really going to make me do this?” I whined, pulling the front of my dress up due to the fact it was exposing way too much skin for my liking. Per request, it was the same dress I had originally gotten for the dance, but never had the chance to wear due to the, er, unfortunate trip to my hometown.

      “Yes,” my mom said firmly, smiling at me as if she could burst at any moment.

      “I really don’t want to,” I sighed.

      “Most teenagers would be thrilled to be allowed out on a Friday night, Liz,” she muttered, adjusting the neckline of her shirt out of habit like she so often did when nervous.

      “Like we figured out long ago, I’m not like most teenagers,” I said, a sad grin finding its way across my face.

      “Okay, well, you’re going, and you’re going to enjoy yourself. Be back by morning, and use protection.”

      “Mom!” I scolded, shuddering at her inference.

      “What?” she questioned, oblivious for her major gap in parenting.

      I opened my mouth, about to explain why her words lacked all aspects of responsibility, when I was saved by the doorbell. The notes echoed all around the house, and my mom’s eyes grew large, full of a mixture of excitement and anticipation. Before I had the chance, she rushed down the stairs, and greeted the guest on the other side of the door.

      “Come on in, sweetie!” she said in her sickeningly friendly voice that she only reserved for people she didn’t like, and, apparently, boys I went on dates with.

      “Thanks, Ms. Turner,” he said, smiling meekly at me, a bit overwhelmed by my mother’s welcoming.

      “Call me Monica!” she stressed, giving him a tight hug that I could feel the pain emanating off of.

      “Uh, okay,” he gulped.

      “So, are you kids going to get out of here, or what?”

      “Yeah, let’s go,” I said, wanting to get out of the slightly awkward situation I had been placed in before it could escalate to anything more. I led Eric back over to the door he had entered from mere minutes before, and waved to my mom. “Bye, mom.”

      “Elizabeth,” she bid, making me cringe with the addition of the extra six letters to my name. I rolled my eyes, exiting the house once and for all. As soon as my skin hit the chilled autumn air, I knew it would be a good evening.

      There was something about the fall that I loved. Maybe it was the weather, mood, or even the scents of pine and sap roaming about in the air; I loved it. Even when I was little, fall was my favorite time of year. It overlapped the unbearable heat of summer and the freezing winter to create the perfect season. I loved the fall.

      “So, where are we going?” I asked as we made our way down the driveway to Eric’s less than environmentally friendly car.

      “It’s a surprise,” he said knowingly, his face not giving off any indications as to where we would be sharing the next few hours with each other.

      “Of course it is,” I mumbled, walking over to the passenger’s side of the car, only to have Eric open my door before I had the chance to.

      Again with the opening of doors! The entire suffrage movement might as well be erased out of the textbooks if boys continued to open doors for girls. It was ludicrous!

      “Uh, thanks,” I said, trying to not show that the polite act ticked me off so much. Cautiously, I slid into the car, careful to make sure my dress didn’t ride up. After putting on my seatbelt, I watched as Eric made his way over to the driver’s seat, quickly shoving the keys into their appointed place in the car. His foot pressed down on the gas, and we were off.

      “So, Liz, we haven’t really talked much lately, how was Boston?” Eric asked, his words wrapped in an invisible layer of bubble wrap, unsure of how I would react to his question.

      “Fine,” I said, sick of answering the same question over and over again. “I went to a party. I got drunk. I saw an old friend. It was fun.”

      “Uh, I’m glad,” he said, as caught off guard as the rest of people I had told about my ventures.

      “But don’t worry,” I added, thinking about why I was actually going out on a date tonight, “I didn’t blow you off to go party with a bunch of Bostonians; there was actually a funeral. It was sad. I don’t really want to relive it.”

      “Understandable,” he said, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

      “What about you, what’s up?” I questioned, hoping to veer the conversation in a safer direction.

      “Well, my football coach is putting me in the starting lineup for the homecoming game in a week, so that’s exciting,” he shared.

      “What’s that?” I inquired. Trying to be convincing, I blinked my eyes slowly in an attempt to recreate the emotion most generally referred to as confusion.

      “What? The starting lineup?” he asked slowly.

      “Yeah,” I nodded, struggling not to laugh at how dumb I sounded.

      “It’s like,” he paused, searching for the right way to explain it, “so, basically, I get to play on the field when the game starts.”

      “Oh, that’s cool,” I said, brushing on a thin layer of apathy in my voice for good measure.

      “Are you going to come?” was the question that slid off his tongue, his tone hopeful.

      “Where?”

      “To the homecoming game.”

      “What is it exactly?” Again, I tried my best to restrain from showing any signs of intelligence or humor on the matter.

      “Every year, Madison High has a big football game against our rival school, Clinton Regional High School. For the past four years, we’ve won. If we win this year, it’ll be five consecutive wins in a row, and that’ll be a huge deal,” he explained carefully, dedication evident in his voice.

      “Why the rivalry?” I questioned, realizing that both schools were going with the past president themes.

      Politics weren’t really my thing; they bored me, and I didn’t find legislation all that interesting. The only reason I knew Madison whoever was our president was because Alice had told me once when I asked about the name of our school. Though I came across as an arrogant American saying it, I didn’t really have a need to be informed of the past of my country; we were in the present, and dwelling on history wasn’t going to change it.

      “To be honest, I’m not really sure,” Eric laughed softly. “All I know is that we hate them. Last year, they egged our scoreboard before the game. The year before that, we may or may not have slashed tires on their cars.”

      “Sounds fun,” I said honestly, having been exposed in the past to the type of competitiveness he had described.

      “Yeah, this year-” he stopped mid sentence, and turned to me quickly, snapping his head back to the road almost immediately. “Liz, if I tell you what we did, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

      “I won’t,” I swore, intrigued by what he was going to say next.

      “This year, we filled condoms with maple syrup and threw them at the players after a practice one day. It was priceless!” he smiled, making a sharp turn that caused me to slide into the door of the car.

      “Have they done anything to you guys yet?”

      “Not yet,” he shook his head, “but we think they’re going to do something lame like TP the bleachers or something.”

      “Oh.”

      “Also, at the homecoming game there are always a lot of college scouts, which is pretty exciting,” he continued.

      “Where are you looking at for college?” I asked, aware of how thin the ice was on the topic I had chosen to discuss.

      “To be honest, I’m not really sure. My dad wants be to go to Yale just like he did, but I don’t know what I want,” he sighed thoughtfully. Then, when I thought the dreaded inquiry wouldn’t come, it did: “What about you?”

      “Oh, I’m not really sure; maybe some place in Boston,” I mused, smiling to myself at how impossible it truly was. Though I didn’t have a choice at this point, there was only one college for me.

      “That’s cool,” he nodded.

      “Yeah,” I agreed. “Now, not to sound like the overly impatient annoying teenager that I am, but how much longer do we have on this exhilarating road trip?”

      “Just a few more minutes, Liz,” he smiled. I nodded mutely, propping my arm on the rim beside my window and staring mindlessly out as if I was one of those losers in a music video.

      Eric’s estimate was fairly accurate as we came to a stop mere minutes after I had asked the question that so many bored children had asked in cars before me. Before anyone else had the chance, I quickly got out of the car, my door opening skills working just fine, thank you very much. Eric too got out of the car, and then came over to where I was standing, staring at the structure before us.

      It was a simple building, light, classical melodies wafting into my ears from within. The architecture itself was nothing new, but rather traditional. There was a deck that wrapped around the front, a few men in suits smoking cigarettes on it while checking their BlackBerries. From where we were unmoving in the parking lot, I accessed that it was probably a rather upscale place.

      “Shall we?” Eric offered, his arm finding its way to my waist.

      “Uh, yeah,” I said hesitantly.

      We made our way over to the entrance of the restaurant, our mouths eluding all sounds. Eric caught the door as an elderly couple hobbled out; the woman was decorated in pearls the size of eyeballs, and her male counterpart had on a black suit. From the outside, this place was beginning to look like the type of spot Monica Turner and her friends would hang out at.

      “I used to come here all the time with my grandpa,” Eric said as we entered the structure, warm air consuming our bodies.

      “Oh?” I said, wondering if he was referring to his late relative he had briefly mentioned to me when I was informed of Marcus’ death, or another one.

      “Yeah, he was a good man,” he sighed, giving me the impression of a slight hint of depression. I nodded, joining him at the host’s podium.

      Eric exchanged words with an elderly gentleman in a suit, and we were then led to the back of the restaurant. Right when I thought we were going to be seated at a table near a middle-aged couple with a sense of sternness about them, the host continued walking, and we kept following.

      We ended up stopping in a back, secluded room away from the rest of the patrons. The room was no bigger than the painted area on a basketball court, though the ceiling was abnormally elongated. There was a table set up in the middle of the room, a single candle set in the center and the appropriate dishware. Four lighting installments hung in the corners of the room, creating a rather Zen, calming environment.

      “Someone will be with you in just a moment,” the elderly gentleman said as I sat down in a chair, confused as to why Eric was still standing. Once I was fully seated, he guided my chair closer to the table, which totally made sense, because I happened to be completely of incapable of scooting my chair in by myself…

      “Thank you,” Eric said as the man left us unaccompanied. “So, what do you think?”

      “The place is… nice,” I determined after revolving my head about the room once more. I didn’t really have an opinion on the fact that the wallpaper was a dark blue design, or that the carpet beneath us was a warm brown, almost the color of chocolate.

      “Nice? Seriously? Can’t you come up with a better adjective?” he teased, smiling at me.

      “It’s pleasant, good, fine, lovely, acceptable, satisfactory, okay, great, reasonable, adequate, sufficient, alright, chill, tolerable, and epic. Does that work for you?” I said, sounding as if I had read a list of synonyms out of a thesaurus.

      “Yes, yes it does,” he laughed. “So, you’re fine eating here?”

      “I would be fine eating at a McDonalds or Burger King,” I sighed, hating the fact that he was fussing over me.

      “Seriously?”

      “Yeah, it doesn’t matter to me,” I said, mentally debating whether or not to add the oh-so mushy, “As long as I’m with you, I’m happy,” for my own amusement, though sought against due to a fear of laughing during the delivery.

      “Then let’s go!” he said, popping up from the dark mahogany chair with mischievous glint in his eyes.

      “Really?” I questioned, staying seated as I wasn’t fully sure weather or not he was being sincere.

      “Yeah. If you’re not into this then I don’t want to be here. If fried, greasy, calorie-packed food is what you want, then that’s exactly what I’ll give you. Come on!” he said, gesturing with his hand for me to get up.

      I slowly rose, waiting for him to say, “Just kidding!” or “You actually fell for that?” but he didn’t. Eric walked over to the door, making sure that I was following, which I was, and opened it… because I was, apparently, inept at doing so. I passed through the frame of the room, coming face to face with a girl about Trevor’s age.

      She had on all black, and an apron clung around her waist. A pad of paper was in her hand, and she looked almost frazzled as she stared at me. I shot her a smile, figuring that there was no harm in being nice to random strangers.

      “We’re actually not going to be dining here,” Eric informed that girl. Her mouth formed into a knowing “O”, and she let us resume our journey.

      In a flash, we had maneuvered our way about the restaurant until we came to the front. Eric smiled at the man who had brought us to the man, and politely waved. The man give a confused nod, most likely not used to people leaving within a five-minute span of their arrival.

      A more relaxed tone was in the air as we left the building, the air feeling more free. Despite the article of clothing that I despised being placed on my body, I felt much better about how the “date” was going.

      We reached Eric’s car and climbed back in as we had about ten minutes prior (I opened my door this time). Eric jammed the keys into the vehicle, and, within seconds, we were off, leaving the extravagant place of eating behind.

      The ride was silent, though eagerness and animation filled the air. I honestly couldn’t wrap my head around the concept that we were actually doing this (Well, more that Eric was). Some people would vouch that “Expect the unexpected” was an accurate life motto. Currently, I would be one of those people.

      Minutes passed, and Eric eventually stopped the car in an expanse of tar near a sign with a large, yellow “M” on it. We were actually going to do this. I unbuckled my seatbelt and mindlessly slid out of the car, only just realizing that our attire wasn’t quite customary of what one generally wore to a McDonalds.

      Eric came beside me, skillfully grasping at my hand as we began our brief expedition to the exquisite eatery, of which its logo looked as if a fire truck and school bus had had an accident. In a matter of seconds we had reached the entrance.

      I pulled open the door for Eric, he caught it, and in we went. It was an odd sight, really: a girl who looked like a Goth disco ball and a boy in a sweater and boat shoes. We didn’t quite get the jeans and T-shirt only memo, so stuck out like a Yankees fan in Boston.

      Without an ounce of hesitation, Eric walked up to the counter, pulling me behind him. He looked up at the outstretched menu, contemplating his life altering decision. I, on the other hand, knew exactly what I wanted.

      “Can I get a Big Mac with nothing on it except cheese and lettuce?” I requested to a girl filing her nails behind the cash register. Making sure she understood correctly, I quickly added, “And the burger… and bun.”

      “What? Yeah, whatever,” she rolled her eyes, lazily punching in what I had said. “And for the hot dude?”

      “Just a Caesar salad,” Eric said, making me sound like the pig that I was.

      “Is that all?” the girl asked dully.

      “Oh, and a large order of fries,” I added, for the simple satisfaction that the look on Eric’s face brought me. His eyebrows rose in a horror, and his mouth was slightly agape; it was priceless.

      “That’ll be seven sixty-nine,” the girl said dully, continuing to file her nails, which didn’t exactly scream sanitary to me.

      “I got it,” Eric said, swiftly flashing out his wallet from a pocket.

      “I don’t feel like getting into an argument, so fine, but just be ware, the next time we’re out, I’m paying,” I said, mentally scolding myself for leaving my container with straps in the car.

      “So, there’s going to be a next time?” he smirked happily. I flicked hi shoulder as he resumed speaking, “How about you go find us some seats?”

      “Fine by me,” I said, marching off into the jungle of lifeless conversation that had consumed the majority of the dining area.

      There were a few kids screaming their heads off about not getting the toy they wanted in their Happy Meals, and parents trying to calm them. When I was younger, I don’t think I was that type of kid; material items had never really mattered to me unless they improved my sporting abilities. Aside from the testy tots there were a few loners, biting into burgers as if their lives depended on it. It was what one would expect to see in a fast food joint, nothing out of the ordinary… well, except for my and Eric’s attire.

      I strolled over to an empty table for two that wasn’t covered in ketchup or salt, and sat down. Shortly after my action, Eric came over with a brown tray in his hand stacked with greasy goodness. I had to close my mouth from salivating over the savory smells wafting into my nostrils.

      Eric set the platter down on the table and I immediately attacked the paper bag that I knew contained my Big Mac. He winced in incredulousness, not able to comprehend why or how a girl of my standings would actually digest something with a fat content so high. I was an athlete who grew up with a woman that force-fed me vegan tofu as a child; McDonalds wasn’t something accepted in my life, so, when given the chance to push my normal limitations, I generally accepted.

      “Now, before you totally lose me by eating that… thing,” he shuddered at the thought of consuming the burger, “can I kiss you?”

      “Firstly, people don’t normally ask, and secondly, are you implying that you don’t want to taste processed meat dipped oily amazingness?” I questioned, the tone of my voice on the offended side.

      “Yes,” he said, not wasting any more time as he leaned in over the small table to me so that his lips skimmed over mine.

      I smiled slightly, placing my hands on his shoulders as his found their way to my cheeks. As his mouth pressed against mine, I felt an essence of bliss wash over me. Though we were in a McDonalds, adorned in lavish clothes that exceeded stupidity, with fatty nourishment inches away, it was perfect.

      Then, out of nowhere, Dylan’s words surfaced, haunting my mind: “When you kiss Wilson, you’ll be thinking of me.” And that’s exactly what I was doing- thinking of Dylan Collins as my mouth rubbed with Eric Wilson’s. I tried to stop myself from comparing the two, but couldn’t. While I felt comforted and calm when I was kissing Eric, there was something about the single, passion-filled kiss I had shared with Dylan that left such an impact.

      “Can I eat my Big Mac now?” I smirked, pulling away from the intimate act. He smiled, giving me permission to dive into my deceased cow (Assuming that’s what animal it was). As my jaws clenched around the juicy deliciousness, all that was playing about in my mind were five words: you’ll be thinking of me…