CHAPTER ONE
* * *
Still half a year to go to graduation and we’re drinking like nothing can go wrong. What could go wrong? I’m standing here alone in the center of the party while my best friend, Juliet, goes to the bathroom without me. That’s what. It’s her house. I guess she would know when she said there wasn’t enough room left in the bathroom for the rest of us. I’ll have to get with her later about why she chose to go “with them” instead of “with me.” Woah, he doesn’t go to our school. Who’s that?
* * *
Look at all these little high schoolers thinking they already got it all figured out. They think the beer is making them cool. I can’t believe I thought I missed this. What was I thinking. And I got to open the restaurant tomorrow for breakfast because the other guy called in sick and they have to have at least one guy to do all the heavy stuff. Forget this. I can’t believe I let him talk me into coming here with him. I’m glad Romeo just told me we had to leave because his sister has car trouble and needs a ride asap. He’s got some explaining to do though. I’m pretty sure that bathroom he just went into is a single-toilet bathroom and I’m pretty sure that was another guy who went in there right behind him and closed the door. They sure have been in there a while, too. Woah, wait a minute. Who’s that?
* * * *
He doesn’t remember any girl looking this incredible when he was in high school last year. She’s holding a beer and a phone while standing there all alone and pretending like someone is texting with her. He can’t comprehend how someone that looks so astonishing is standing in the center of a living room in a crowd full of other kids but still looks all alone and obviously trying not to be awkward.
* * *
Jeesh, how can a guy that looks like that hot be standing over there all by himself. He’s not even drinking. There must be something wrong with him. Either that or all the other girls are here with somebody. What am I thinking. That wouldn’t stop them. There are ways to still get him to notice you without pissing off your ride home. Holy cow, he’s walking this way. He thinks because I’m texting that I don’t see him. But I do, and I’m going to nudge him when he walks by me.
* * *
Oh, I saw you sweetie. You think I didn’t, but hang on because I’m coming your way. I don’t know why these other guys are letting you stand there all by yourself, but I am about to find out. God, I hope you’re not batshit crazy.
* * * *
He gets almost to her when he thinks he hears a pair of tipsy girls yell out, “Hey, Hershey!” She looks up and raises her beer bottle to them in some kind of girl sign language. It stops his approach for a second but only a second. He takes a few more steps and crosses what would be any normal person’s comfort zone and gazes down upon her. She looks up slowly and directly into his eyes and somehow he is able to keep her gaze there longer than expected for someone who just looked so awkward.
“Hey,” he said to her, “I swear it sounds like they just called you Hershey.”
“They did. It’s my name.”
“What, like the Hershey candy bar?”
“Yeah but no. It’s my real last name.”
“Ok,” he answered, not really thinking about the name yet. “What’s your first name?”
“Amelia.”
“Oh, so it’s Amelia Hershey? Well, Amelia is really good. It’s a pretty unique name for today. So they just call you Hershey to be cute or what?”
“Nah, my dad always called me Hershey for as long as I could remember. The kids in the neighborhood went with it and it stuck.”
“Daddy’s little girl eh? So he’s to blame for people getting you mixed up with a candy bar.” He wishes he hadn’t referred to her as a daddy girl. He has had plenty of experience talking to high school girls, but he can’t always think before he talks. He’s going to gaffe sometimes.
“Yeah, they’re divorced now and he’s living in Wyoming. My mom said he always called me Hershey because he wanted a boy and he wanted to give his name to a boy.”
“What? That’s crazy mean. Did she really say that?”
“Yeah. He wanted to name me Patricia since he was Patrick, but Mom wouldn’t let him because her grandmother’s name was Patricia and she hated her grandmother.”
“Hmmm, I’m sensing a theme here. Just please tell me you like your mother.” He smiled to let her know he was joking, but he really thought he was getting a possible warning sign for batshit crazy.
“Oh yeah, my mom’s great. I love her. She’s my best friend.”
“Good. Great! Now you can tell me why she hated your grandmother.” He wants to forget about the fleeting familial hate, and he only asks about it to keep the conversation going.
“My dad travelled a lot for his job so he was gone a lot. My mom worked two jobs sometimes so I had to be left somewhere. I lived with my grandma a lot when I was a kid. She was real old-school strict. But something happened when I was younger and they just stopped talking. We moved away when my parents got jobs somewhere else. My grandma hated my father. Mom said she called the cops on him a couple of times when they were dating. And they just never patched things up before she died.”
“Ah yeah, I’m surprised your dad would want to name you Patricia then…seeing as how she called the cops on him.”
“Well, his first name is Patrick.” She said this, amazed that he was able to keep up with the names and he was talking about something other than sports and cheerleaders and beer. This boy was not another jock, although he clearly looked like one.
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. But seems like his first name would be Milton.”
“What? Why?” She asked, confused and now bringing the jock stereotype back into her thoughts.
“Duh, because Milton Hershey is the guy who started the candy bar company.”
“Oh boy.” The words ecstatically popped out of her mouth not because she was excited to learn a new fact; she was gleeful that a boy who was starting to look more and more like Captain America to her just enlightened the conversation with some obscure fact.
“So do I call you Amelia or go with Hershey?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Except it really did. She wanted to hear him say her first name again and she already wanted him to be distinguished from the clique that used a pseudo nickname to converse with her.
“Hershey is good. It’s a two-syllable surname. Nothing wrong with a two-syllable surname!” He was being agreeable, she knew, but she had to stifle a frown as she understood that now he, too, would be calling her Hershey instead of Amelia.
“Hey, I just thought of something. If you go out with me tomorrow, you can be my Her.She. Girl. Get it?”
* * *
God this boy looks good. Super cute and that hair! How does that much hair fit onto that little head. And he’s talking about my family a lot. That’s different. Never had a guy start out with family talk before. That thing about Milton might be weird though. Who even knows that. Maybe he made it up. I’ll have to check later to verify. But he’s talking and making it easier on me to talk back to him without drooling when I open my mouth. So that’s good. And he knows what a syllable is! Holy cow. Huh? Is he talking about surnames now? This is the craziest pickup game evah. Oh my god he just called me his girl. Who does it this fast. Is he about to get weird?
* * *
Now that was a good one. I just referred to her as my girl. She’ll like that. Now she’ll think I want to hang with her for a while and get to know her and won’t think I’m just trying to hit it and quit it. I already got her thinking I want her to be my girlfriend. How much smoother can I get.
* * *
“We just met and you’re already calling me your girl.” She innocently giggled to hide the fact that she was investigating a probable warning sign.
“No, not just any girl. You’re my little her.she.girl.” He said it slowly with a smile that became as large as a gorge but not the bad kind that you fall in and die a slow death while futilely waiting on a rescue that is never going to happen. It was the good kind that you sit above silently while the breeze blows your hair behind you and you cannot look away because of the wonderment of it all. She does not know why she just made this comparison or even had time to do so. She only knows that his smile quashed a warning sign.
* * *
Annnnnddd he just touched me. This huge hulk of a man just touched me on the hand like a feather. And he played with my name, smiled so bigly at me. Gosh his teeth are so white. So straight. Hershegirl? Ok guy, it’s working. Good game. Keep it going, because now you made me forget what I was even talking about.
* * *
“Hey, Amelia. I can’t stay much longer. The friend I came with has to leave soon and I got to go to work early tomorrow. I got to go. Let me get your number so I can call you sometime and take you out to breakfast.”
* * *
Interesting. He didn’t ask me for my number. He told me to give it to him. Didn’t ask me out. He told me he was taking me. Pretty assertive. Didn’t ask me a yes or no question, so that way I can’t answer him no. Well, I guess I could still tell him no, but I’m not. Wait. Breakfast? What guy asks a girl out for breakfast on the first date? What the heck. It’s not weird . . . it’s just different. I know he’s got to be playing a game. There’s no way a guy looking this good and with this kind of game is single. We’ll see. I’m giving him my number. Plus, he just said my real name, and I really like the way it sounded.
* * *
“Well, that was quick,” She said, shielding her disappointment that he was already leaving. “Wam bam thank you mam, whata you know, I gotta go. Just like that I’m not your little hershegirl any more huh?”
“Give me your number so I can call you tomorrow and I’ll make it up to you.”
“K. Where’s your phone? You want me to type it in your phone for you?”
“Look at you already wanting to go through my phone. Nice try. No, just give it to me. I’ll remember it.”
* * *
Riiiiggghhhtt. Ok, there it is. He’s not going to call. Like a guy is going to remember a seven-digit number. His flirt game is strong though. Even if he didn’t look like a juvenile Brad Pitt, I can tell from the way he’s talking that he’s done this plenty of times before. Dude is not even nervous and I’m standing here trying not to pee myself. I’m giving him my number anyway. Who wouldn’t? Suppose I should thank him for talking to me while Juliet was in the bathroom. Good on him for not letting me stand all alone in this room like a girl who doesn’t know how to talk to other people and what not. He’s leaving now. I swear I just watched him turn away in slow motion. Is that even possible. Maybe it’s just because he’s so big that it seems like he’s moving slower. He’s got to be at least six and a half feet tall. My neck is already hurting from looking up that long. Not really. But damn he’s tall. And that butt! Holy cow.
* * *
“Bye, Amelia!” He said loudly over his shoulder without really looking back at her.
“Bye,” She replied back in her little shrill voice that she knows she has and she seriously doubts he heard her. She sighs silently; she forgot to ask his name.
* * *
So he calls me, and he starts talking to me like I already know his name, which of course I don’t. We talk and joke back and forth for about 10 minutes. He’s picking me up tomorrow morning to take me to breakfast. He names off a list of restaurants for me to say whether I have or have not eaten there before, because he wants to take me to one that I haven’t been to yet. That’s a nice touch. Also not hard to do since I’ve never had a guy take me to breakfast before. He picks the place. I tell him where I live. I tell him I can hardly wait. So we start to wrap up the call. He says, “Bye, buddy.”
“Buddy?” I ask. “So I’m not your little hershegirl any more?” He’s not the only one who can flirt now.
“Sure you are. I’ll see you in the morning hershegirl.”
So the call is over and I have to wait now for tomorrow. Damn, I forgot to ask him his name! Oh my god. Who talks to a guy for 10 minutes and doesn’t ask him his name. Me, that’s who. I guess I could just text him to ask him. I text him. I ask him.
“Not gonna tell you,” he texts back.
“Why not?”
“You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”
“lol, what the heck kind of answer is that?”
“The mysterious kind. The kind that keeps you thinking.”
“Seriously, dude, what’s your name lol?”
“Hey, Amelia, I gotta get ready for work. Sorry. I’ll talk to you later.”
“At least tell me where you work.”
* * *
Yes, he works at Burger King. So he comes home every day smelling like a Whopper. But he just finished high school, is taking night classes at the local community college, and none of these other kids in school with me have a job. It’s a job.
“Burger King won’t let us bring phones inside,” he texts some more. “We’re only allowed to use them on break in the parking lot out back. I’ll call you later.”
I can’t believe he didn’t tell me his name. Please Jesus don’t let him be one of those guys who doesn’t know when a joke has gone too far. Please.
* * * *
He calls her again. They go over the arrangement for breakfast the next morning. She still forgets to ask his name. He arrives on time in a very old Ford Escort. They must have stopped making those cars about 20 years ago. She wonders how it is even still running. But it’s clean and the paint still looks brand new. He leads her to the passenger side.
* * *
Holy crap, he opened the door for me. I thought that only happened in the movies on the Hallmark channel.
* * * *
After they both get into the car, he leans over her and starts to put his arm across her. She thinks he’s about to kiss her. How can this be, she wonders. The date just started and he’s already making the move. She starts to tremble from the nervousness of what’s about to happen. Just as he’s close enough to where she is supposed to tilt her head in preparation for a kiss, he grabs the seatbelt on the passenger side and buckles it in for her and then moves back to his side of the car and starts the engine. No kiss. She smiles at him and tries not to look foolish—even though she does not feel foolish. He knew what he was doing. He knew he just put an overabundance of inane thoughts in her head. But he also knew he could top it.
“Wait, I almost forgot something,” he prepared her to make sure she was paying attention. He slowly leaned back over into her seat again, and placed his right hand behind her seat. He looked directly into her eyes and he was so close she thought she could feel his breath against her cheek. She started trembling again. He really is going to kiss me, she thought. He pulled his hand back from behind her seat and handed her a Hershey candy bar that had a little pink bow wrapped around it.
“Here, this is for you,” he said. He handed her the candy bar and, his mission accomplished, he moved back to his side of the car. The dollar-store chocolate—now a much higher quality product because of a bow—might have been better than a kiss, because it made her completely forget about that second false start.
* * *
“That’s so cute. Thanks a lot! How do you know I like chocolate?” She asked him.
“Puhhhleeze, all girls love chocolate.”
“Yeah, we do.”
“Now when we break up you’ll have some chocolate to eat.”
“Break up? What? Dude we haven’t even kissed yet.”
“Oh, so you wanna kiss me now? You’re moving pretty fast. I’m not that kind of guy. Amelia, I’m gonna need you to slow down.”
“Oh. My. God,” she laughed. “That’s not what I meant. Quit twisting it.”
“That’s how I roll. Gotta keep ‘em guessin’. Gotta keep ‘em thinking.”
“Yeah, you do that mister.”
“By the way, I know you were looking at my butt on the way out from the party.”
“No, I wasn’t!” She exclaimed.
“Girl, there was a mirror right by the door. I saw you. You watched me all the way out. I saw you.”
“Oh! My! God! I did not!” She was embarrassed, but in such a wholesome way.
“Well, you were looking at something pretty close to me then.” He winked at her.
“Whatever,” she laughed. “And by the way. I googled Milton Hershey. Why would you know that?”
“Because I grew up in Pennsylvania before moving here. I played in Hershey Park forever and my dad retired from the company. The Hershey name is everywhere back there. Everybody knows the history.”
“Ummm, I thought maybe you were a little autistic.”
“That’s rude.”
“Yeah, it was. Sorry. It’s just who talks like that. And I ask you your name and you tell me I’ll figure it out. You’re just different. And. What. Is. Your. Name? Tell me, or I’ll just call you Milton.”
“That’s right. You say different. I’ll say I’m one of a kind. So how many guys are you comparing me to then?”
“Oh you twisted it. Good answer.”
“Damn right,” he said, “The best answer is the one that makes you forget the question.”
“What?”
“Exactly.”
* * *
Jeesh, I literally did forget the question. What the hay were we just talking about!
* * *
“It’s okay if you were looking at my butt. I won’t tell anybody.”
“Oh my god, I wasn’t looking at your butt.”
“Well you should. I put a lot of work into it. It’s okay for you to appreciate it.”
“Wow. Dude. Really?” She looked at him mordantly and amusingly at the same time—a dark art that only females have mastered.
“Just joking,” he winked at her.
“This is going to be a loooonnnng date, isn’t it? Like real long.” She said it with a churlish tone but still looking at him in a way to let him know she was joking and that she liked his teasing.
“I hope so,” he smiled at her to let her know he was being sincere.
Me, too. She quietly thought to herself. Me, too.