Blissfully Ignorant

One: Corina

One: Corina

Silence hangs like an awkward brown coat, floating in the car ominously. I study Jesse from the corner of my eye. His face is concentrated and serious as he drives me home.

Sighing to myself, I fidget with the seat belt across my chest. It's not like this awkwardness is new. It was present throughout our entire date, making an appearance in between of polite talking.

This so wasn't like me.

Jesse isn't a bad guy. He doesn't even look bad. With jet black hair and piercing black eyes, high cheekbones and full red lips, he's easily the most handsome guy I've ever rested my eyes on.

He just isn't my type... I think.

"We're here," he announces, pulling up outside what he thinks is my house.

Wordlessly, we climb out of his black Jaguar and Jesse, being the perfect gentleman that he is, walks me to the front door.

I smile politely. "Thanks for the dinner, Jesse," my conscience makes me say, "It was really wonderful."

He flashes me a heart-stopping smile - except, it doesn't make my heart stop. Not in the least.

I drag in a breath. So this is it, huh? My heart is nagging me but I know I have to do it.

So what if there is no spark, no connection between us? Everyone knows that only happens in movies, books and fairytales.

I fake a grin. "Hey Jesse?" I ask, tilting my head to my right and taking in his cute features, illuminated by the twilight so that he looked like a ghost.

A very hot ghost...

"Hey Corina?" he imitates, tilting his head too. I'm overwhelmed by a sudden urge to slap him, for some reason.

"I know this is fast," I murmur instead, "but will you be my boyfriend?"

One date.

It takes one date with a boy to make me realize how socially retarded I am. I can't even make conversation with a boy without utterly humiliating myself. Talk about lame.

And ever since my very first, very awkward and very humiliating date, I have been desperate for a boyfriend who’ll teach me the strings.

‘Desperate’ being the understatement of the century.

The only person who had laughed on our date was Jesse, who found every awkward thing I said funny. He even went as far as slapping his knee in laughter – every single time. Although I had this gut feeling he was laughing at me, and not with me.

I don't blame him. If I were him, I would be laughing at myself too.

Aren't there some habits buried deep in the instincts of an eighteen-year-old? Like the habit to make simple conversation with a guy?

Or the ability to smoothly ask a guy to be my boyfriend?

"Corina, you're a cool girl," Jesse’s eyes are dull now, "but you're just not my type."

Well I'm glad we got that out of the way.

"So is that a no, yes, or maybe?" I ask, bagging the prize for Most Stupid Question Asked spot-on.

"A no," he confirms, plastering a smile on his face. I can almost imagine the upward tilt of his lips taunting me silently, laughing cheekily at my bad luck.

"Oh, okay," I laugh awkwardly, "I'm gonna go empty a glass of cold water on my head now. Goodnight Jesse."

Really? No, I mean seriously: really? So maybe I do plan on doing just that, but did I honestly have to clue him in?