Popularity Contest

7

    At 6:00, I'm standing at the window in my bedroom that faces the front of the house. It's far from the driveway but I'll still be able to see if someone pulls in or pulls up out front.
    I don't even know what kind of car he drives and I think about texting Eva to ask, knowing she would know, but a pair of headlights reflect off my window as a car pulls in the driveway. I grab my bag and rush out to the living room.
    "Mom, I'm going," I call to her in the kitchen.
    "Have fun, be safe," she calls back. That's closer to something she should say so I give her some credit.
    I take a deep breath and open the door. I jump back when I see a person standing there, fist up like they were about to knock.
    "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Wyatt says, dropping his hand and taking a step back. He's wearing tight, khaki pants and a blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
    I wipe the look of fright off my face and force a smile. "It's ok, I just didn't think you'd come to the door."
    "My mom would beat my ass if I didn't," he says, chuckling. "She raised me to be a gentleman."
    He makes that face again, eyebrows pulled together, lopsided grin, where I can't tell if he's being serious or facetious. Maybe he thinks he looks charming but it just makes me laugh.
    "Ready?" he asks, stepping off to the side and letting me walk out.
    I nod and pull the door behind me, walking towards his black, four door SUV. Surprising me further, Wyatt walks to the passenger side and opens the door for me.
    I slide in without saying anything and he shuts the door before walking around to his side. He gets in, checks all the mirrors and puts on his seatbelt before turning on the car.
    "Buckle up," he says to me, waiting with his hand on the gear shift.
    Puzzle pieces click together in my brain with the sound of my seatbelt clicking in place. "I get it now," I say, before I even really decide I'm going to say it.
    "Get what?" Wyatt asks as he backs out.
    "Why girls like you so much."
    He glances at me before shifting into drive. "Oh?" He asks.
    "You do this chivalrous, good boy act and convince them that you're a nice guy," I say, shocked by my own voice.
    "Who says it's an act?" Wyatt asks, not looking at all like a guy that's been insulted. In fact, he's still kind of smiling.
    I shrug. "Judging by the rumored amount of girls you've hooked up with and dated in just the two years that I've been in high school, I'd say you lose your charm pretty fast."
    "Or I lose interest," he admits, turning onto the highway.
    "So it is an act," I reiterate. Somehow, despite the conclusion I've come to, his honesty makes me relax.
    Wyatt tilts his head back and forth. "Yes and no," he says. "If I really like a girl, it's easier to be nice to her. My mom did teach me manners. But if I don't like her, it's also easy to get rid of her."
    I snort, unexpectedly. "How sweet."
    Wyatt just shrugs.
    "So why me, then?" I ask, still shocked by my own confidence. "Why ask me on this date or whatever it is?"
    "You're smart," he says simply.
    "What, you want me to tutor you? You could've just asked me that instead of going through all this," I say, waving my hand between us.
    He shakes his head and laughs. "No, I like you because you're smart."
    Even though I try to stop it, I feel my stomach flip with excitement. One complement and I forget everything that he just said.
    "Thank you," I mumble, forcing my eyes to look out the window. "How do you even know that?"
    "I asked about you," he says. Say what you want but he's honest.
    "Asked who?"
    "Some people in the band, the sophomores on the wrestling team," he says, pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant.
    "None of those people know who I am," I say.
    Wyatt laughs. "You got that right, I had to describe you down to the color of your eyes before people had any idea who you were. But then they all said you're smart and quiet. And I like that."
    With that, he parks, turns off the car and gets out. I'm still in shock from what he's said, between knowing the color of my eyes to liking me for the reasons most people ignore me. Wyatt opens my door and the interior light snaps me out of it.
    "I don't want to date you," I blurt out, unable to look at him.
    "I figured as much," Wyatt says, leaning on the door.
    "And I'm not going to hook up with you, I don't do that."
    "Noted," he says. I expect him to get back in the car and drive me home. "Can we eat now?" He asks.
    I look up at his face and all of his usual swoon-inducing looks are gone. His face is relaxed except for the slight, genuine smile that plays on his lips. It's the most attractive I've ever seen him.
    I don't say anything, I just get out of the car and follow him inside. As soon as we walk in the door, at least three people call his name and two of them are employees. The boy acting as the host looks familiar and, the way he talks to Wyatt, I assume he's the son of the owners.
    Despite the amount of people hanging out in the lobby, waiting for tables, the host leads Wyatt and I to a booth in the back corner.
    "I may have pulled some strings," Wyatt says when we sit down.
    "Back when you were trying to get in my pants," I tease.
    Wyatt rolls his eyes. "It's their grand opening and I wanted to make sure we ate so I just asked Mario to save me a table."
    "Sure," I say, nodding slowly.
    Wyatt reaches up and pulls on his ear. "I didn't ask you to dinner just so I could try to sleep with you," he says. "You're different than everyone I usually hang out with. I thought spending time with someone like you would be a nice break from all of the sports and drama."
    I can tell his words are sincere, he's not making any faces. Though the direction our relationship has taken, I decide to keep things light. "When did I draw the short straw?" I joke.
    Wyatt smiles and let's go of his ear. "There were no other contestants."
    "Lucky me. You should've considered my best friend Eva, she's obsessed with you."
    "Most people are," he says, a twinkle in his hazel eyes.
    Before we even get a chance to look at the menu, two waiters set four plates down on the table. Mario reappears with one more plate.
    "Pops says it's on the house, as long as you promise to tell the team how great the food is," he says to Wyatt.
    They do some kind of hand shake. "Absolutely," Wyatt says.
    "Is this always what being a local celebrity is like?" I ask once Mario walks away.
    "See, there are perks to being with me," he says.
    I tilt my head and raise one eyebrow.
    "As friends," he clarifies, waving his fork in the air. "I get it."
    "Good," I say, simply, picking up a fork and digging into whatever is on the table.
    There's nachos and tacos which are easily identifiable. Three long rolled tortillas which may be enchiladas call my name. I cut into one and take a bite.
    "At least you won't have to lie about how good the food is," I say.
    "I'd never lie," Wyatt says, plainly but intensely. I meet his eyes and I believe him.
    He may have many flaws but I do think I'm seeing the real him. He's a player, a little arrogant but he's kind and honest. I guess I'm happy I decided to come and give this a chance.
    As long as we can both agree that this is simply a new friendship, then I guess we'll see where it takes us.

Wyatt pulls up out front of my house and he doesn't try anything. He sticks his fist toward me and I tap my knuckles against his. "Let's do this again sometime," he says.
"I'm always in for free food," I joke.
He laughs. "Can't promise it'll always be free. Maybe we can just chill sometime too, since you don't have to date me and all."
Chill means hang out at home. His house or my house. I'm already feeling the embarrassment and I start thinking of ways to convince him that I live with Eva where her mom is always passed out or not home.
"Sure," I say, "whatever."
I open the car door, get out and close it. I hear the window roll down but I don't turn around.
"See you tomorrow, QB," Wyatt calls.
I wave a hand over my head before walking inside. I close the door behind me as my dad tries to not-so-subtly walk away from the window.
"Seriously? You're spying on me?" I ask, walking passed him, heading for the hallway.
"No, uh I was just making sure it was you," he fumbles.
"Kitten, come back," Mom says.
I turn around and peek my head around the corner.
"How was it?" She asks.
"Fine, food's great. You guys should go," I say, turning and making it to my room.
My room, with its pink walls, white metal framed bed covered with stuffed animals. Wyatt cannot come here. Regardless of being just friends, he's a senior and he's popular and I would be mortified if he walked in here.
I walk out to the kitchen silently and grab two trash bags from under the sink. I make it back to my room without my parents making a comment. I grab all of the stuffed animals, all of the things that look like they belong in a child's room and shove them into the bags.
I rip down all of the drawings, posters, magazine cut outs off the walls leaving just the cork board filled with pictures and memories from the last two years. I throw the rest out.
I want to ask my parents for new furniture and paint for the walls but I decide to try that another day. Instead I pull out my phone and send a group text to Eva, Frankie and Kam.
Q: I'm not dating him.
E: OMG did you kiss him?
K: How was it?
F: Why not?
Q: I'll explain tomorrow.
E: Ugh, tease.
K: Did you at least have a good time?
I ask myself Kam's question before I can come up with an answer. Did I have a good time? I didn't really have a bad time. I wasn't uncomfortable or even nervous really once we talked about what this was. The inability to stop smiling ultimately decides my answer.
Q: Yes.