Sink or Swim✓ (Teen Romance)

Chapter Nine

            "Is Pietro's okay?" he asks, not taking his eyes from the road.  His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

            "Yeah," I say with a forced nod.  I'd be okay with anywhere if it meant we could stop the car.

            Alex tries to pull into a parking spot, but doesn't quite make it.  He winds backward, inches forward, and then repeats.  It takes about seven attempts, but eventually, the car jolts to a stop and Alex says I can get out. 

            "You look really classy, by the way."  Alex averts his gaze when he compliments me, but I can see his cheeks blush furiously.

            I'm still stuck on his word choice—classy—when I realize that I didn't say thank you.

            "Oh, thanks," I finally manage.  "So do you."

            Although, I wouldn't use the word classy.  That makes us sound like we're headed out for our fiftieth wedding anniversary.

            It's cold inside, and I instantly regret my outfit choice.  I'll be freezing all through dinner.

            "Table for two?" asks a preppy blonde.

            "Yes.  Thank you, Cindy," says Alex.  His face looks smug, almost as though it's impressive that he could read the chick's nametag.  Or maybe he's trying to flirt with this chick.  I'm not really sure, but I feel like I should feel jealous or something.  But I don't.

            We follow Cindy to a table, which is smack in the middle of the restaurant.  I squeeze into my chair and try to ignore the fact that my head is about two inches from some old man's.  We're surrounded by people, and there's nothing I hate more than an overly-crowded room.  I feel like I'm suffocating, as though everyone is breathing my personal oxygen supply.  I shake my head and force myself to calm down.

            Pietro's is a family-owned restaurant, run by a family of Italians who moved down here a few years ago.  It's a small place with only one main area and about a dozen tables.  The menus are kept at the center of each table, containing only the basic pasta dishes.  But that's okay.  My favorite is spaghetti with zesty meat sauce.  Nothing too fancy. 

            "What do you think you're getting?" asks Alex after several minutes of quiet.  And by quiet, I mean between us.  The rest of the restaurant seems to find no trouble in spiking conversation.

            "Just pasta with meat sauce," I say.  Even though it's straightforward, I point at it on the menu.

            "Oh cool."  That seems to be his response to everything I say.

            A brunette comes to our table, claiming to be our server, though she looks more like a stripper to me.  Her entire face is caked with makeup and her hair looks as though it's been teased to four times its normal height.  I suppose I shouldn't judge, since I'm pretty sure my face looks about the same.

            "Hi, I'm Amber and I'll be your server tonight," says the brunette.  She whips out a tiny white notepad and flips to a new page.  "Anything to drink?"

            "Just water for me, Amber," says Alex, using an over-friendly tone.  I nod in agreement.

            Amber scribbles our order down, though I'm not sure why she needed to, and prances back toward the kitchen.  I notice Alex glance at her butt.  I should probably call him out on it, but I don't.  It's not like we're even dating.  If he wants to check out every chick's butt that walks by, that's totally fine by me.