First Comes Like #Wattys2020

22

Hey.

One what?

A pick up line.

I roll my eyes but I'm smiling because he remembered, and was still trying to find a pick up line that I liked. It's... cute. But I remind myself aloud that this is Dean Pinkette. Not cute. Not cute. Not cute.

I thought you gave up. I type, and take the risk of running to my glass door, pulling back the curtain a bit, and looking out towards the Pinkette house. The lights are on in Dean's room, and I can barely make out the silhouette of him lying on his bed. There he was, without the slightest clue that he was talking to the girl next door.

Poof.

Me.

If he knew, he wouldn't flirt like that, I was positive. I drop the curtain and look at my phone again.

I don't give up. Then, OK, Ready?

Ready.

I must be Samson and you must be Delilah because you make me weak.

It's cringe worthy, but I end up laughing when I try imaging Dean actually saying that to me in person. He sends another message before I have the chance to reply.

Alright, so it sounded better in my head.

I literally laugh out loud this time. Hard to believe it ever sounded good.

It's not that bad. :)

(You're mean.)

I laugh again. Now Dean sounded like a little boy. But then he sends something that wipes the smile right off my face.

Only a few more days until I finally get to see the one girl I know who hates pick up lines.

I'm about to say that I know lots of girls who aren't into pick up lines in the first place, but then I reread his message. My heart thuds and I feel my hands get clammy. I don't know how I let myself forget, even for a moment, that Dean would ultimately have to find out that I was his match all this time.

Yup. I type,nervously looking towards the Pinkette house again. Only a few more days.

***

Monday arrives way too fast.

Bright and early, Dean and I find ourselves in Ms Fitz's office in those black leather chairs that were starting to get too familiar. I swear that chair has my butt print pressed into the seat.

"I don't know why you made us waste our time planning if you're just going to change everything." Dean has his arms folded and he's frowning at Ms Fitz, who's leaning against her desk with her arms folded too. On his thigh rests a printed white paper from Ms Fitz, creases and crinkles already at the edges. I'm holding a paper similar to Dean's. 

It says: THE HISTORY OF VALENTINE'S HIGH SCHOOL at the top and even the font just screams BORING!

When we got school, Ms Fitz read over everything we had planned. And then she was like a stuck record:"There'll be none of this." and "There'll be none of that." and "That's not going to happen." And then she gave us her own ideas that she had apparently typed over the weekend.

So Dean got pretty pissed.

Understandably.

"I want to know if this is going to happen again, Ms. Fitz. " He says, his voice far from polite "'Cause if it is then I--" He looks at me, "Then we quit."