Me: So, Dave. I saw you bump into Sarah Allen the other day.
Dave: Oh yeah. Weren't you at gym?
Me: No, I was in Math class. She'd once been my project partner.
Dave: Oh, cool.
This expression is literally famous for signifying how uninterested you are. I've no clue how to spark a conversation regarding me.
Me: She'd helped me lots with assignments.
Dave: Oh. She seems nice.
What's 'nice' supposed to mean now?
Me: Yeah. What do you think about her?
Dave: Is someone jealous? ; )
Me: What? No!! Just a friendly question.
Dave: Well, she seems pretty smart. But she's not my type.
Me: What do you mean?
Dave: She seems a little boring. But I don't know her all that well, so yeah.
Me: Oh. Do you think I'm boring?
Dave: Hell no! You're the most interesting girl I've ever talked to.
I smile a little at the ridiculous irony.
After a few minutes, I head down for dinner as I hear Dad calling from downstairs. I seat myself at the kitchen table.
I take a bite out of the gross-looking cheese and chicken sandwich on my plate.
"Is it bad?" Dad asks from across the table, with a mouthful of his own. The wrinkles around his eyes make him look older than he really is. He waits for an answer eagerly, still hoping he could master the art of making an edible sandwich.
"No," I lie, trying not to choke. The chicken almost tastes raw and the mustard makes it worse. I just don't want Dad having to make something else over again, and I, myself, am honestly too tired. But I'm used to lying to him and eating bad sandwiches for dinner every weekend. Dad and I take turns fixing meals. I'm not an excellent cook, but my Dad is probably the absolute worse. Pity Mom was the only one with the flair for cooking in the family.
"The plumber came today?" He asks.
"Yeah."
We eat in silence. I remember how fun dinner time used to be with Dad cracking all the jokes and Mom scolding us about how we shouldn't talk while eating. Now Dad and I don't talk about anything other than electricity bills and pest control.
"Sarah," he says, "About tomorrow. An emergency's sprung up at work, so I'll be late. Don't forget your appointment. And be nice to Dr. Josephine, understand?"
I groan internally. Josephine, my doctor, is extremely sweet and everything but she keeps prescribing me these meds which taste like arse. Arguably worse.
"Yeah, okay." I say.
"And will you please do the dishes tonight? My head aches."
"Okay," I say, "You need aspirins?"
"No, just a little rest." He gets up from the table and carries his plate over to the sink. "And you better not waste any food, young woman. There are starving children in Africa." He walks off towards his room.
As I hear him shut his door, I walk over to the trash and empty the scrapes of sandwich from my plate and dump it by the sink.
As I'm about to start doing the dishes, my phone on the counter beeps.
Dave: Hey Carol. My parents won't be home overnight. Party over at my place! Can you make it within an hour?
Me: I don't think so, Dave. It's pretty late.
Dave: Oh come on!
Me: I'll try.
Dave: Ok. Please do. The party's open for everyone, btw. Bring everyone you can.
After a few moments of contemplation, I think of asking Dave something.
Me: Are you sure?
Dave: Yeah! Everyone's gonna be here.
Me: Everyone?
Dave: Yeah! It'll be fun. Come on over.
Me: I'll try.
I keep the phone back in my pocket, go up to my room and call Ellie.
"Hey, are you going over at Dave's party?"
"Not sure. Are you?"
"I want to! Will you pick me up?"
"I don't know, Sarah, my parents..."
"Come on, Ellie! I know you want to go."
"Okay, then," I hear her sigh, "I'll pick you up in ten minutes."
I hang up and put on skinny jeans and my best t-shirt. I pull my hair up in a messy knot, hoping I don't look too much of a dork like Dave already thinks I am. Grabbing the house keys, I head out into the chilly night.
Sorry for leaving without notice, Dad.
I don't know about Caroline, but this is going to be the last night that Dave Rodriquez ever thinks that Sarah Allen is boring.