Getting to Third Date (16 page)

I should have guessed when I didn't get into the whole robot thing with Stephen and Sophia. But I had liked the way “engineer” sounded. And how happy my dad was that I'd have a solid career ahead of me when I graduated.

Which doesn't change the fact that it's just not my passion. And now that I've seen people who pursue their passion—Stephen, Sophia, and even Tyler—I want the same. No matter how safe my parents think a career as an engineer is.

“I'm going to change my major,” I said to Tyler.

He just laughed. “I thought you might succumb to the Freshman Switchoff. So what's it going to be?”

“Journalism. I like writing for the paper.”

“Hah!” He gave a victory salute. “I knew Mother Hubbard wasn't a quitter!”

“I want to do other things too, besides the column.” And this time, I wasn't just saying it because I had a crush on Tyler. I was saying it because I had a crush on journalism.

He didn't seem terribly surprised. “Cool. Maybe you'll be editor in two years.”

“Maybe.” I wasn't willing to set that goal in stone. I was still way too new at this whole journalism thing. But I liked thinking about it as a possibility.

I don't remember the interview very well. Jessica came and got us from the greenroom and led us on set. Someone else dusted us with powder and fluffed our hair while a third person fit our mics in an efficient and intimate manner. I suppose you get used to it, if you do this for a living. Tyler didn't even seem to mind.

It was the two of us for a minute, just sitting on a soundstage like at an oasis in the desert while cameras and crew swirled around us as the dust settled.

After a minute AGOAJ came onto the set with a brisk move that crackled with every bit of energy I'd felt in this place all day long. He was young. And hotter in person than he was on the TV screen. Definitely buzz factor ten.

The lights came on, someone counted down from three, and suddenly AGOAJ turned to the camera and smiled. “Hello. It isn't just the over-twenty-five crowd who has trouble with dating, love, and relationships. College isn't the greatest place to find ‘the one'…” He swiveled to face us. “Or is it? Let's ask Mother Goose, shall we?”

“Mother Hubbard,” Tyler corrected, blinking in the bright light, and looking from one camera to the other to find the one with the red dot, which was what Jessica had told us to look toward.

AGOAJ smiled, ignoring the correction. “So your Mother Hubbard has the answer for us? Tell me what it is. I could use a little help trying to figure out if my current girlfriend is worth my time?” The audience laughed and he smiled out at them sheepishly. “I'm a busy guy, you know.” And then, as if he realized his Neanderthal commentary might not be taken well, he added, “And she's as busy as I am. So I'm wondering for her sake too.”

Right. That was his shtick. Terminally hip news meant a little bit of sick humor. “Mother Hubbard says to go with your instincts,” Tyler said. I knew this was the line he'd rehearsed and I was suddenly proud of him for delivering it.

“Well, if that were the case, then I'd be outta there. There's this cute new intern—” He cut himself off with a sideways glance at the camera. “Never mind. Honey, if you're watching this…just, never mind.”

I wondered if he meant Jessica, who was watching from the sidelines and blushing. But I had no time for that, because all of a sudden AGOAJ was firing a question at me. “As a typical female student at the university, what do you think about the Mother Goose column, Katelyn?”

I had also rehearsed—at Tyler's insistence. “It's made us think about relationships and what works and what hurts.” That seemed loud enough and clear enough. I hoped. I wouldn't want to be asked to repeat myself on MTV.

Another few softballs and I was starting to feel really good about the interview. Then he deviated from the list of questions Jessica told us he'd ask. Duh, you'd think I'd be prepared. I had seen the show before. He looked at me and leaned in sympathetically. “What have you learned from all this? If I'm not getting too personal.”

Ooookay. What had I learned? I shrugged. “I've learned that guys have it as rough as we do.”

Boring. I could read it on his face. As could the audience. AGOAJ spun away from me toward Tyler.

Tyler shrugged an annoying,
what can you do?
shrug between guys. “Yeah.” He nodded like a bobblehead doll; his nerves were apparently getting to him. “You think the girls have all the power—come to find out, they think you have it.” The audience laughed.

AGOAJ grinned and seemed pleased that Tyler had managed to inject humor without resorting to the verboten canned jokes. Which, naturally, meant that he wanted to continue along that line of thought. “So, who really has the power?”

Tyler fumbled for a moment, blinking into the lights, and then smiled. I could see him relax. He thought he had this answer nailed. “You'll have to ask Mother Hubbard.”

Lame. And AGOAJ wasn't going to let him get away with it either. “Oh come on, she's not here. I'm asking you.”

We were both deer in the headlights—or spotlights, more accurately.

For some reason AGOAJ had decided to let us swing. He smiled as he waited for an answer, his eyes widening in delight at every second of dead air, and I felt pressure to answer. But what to say? I guess the first thing that came to mind. “Whoever blinks first has the power.”

I meant it in more ways than one. And I'm not even sure what I meant, really.

But the audience roared with agreement. And AGOAJ nodded.

One of the people off screen waved to indicate our segment was out of time, and AGOAJ turned to the audience. “We'll be right back with our youth analyst, Joseph Butler, with a segment on AARP: Friend or Foe.”

The friendly faces turned harried and the energy became a wind at our back. We were hustled off the soundstage and out into a narrow hallway.

After a push toward the door at the end of the hallway, we got the message. We started walking slowly, as if maybe we weren't really even here. As if we hadn't just been on TV. “Looks like we're done.”

“Yeah. Except we still have to figure out who's going to blink first.”

We were done. Our fifteen minutes had been exactly fifteen minutes. And I was glad.

I took his arm and put it around me. “Let's try to get bounced from one of the hot clubs again.”

He pulled away a little and then with a sigh, stopped resisting. “I guess you want me to blink first.”

Guys. Do they have to have everything explained to them? “I blinked first.”

He tightened his arm around my shoulder. “You did? When?”

“Last night. When I called you. Remember?”

“Oh?” He grinned sheepishly. “I guess I'm a little dense.” He looked back down the long hallway. “Or maybe just a little overwhelmed. Did that seem real to you? Or did we just dream it?”

I laughed. “All I remember is bright lights and babbling. But somehow, I don't think we revealed any secrets—personal, paper, or of the universe, either.”

He stopped me. “To them. But if you blinked first, then—”

“Then you know my secret. I leaned up against him and kissed him. “I blinked first. I've had a crush on you since the very first day I met you—when you were following Sophia around like a largemouth bass.”

I kissed him again. “I'm willing to see where this goes. But if you decide to run away with some smart Italian girl, do me a favor and tell me so. Don't just fade into the night without ending things.”

“Never happen.” Tyler leaned forward. “Don't forget, you may have blinked first, but I blinked back.” He kissed me and I had no doubt that he had blinked me right out of sidekick mode and into girlfriend status. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

So why did that feel scary and cool and a bit like being on the top of a cliff about to jump off? Well, it meant some of those Mother Hubbard haters had been right. Maybe my third-date rule
had
been a way to avoid that sense of falling too fast and too hard. And to avoid the potentially nasty
splat
if there was no big marshmallow of true love to catch me.

Oh well, marshmallow or not, I was jumping. Mother Hubbard might have disapproved, but I liked it. What's life if we never gamble a little, anyway?

I guess Tyler could tell I had lost focus on the kiss because he pulled away. “Don't tell me you're thinking about how you'll rate me in your little pink book?” He looked around at the bland white hallway leading away from the fantasy world of MTV (that might one day turn to reality for him). “How could any rating book capture all this?”

He had a point. Tyler definitely registered off the excitement meter. Think about it—we'd been on TV. We'd seen what a greenroom looked like. Okay. It was nothing remarkable. Although it did have good food.

But should I let him know I hadn't been thinking about little pink books or rating systems? I had just decided to jump headfirst off the cliff of love, after all. My mind was far from a book full of bad dates. So I said flippantly, “What little pink book?”

He grinned as he swept open the big metal doors that led out of the studio and into the noise and bustle of New York City. “I guess that means I hit the ten spots in every category.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” I said coyly. Then I took a deep breath. “Okay. I'm throwing out the stupid third-date rule from now on. I mean, who needs a little pink book when I have you?”

I think I shocked him. He stood there in the open doorway, blinking in surprise. “Really? You'd throw it away? For me?”

Interesting. I wasn't the only scared one. “Of course.”

“Then give it here.” He pointed to my backpack. “I want to see what you rated me.” He grinned. “And what you called me. I'm guessing Man of My Dreams.”

“In your dreams.” I didn't make a move to open my backpack. “Besides, I never put you in there.”

I didn't give him a chance to argue, I just kissed him out the door and into the street, where we were nearly run down by a pack of briefcase-toting commuters heading for the subway.

Some guy snarled, “Hey, get a room!”

We were feeling so good we just laughed. Besides, the guy was already lost in the fast-moving crowd.

We walked into Times Square and stood looking up at the big display screen where we'd been featured just yesterday. Tyler squeezed my hand. “Can you believe we were up there yesterday? It doesn't seem real, does it?”

“No.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “But it was.” Sure, no one but us would probably ever know or care that our giant pictures had once graced Times Square for a day. But we would never forget.

“Are you sure I'm not in that book?”

“Yup.” I lied. I squeezed his hand gently, though, so he wouldn't know. After all, it was better for both of us if he never knew he'd been in my book all along under the nickname The Drooling Fool. “And I'm going to burn it. Haven't you heard? Little black books are so passé. Even when they come in hot pink.”

He kissed me. “Burning's good. After all, how many guys like me are there in the world?”

Right. I'd reserve judgment on that for at least the next three and a half years.

I guess some people are like Sophia and Stephen. They see what they like and they go for it. They don't let anything get in their way.

People like Tyler and me, we are a little more cautious, more careful with our feelings. We need time to adjust. But we get there—eventually. And when we do…well, suffice it to say, it was like New Year's Eve right there in Times Square. If I
were
to keep my little pink book, it would say buzz factor ten for Tyler, no doubt.

Eventually, though, I'd learn that shortly after your crush turns into a relationship, the buzz goes away. But don't worry. A nice warm glow takes its place. And that lasts for a long, long time.

Kelly McClymer was born in South Carolina, but crossed the Mason-Dixon line to live in Delaware at age six. After one short stint living in South Carolina during junior high, she has remained above the line, and now lives in Maine with her husband and three children.

 

Writing has been Kelly's passion since her sixth grade essay on how not to bake bread earned her an A plus. After cleaning up the bread dough that oozed onto the floor, she gave up bread making for good and turned to writing as a creative outlet. A graduate of the University of Delaware (English major, of course), she spends her days writing and teaching writing. Look for her next book,
The Salem Witch Tryouts
, from Simon Pulse in Fall 2006.