Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) (56 page)

Needless to say, the rush of change that came with new classes,
all of the band discussion and reconfiguration of relationships had left me
with very little time to fuss and fret over my date with Jackson. The only time
I really thought much about where we might go or what we might do was when Dad
started in on his grand inquisitions. He was only really able to pry when Mom
wasn’t around, though, because she’d usually shoo him off while saying, “Let
her be, Theo.”

The Friday of our date was just as hectic as the rest of the week
had been. The band was practicing in the garage, and I could hear the pounding
of the drums all the way upstairs. I almost feared Mark would end up bringing
the house down—in a less than stellar way—with the way he was playing. I
figured it was probably a good way for him to dispose of any of his anger,
though. I hadn’t seen Mark get outright mad in a very long time, but I
suspected his anger still existed.

Skylar had the night off from work, and Stevie was over yet
again. I’d overheard them talking about Mom ordering pizza on the way into
Skylar’s room to watch a movie. I had no idea how they expected to actually
hear any of the movie, but I suspected Stevie was more interested in the band
than a movie anyway, which meant Skylar might be the one raging later on. She
had not taken well to Stevie’s interest in the band, antagonistic or not.

I had no idea where Dad was, and I wasn’t about to seek him out.
Mom had passed by my room on the way down the hall and stopped in to remind me
of my curfew of eleven o’clock. I tried for midnight, but it was useless. “Not
until you’re sixteen,” she chirped. She seemed just a bit too gleeful about it
for my liking.

Earlier
in the evening, before Stevie came over, I asked Skylar—out of desperation—for
her advice on what to wear for a date when I didn’t know what it would entail.
After a quick look through my closet and lots of dissatisfied faces as she
scanned, Skylar muttered, “I’ll be right back.”

She
disappeared from the room only to return a minute later with a printed skirt
and a tan shirt. “Wear a denim jacket over it, and you should be set for the
evening.”

I
was too surprised by her generosity to speak at first, and she was already out
the door by the time I managed to thank her.

I
managed to not spend all evening getting ready. I’d finally managed to get past
my previous idiosyncrasy when it came to freaking out about how I looked before
seeing Jackson. The “Snotty Marshmallow Incident”—as I’d come to call it the
more I thought about it—really put things into perspective. Of course I still
wanted to look nice, but I needn’t slave away and strive for a perfect ideal
that would never exist.

Jackson
had told me at school that he’d be by around sixty thirty to pick me up, and I
was ready in plenty of time. I wasted some time online before finally going
downstairs at a quarter after six. I saw that Dad was in the living room,
watching the news, and kept on walking until I was in the kitchen with Mom.

She
had the ice tea maker set up to brew a new pot and was putting away the clean
dishes from the washer. She smiled when she noticed me. “Ready for your big
date?”

I
tried to play it off like it was nothing by saying, “It’s not
that
big
of a deal.”

Mom
didn’t buy it. “Of course it is. It’s your first date,” she said. “Any idea
where he’s taking you?”

I
shook my head. I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about it either. I liked
surprises, but it was also kind of nerve-wracking. I hoped he wouldn’t take me
anywhere that might result in me making a fool of myself. I was already worried
enough about trying not to ruin my borrowed clothes.

“I’m
sure it will be nice.” Mom paused and leaned against the counter. “My first
date took me to the skating rink. Of course that was years ago, and skating
rinks are probably extinct by now.”

I
laughed, shaking my head. “I think the one across town would still be in
business if that tornado a few years ago hadn’t destroyed the building.”

“Maybe
that was God’s way of saying roller skates were out of date,” she grinned.

I
rolled my eyes and grabbed a couple of dishes from the washer and put them in
their rightful place. “How old were you when you went on your first date?”

Mom
considered for a moment. “I was probably about your age,” she answered
thoughtfully. “I remember my dad wasn’t at all happy about it. If he’d had his
way, I wouldn’t have dated until I was thirty.”

She
laughed and I joined in. “Sounds like Dad.”

“He’s
just not ready to let you grow up, Sil.” Mom smiled softly as she smoothed a
strand of hair back away from my face. “In his eyes you’ll always be his little
girl. Skylar and Luke grew up so fast, but I think he expected you to stay
little forever. I know I did.”

Embarrassed,
I muttered, “But I’m
not
a little girl anymore.”

“Maybe
not,” Mom shrugged, “but you’re still
our
baby.”

Great,
I thought, but I smiled, nonetheless, as the doorbell rang. “That’s probably
Jackson.”

“Then
you better head your father off before he gets to the door first and starts
grilling Jackson,” Mom smirked.

I
made a face and bid her goodbye before hurrying out of the kitchen and down the
hall toward the front door.

I
just barely beat Dad to the door, but before I could grab my coat, slip on my
shoes and push Jackson back out the door, Dad caught us. Before he’d let us
leave, he grilled Jackson about his driving record, reminded me about my curfew
twice
, and made it clear that if I came home with a hair out of place,
there would be hell to pay. It was thoroughly mortifying, and if Mom hadn’t
come along and saved us by dragging Dad into the kitchen while telling us to
have a good time, we probably never would have got out of the house.

“Your
dad really hates me,” Jackson chuckled once we were buckled up in his car.

“He
still thinks of me as the baby; that’s all,” I replied. “Give him some time.
He’ll warm up to you . . . I hope.”

“Wow,
those thinly veiled doubts of yours are really reassuring,” Jackson laughed. “I
don’t have a chance in hell, do I?”

“It’ll
be okay, really,” I smiled, but I was trying to convince myself as well. “Once
he gets over the idea of me dating, he’ll adjust.”

“You’re
probably right,” he nodded. “I don’t know that I’d be too thrilled about Clare
dating anytime soon.”

“Then
you’d better start adjusting too,” I grinned. “She’s older than me, so it won’t
be long.”

“Ugh,
don’t remind me.” Jackson made such an awful face filled with disgust that I
couldn’t help but laugh. “With Jordan out of the house and Eric all the way in
Chicago, it’s my obligation to take over the older overprotective brother
role.”

“Funny,
Luke never took on that role,” I said. “But then again he’s only focused on
Oxide these days, so he probably doesn’t even know I’m out on a date right now.”

“He
sure is determined about this whole band thing, isn’t he?”

“Oh,
yeah,” I nodded. “And I never thought him and Mark would be friends, so it’s so
bizarre to see them talking in the halls at school
all
the time.”

“It
is kind of weird. Everyone thinks your brother’s lost it for letting Mark into
his band.”

That
didn’t surprise me at all. I’d noticed the stares and heard the murmurs. Even
though I could understand it, it didn’t mean I had to like it.

“Mark’s
a little rough around the edges, but once you get to know him, he’s a decent
guy. I think . . .” I bit my lip. “I think he just needed some friends, ya
know?”

Jackson
considered for a moment. “It does seem to be doing him a lot of good,” he
conceded. “People are still wary, but they aren’t cowering in his presence . .
. as much.”

Our
conversation continued all the way up until we pulled into the parking lot of
De Luca’s. Of course, he parked in the farthest corner away from all of the
other cars, but I barely noticed because I was so surprised. De Luca’s was an
Italian restaurant that Travis had raved about, but I’d never been myself. Dad
went for a business dinner once and complained later about how expensive it was
and how happy he was that it was on the company’s dime.

Before
we got to the doors, I grabbed Jackson’s arm, pulling him to a stop. He looked
down at me, confused. “Are you sure you can afford this?” My question came out
in an embarrassed whisper.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded. “Besides, they could always send you to
the back to do the dishes if not,” he winked. “That, of course, would be the
third option.”

“Gee, thanks. What are the first two options?”

“The first would be that I pay for it, and the second would be that I
charm the waitress into giving us a discount,” he grinned as he tugged me
toward the door.

I grinned back. “Someone’s awful full of himself.”

Jackson shrugged as he held the door open and motioned me ahead of
him. Once inside, I looked around while Jackson went over to give the hostess
his name. Apparently, he’d made reservations because she grabbed a couple of
menus and showed us to our seats.

I didn’t miss the way she eyed Jackson like he was a rare delicacy
even though it was painfully obvious he was much too young for her. “Your
waiter or waitress will be right with you,” she said, smiling invitingly as she
handed us our menus.

I opened mine, smirking, as I looked it over.

“Why are you smirking?” Jackson asked.

I glanced at him over the menu and shrugged. “Nothing,” I said
innocently.

“For some reason, I don’t quite believe you.”

I changed the subject. “Have you been here before?”

Jackson paused, seeming to consider whether or not he was going to
press the issue of the smirk, before he finally shook his head.

“Me either.” I considered the items on the menu. “I wonder what’s
good.”

“All of it, of course,” a male voice said. I looked up to find a
handsome young man—probably college aged—standing over our table. He had pale
blond hair and his matching eyebrows were nearly visibly against his tanned
skin. “I’m Will,” he said, pointing to his nametag, and his light blue eyes
sparkled. “I’ll be your server tonight. Can I go ahead and get your drinks? You
look a bit young for wine, but I can offer you a lovely array of mixed
drinks—virgin, of course.”

Jackson looked like he didn’t know what to make of our waiter, but he
cleared his throat and said, “I’ll just have a Coke.”

Will nodded, but he didn’t write it down. Instead he turned to me.
“Might I entice you with a mixed drink?”

I shook my head, smiling. “Raspberry tea?”

“Good choice,” Will grinned and motioned toward our menus before
launching into the night’s special.

Once he’d walked away, after stating he’d get our drinks and give us
time to consider, I couldn’t suppress a small giggle.

Jackson glanced around, trying to find the reason for the laughter.
When he found nothing, he turned back to me. “What?”

“I was just thinking,” I said, unable to hold back the laughter as I
spoke. “I’d like to see you charm Will.”

“Er,” Jackson looked troubled by the prospect, but then his expression
cleared and morphed into a broad grin. “I think the dish plan just got bumped
to option two. Unless you want to try charming our exuberant waiter.”

I considered. I felt pretty inept at flirting, but I wasn’t sure even
that would work. “I don’t know if I’m Will’s type.” I arched an eyebrow at
Jackson. “You might fare pretty well.”

“Am I giving off a vibe?” Jackson frowned.

I laughed again at his discomfort and confusion. “No, but you’re hot.”

As soon as the words were out, I felt my face flame, and much to my
surprise, Jackson blushed as well.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, and I was stricken with the realization that
it was very possible he had no idea he was so good looking. He quickly changed
the focus back to the menu.

We decided to get the appetizer sampler. I tried to convince Jackson
to give crispy calamari a shot, but he refused. “It’s really not bad,” I tried
to assure him. “I’ve had it before.”

Jackson just shook his head while stating, “When it comes to food, I’m
not that adventurous.”

Jackson made the unoriginal choice of lasagna, but he was at least
brave enough to get the sampler, where he got the choice of three different
kinds of lasagna. He chose pepperoni, Italian sausage and four-cheese marinara.
I probably would have tried something a bit different if I’d gotten the
sampler, but I went with the Mediterranean chicken penne instead. I considered
the roasted red pepper chicken, but then I worried about bad breath and the
price. I tried not to get anything too expensive, but Jackson’s choice wasn’t
exactly cheap, so that was reassuring. Joking aside, I wasn’t thrilled with the
idea of flirting or washing dishes to pay the bill.

While
we waited for the food, I asked one of the many questions that had been nagging
at my mind. “Can I ask you something?” I checked first.

“Sure,”
Jackson shrugged. “Hit me.”

“Your
mom.”

Jackson
took a sip of his drink before he sat back. “What about my mom?”

“What
kind of accent does she have?” I clarified. “I cannot figure it out.”

“Oh.”
Jackson chuckled. “I’m not entirely sure there’s a name for it.”

“What
do you mean?”

“Well,
she was born in Michigan, but her dad was a sort of international businessman,
and they moved to Ireland for several years. My Gram is part Irish anyway, so
that was cool with her because she had some family there,” Jackson explained.
“They lived there for, like, five or six years, but then they moved around for
a few years after that. I can’t remember all of the places, but they lived in
London, Tokyo and some place in Italy. I don’t think they were in any one place
for more than a year, but they finally moved back here to the states.”