Guitar Boy just stood there, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, a smirk on his face, and a shrug as if he hadn’t orchestrated this entire stunt.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I groaned and yelled, “Fine!” But in reality, giddiness squirmed through me. Never had a boy tried so long and this hard to get my number. Never had one put together a phone number proposal like this or had an entire crowd backing him up. Had a boy ever even asked for my number?
The scattered crowd applauded and whistled. Thank goodness my family was in the living room watching a movie turned on so loud that they hadn’t heard this commotion.
I didn’t have the dry-erase board, so I held up my fingers to hand over my cellphone number one number at a time. Guitar Boy immediately added it to his phone as my face warmed from all the approving attention.
I expected my phone to buzz with a text. But nah. It rang. He actually called me! Right here and now in front of everyone!
My hands shook as I answered.
“Hi,” he said in a level, deep voice as he stuffed one hand back into his pocket.
I tried not to smile, but dang it! I was grinning so hard that I almost spun around so he wouldn’t see.
“Hey,” I said as casually as possible, but my voice might’ve been trembling.
“So this is what you sound like. When you’re not yelling.”
“Yep.”
“Thanks for giving me your number.”
My gaze fluttered to the alley below, away from his intense look, away from the nosy audience. “You forced me to. Did you tell all these people to do this?”
“What? That? Had nothing to do with it.”
I glanced at him and could see he was grinning now. “Right. This just evolved on its own?”
He laughed. Wow. He sounded so nice. My skin tingled.
“Can I have my shoe back?” I asked.
“I dunno…”
“Wasn’t that the entire point of getting my number?”
“No. The point was to finally talk to you. If I give you your shoe back, you might not talk to me again.”
“So, extortion, is it?”
“Collateral.”
“Wow. Okay. Can I ever expect to get my shoe back?”
“Of course.” He looked behind him. “I have to go. Can I text you later?”
“Do I have a choice if you’re holding my shoe hostage?”
He held up the sneaker for me to see. “It’s in good hands. Promise.”
I clamped down on a smile as he went inside. And with his departure, I went inside, too. I joined my family for movie night, if nothing else to get my mind off Guitar Boy, but found myself constantly checking my phone.
Which didn’t go unnoticed by Ma. “Waiting for something important?”
“Someone is supposed to text me.”
“Someone? Not a specific name? Are you talking to boys?” Ma asked.
“Whaaaaat?” I said without much conviction.
“Nice thing about quarantine is that I don’t have to worry about boys getting too close to you. The virus took care of that! Six feet apart at all times! Hard to kiss or do things you shouldn’t be doing when you have to maintain social distancing.”
“Ugh. Can we not talk about that? No one is trying to get close to me.”
The movie ended and still no text.
Lilly was already asleep in bed. I crawled underneath my covers, facing the wall with my back to my little sister. The window was in my view and the phone beside my face so that I could see it light up.
This was totally uncool to wait for some boy. I was not here for this. I was going to sleep and respond when I responded.
Just as my eyelids fluttered closed, the screen lit up.
Guitar Boy: Hey. Are you still awake?
I tapped the phone, deliberating on replying.
Me: Yeah
Guitar Boy: My name’s Neal. What’s your name?
Me: Bobby
Guitar Boy: Bobby? Isn’t that a boy’s name?
Me: Not in my culture. Don’t throw your social constructs at me
Guitar Boy: LOL. Fair
Me: I need my shoe back
Guitar Boy: Do you though?
Me: Yes!
Guitar Boy: When you threw it at me, thought it was a gift
Me: At least I didn’t hit you
Guitar Boy: That would’ve hurt. You threw it kinda hard. Nice aim, BTW
Me: I’m a softball pitcher. I could’ve thrown it way harder
Guitar Boy: Nice! I mean the pitcher part. Glad you didn’t throw harder
Me: You could be a gentleman and throw my shoe back
Guitar Boy: I don’t have your aim. It might end up on someone else’s balcony
Me: Meet me outside, then
Guitar Boy: Sounds like an invitation to a fight
Me: Listen. I also have a softball bat and I’m not afraid to throw it
Guitar Boy: I’m going to hold on to your shoe for a little longer
Me: :/
Guitar Boy: Collateral. Hey, can we video chat?
Me: Why?
Guitar Boy: So I can see your face
Me: You saw me outside
Guitar Boy: Kinda far, though
Me: I’m in bed and it’s dark. You’re not going to see much
Guitar Boy: I’ll take what I can get
I bit my lip and thought about the request for a moment before obliging. But mainly because I wanted to see him closer up, too. I popped in my earbuds and checked how I looked on camera first. Eh. It wasn’t the best, but it was dark and he wouldn’t be able to see much of me. I took in a deep, nervous breath and video called him.
Within seconds, Neal manifested on my screen. He sat in bed in a well-lit room, his cheeks a little flushed as if maybe he was nervous, too. He had a lot of quarantine hair, wavy and wild, that curled at the ends. It brushed his ears and forehead. His smile squished up his intense, brown eyes, and deep dimples formed. But his smile! He had this big, bright, dazzling smile behind full lips.
He was super cute! I mean…Mena Massoud, was that you??
Neal grinned. “You gonna stare any harder? You might hit your face on the screen.”
I swallowed. “Whatever. Anyone tell you that you look like Mena Massoud?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
“The guy who played Aladdin?”
He
