The detention ends at five, so I have two hours to get home after school and then transform from a goblin into the girl-next-door. As I dip the sponge into a large bucket of water mixed with special detergent, I wonder if I can convince Dad that letting me go to the movies with a boy—despite being grounded—is a perfectly good decision. David Parker is an extremely caring, principled, and, unfortunately for me, overprotective father. When the thing happened that I don't want to talk about, he had to take on the full responsibility of raising me, which, so far, he's managed quite well. However, I know him too well. I know that when he hears about my evening plans, he won't smile or pat me on the back, wishing me fun. To him, I'm still a little girl who should be focusing on studying instead of being interested in boys.

As I clean the dusty seat backs in the fourth row, I come to the conclusion that, unfortunately, I will have to lie to Dad today and it makes me feel bad. Definitely not proud.

When I notice a shadow falling on the floor right next to the bucket, I don't need to guess who is standing behind me. I turn my head. Aiden's stance, with his expectant gaze and hands stuffed into the pockets of his black jeans, clearly indicates why he's here. Of course, I could have returned the money to him during one of the breaks when I saw him wandering between the hallways, but for some unknown reason, I didn't. I guess I wanted to wait until now to ask Aiden the question that's been bothering me since leaving the station last night, with as few witnesses as possible.

I stand up, wipe my wet hands on my jeans, and then reach into my back pocket to pull out a ten-dollar bill. With reluctance written all over my face, I place it into the outstretched hand of the boy. I wish he choked with that money.

"Thank you," I grit out through clenched teeth.

Aiden raises an eyebrow, and I can see a stupid smirk dancing at the corners of his mouth.

"Doing business with you is great, I must say."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're an asshole?" I ask, though I know this insult won't even touch the slightest nerve of his conscience. He's a man without feelings, stripping a poor girl like me of her last few dollars.

"Many times," Aiden says, putting the bill into his pocket before slumping into a chair I haven't had a chance to clean yet. Of course. I shouldn't expect him to grab a second sponge and help me. "I hope you didn't tell anyone."

I roll my eyes. I promised, after all. But that's closely related to the question I want to ask him.

"I sent an anonymous email to the local newspaper," I scoff, and I feel a small satisfaction when Aiden narrows his eyes. "It's ridiculous. You tell me not to tell anyone you work nights at a gas station that anyone could visit. I thought about it yesterday and it doesn't make any sense to me."

"Can I be honest?" Aiden's question surprises me. I expected him to respond in his usual jerk-like style, so I nod, unable to contain my curiosity. "It shouldn't concern you, but if you want to know, the principal knows about my job. If someone sees me there, I'm not going to run away. I just don't want everyone knowing about it right now ."

Okay. That answer fully satisfies me, though I'm still left wondering why Aiden has to work nights at all. He's only eighteen!

"Is that why you're always sleeping?" it slips out. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner. I really feel sorry for the guy I judged so easily. For someone who suffers from bullying and hate, it was surprisingly easy to lump Aiden in with others. On further reflection, I even come to the conclusion that if I had to point to one person from the older classes who has never called me a weirdo or a freak... it would be Aiden. I mean he's not the only one who never called me crazy, Ivo was always nice to me either, but you know what I'm trying to say.

Woods shifts uneasily in his chair, but there's no indication that he's about to get up and leave as far away from me as possible. I don't get it. It's so unlike the guy who throws books and slams doors in my face, but apparently, he wants to make sure I don't reveal his secret. He doesn't answer my question, and of course, I take that as confirmation.

Aiden Woods is a person with no past. He showed up out of nowhere and everyone noticed him when he crossed the walls of our elementary school on a sunny day. At first, he was just a normal kid, but he gradually became alienated, surly, and unfriendly. He was transforming in front of our eyes into someone nobody wants to deal with. And those rumors... Looking at him now, I start to question the idea that he could have murdered anyone. Not with those lips that curl into a smile even while he's asleep. If he were a bad person, he'd steal the money instead of filling up fancy cars in the upscale part of our stupid little town at night. He wouldn't be going to school because the last thing a murderer would want is to study. And he wouldn't be sitting here with his legs stretched out in front of him; he'd be bullying some freshman, dunking his head in the toilet.

That's what bad people do.

"You know, you're serving detention here just like Ivo and I," I say, pointing to the tall blond guy scrubbing a chair a few rows down. "You could really help us. It would definitely speed things up. Since you've slept in at night, there's no reason you can't grab a sponge and start at the top. I promise I won't tell anyone about your night job, as long as you help us clean this auditorium from now on. I don't want to be here either, but it's not something I can change. So, what do you say?"

"You're so annoying," Aiden wipes his face but eventually gets up. "Where's that stupid bucket?"

The smile on my face is surely even more irritating to him, but I can't help it. I point to the area under the stage where the cleaning supplies are.

"You'll have to go to that tiny room with the sink and the toilet for water," I announce in an overly sweet tone. I can't believe it. I've achieved the unachievable; I've done the impossible. I have a sudden feeling that if I managed to blackmail Aiden into helping, tonight's date will go just as I hope.

➿➿➿

Jen says, "I have a bad feeling," as I place my phone on the desk and turn on the speakerphone. With a towel on my hair, I gaze into the small mirror in front of me, assessing how much foundation I'll need to use to cover all the pimples that have recently appeared on my face. It doesn't seem too bad. I'll cover the occasional pimple on my forehead with my bangs; I just need to get rid of the signs of my hormones party.

"Your bad feelings never come true," I state, speaking the truth.

Jen sighs on the other end. I imagine her lying on her back on her huge bed, playing with the fairy lights at the top. Meanwhile, I roll my eyes. Fortunately, she can't see that.

I reach for the tweezers and lean over the mirror to remove the extra hairs around my eyebrows. It might not be something Kyle would even notice, but it's about my mental comfort.

"You don't know him. In my opinion, you should meet him in a larger group. You've only talked to him twice!"

"Three times," I correct her.

"Of course, because you count that moment when your shirt nearly met his lunch as a conversation. I don't want to say anything, Sadie, but this seems a bit desperate."

I put the tweezers down. Jen's words confuse me, and I can't hide that I'm starting to get slightly irritated.

"What exactly is your problem, Jen?"As long as Kyle was out of reach, her comments didn't seem suspicious. She just didn't think he was worth my interest. That's it. Now, however, I wonder if there's a deeper issue. Why is she so averse to Kyle? Or maybe..."Are you jealous?" I blurt out suddenly.

Jen is silent. I stare at her name on my phone screen, waiting for her to confirm my suspicions. It must be this. This girl, who's in love with Japan, has actually fallen for Kyle, the Asian guy, and is trying to convince me otherwise. It's so obvious! First Moodkiller, now her. Why can't my best friends be happy for me?

"I'm not jealous, Sadie. You know very well he's not my type."

"So?"

Jennifer sighs and decides to change the subject.

"Have you figured out what you're going to tell your dad? Has he come home?"

"I don't need to make up anything. Imagine that about twenty miles from here, there was a fatal accident, and just a moment ago, Dad called me and sadly said he won't be home for dinner because he has to go there. Generally, I wanted to ask you to confirm that I was at your place if I didn't manage to get home before him. But that probably won't be even necessary."

"Sure."

Jennifer's tone isn't very cheerful, and for a moment, I wrestle with the thought that my friend might see this as taking advantage. On the other hand, that's what friends do, right? They cover each other's backs. If Jen were going on a date secretly from her mom, I'd do the same for her.

"I'm going to dry my hair, and I'll talk to you later," I say towards the phone, taking off the wet towel from my head. I'm getting more and more excited and can't stop the trembling of my hands, which intensifies with each passing minute. This isn't really happening.

When I come back from the bathroom, I instinctively touch the phone screen to check the time. I nearly fall over with shock when I see THIS notification:

Kyle Chew sent you a friend request.

I might just pee myself from excitement. I click "Accept" and almost die when, a split second later, I receive a message on the chat.

💬Kyle Chew: Hey, is the movie still on?

Oh my goodness, he's even asking? If only he knew the emotions he's stirring in my soul, he'd probably never want to go out with me. I can't let him see that, or he'll think that everything they say about me is true and start treating me like a lunatic.

I display the message but don't reply right away. I count to ten in my head, then go down to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of tap water. I drink it slowly, then glance at the watch on my wrist. Three minutes. Too short.

I put the glass in the sink, and then walk slowly to the terrace to get some fresh air. Five minutes. Too short.

I return to the room. I stand in front of the wardrobe and make the most important decision of the evening – I pull out my favorite jeans and a black T-shirt that somewhat covers the belly fat. Moodkiller advised me to dress comfortably, and since he's a guy, he must know something about it. Besides, this outfit is suitable for most occasions – and it's just a movie after all.

Fifteen minutes. That's enough.

I pick up my phone, and although my hands are shaking and I miss the keyboard a few times, I finally manage to type a response.

💬Sarah Parker: Hey, sure :)

Kyle reads the message immediately, and when I see the little dots at the bottom of the screen, I bite my lip, impatiently waiting for his reply.

💬Kyle Chew: ok! give me your address. I'll come in half an hour; the movie starts at seven thirty.

💬Sarah Parker: 1215 Lincoln Street. Two-story, white house on the corner.

💬Kyle Chew: Great, I think I'll find it. See you then :)

➿➿➿

Kyle looks perfect in a white polo shirt and navy chinos. He would look like a sex god even in a potato sack. Standing next to him, a short potato like me looks at least average, but since this guy somehow decided to invite me to the movies, I can't be that terrible. At least that's what I've been telling myself for the last twenty minutes.

He picked me up in his red Ford pickup, opened the passenger door, and ended with a compliment, saying I looked nice. The entire drive, my stomach was up in my throat, and I felt like I could hardly stay in one place from excitement. Kyle also asked how my day was, and when he heard about my detention and issues with my dad, he agreed to drop me home as quickly as possible.

As we now stand in line for popcorn, I can't stop staring at him. Kyle Chew, with his black hair, dark brown eyes, and charming smile, is the embodiment of all my dreams. That damn dimple in his right cheek makes it impossible for me to look away from his face for more than five seconds, no matter how hard I try. Kyle seems to sense it because he smiles and looks down at me.

"Am I dirty or something?"

Oh my goodness, if only he'd give me another smile like that...

"N-no..." My embarrassment must be palpable in neighboring states. I fix my gaze on the back of a man in front of us, where sweat stains on his grey t-shirt are clearly visible. Yes, that's a good way to distract myself from how wonderfully Kyle smells.

"Do you like Deadpool? Actually, I bought these tickets and didn't even ask for your opinion," he suddenly asks.

"I love him!" I lie. I mean, it's not that I don't like superhero movies; it's just that I'm not a huge fan. I didn't even know there was a premiere two days ago.

"That's good. I was afraid you'd be bored."

"Oh, no way. The Avengers for example are great," I assure him, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "Team Peter Parker!"

"Hey! Really! You have the same last name!"

"I need to ask him if he has any family in Albuquerque; maybe we're cousins."

God, I'm making a fool of myself. I just hope he doesn't figure me out.

When it's our turn, Kyle orders a combo for two. I follow the chubby man with my eyes. He also ordered the same combo, but I don't see anyone waiting for him near the entrance. Does he really plan to eat both buckets of popcorn and wash it down with two cups of diet soda? I feel an odd unease, thinking I've used up all my luck today. If I could bet on it, I'd put all my money on ending up right next to this guy with Kyle.

As we enter the room, the lights go out and the previews begin. However, I'm not paying attention to the music playing behind me; instead, I anxiously watch Kyle head towards the row where the man is sitting. This is a disaster. The theater is packed – true fans are easy to spot with their wide eyes reflecting the screen, and I swear, if it weren't dark, I'd definitely see their flushed faces. The sweaty guy stares ahead and shovels popcorn into his mouth, not caring that some of it is falling to the floor. I'm hoping for a miracle. Maybe we'll end up sitting somewhere higher. Please, Kyle, don't stop here...

"Row M, seats seven and eight," he whispers, and it sounds like a sentence to me.

I give him a forced smile and start squeezing into the seats with our numbers. Wonderful. Just, damn, wonderful.

➿➿➿

"It wasn't that bad." Kyle looks at me, sitting behind the wheel of his car. We're both holding containers of Raising Cane's on our laps, enjoying one of the best breaded chickens in the entire United States. I'm slowly forgetting the past two hours of enduring sniffling, slurping, crunching, and many other unpleasant things from the sweaty guy next to us. I love eating, I love Kyle, and now I also love sitting in the car with him. What more could I need for complete happiness?

"It wasn't," I agree, beginning to relax a bit. Throughout the movie, Kyle and I kept glancing at each other and making meaningful faces. Somehow, this made me stop being so excited about the fact that I was on a date. "The moment with Chris when everyone thought he was Capital American but he ended up being that guy from Fantastic Four, was brilliant. That expression was priceless."

"Yeah, that was funny."

I glance at my watch. After leaving the theater, I sent my dad a text asking what time he'd be home. I knew he hadn't returned yet, or I would already have a million missed calls.

Kyle parked around the corner, where he can see my house's driveway perfectly.

I finish the last piece of chicken. When Kyle said that since I couldn't go to dinner with him like a normal person, we'd get takeout, I thought it might be heaven, and the annoying movie incident was just a test of my endurance.

"I hope you're not mad at me about what happened in the cafeteria." He leans his head back against the headrest. He looks at me with an expression I can't quite read, which makes me a bit self-conscious.

"Of course not. And even if I were, you made up for it. I love Stranger Things; I'll only wear this T-shirt on Sundays and holidays," I laugh.

"You're funny."

"Thanks also for tonight. I didn't expect someone like you to invite me anywhere," I admit with sudden honesty.

Kyle furrows his brow but smiles, as if I've just said the biggest nonsense in the world.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time, but you seemed so... I mean, you intimidate people. I guess I was a bit scared. And then the cafeteria incident happened, and I thought, since the ice was already broken, I might as well go for it."

Did Kyle really just say he's been looking for a way to ask me out for a while? I feel my cheeks turning the color of my hair, but that's entirely understandable. I don't think I've ever heard a guy say something like that.

"You know, you're like, well... you know. Everybody knows you and likes you. With your achievements, you're a teacher's favorite. You have a group of friends, and no one at school points fingers at you because of your family or appearance." I absolutely don't want him to think I'm venting; it's just the only way to show him why I don't exactly radiate joy in the school hallways.

"You know a lot about me," he notes with a smile, making me blush again. Kyle doesn't comment on my statement but ponders something for a moment. "Let's play ten questions game," he suggests.

"Ten questions game?" I raise my eyebrows, surprised by his sudden idea.

Kyle tosses the empty chicken container onto the back seat, then briefly grabs the steering wheel. I'm still crumpling the paper bag, hoping it hides how sweaty my palms are.

"I mean, if you want. One question per date. That way, I'll be sure you'll go out with me again."

I swallow hard. Hell yeah, Mr. Chew.

"Hmm... sure. I guess we can play."

But now what? Should I ask him something?

I look at Kyle uncertainly, and he gives me a mischievous smile. The sight is so perfect it almost hurts.

"Are there any forbidden topics?" he asks.

I'm going to regret this. I want to know as much about him as possible, but that means I have to let him ask equally personal questions.

"N-no... I don't think so."

"Okay. Then tell me, what is Sadie Parker really like?"

For a moment, I try to read his face to see if there's something more behind the question. I have no idea how to answer it. I don't know what Kyle wants to hear. His face remains that of a curious guy, so I tear my gaze away from his hypnotic eyes and start looking for help through the windshield. I immediately glance towards my house, and even though I want to tell Kyle the whole truth, I know if I lay it all out, he'll probably bolt to the moon and pretend he never knew me.

Deep breath. Or two.

"Could you clarify the question?"

He grabs the steering wheel again, as if it's a habit. Through the sunroof, he looks at the sky and shrugs.

"Well, you know. At school, you're untouchable. Guys are scared to approach you and even say a word because they risk getting the middle finger in return. And believe me, in the boys' locker room, they talk about girls every day, and your name comes up quite often."

"With the nickname 'crazy'," I add, with a bitter tone in my voice. I had to get it out; it was stronger than me.

Kyle falls silent for a moment, and I see him wrestling with his thoughts.

"Sadie," he sighs. "That's exactly what I'm asking. I know you're not crazy; I just spent a perfectly normal evening with you. Tell me something that people at school don't know."

I have no idea when a simple movie date between two ordinary teenagers turned into a psychological profile session. I didn't want this. Not on our first date. How will Kyle remember it later?

"How did I meet Sadie? Oh, it just happened. We talked about her school problems with bullying. You know, just some light chit-chat."

The atmosphere in the car grows increasingly tense. I no longer feel any excitement, but I need to do everything I can to save the evening.

God, I wish I was less socially awkward and knew how to behave on a date. I shouldn't let the bullying define me, right! I have something more to offer.

"I dream of having a dog, but unfortunately, I'm allergic to fur," I blurt out quickly. "I love old movies with Robert De Niro or Brad Pitt, like the ones where he wasn't famous enough to be mentioned in the credits. My favorite season is winter, and my least favorite is autumn. I can't do trigonometry. I'm a huge fan of The Killers, Coldplay, and Billie Eilish. My favorite book is The Catcher in the Rye, and my favorite color is..."

"Let me guess," he interrupts, taking a strand of my hair between his fingers. "Pink."

"Pink." I blush. I know it's predictable, but damn it, you can't rebel in everything.

Kyle nods. Apparently, my answer satisfies him because he doesn't seem to be waiting for more. Of course, he's looking at me, damn it, he's still looking at me. And probably analyzing the words I've spoken.

"Okay, I'll accept that. Your turn, ask me a question." He drops his hand and automatically grabs the gear shift.

I wonder what I could ask him, but there are so many options that it's hard to decide. In the end, I can't choose anything because suddenly Kyle turns his head to the left and whispers in a conspiratorial tone:

"Police car."

And once again, I curse the fact that I'm not a gym class star.