Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

About herself.

Where she was from (Spokane) and what she had taken at school (veterinarian science) and what she hoped to do with her life (not, as it turned out, become a veterinarian but teach music) and how her parents moved to Fort Wayne when she was fifteen because her dad got transferred (he was with an insurance company) and how she moved out early because her parents were not getting along and were probably going to get a divorce (oh, well, what can you do, saw it coming for years) and that she had been going out with this guy who was big into sports (hockey, mostly) but she’d kind of had it with jock types because they were so into themselves and had no idea what was going on in the world and what about you?

“Me?” Travis said. He shrugged. “Not much to tell.”

Which was the truth. But he told her about how he was working on his own graphic novel, which she found pretty interesting, or at least pretended to find pretty interesting. Either way, Travis was okay with it. After about five minutes of talking about his interests, she was back to talking about herself.

God, who cares? She’s so hot.

The entire time they’d been sitting together, Travis had been thinking about one thing. Well, two. The first was, he needed to get some control over how aroused he was. When they finished their coffees and got up, Travis did not want people to think he was smuggling a fire extinguisher in his pants. But the main thing he was thinking was, if he were to ask her out, would she say yes? Maybe to go to the multiplex? And not to see some stupid Marvel or DC or Star Wars or James Bond thing, but a nonfranchise, original, not-based-on-something-else film. She struck him as a girl who’d be into an indie.

But Travis had never asked a girl out before. What did you say? Something along the lines of Would you like to go on a date with me? No, that sounded overly formal, outdated, nerdish. Maybe something more casual, off the cuff, like Hey, wanna hang out tomorrow night? Like, see a movie or something? Yeah, something like that.

And then Sandy said, “What are you doing this weekend?”

So here they were, on a Saturday afternoon, at — get this — a bowling alley. Travis hadn’t been to a bowling alley since attending a friend’s seventh birthday party. He didn’t even know there still were bowling alleys. Aside from going to the batting cages occasionally, Travis had never been particularly sports minded. All through school, he was the one who always got picked last when teams were being assembled. Even baseball, as obvious a team sport if there ever was one, was something Travis basically played alone.

This outing to the bowling alley wasn’t even their second get-together, but their fourth. The day after they had coffee, they met up for lunch at a local McDonald’s (Travis felt somewhat uncomfortable about having ordered a Big Mac when Sandy then went for a more sensible salad, but seriously, who even stepped foot into a McDonald’s to order a salad?), and it was over lunch that Sandy had said she wanted to make what she knew was an inappropriate proposal.

OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod , Travis had thought.

She had said, “You know your glasses?”

And he’d said, “Huh?”

“Your glasses are really — I don’t know how to say this without sounding all judgy and everything, but your glasses are kind of nerdy.”

“What?”

“I mean, just because some of your interests are nerdy — and I have no problem with that, because I think comics and graphic novels are a true art form and you have nothing to be ashamed about — but just because your interests are a bit, you know, like that, you don’t have to look like that. And your glasses... is there some reason why the frames are so thick and the lenses so oversized?”

Travis’s face had flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” Sandy had said. “I really overstepped, didn’t I?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he’d said. “I guess, they’re just what I’ve always worn. I asked my parents once for some nicer ones and they said these were fine. But, yeah, maybe they’re a bit on the geeky side. I look like a professor in one of those sixties puppet adventure shows like Thunderbirds .”

Sandy had looked at him blankly, not getting the reference.

“Anyway, yeah. I’ve thought about getting different ones, but anytime I have some money, I spend it on something else.”

“Let’s get you some new glasses. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Gee, I don’t know. They could be expensive and—”

“They could be my treat,” she’d said. “And after that, we could, you know, and tell me if I’m way over the line here again, go to the Gap or something and get you some clothes.”

“Clothes?”

“No offense, but you could use a slight upgrade in the wardrobe department.”

“Oh.”

Sandy had given him a light kick under the table. “Listen to me, you idiot. I don’t think you have any idea, but right under the surface here” — and she’d spun her index finger in the air in front of his face — “is a sexy guy waiting to burst out.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

The thing was, Travis actually did have some money saved up — pretty close to a thousand dollars — so the next day he went to the ATM and took out a couple hundred in cash and allowed Sandy to take him to the mall for a minimakeover. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it went pretty far at the Gap. Sandy picked out some shirts that were on sale, and a pair of stylish jeans. It was when she suggested Travis get some new boxers that he nearly lost his mind.

They’d only known each other a couple of days, and they hadn’t done anything but kissed a few times — that’s right, Travis had finally put his lips on a girl’s in a circumstance that was not a family funeral or under duress — but Travis couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that even better things were coming. The fact that Sandy would actually have a suggestion about an item of apparel that touched his boys was pretty much the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life.

The trip to the Gap didn’t leave Travis any money for new glasses, but Sandy insisted that she would help him with that. He could always pay her back later. So they went to the eyeglass place in the mall and found an over-the-counter pair that were every bit as good as the prescription ones he’d been wearing for years and didn’t even cost very much.

So by the time they got to the bowling alley, Travis felt like a new man. Sandy had remade him, and all it took was a pair of glasses and a new outfit. Oh sure, Travis still had something of a nerd vibe going on, and he knew it, but Sandy didn’t seem to mind. He guessed it went back to what she’d said about her former boyfriend, the jock, a subject she had expanded on in subsequent conversations. She didn’t like guys who were full of themselves, who thought they were hot shit, who were narcissistic assholes who believed the world revolved around them.

Hey, Travis thought, if Sandy’s tastes now ran to guys with low self-esteem who couldn’t throw a football if their lives depended on it, she had found her perfect man.

After their game — Travis shot an astonishingly bad score of 80, but Sandy wasn’t much better at 95 — they went for a burger, and for a change Sandy didn’t talk exclusively about herself.

“No offense,” she said jokingly, “but you are not the best bowler I ever saw.”

“Right back atya,” he said. “Bowling’s not really my game.”

“What is your game?”

He rolled his eyes. “Not really anything. I take my little Louisville Slugger to those batting cages once in a while, but that’s about it.”