Николас Спаркс - The Longest Ride

He thought about it. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Do you want to go to Fabian’s? I’m not sure we can get in, since we don’t really have a reservation. But we can try.”

She thought about it, then shook her head. “No, not tonight. I want to go someplace a little off the beaten track. How about sushi?”

He didn’t respond right away. “Okay,” he offered.

She regarded him. “Have you ever had sushi before?”

“I might live on a ranch, but I’ve left it every now and then.”

And? she thought. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He fiddled with the keys before slipping the right one in the ignition. “No,” he admitted, “I’ve never had sushi.”

All she could do was laugh.

Following Sophia’s directions, they drove to Sakura Japanese Restaurant. Inside, most of the tables were occupied, as was the sushi bar. While they waited for the hostess, Sophia looked around, praying she wouldn’t bump into anyone she knew. It wasn’t the kind of place regularly frequented by students – burgers and pizza were the favored foods of college students everywhere – but Sakura wasn’t totally unknown, either. She’d come here occasionally with Marcia, and even though she didn’t recognize anyone, she nonetheless requested a seat on the outdoor patio.

Heat lamps glowed in the corners of the patio, casting a blanket of warmth that took the edge off the evening chill. Only one other table was occupied by a couple finishing their meal, and it was blissfully quiet. The view wasn’t much, but the soft yellow glow from the Japanese lantern overhead gave the place a romantic feel.

After they took their seats, Sophia leaned toward Luke. “What did you think of Marcia?”

“Your roommate? She seemed nice enough. Kind of touchy, though.”

She tilted her head. “You mean like, irritable?”

“No, I mean she kept touching my arm when she talked.”

Sophia waved it off. “That’s just the way she is. She’s like that with every guy. The world’s biggest flirt.”

“Do you know what the first thing she said to me was? Even before I entered the house?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“She said, ‘I hear you kissed my best friend.’”

No surprise there, Sophia thought. “That’s Marcia, all right. She pretty much says whatever she’s thinking. No filter.”

“But you like her.”

“Yeah,” Sophia conceded. “I do. She’s kind of taken me under her wing when I’ve needed it. She thinks I’m a little… naive.”

“Is she right?”

“In some ways,” Sophia admitted.

She reached for the chopsticks and broke them apart. “Before I came to Wake, I’d never even had a boyfriend before. In high school, I was kind of a nerd, and with work, I didn’t have a lot of time to go to parties or anything like that. I mean, I wasn’t a hermit and I knew what people did on the weekends. I knew there were drugs at school and sex and all that, but it was mainly rumors or whispers that I’d overhear. It’s not like I ever saw any of it happening. During my first semester on campus, I was pretty shocked at how open everything was. I’d hear girls in the dorm talking about hooking up with guys they just met, and I wasn’t even totally sure what that meant. Half the time, I’m still not sure, because it seems like different people mean different things. To some, it’s just making out, but to others, it means sleeping with someone, and to others something in between, if you know what I mean. I spent a big chunk of my freshman year trying to unscramble the code.”

He smiled as she went on.

“And then, Greek life in general isn’t quite what I expected. There are parties all the time, and to a lot of people, that means booze and drugs or whatever. And I’ll admit that I drank too much a couple of times, and I ended up sick and passing out in the bathroom at the house. I’m not proud of that, but there are people on campus who do that every weekend, all weekend long. And I’m not saying it’s because of Greek life at all. It’s in the dorms, in off-campus apartments, everywhere. But I’m just not that into it, and to a lot of people – Marcia included – that makes me naive. Added to that, I’m not part of the whole ‘hookup’ culture, and a lot of people think I’m some kind of prude. Even Marcia thinks that, a little. She’s never understood why anyone would want a real boyfriend in college. She always tells me that the last thing she wants is anything serious.”

He reached for his chopsticks, following her lead. “I can think of a few guys who would be very interested in a girl like that.”

“No, don’t… because even though she says that, I’m not sure it’s true. I think she wants something more real, but she doesn’t know how to find a guy who feels the same way. In college, there aren’t that many guys like that, and why would there be? When girls just give it away for nothing? I mean, I can understand why you’d sleep with someone if you love them, but if you barely know them? What’s the point? It just cheapens it.”

She fell silent, realizing that he was the first person she’d ever admitted all this to. Which was strange. Wasn’t it?

Luke toyed with his chopsticks, picking at the rough edges where he had broken them apart, taking his time to consider it. Then, leaning into the lamplight, he said, “Sounds kind of mature, if you ask me.”

She raised the menu, a bit embarrassed by that. “Just so you know, you don’t have to get sushi if you don’t want that. They have chicken and beef teriyaki, too.”

Luke studied his own menu. “What are you going to have?”

“Sushi,” she answered.

“Where did you learn to like sushi?”

“In high school,” she said. “One of my best friends was Japanese, and she kept telling me there was this great place in Edgewater where she went when she was homesick for good Japanese food. You can only eat at the deli so many times before you start to crave something new, so I went with her one day, and I ended up loving it. So sometimes, when we were studying, we’d get in her car and drive to Edgewater – just this little nondescript place. But we became regulars. And since then, I get these cravings for it every now and then. Like tonight.”

“I get it,” he agreed. “In high school, when I was competing in 4-H, I’d go to the state fair and I always had to have a fried Twinkie.”

She stared at him. “You’re comparing sushi to fried Twinkies?”

“Have you ever had a fried Twinkie?”

“It sounds disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, until you try one, you’re not allowed to comment. They’re good. Eat too many and you’ll probably have a heart attack, but every now and then, there’s nothing like it. Way better than fried Oreos.”

“Fried Oreos ?”

“If you’re trying to find a suggestion for your family deli, like I said, I’d go with the fried Twinkie.”

At first, she couldn’t formulate any response at all. Then, with a serious tone: “I don’t think anyone in the Northeast would eat such a thing.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said. “It could be the next big thing up there – people lining up all day long.”

With a tiny shake of her head, she turned to the menu again. “So 4-H, huh?”

“I started when I was a kid. Pigs.”

“What is it, exactly? I mean, I’ve heard about it, but I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s supposed to be about citizenship and responsibility and all that stuff. But when it comes to competing, it’s more about learning how to choose a good pig when it’s little. You check out its parents if you can or pictures or whatever, then you try to pick the one that you think has a chance to be a good show pig. You want a firm pig with a lot of muscle and not too much fat and no blemishes. And then, basically, you raise it for about a year. You feed it and care for it; in a way, they almost become like pets.”