"Oh Jesus, Tina! I'm not trying to go on a date; I just want to talk to him!"

"Doesn't change anything!" she answers in a light, sing-songish voice.

I sigh in exasperation. "Okay. Fair enough-I'll tell you what happens."

That should be easy. I just want to talk to him, so there won't be anything to tell.

"Good," she chimes happily, and then quietly adds, "For number two: you have to promise to be careful with yourself, okay?"

I roll my eyes at her and scoff.

"Tina... what do you think I'm going to do? Have s.e.x with him? h.e.l.l no! I just want to talk to him."

"I wasn't talking about s.e.x at all," she chirps, sticking out her tongue at me, "but the fact that you just considered the option makes me a happy, happy girl."

She winks at me as she hands me the tiny shred of paper, and then she skips back to the couch and buries herself in her textbook again. I briefly debate continuing the argument-maybe pointing out that I hadn't considered having s.e.x with Owen whatsoever-but I think better of it in the end. There's just no winning an argument with Tina.

Instead, I go straight back upstairs and grab my phone.

"Six zero seven..."

I sit cross-legged on the carpet and wrap myself in a blanket as the phone rings. The room suddenly feels very cold to me, and I start to shiver.

One ring... two rings...

My thumb shoots out and disconnects the call.

"s.h.i.t... why am I so nervous?" I mutter to myself, but I already know the answer.

I dial his number again, but this time I can't even get my shaking hand to hit the call b.u.t.ton. I grind my teeth in frustration and try to push the nervousness and fear into the back of my mind, but the back of my mind is already full of even scarier emotions.

I can't do it. I can't call him.

I curl up on the carpet, frustrated and upset with myself, and I cover my head with the blanket. I want to strangle myself for being so worthless, but instead I just lay on the floor as a wave of humiliation washes over me. Now what am I supposed to do?

I stare down at the little yellow slip of paper, and my spirit lifts as I see his e-mail address.

I can handle that. E-mailing him is so impersonal, so aloof and distanced, that even a wimp like me can do it. I do wonderfully over e-mail because I don't have to see the other person stare at me.

I still agonize over the e-mail for an entire hour before I finally send it, though.

"Hey... it's Maria. Just wanted to say hi. What're you up to this week? Coffee maybe? Let me know."

I immediately shut off the computer, turn off my phone, and leap into bed. I don't want to even look for his answer until tomorrow. If I stay up and wait, I'll worry about the possible responses-all the terrible, hurtful things that he'd never actually say, but could say if he wanted to hurt me-and waste the entire night.

I just want to go to bed proud that I've taken my biggest step in seven years.

Wednesday, February 27 3:30 PM.

Maria.

"What the... Maria! What are you doing home so early?"

Tina stares down at me from the top of the stairs, flabbergasted, as I lay on the couch with my homework. I should be sitting in the front right corner of Owen's cla.s.sroom right now, trying desperately not to stare at him, but I'm here on the couch instead.

Do I tell Tina the truth? Of course I do-I'm the worst liar ever.

"I skipped statistics today. I figure I've got an A so far, and I just... well..."

"You just chickened out and skipped cla.s.s so you wouldn't have to see Owen before your date?" interrupts Tina as she hops down the stairs and heads to the kitchen.

I sigh and close my eyes. Aside from that whole 'date' thing, she's pretty much right.

"It's not a date!"

"Sure, whatever," answers Tina flippantly from somewhere inside the refrigerator. Bottles clink loudly, and then she reemerges from behind the door with a beer. "You're just going out for sushi with a guy for no reason at all."

"It was supposed to be coffee," I protest weakly.

"And the coffee turned into fish somehow?"

My face flushes and turns bright red, and Tina bursts out laughing. She pops the cap of her beer with a satisfying hiss and then joins me on the couch.

"Seriously though, how'd you get roped into sushi anyway? I'm surprised by you."

"I don't know!" I stammer. "I just asked him if he'd like to get coffee and talk, and then... well, next thing I know he's e-mailing me back about Plum Tree Restaurant and I'm replying yes. It just happened."

Tina nods and purses her lips thoughtfully.

"Fair enough. What are you wearing?"

I look down at my jeans and back up at her in confusion. I'm sitting right in front of her. What kind of question is this?

"I meant for the date, you dummy!" she groans as she reads my befuddled expression. "You can't seriously be going out like that!"

"Yes I can, and yes I will," I fire back. "It's not a date. I'll put on a clean shirt if it makes you feel better, though."

"I'd rather you put on a nice skirt, frankly."

I shake my head vehemently as my stomach rises into my throat.

"Oh come on," pushes Tina. "Why not? You've got really s.e.xy legs, Maria!"

"I haven't worn a skirt since I was fifteen," I answer, choking on my words, and I curl up in a ball on the couch.

A disgusting memory of Darren touching me-of him running his hand up my leg-suddenly bursts to life in my mind, and I shake my head to try to chase it away.

"Sorry... bad suggestion," apologizes Tina. "Wear whatever makes you feel comfortable."

"I have to shower and get ready," I say, and I hop off the couch and head for the stairs.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" asks Tina in a nervous, quivering voice. She tries so hard to protect me, and she gets upset with herself when she's the one who ends up hurting me.

I smile sweetly back at her and shake my head, and she looks relieved. I know she was just trying to help.

"Nah, I'm good. Really. Just getting ready to go."

"Well, I hope you relax and let yourself have some fun either way. You should be d.a.m.ned proud of yourself for this," Tina calls up after me.

"I will!" I yell down to her.

Inside, though, I'm scared to death.

Plum Tree Restaurant is right on the corner and has a great big sign in the window, but I somehow still walk past it four times before finally noticing it. It's not quite as embarra.s.sing as when I asked for directions to the Empire State Building while standing directly in front of it, but when Owen pops out the door and waves to me, I still feel humiliated.

"Hey, come on in! Glad you could make it," he says excitedly, and he holds the door open for me.

"Sorry I'm late. I... well..."

"...walked past the restaurant four times?" he interrupts, finishing my sentence for me.

I nod embarra.s.sedly and feel my face get hot. I want to put a bag over my head and hide.

"I saw you go past the window," he says quietly with a warm smile. "Relax, we all do it."

I follow him into the restaurant lobby and the j.a.panese lady behind the counter waves to us.

"h.e.l.lo Owen! You date is here?" she asks in an accent so thick and stereotyped that I almost burst out laughing. She's got to be faking it. n.o.body talks like that.

Wait a second... she called me his date! I start shaking my head vigorously, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Oh? You need own table?"

"No no, she's with me," Owen intervenes. "She just means it's not a date."

"Ahh..."

The old lady smiles and nods understandingly, and then she grabs two menus and guides us to a table. Owen grins at me over his shoulder and my face gets hot again.

Our table is in the back of the restaurant and is set apart from the rest of the dining room by a bamboo divider with a pattern of white and pink cherry-blossoms stenciled onto it. The old lady smiles as Owen pulls out my chair for me.

"Looks like a date to me," she quips quietly, and now even Owen looks embarra.s.sed.

She hands us our menus and places a basket of steaming-hot washcloths-each one individually rolled-in front of us before disappearing.

I stare down at the washcloths and daintily pick one up.

"What the heck are we supposed to do with these? Wash up for dinner?" I whisper, and Owen shrugs.

"d.a.m.ned if I know," he whispers back. "I never quite figured it out!"

He starts washing his hands with his, and for lack of any better ideas, I opt to toss mine at him. It bounces off his chest and lands in his lap.

"Well, mine now!" he proclaims with a grin, and I burst out laughing as he drapes it over his head.

"What can I get you two?" asks the hostess, suddenly reappearing beside our table from out of nowhere.

She casts one long, bemused look at Owen, rolls her eyes, and s.n.a.t.c.hes the washcloth off his head as he radiates embarra.s.sment.

"Stupid boys! So immature, right?" she moans dramatically, and she winks at me. I still can't stop laughing. She smiles and then grabs her pen, waiting for our order.

Between the two of us, we order almost everything on the menu. Our elderly hostess bows and then darts off to the kitchen. Now begins the hard part-talking to Owen.

I stare across the table at him and not even the soft koto music playing in the restaurant can relax me. I'm so nervous that I can barely breathe, and I'm grateful when Owen finally breaks the ice.

"So... um... can I ask you a question?" he says, swirling his ice water with his straw.

"Sure, I guess."

"Why didn't you come to cla.s.s today?"

I should have known he'd ask that. Now what do I say? I watch the ice go around and around in his gla.s.s while I try to put my thoughts into words.

"I was too nervous," I finally admit.

"You did fine on the homework, if that's what you were worried about," he tells me, and I shake my head.

"No, I was nervous about tonight," I blurt out. "Tina kept trying to convince me that I was going on a date, that I had to dress up nice and put on a show. I knew I'd panic if I saw you in cla.s.s."

I take a deep breath before continuing.

"I was afraid that I'd be too scared to come out with you tonight if I saw you in cla.s.s."

The silence almost hurts as he stares back at me with his mouth just barely open.

He must think I'm insane now. Maybe he's right.

His phone rings and breaks the tension, and he quickly glances down at it before silencing the ringer.

"Sorry about that," he apologizes. "It's my mom, but I can talk to her later."