20. Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
brOOKS
I’ll pick you up at 6:30. Casual attire recommended
564 minutes left of thinking about it
I stare at the messages, grinning ear to ear. Normally, I'd sleep late on a Saturday morning with nothing planned. But the anticipation of our date tonight has me awake far earlier than usual.
I can count on one hand the number of people who know that I’m going on a date with Brooks tonight: Mom, Amaya, Lana, Gina, and Joy. Usually I’m much more of an “announce everything to the world” type of person. In fact, I gave Lana so much grief about her reluctance to tell anyone about Mateo for their first few dates.
But I’m trying to wrangle my heart into submission when all it wants to do is get way, way ahead of itself. So I’m keeping things on the quiet side until I know with a little more certainty that this could really pan out.
Would it actually hurt less if things end poorly and I’ve told fewer people?
No.
But I wouldn’t have to fake it around as many people.
So my lips are mostly sealed. Even if that means the buzzing energy is exploding my insides.
I spend the day doing grown-up tasks like grocery shopping and cleaning so that my mind has something else to focus on. At 4:30, I take a long shower and begin the process of getting ready. Standing in my robe in my closet, I consider my wardrobe choices. Casual attire . So, not a dress, I suppose. I eventually settle on a pair of light wide-leg jeans and a pink long sleeve top.
In the middle of applying makeup, a video call from Amaya rings on my phone. I answer the call and prop the phone against the mirror right as Lana joins.
“Hey, Beefs!” I say.
“How are you feeling about tonight?” Lana immediately asks.
“I’m feeling good!” I answer.
Amaya questions me next. “You feel good for real, or you’re just saying that to hide that you’re nervous?”
“Ummm, can it be both?” I reply after a pause.
“I guess so,” Amaya responds. “I suppose Lana was that way at first with Mateo.”
Lana nods. “True. But this is a slightly different situation. We want to make sure that your heart feels safe going into a date with Brooks.”
I pause, staring at my mascara wand. Does my heart feel safe? Is it possible to feel entirely safe when Brooks broke my heart once before? That doesn’t feel safe at all. But Current Brooks does feel safer. Should I back out of this before it’s too late if I’m not completely safe?
“I can see the wheels turning, Teeg,” Amaya says. “Care to share what’s buzzing around the thought mill?”
“ Mmm , it’s complicated. And confusing.” I pause. “Part of me feels terrified of repeating the past. That doesn’t feel safe at all. But part of me feels overjoyed to have this chance with this Brooks. That feels safe-ish. So, what does that mean?”
“That was probably a bad way to phrase the question,” Lana jumps in. “Relationships are never risk-free. Even without past hurt to consider. As you get ready to walk out the door to go on a real date with Brooks—possibly the start of a real relationship—are you feeling peace about it?”
Our small group discussion from Wednesday about peace fills my mind. And I have my answer.
“Yes. I feel peace about it.”
“Then we’re pumped for you!” Lana squeals.
Amaya nods. “Know that we’re praying for you tonight, Beef. ”
“And we expect a full report,” Lana adds.
“Scout’s honor,” I reply. “Now I need to finish getting ready. Love you both!”
At 6:25 p.m. I give my reflection one final perusal. Satisfied with my appearance, I head to the living room to pace until Brooks shows up. I’m thankful that Gina had plans tonight, giving me space to be alone with my frenzied energy. Even though my heart feels at peace with my decision to date Brooks, it’s still working overtime, beating twice as fast as usual.
At 6:31 p.m., the doorbell rings.
I blow out a breath and open the door.
Brooks stands on the porch, dressed in dark jeans and a blue Henley shirt under a half-zipped fleece jacket. His hair looks extra-perfectly styled tonight, and his eyes regard me with a mixture of intensity and playfulness. His smile grows as he holds out a coffee tumbler with an intricate floral design.
“I thought about bringing flowers, but decided a hot cup of sugary caffeine might be the better offering for tonight,” he says. I reach out to take the tumbler from him, and he allows his fingers to linger against mine for a split second before letting go.
“Ready?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been smiling at him without saying a word.
“Yes! Ready! Let me put on my jacket,” I reply.
Brooks takes the coffee while I slip my arms through my jacket sleeves, then hands it back to me. It may have been a gentlemanly move, or it may have been an excuse for extra physical contact. Either way, I’m taking it.
We walk to the sidewalk, and Brooks opens the passenger door for me.
“Do I get to know where we’re going now?” I ask once he sits in the driver’s seat.
“What? And ruin the fun of the surprise? No way,” he replies cheekily. I smile in the darkness as he pulls into the street.
“You can even close your eyes if you want the full shock factor,” he adds. I happily comply. “And I’m not even suggesting that just so I can stare at your beautiful face while you’re not looking. ”
“You’d better keep your eyes on the road,” I scold, swatting his arm. Except, since I can’t see, I miss, and hit his firm chest instead. I feel my cheeks warm.
“I’m an excellent multi-tasker,” is the only reply he gives.
As we drive, Brooks tells me funny stories about his students from the week, filling the short car ride with laughter. He tells me to stay put after parking the car then opens my door and guides me out.
“One step up onto the curb here.” He leads, holding me steady.
“This was an excuse to hold my hand, wasn’t it?” I tease, eyes still closed.
There’s a small pause, and I can feel Brooks’ gaze without seeing it. “I’ll make up every excuse I can, Sneaks.” He clears his throat. “Now open!”
My eyes fly open to take in the sight of Brooklyn’s only bowling alley. I burst out laughing.
“Cosmic bowling?”
“Not just cosmic bowling. Get ready for the most intense game of trick shot HORSE bowling you’ve ever played,” Brooks says with a mischievous grin. “Let’s go!”
After donning the rental shoes and picking out bowling balls, Brooks leads me to the lane he reserved for the night. The bumpers are up, and Brooks explains the “rules” of his made-up game to me.
“Like the game of HORSE in basketball, we take turns taking shots, and the other person has to replicate. If the second person knocks down fewer pins, they get a letter. If they knock down more pins, the first person gets a letter,” he says.
“I agree to the terms,” I say, holding out my hand to shake his.
“Now who’s making up excuses to hold hands?” Brooks says with a wink. “Ladies first,” he adds, handing me my bowling ball.
I walk up to the start of the lane, do a backward granny shot through my legs, and watch as six pins fall down. Brooks hits the reset button to set them all back up.
“Piece of cake,” he scoffs, getting in position to replicate my shot. He holds his hands up in victory when eight pins are knocked over. “That’s an ‘H’ for you. ”
I huff and roll my eyes. “I’m just getting warmed up. Let’s see what you got.”
Brooks takes his ball again after the pins are reset. He saunters toward the line but swivels at the last minute and flicks his wrist backward to send the ball rolling down the lane. After a couple of bounces off the bumpers, all ten pins miraculously fall.
I narrow my eyes at him. Competitive Teegan is rearing her head.
He throws me a lazy grin as I pick up my bowling ball and mimic his moves. Unfortunately, I miss the timing of the backward wrist release (it’s harder than it looked!), and several bounces off the bumpers later, only two pins are down.
Stomping a foot, I whirl around to find Brooks standing right behind me. “Don’t take it too hard, Sneaks,” he says, voice low. “I could let you win, if you want.”
The teasing in his gaze sparks something inside me. I poke a finger into his chest. “You’re going down, Brooks Murphy.”
Our antics escalate, feeding off of each other’s outlandish energy. There are dance moves converted into bowling shots, no-look throws, and one shot by Brooks that requires lying down on the greasy bowling alley floor. I only go along with it because Competitive Teegan has taken over my body.
An hour later, I’ve epically lost two rounds of trick shot HORSE bowling and managed to eke out one narrow victory. We’ve trash-talked, cheered, and laughed so much, my cheeks might permanently freeze in a smile.
“Okay, refueling time. Let’s head up to the snack bar,” Brooks announces after my third-round win.
“You’re just sore because you finally lost,” I tease, poking him in the side.
“I’m absolutely a sore loser. I’m going to distract you with fine dining so I can reclaim my bowling conquest,” he teases back.
Standing at the snack counter, we peruse the menu. “Order anything you want, Sneaks. The sky is the limit,” Brooks says. “No amount is too much.”
Laughing, I narrow down the edible-sounding options. “How about we share loaded nachos, a soft pretzel, and mozzarella sticks. ”
Brooks nods. “Acceptable variety,” he says then turns to place our order. After paying, he looks back over to me. “We should go wash our hands while they get the food ready.”
“I thought you had an immune system of steel?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Even Superman has kryptonite,” Brooks states, shrugging his shoulders. “And bowling alley germs might be mine.”
After a thorough hand-cleansing, we take our food to the small table by our lane. Between bites, we share more about our college experiences and careers, slowly filling in more gaps of the lives we lived apart from each other.
Each snapshot that Brooks shares simultaneously adds water to two emotional buckets: bitterness over missing out and gratefulness to not be missing any more.
“What was your major in college?” Brooks asks. “You’ve talked about deciding to go on staff with Arrow but never mentioned what your original plan was.”
I huff a small laugh. “Education, actually.”
The nacho in Brooks’ hand stops midway to his mouth. “Are you serious?”
I shrug. “Dead serious. I was a special education major, and I hoped to teach in a resource room for elementary students who had learning disabilities or were on individualized education plans.”
Brooks slowly chews the nacho, eyes slightly narrowed and head cocked to the side. “I can absolutely see that. What originally got you interested in that path?”
“Do you remember Megan Sanders from high school?” I ask, and Brooks nods. “She was one of my friends in elementary school, and she used to struggle a ton with school. She was always so discouraged and would get in trouble in class for not paying attention, but I think it’s because she didn’t want to admit that she wasn’t getting it. They eventually tested her and discovered she had dyscalculia. Her brain didn’t process math concepts the way a typical student’s brain does. Megan started going to the resource room and learned strategies that were tailored to the way her mind worked, and it made a huge difference. ”
Brooks is nodding along, understanding on that educator level. I continue explaining. “I loved the idea that I could make that kind of difference for kids, to open the world of learning to them in a way that fit their individual needs. To help them enjoy school, love learning. And I loved all of my in-classroom experiences during college.”
“You would have been great at that, Teeg,” Brooks affirms. “I mean, you’re clearly amazing at what you’re doing with Arrow, but I could totally envision you in that kind of education setting.”
I look down, nudging chips around the nacho plate. “I’ve . . . well, I’ve been sort of considering trying teaching instead of continuing on staff with Arrow.” I murmur it quietly, not making eye contact.
“Then try it,” Brooks states matter-of-factly. I look up at him. “Give it a shot if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t know. I may have missed my chance.” I sigh. “Even though I completed student teaching and got my degree, I never got my teaching license.”
Brooks bursts into laughter. “Teegan, you have not missed your chance. Getting your license wouldn’t be hard. Schools are dying to have more quality educators. Plus, you’re amazing. You’d have a position offered to you the second your license came through.”
I eye him, trying not to let my thoughts run away with themselves. “It really wouldn’t be that hard?”
“No. I promise it would be easy. And I’d help you through all the steps,” he assures me.
I pop a chip in my mouth to buy time. After chewing slowly, I shrug again. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do.”
“It’s not like you’re making a lifelong vocation decision,” Brooks muses. “It could be the next right thing that God’s moving your heart to, like staff with Arrow was the first right thing out of college. He places passions on our hearts, gives us talents and gifts for a reason. If you have this burden to help kids learn, it might be there for a purpose. So keep thinking about it. I’m always here to give you a clear picture of the education world—the fulfilling and the frustrating,” he finishes with a grin .
I grin back at him. “I mean, you do have all that ‘Mr. Murphy rizz’ the middle schoolers were raving about.”
Brooks groans and bangs his head against the table. “I’ll never hear the end of that from you, will I? Just like I’ll never hear the end of it from them until you and I are dating.” He pops his head up with a smirk. “Oh wait—I can hear the end of it from them now.”
Playfully smacking his shoulder across the table, I give him an exaggerated glare. “Let’s not publicize this to the whole middle school quite yet.”
“I won’t do anything until you tell me to, Sneaks,” Brooks says. His gaze turns sober, heated. “Not a single thing. I won’t risk screwing this up.”
After two more rounds of insane trick shot HORSE bowling (winners redacted), Brooks drops me off at home. He walks me to the front porch, and so many memories of this exact scene play out in my mind. It’s a familiar groove, yet distinct at the same time. Like déjà vu, where you have the same vibes but different precise details.
We pause on the porch, both reluctant for our time together to end. Brooks rests his hands in his pockets, and I know it’s a move designed so he’ll keep his hands to himself. It’s the right move for our first date, but it also feels unnatural since it feels more like a hundredth date.
These second-chance waters are so murky right from the start.
I draw in a breath to thank Brooks for the date, but he beats me to the punch. “Teegan, thank you for going out with me tonight. Thank you for . . . for everything.”
There’s so much heat, so much intensity radiating from his steel blue eyes that I’m milliseconds away from plunging head first into the murky waters. Would it be so bad to kiss him on a first date that’s only kind of a first date?
Yes, Teegan, it would be bad. A week ago, you weren’t sure if you were going to date him at all. Control yourself.
“I had a really, really good time tonight,” I answer. “Although, you set the fun date bar pretty high—not sure where you’ll go from here.”
Brooks smirks. “Oh ye of little faith. But speaking of next dates, I did want to let you know that the next two weeks are a little crazy for me. I have my finals for my master’s courses this coming week, and then I give midterms to my students the following week. So if I’m less available or attentive, I swear it’s not because I’m not thinking about you. That’s literally all I do these days, which is both elating and exasperating.”
“Look at you with the fancy adjectives and alliteration,” I tease, but then my expression softens. “I promise not to take it personally.”
Brooks steps down off the porch, turning one final time to call “Goodnight” over his shoulder.
Once inside, I grin like a fool in the emptiness. Despite the semi-late hour, I text the Beefs.
Awake? Video call?
AMAYA
I’m still up, but Lana might be asleep an hour ahead
A minute later a video call rings through from Lana, and Amaya immediately pops on after I answer.
“Yeah, right—you forget I have finals to study for,” Lana says before yawning.
“But it’s Saturday night! You shouldn’t be studying!” I exclaim.
“This final year of law school is kicking my proverbial booty,” Lana says. Her messy bun is disheveled, and her eyes are droopy. “But Mateo is staying awake with me playing FIFA while I study, so I have his running commentary to keep me from falling asleep.” She adds this last part with a wry smile.
“I do what I must in order to help,” Mateo’s voice yells in the background.
“But even studying for finals takes a back seat to a date recap. Start talking, Teegs,” Lana says .
Filling them in on the entire night only causes my grin to grow wider and wider. Reliving every playful moment, every serious conversation makes my heart flutter with giddy butterflies.
“I even mentioned that I’m considering moving on from staff to try teaching, and Brooks told me it would be easy to get my teaching license and find a job,” I say.
“Are you leaning that way?” Amaya asks. Lana looks at me expectantly.
“Maybe? Unsure. It’s still more the inkling of a thought, but it certainly isn’t going away,” I answer with a shrug. “But I can’t lie and say that hearing Brooks talk about his job and seeing him interact with students doesn’t sway me more in that direction.”
“Wait, when have you seen him interact with students?” Lana questions.
I tell them about my visit to The Hangout, complete with all of the exaggerated praise for “Mr. Murphy” laid on thick by the students.
“I am zero percent surprised that Sofia egged on the attraction between you two. That girl. Ahhh, I miss her! I love that you got to visit and see Sofia in action there!” Lana says, a hand over her heart. “Oh my goodness, I miss The Hangout so much. I’m totally jealous right now.”
We continue chatting for a few more minutes before I wrap things up. “You need to finish studying, LaLa, and you need to go to sleep, Amaya,” I say. “And I need to lie in bed and replay my date with Brooks over and over.”
They laugh at me, and we say our goodbyes.
I change into pajamas, remove my makeup, and then lie in bed, replaying my date with Brooks over and over—smiling the entire time.