CHAPTER THREE — STEPHANIE
"And so, I told her, 'That's the clavicle, not the clavicular,'" Brayden says.
He stares at me, his eyes wide, and I realize I'm supposed to laugh.
"Oh, ha ha," I say, feigning a laugh.
He smiles and immediately goes back to his stupid story.
I can't help but feel annoyed that he's paying so little attention to me that he didn't even notice my obvious disinterest. He runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair, and I feel a pang of guilt. I shake it off and take a sip of my lime margarita.
The air is sticky and thick with sweat. Maybe the problem is that we're doing too much talking, so I lean forward to Brayden and put my hand on his thigh. He looks up. He stops whatever he's saying and looks at me. I die a little inside.
Why do boys my age always seem so eager?
When you give them a smile, it feels like you're rescuing a lost puppy or something.
And I mean, I love puppies, but I don't wanna fuck them, you know?
I know I'm just being mean… but I can't help it.
There's something so pathetic about such overt displays of eagerness. It reeks of desperation.
I take a deep breath and try to center myself. I close my eyes for a second, and then I realize that I'm swaying slightly. I open my eyes and look at the table. I see three empty margarita glasses in front of me.
"How about we get out of here?" I whisper to Brayden in my most seductive voice.
He immediately raises his hand.
"Check."
For the second time this evening, his eagerness disgusts me. I look down, waiting for the moment to pass.
The waitress comes by and looks at us.
"One bill or two?"
"Two," Brayden says.
He says it so quickly he almost cuts her off.
Annoyance flashes through me, followed by guilt. Why am I such a bad feminist? I shake the uneasy feeling as I'm fishing through my purse for my wallet. I pull out my credit card and tap. I scan the room and the waitress looks at me.
"It was declined," she whispers.
"What?"
"Do you want to try again?" she asks.
I try again.
Declined again.
"Oh," I say, my cheeks heating up.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and open up my banking app.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath as I read the screen.
I forgot that my credit card bill was due yesterday.
"Oh, um—"
I start digging in my bag, looking for cash. I pull out a 10.
"How much was it?" I ask her.
"17.81."
Fuck. I pull out a five.
"Don't worry," Brayden says, tapping my arm. "I've got this."
He says it as if he's doing me a big favor as he pulls out a five-dollar bill.
"Thanks," I say, forcing a smile.
The whole thing feels humiliating.
"So, let's go?" he asks after he's settled up.
I nod, even though at this point I just wanna crawl into a hole and die. But it's not like this night can get any worse, right?
So I loop my arm through Brayden's, and try not to pay attention to the fact that I'm about an inch taller than him in my heels. I push the thought out of my conscious awareness as I wobble out of the restaurant and towards the bus stop.