kidding? After the buildup you gave the particularly good fries, I can't wait."
We walked toward the mall side by side. Archer whistled. He seemed to look everywhere except at me. Was he uncomfortable? Did he regret asking me along?
He darted his eyes my way and smiled ... then looked away again. The smile was good. I felt better.
I wondered if he'd hold my hand. Should I expect him to hold my hand? I tried to remember if hand-holding was on Claudia's checklist for a real date.
I realized my hands were in my pockets. He couldn't hold one even if he wanted to. Not unless he actively dug it out, which would be weird. He probably thought I was sending him a specific message not to hold my hand.
I took my hands out of my pockets.
The problem is I like having my hands in my pockets. It's my natural position. They felt unwieldy hanging by my sides, as if I was walking like a Neanderthal.
Why was I so bad at this?
I glanced at Archer to see if he could tell how socially inept I was.
He had his hands in his pockets.
I let it go. I wasn't going to get weirded out about hand-holding that maybe should or maybe shouldn't be happening. I might get weirded out about the fact that we'd now been walking through the mall for several minutes and we hadn't said anything to each other. Conversation wasn't usually an issue for us.
Of course, I was basing "usually" on just over twenty-four hours of knowing him.
I really needed to get over myself.
"Is this the food court?" I asked, though it was plainly obvious to anyone with a brain stem that we had indeed arrived at the food court. "I mean, where do we get the fries?"
Archer led me to his stall of choice and bought fries and drinks for both of us. His treat: real date behavior. Ten minutes later we had all our stuff spread out over a four-top table and munched as we bent over our homework.
At least, I was bent over my homework. Archer didn't seem to be. I lifted my head and saw him staring at me, slack-jawed.
"What?"
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"My homework. Precalc."
"No, with your food."
"What do you mean?" I asked. I picked up a fry and swished it through my chocolate milk shake, then took a bite. "I'm eating it. You're right, the fries are really good."
"But you're dunking them in your shake."
"Mm-hm." I held out a newly coated fry. "Want a bite?"
"You're committing a crime against food. You're lucky I don't report you to the Hague."
"Haven't you ever heard of chocolate-covered pretzels? It's the same thing: salty and sweet."
"A hot fudge pickle is salty and sweet, too. Would you eat that?"
"That's salty, sour, and sweet. There's a difference. I've eaten chocolate-covered bacon, though."
"That's disgusting."
"And this isn't salty and sweet, but sometimes I'll take raw oatmeal—rolled oats; it doesn't work with steel-cut—and mix it up with strawberry jelly."
"Then you cook it?"
"No," I said, pausing for another bite of milk-shake fry, "you just stir it really, really well until every piece of oatmeal is coated with the jelly, then you spoon it up and eat it. It also works with brown rice. You can mix in a little cottage cheese, too, if you want it more pudding-y. But not too much—you want it to stay pretty dense."
Archer looked like I'd poisoned his dog.
"I'm serious! It's good!"
"It's a biohazard! How can you possibly like that?"
I shrugged. "It's a textural thing. I like the feel of interesting things in my mouth."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Like Cool Whip with raisins and Grape-Nuts mixed in with a little chocolate syr—"
Archer was staring at me with one eyebrow raised. Only then did I realize what I'd just said. I felt the blush heat my face.
I wasnt saying ... I just mean...
Archer's grin spread wider. He knew what I'd meant. He was just having fUn watching me squirm.
It happened a lot with Archer. We went back to the mall every afternoon that week, and it never failed. My mouth always moved faster than my brain when I was around him, so at some point I'd end up saying something ridiculous or something I'd meant to keep to myself. Like the time he did a goofy voice that was almost exactly like one he'd used in my dream the night before. I was halfway through a long, twisted story about the two of us on this weirdo globetrotting spy mission before I realized