Free Busted by Antony John

like someone, a date means something,” explains Mom in her I’m-so-patient voice. “It means a whole lot, in fact.”
    â€œGeez. Why are you making this such a big deal?”
    â€œI’m not, honey, I’m not. I mean, sure, go out and have fun. You deserve it.”
    I picture her shaking her head disappointedly as she hangs up, then kneeling down and putting a hex on my date with Paige.
    As if it needs one.

12
    P aige is talking. A lot. And most of what spills out of her mouth is too inane for me to remember even a moment later. But I don’t care, because Paige is so hot she could recite the alphabet incorrectly and I’d still gaze at her like she’d won me over with a heartfelt Shakespearean sonnet.
    She’s wearing a white halter top, and her blond hair is down so that it cascades over her shoulders in loving waves. I want to touch her hair so badly. I also want to touch her tummy, and her face, and pretty much every other part of her. But I don’t tell her this because I don’t want her to run away.
    â€œSo anyway,” Paige grinds on, “I told Caitlin to get a life. And I said that while she was at it she ought to realize that Goths wear black. I mean, what a to tal loser.”
    â€œShe’s allergic to black clothes dye,” I explain, then remember that I’m in a p urely observational role here.
    â€œOh. How’d you know that?”
    â€œI play in a quartet with her.”
    Paige nods deeply. “Okay, that’s worth knowing. So you’re, like, friends with her?”
    The question seems loaded, so I hesitate. “Yeah, I guess so.”
    Paige nods again. “Right. That’s worth knowing too.”
    She’s clearly eager to order some food, but it’s almost impossible to signal to a waiter since we’re stuck at the very back of the restaurant, in a secluded booth miles from the nearest diners. I was really bummed when Paige asked for this booth specifically, as it meant no one would see me with her, and part of the pleasure of having a date with someone as hot as Paige is being seen with her in public.
    â€œGod, are we ever going to get served?” she moans. “Seriously, do you find the service in Mexican restaurants always sucks?”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” I admit, chomping down on a tortilla chip loaded with salsa.
    She flinches as I eat, and it occurs to me that she hasn’t had any yet.
    â€œSo Mexicans don’t bother you?” she asks, composing herself.
    â€œNo, of course not.”
    â€œWhat about Asians?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOkay, that’s useful to know.”
    A waiter appears before I have a chance to ask her how on earth that’s a useful piece of information. Paige orders a taco salad, and I get chicken in a mole sauce. As soon as the waiter leaves, I have visions of brownish gunk smeared all over my shirt and pants and wish I’d had the sense to order something more manageable.
    Paige shuffles in her seat across from me. “So, do you find it cute when girls act all shy and reserved, or do you prefer it when they just come on strong?”
    Hmmm, tricky one. With a prior sample size of zero, it’s hard for me to say. Except that I’m a guy, so it’s actually quite easy.
    â€œS-Strong. Definitely strong.”
    Paige narrows her eyes. “Good. Good to know. And do you prefer to start off with kissing, or … ” She trails off, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
    â€œUm … kissing’s good.”
    She nods and brushes her hand across her bare tummy. “That’s good to know.”
    Again I’m intrigued by the number of things I say that are good to know. But I don’t spend much time contemplating the matter, since Paige stands up and comes over to my side of the booth.
    â€œSo, do you like it when girls just take the initiative and … you know?”
    I’m about to die, but it’ll be a