Dare
One
Approaching Evan

I stare almost balefully at the figure sitting there oh-so-innocently and quietly on the low wall, leaning back on the ivy-infested brick of the school building and reading that ridiculously annoying book for English class.

Why did Evan have to be so notorious for his apathetic cold-heartedness? His rep was enough to catch the attention of some of the worst chronic pranksters, and I, having the misfortune of being their friend, had just blindly accepted the stupid dare. All of them grin uneasily at the thought of a tête-à-tête with Evan; I’ve had no first-hand experiences with him. I’d like to think he’s breakable, but, if they haven’t been able to accomplish what they do best, what’s to say I have even a tiny chance?

All I have in my arsenal of info on Evan is this: he doesn’t like girls, he doesn’t like people in general, he’s a good student, the general female public—which he doesn’t acknowledge—says he’s a hell of a looker (“one of those kinds of guys, you know? (giggle)”), and, last but most important, he does not attend any social event.

And I bet half of the info is false.

I steel myself as the distance between he and I becomes smaller. A little over a month…I have to go through with this dare, or…I don’t want to think about it.

“Hey.” With all the charm and innocent mischievousness I could muster, I give the guy an almost full-force trademark Smirk. Don’t laugh at me—it’s a girl-term (with their fascinating obsession with attractive guys), word-for-word, and it’s convenient. I don’t know why I’d use something like that on Evan. Maybe I’m hoping that if he doesn’t go for girls…the charm of the other gender will work? I’ll have to be slow and steady with this.

All the response I get is an unreadable two-second look before he cracks a tiny smirk that can be read a number of ways (a majority of them negatively). “Hi,” he says. Then he looks back down at the book.

Jeez…and I thought those guys were actually right. I breathe a little easier, encouraged by Evan’s reaction, and plow on. The next words out of my stupid mouth will be the sappiest, most oddly worded and pathetically hilarious piece of BS to grace the world outside my mind. “I’m Darien, and I’ve wanted to get to know you better for quite a while now…and I was hoping maybe you’d want to go out with me?” I try to sound genuinely hopeful, but it’s a hell of a trial to keep up my little façade. For (absurd and stupid, I admit) emphasis, I awkwardly offer a flower I picked from one of the school’s gardens. Hey…I know guys who like flowers.

I don’t know what the fuck made me think he’d be at all interested in me. But this is the best option I could come up with. I’m just blindly hoping that I’ll be given a chance.

Evan just kind of disinterestedly quirks his eyebrow at the flower, without any hint of friendliness or surprise, and then glances at me over the top of his glasses. “You know that can get you a detention,” he says. “I thought a guy like you would have a girl in his sights.” He does that tiny smirk again and looks back at the book.

Fuck, is he good. This kind of behavior merits his reputation.

“Is this a rejection?” I can’t keep desperation and annoyance out of my blunt response. Because, really, I have reason to be worried—why not express it?

He stuffs the book into his backpack and slides off the other side of the wall, looking like he’ll just leave. Damn…! Then he faces me, and something in his face is changed. “What makes you assume I’m available?” he asks. It’s almost like he’s playing around…

I raise my eyebrows at him, as if he would understand what that means. The flower sits on the wall now, cool purple clashing with warm reddish-brown.

“Girls might not interest me. That doesn’t mean guys will either.”

He’s not totally rejecting me. He isn’t… That’s good. I smirk again and try to add in a bit of hopefulness into my face. “Make an exception for me, Evan.” I can’t believe I’m doing this. “Please?” After all is over…

He’s looking a bit preoccupied. Disturbed, maybe. Then he looks away, letting out a half-laugh, half-sigh sort of thing. I’ve never really found a word for that. Seconds pass by as we stand around, facing each other with the low wall between us. I get a little fidgety while he picks up the flower and looks at it. “A lilac…” he murmurs, and then the corner of his mouth quirks up. It’s not the same little smirk from before, I can tell that much. He twirls the flower in his hand—doesn’t look like he’s going to give it up—and looks up at me with a half-smile. “Sure, why not?”

And I am so relieved I could hug him. Step one is accomplished. I grin at him, and he turns away.

“See you tomorrow, Darien…” he says.

“Yeah, see ya!” I make it sound as excited and happy as I can. When he’s out of sight, I sigh. How was I going to deal with this deception for one month?