Anyway, this date I’m going on… Even if I don’t feel the romantic vibes yet, I’m still dressing for the part. Okay, I’m not going through the motions like I did for brunch with Mr. Tolstoy—no one-hour makeup tutorials, curly irons, or fancy new dresses. But the midi dress I’m wearing is cute and sexy in a silly, carefree way with its floral print. I have makeup on, high heels, and my hair is loose on my shoulders. Blow drying got me natural, shiny waves, and if that’s not good enough for my mystery man, well, he can take a hike for all I care.

I exit the house together with Tegan—she’s going to the movies with her best friend, Jesse. Under the scrutiny of Priscilla, who’s watching us from one of the downstairs windows, we kiss goodbye on the front steps.

Tegan is walking to her friend’s house, so she goes first while I wait for my cab to arrive. When the car screeches to a halt next to me only a few minutes later, I open the rear door and, before getting in, wave to Priscilla, who glares at me and then disappears into the living room to do who knows what now that she has the house all to herself.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi stops in front of La Masseria, a nice Italian restaurant in Midtown.

I pay the driver with my credit card and get out of the cab. Inside the restaurant, I give my date’s alias to the hostess.

“Ewing for two at eight-thirty,” the hostess repeats. “Mr. Ewing hasn’t arrived yet, but I can show you to your table.”

The young woman guides me to a table by the window—set for two, yay. I sit, staring at the city lights outside.

Let’s hope this won’t be another half an hour’s wait for the next great American anything.

Twenty-six

Lucas

I hate being late, even if only by ten minutes. Unfortunately, traffic was terrible, and I’ve yet to develop the ability to move cars with my mind. When my taxi pulls up in front of the restaurant I picked for my date tonight, I fish two twenty-dollar bills out of my wallet and hand them to the driver, saying, “Keep the change.”

I’m majorly over-tipping, but I don’t have time to wait for a credit card transaction. I might not have big expectations for tonight, but the poor Miss Pocahontas doesn’t deserve to be left waiting.

Inside the restaurant, I give the hostess my alias.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Ewing, your date has already arrived,” she informs me, and beckons me to follow her.

We head to a corner table near the window—as per my request—where a brunette is sitting with her back to me while she looks out to the street, giving me an unobstructed view of her profile.