This went on for another minute, and by then, a few others nearby were glancing over at him. He finally managed to open the bag and then, still in slow motion, carefully lowered his hand inside. I heard the pop of a cap and the guy’s face lit up in triumph. Still keeping the object concealed, he lifted the bag to his mouth and drank out of what was very obviously a bottle of beer or some other alcohol. It had been pretty apparent right away from the bag shape.

I clapped a hand over my mouth, in an attempt to smother my laughter. He reminded me so much of Adrian. I could absolutely see Adrian smuggling in alcohol to an event like this and then going to all sorts of pains to be covert, thinking that if he just did everything slowly enough, no one would catch on to him. Adrian, too, would probably have the misfortune of opening the bottle right in the middle of the play’s most tense scene. I could even picture a similarly delighted look on his face, one that said, No one knows what I’m doing! When, of course, we all knew. I didn’t know why it made me laugh, but it did.

Brayden was too focused on the play to notice. “Ooh,” he whispered to me. “This is a good part—where her handmaidens kill themselves.”

The two of us had plenty to debate and analyze on the way back to Amberwood. I was almost disappointed when his car pulled up to my dorm. As we sat there, I realized we’d come to another critical dating milestone. What was the correct procedure here? Was he supposed to kiss me? Was I supposed to let him? Had that been the real price of my salad?

Brayden seemed nervous too, and I braced myself for the worst. When I looked down at my hands in my lap, I noticed they were shaking. You can do this, I told myself. It’s a rite of passage. I started to close my eyes, but when Brayden spoke, I opened them quickly.

As it turned out, Brayden’s buildup of courage wasn’t for a kiss, so much as a question.

“Would you… would you like to go out again?” he asked, giving me a shy smile.

I was surprised at the mix of emotions this triggered. Relief was foremost, of course. I’d now have time to research books on kissing too. At the same time, I was kind of disappointed that the swagger and confidence he’d shown in dramatic analysis didn’t carry through here. Some part of me thought his line should’ve been more like, “Well, after that night of perfection, I guess we have no choice but to go out again.” Immediately, I felt stupid for such a sentiment. I had no business expecting him to be more at ease with this when I was sitting there with my hands shaking.

“Sure,” I blurted out.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Cool,” he said. “I’ll e-mail you.”