healthier because thereâs no dairy.â
âThat feels like one of those made-up facts.â
âNo, itâs true!â she says. âI heard it somewhere. Either Oprah or Twitter. I canât remember.â
âRight. Well, cheers.â
Tristen and I clink our coffee cups together. She takes a sip and smiles. She has a great smile. Very disarming. Tristenis a pretty face, no doubt. But Iâm hard-pressed to figure out if thereâs anything beneath the surface. I know Iâm being picky, but ever since Voldemort Iâve treaded carefully, terrified that I might go too far down the path with the wrong girl and have things end badly. All Iâm asking for is a dose of personality from Tristen, who must be as bored as I am, because sheâs tapping her nails on the table. Her nail polish is pink, and each ring finger also sports a yellow smiley face. I hate the fact that I know this is called an âaccent nail.â
Suddenly, Brooke perks up. She has been cooing with Anthony but apparently realizes she may have to better involve herself. âHey, Tristen, tell Shane what youâre doing this summer.â
Iâm imagining a sleepaway camp dedicated to spray tanning.
âIâm leading a Habitat for Humanity trip to the Midwest,â Tristen says. âWeâre gonna build homes for families that lost them in all those tornadoes.â
âWhat?â I stammer, and almost spit up some nine-dollar iced coffee.
âUnfortunately,â she continues, âthere are more than five million households in America that are in desperate need of new housing.â
âI didnât know that,â I say, attempting to recover. âIs that from Oprah or Twitter?â
âThe US Department of Housing and Urban Development.â
âOh.â
âItâs just something I feel strongly about,â Tristen says. âWeâve, like, got it so good in Kingsview. I just think we should help other people out. Plus itâs an opportunity to really get my hands dirty.â
Iâm stunned. I try to imagine Tristenâs accent nails digging into dirt and making habitats for humanity. Apparently there is another side to her.
âThatâs really cool,â I say, trying to keep the conversation going. âSo, Brooke, you guys met at the Chronicle , right?â
âYup,â Brooke says.
âI really liked that fruit salad exposé, by the way,â I add.
âAw, thanks.â
Now Iâm just buttering up everybody.
âDo you do investigative journalism, too?â I ask Tristen.
âNo, I have a fashion column. Have you read it?â
âUh, no, I donât think so.â
âMy latest piece is called âJeggings: Miracle or Disaster?ââ
âOkay . . .â
âIâm also doing an article on the most blinged-out celebrity iPhone cases.â
Tristen is apparently a Renaissance womanâpart humanitarian, part fashionista. Itâs not what I expected at all, and itâs intriguing. I glance over at Anthony and Brooke, who are now rubbing their noses together and whispering sweet nothings into each otherâs ears. They are truly the perfect couple. And I helped make it happen. Yet Tristen still has me thrown.
The last thing I need is a repeat of Voldemort and the events of freshman year. But Tristen seems worth the risk. I decide I want to go on another date with her, this time sans Hedgehog and Balloon. The only thing left to figure out is how to make it happen. Double-date-to-solo-date conversion is not an easy maneuver. Weâve been at Perkinâs for a while now, and I can sense the end of the date looming. I imagine what one of my clients would do if he were in a similar situation. Then I realize that most of my clients are slack-jawed mathletes who have trouble stringing together two sentences in front of a girl. Donât get me wrong, Iâve dedicated my life to