Miles Geller shitting his pants in the first grade was the second most painful moment of my life. He never admitted to the dirty deed. All day, Miles just lived in his own funk as if he wasn't a freaking animal and stunk up our corner of the classroom. During math, he turned towards me, looked me directly in the eyes, and smiled with all his teeth. I wailed, tears pouring down my face. Everyone called me a cry baby for years after that.

Miles Geller was spared the shame.

The most painful moment of my entire life was unfolding right in front of me.

Derek asked me out, which to me, took guts, and that level of confidence was attractive. He sat across the table from me, sporting a puffy jacket and a backward hat. The hat should have warned me.

Derek's get-up said he was a few centuries too late from wearing popped collars. Backward hats were the new popped collars. You could fight me on that. He looked ready to challenge the nearest dude-bro to an arm-wrestling contest. He looked like he'd challenge a girl to a fight after school, something he'd be sure to win. He looked like he ate burritos from the middle.

All the signs were there.

And yet, I said yes. No ordinary person could change my mind. I used to believe people willing to ask another person out on a date, they were bold. No. Derek asked me out because he was an idiot.

"Hey, why don't you order for me?" Derek suggested, and I took it like a bat to the stomach. I glued my eyes to the menu to keep from shooting him with my laser eyes or rolling my eyes right out of my skull. However, losing a couple of peepers might turn out to be a pro. If my eyes plopped down on the ground, I'd find something more interesting than Derek's frozen quirked brow. He's probably never had an interesting conversation in his life. He just wasn't that interesting.

Until that moment, Derek had a strong opinion on everything: the temperature of the room, the table we were given and its distance from the window and natural light, the lack of traffic getting here and most of all, the fact I chose Chinese food over getting pizza.

"I-" My face quirked with an added huff. "I just-" My brain worked slower than usual, thrown by the awkwardness. "I don't know what stuff you like."

"Pick anything," he insisted.

Right then and there, I should have just faked some period cramps. I should have texted my best friend Camille to call and say my cat was on fire. Anything to get out of this, but all I could hear was my mother's voice. My mother in that I've-lived-on-this-earth-forever-and-I've-experienced-everything-and-you-should-always-listen-to-me-tone that said, "Why don't you ever give people a chance? Ashley- I mean, Parker, you know you're beginning to become a one date wonder..."

The One Date Wonder!

The worst superhero of all time. I'd never get a franchise with a name like that.

Tightening my smile, I just nodded without a real answer. If I avoided talking, I couldn't say anything too mean. Maybe this was how I learned I wasn't a nice person. Derek picked up his red cup, eying the inside like he once watched a glass of water sell drugs to middle schoolers. He grumbled, "They didn't give us any straws."

"It's fine," I said. "It won't kill you."

"But like... it's weird?" His brows quirked, creating a riddle for me that I didn't ask for. Nothing ruins dinner conversation worse than politics, telling someone you've never seen their favorite movie and of course, riddles. "Who doesn't give out straws? Am I supposed to put my mouth on this?" He doesn't stop. "It's like so easy to give people straws. You drop the menus. You drop the straws. Boom! You're done. So, what's hard about that?"

I gathered my copper red hair up and eyed the nearest waitress, exchanging a signature girl look that said "this conversation with a guy sucks." She rolled her eyes at him in solidarity, and my heart pounded. I was going on a date with the wrong person in this restaurant. Picking my polka dot scrunchie off my wrist, I fixed my hair into a messy bun and dropped my hands, feeling my cell phone still tucked into my jeans. Now to make my harrowing escape.

Derek missed all of this, too consumed with shoving his head too far up his ass. A few waiters and waitresses whizzed by with trays of food and drinks with no straws and Derek's mouth gaped, trembling with a great want to speak up. He raised his hand but chickened out at the last second and set it back on the table. He did this several times. His face burned the inside color of strawberry Pop-Tarts, and I was left with a sticky, uncomfortable feeling.

He bowed his head, leaning towards me. "Could you get the waitress' attention for me?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I huffed, standing and knocking my chair back. The legs ripped a squeaky screech across the floor. Derek jolted upright, and his eyes bugged out. I snatched his glass from across the table, filling my mouth with an absurd amount of saliva before I slapped my tongue on the rim. I dragged my tongue round and round the top, then slammed it on the table. "Derek. It's fine."

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked out, my heart and body thrumming. The nerves flattened my muscles, making me weak as if I was walking on high stilts. Well, after that performance, I would be considered a side-show attraction at school. Heat poured into my face hot enough to make my eyes well up. Everything inside me felt pent up like I was scratching at a locked door. On the outside, however, I looked calm and collected with my nose pointed to the sky.

Downtown Bethel was all small brick buildings from the fifties and skinny sidewalks. This was the closest hipster mecca to my house, a hub for local businesses and the best ice coffee in town. However, if the fear of finding a parking spot was too great, you could always drive fifteen minutes and end up at Target, Barnes & Noble, and other places of mass worship.

I longed for the magic of New York for its uniqueness and its originality. I missed being able to walk into a small coffee shop, and the barista already knew my order. I missed being able to walk wherever I wanted to go or being able to hop on a train.

It was odd seeing this place outside of the summer when I usually visited my dad. Up until now, I had been living with my mother in New York. Now I was living in the smallest town in the world, trapped without a license or even a car riding service. Now, I lived with a Stepmother, a brother, and a fat tabby cat.

The moment the weather turned in Bethel, I needed to pull out my jackets, and all the twinkling lights softened the naked pointy trees. With October so close, there were scarecrows stationed on every corner. They sat on bundles of straw, dressed up by places from the local bookstore, A Novel Adventure, with a scarecrow reading Frankenstein to a Publix scarecrow dressed as a cashier. It was kind of like a horror movie. Sure, right now they were still and complacent, but the army of scarecrows was just waiting to attack. Walking towards the square, I could feel their little beady eyes watching me walk. I headed towards the white gazebo. In front of it, the Jensen Twins had set up a small table with a handwritten sign that said Hot Cocoa and Bad Advice. It was a cheap plastic table that didn't even reach my knees, covered by an orange Halloween tablecloth with little cats and bats all over it.

"Hey kids." I waved to them and to their mom, who worked at the front desk of the law office next door. I could only see their dark eyes and a hint of their chestnut-brown skin from the amount of bundling the kids underwent. They were both tiny, still young enough to look a little alike with cute wild black curls. They only detached from their phones to acknowledge me.

"How much for a cup?" I asked.

"A dollar," Mitchell Jensen said with his hand out.

"How much for advice?"

"It comes with the cocoa," Crissy Jensen answered.

I exchanged the quarters in the corner of my book bag for the drink. They made a show of checking for counterfeits, but they nodded in satisfaction. Mitchell poured some cocoa from a thermos into a flowery Dixie cup with the swagger of bartenders in New York. Crissy tilted her head, eying me up and down. She stated with incredible conviction, "You should wear lifts. That way you can lord over the other high schoolers better."

"That is bad advice," I said as the tallest girl in my grade. Maybe in school. It was kind of freakish how tall I ended up, but my family paraded around the world as a band of giants. Back in the day, I was scouted to play every tween basketball league, but I could never wake up on time for practice, and my mom never had time to take me anyways.

"You'll stand out," Mitchell agreed. "Marshmallows?"

"Of course," I said. "Thanks, kiddos."

I thanked them for everything and went on my way, glancing up and down the street before I crossed. I took one sip of the hot chocolate, and its warmth spilled into my chest, pooling across my limbs, and I shuddered in delight. The chocolate was creamy and surprisingly thick with just enough sweetness to make me smile. Taking out my phone, I quickly sent a text to Camille:

Glancing up, something in a passing store window caught my eye. I visited Patty's salon every time I'm in downtown. Patty sold dreams. She sold the idea that you could do crazy things like purchase stuff from her shop and take them home with you and actually use them. Like I did every time I visit Patty's salon, I firmly gripped the handle and yanked on the door. Feeling the lock inside the door resist felt like every door in the world slamming in my face.

Patty had no hours.

Patty has never been seen.

However, the window dressing changed every week. Miss Patty's mannequins switched positions, draping themselves across Baroque furniture of expensive satin and golden cord trim. Her mannequins were 80's empowered women with flashy eye shadow and bouncy frizzy hair. Some faces had obviously chipped, but Patty painted hearts and stars over their scars.

One mannequin, one I have taken to calling Lucy Liu, always wore a tiara. The perfect tiara. I wanted that tiara more than I wanted Chris Hemsworth to wrap his muscular arms around me. It was the last piece of the Cinderella costume, but I've never once seen this place open or even Miss Patty. I've gone back and forth between imagining Patty as the deities on my shoulder, the angel offering me hope of a perfect tiara or the devil keeping the door locked. Me and the tiara with only a window standing between us.

Making the costumes was as close to being at a school for the arts as I could get. There wasn't an option for me here, not like New York. How else was I going to work on my portfolio?

I thought about calling Em. My fingers even unlock my phone with the intent to shoot her a text, but then reality kicked in, and I remembered it was no longer my duty to tell Em every little thought that rose to my brain's surface. Besides, Camille had me delete her number. It was a ritual we did every time I break up with some new.

After a few minutes of staring through the glass, I finally just called Camille. The moment she answered, I said, "What's the capital punishment for looting?"

"Uh," Camille chirped in her airy way. Camille had a voice like a fortune teller, hovering her hands over the cards. There was something mystic about Camille. Something all-knowing and powerful. "Hi Camille, how are you? Hungry! Thanks for asking-"

"Add public vandalism to that mix." I touched the cold glass; my fingers tingled with want. My forehead smacked the glass as I tried to acquire the power to walk through walls. "I've got masks at home. I wouldn't drive myself here. How would they know?"

"Through wiretaps, bitch!" Camille shouted. "I've got your confession fresh off the iPhone. I've been watching you all year, waiting for you to slip up, Missy. You're going down for this!"

"I would go to jail for something I didn't even do yet."

"It's all about intent, Ashley Marie Parker." Her laughter faded. I could still hear her smiling from her airy voice, but this sweetness had a sour after-taste. She asked, "Was the date really that bad? Haven't you ever thought about giving someone a second chance-"

My stomach rumbled. I sighed again, making my voice sound as pitiful as possible. "Hey. Come pick me up."

"I can't. Lizzie's coming over and she's gonna take me to Olivia's birthday party."

My entire face scrunched. "Who's that?"

"Olivia," she said, but I still blanked, so she said the name again, but louder.

"No, no. Say it again and I'll just magically know-"

"It's Olivia! She's part of the ensemble in our show! The one who uses Sharpies to paint her nails!"

"Oh! Why didn't you just say that?"

"You're impossible. Am I gonna see you there?"

"Probably. Can we hang out after?"

"Of course! See you soon!"

Like that, she hung up and I was left alone on the street with nothing but my dangerous thoughts and a phone full of possibilities. Alone for only a few seconds, I got a notification.

Emilybutspooky had just posted a photo on Instagram. Before I had a chance to think about my decision, which leads only to the best decisions, my fingers typed up a message and I sent it. My stomach cringed at my own firsthand embarrassment.

Surprisingly, I got a text message back. She still had my number.

Sometimes plans were just so crazy, they had to work.

#

Whoot! Whoot! You're welcome for getting to witness the worst date in the world!

Parker is bisexual! Which I also don't see too much of. As a bisexual female myself, I couldn't resist. This book is also based on my own dating horrors. I'm AWFUL at dating. The beginning, Parker's date with Derrick. Actually happened to me. Sigh. I hope you guys like it!