Instead, he said: “Trouble, I think a lot of girls don’t seem to know what they want.”
There was another pause. Dylan wondered if he’d offended her by suggesting girls didn’t know what they wanted in a guy. That all their problems were their own fault.
But she broke the pause by saying: “I know what I want.”
“That’s good. I like a girl who knows what she wants.
Jumping Jehoshaphat – where did that come from? That was flirting, wasn’t it? Class-A, triple-distilled. Where on Earth did that come from?
Noelle said: “So Dylan, do you like it when a girl tells you what she wants?”
Dylan felt all aflutter – so light, he could have floated away if there had been any kind of breeze. Doing his utmost to keep calm and collected, maintain the pretense that he had some kind of confidence going on, he answered: “I can’t think of anything better. It usually means I can give her exactly what she wants – and then everyone’s happy.”
Oh, that wasn’t good. A white lie – making her think he was actually experienced. But she wouldn’t want to keep flirting with him if she knew he was a virgin, would she?
She nodded, buying his lie. “It doesn’t damage your manly reputation?”
“Of course not. If I know what a girl wants, I can make her feel amazing, and surely that makes me more of a man?”
She gave him a mock swoon, fanning her face with a hand like a Southern lady. “Lord have mercy,” she said. “Where do I sign up for whatever college St Joseph’s boys go to?”
Dylan smiled, feeling so warm inside, he didn’t even need an extra sweater now. “This time of year? Good luck.”
She laughed.
Then he looked up to see Noelle’s friends all returning bearing brown paper bags stuffed full of fast food, and his heart sank. Was that it? Now that her friends had returned, she wasn’t going to want to be seen talking to someone who looked like him, a guy with no puffed-out chest or anything – just unkempt black hair and old clothes that were kind of fraying at the edges.
But as the other girls approached, she didn’t move an inch, remaining sitting right where she was beside him.
“Guys, this is Dylan,” she called out. “He’s cool.”
“Hey, Dylan!” Dylan flushed a little, though he tried not too.
“And Dylan, this is Ellie, Chrissy, Sasha and Marie.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“We had the feeling you might be joining us, Dylan,” Chrissy said, and to his utter surprise handed a brown paper bag to him. “Quarter-pounder okay? We figured if you’re man enough to stand up to Noelle here, you probably wouldn’t want anything less.”
“Seriously?” he asked, but felt overjoyed at being included in the meal.
*
As proper darkness came, Dylan was surprised to find people in the queue actually bedding down in sleeping bags and – a few – in tents. It seemed ripe for some unscrupulous types to find ways to jump the line, but he supposed that everyone knew well who was in front and behind them in the queue, so it would be easy to self-police the line.
Over a pleasant supper, Dylan found himself fitting into his new circle of adopted friends comfortably. They seemed to make certain social assumptions about him based on the fact that he was hanging out with them – that he liked certain bands, that he must be a regular party-goer and all round social alpha-male at St Josephs.