It was December twenty-sixth, a bit less than two days before the date, and I still had a nagging question in the back of my mind: what was I going to wear?
Yes, it was the stereotypical thing for a girl my age to worry about, but I couldn't help it. Apparently, what people wore on dates said a lot about their investment in the relationship. I wanted something that said I was committed but not desperate, which seemed easier said than done.
Looking over my wardrobe, I examined the potential outfits.
Blue blouse, purple skirt. Black shoes.
Nope.
How about the white blouse, the black skirt, and the heels?
Maybe. Though it’s a bit too… formal?
Black turtleneck, clean pressed jeans, black flats.
I don’t know.
White. Black. Black.
I... I can’t decide.
“Me neither,” Princess Twilight said. Sighing, she pulled the hair tie off her head, and the long locks of purple fell over her shoulders. "Honestly, I don't know why you prefer to keep your hair tied up."
Shrugging, I held my hands out as the other me passed over a stack of photos, a shortlist of first date outfit combinations. Over a long, indecisive two hours, Princess Twilight had modeled nearly my entire wardrobe while I took pictures. An exact duplicate of myself made coordinating clothes a lot easier despite it being a huge misuse of conclusive proof of alternate dimensions.
I thumbed through the stack and scoffed, disappointed with almost every outfit. They were... okay, to say the least, but none of them were dating material.
Unsatisfied, I blew at a loose tuft of hair on my forehead before asking, "What even is dating material?"
"Probably cashmere or cotton," the other me joked unhelpfully. The semi-telepathy thankfully kept me from having to voice my discontent; a simple glare was enough for her to get the message.
I kicked at the crumpled clothes and let out a slight, dissatisfied groan. Princess Twilight, noticing my dramatic display of teenage angst, walked over to the bed and reassuringly patted my shoulder. It was weird at first, but I eventually felt a bit better after what I realised was the most literal definition of the term "self-care."
"How about we take a break?" I asked, flopping backward into the plush safety of my bed.
"I was just thinking the same thing," she said.
Unable to do anything else, I stared up at the ceiling. Overthinking had become a habit... a really bad one. I was still hopelessly crushing on Sunset Shimmer, and I was still analyzing my every move even though it was what made everything go wrong in the first place.
It was almost like I was doing the same thing all over again.
Almost.
Sure, The Sunlight Accident had landed me a date with Sunset, but it was exactly what the label said, an accident a fluke. I got lucky, and I wasn’t really sure if I had earned it. For all I knew, she only said yes because it was the polite thing to do. Maybe it was even a pity date, an A-for-effort-type situation.
"Hey," I called out, choosing not to say my name out loud because it still felt weird. "Do you think Sunset Shimmer is even interested in me?"
"Not to sound narcissistic," she said, "but I don't see why not."
Chuckling, I rolled over and reached for the laptop at the side of my bed. I typed in another variation of the words "first date tips" and groaned at the lack of new results. No matter how many relationship blogs and "listicles" I found, I still felt clueless.
There was no general consensus on what even was considered the perfect date, and the doubts weighed down my initial excitement for the dinner and movie date.
It was a well-trodden date concept for sure, but it was definitely that for a reason. The movie served as a conversation starter, something common to bond over.
Although, the idea also had a few downsides when placed under the microscope. The biggest problem was the lack of actual time to connect on a relationship level. The dinner covered it, but the twenty minute wait time for the food to be prepared (with a standard deviation of approximately six minutes) and an estimated twenty minutes of eating accounted for less than a third of the entire date.
Admittedly, Sunset and I would be friends going in, but I didn't want to waste a single second of one-on-one time, where we could potentially become more than just friends. On paper, two and a half hours of passively sitting in front of a theater screen might not have been the most effective use of time. And yet I couldn't change the date plans either, or else I would come across as flaky and indecisive.
There was also the chance that the movie wouldn’t be any good. Sure, The Elements: Discordant scored an eighty-nine on the movie review aggregate website Spoiled Apples, but Sunset’s opinions might align with the eleven-percent minority.
Anxious, I glanced over at Princess Twilight, who was looking through the stack of pictures herself. Reminded at the mission at hand, I opened a new tab and typed in "what to wear on a first date," another search I had burned through.
And, of course, no new results came up.
Apparently, from what the online dating blogs dictated, what one wore to the date was only the first of the many make-or-break variables. According to those same blogs, I needed an outfit that was confidently humble, uniquely relatable and a handful of other conflicting descriptions.
I was going nowhere fast.
All I knew was that I needed something more conclusive. Something published. I made a mental note to visit the library tomorrow.
“‘Approachably fierce,’” Princess Twilight read aloud as she looked over my shoulder. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know. It’s almost like they’re trying to get me to fall flat on my face.”
Frustrated, I stood up and looked at the pile of photos again. The only word I could use for each outfit was “safe.” Though I could probably even go as far as to say “dangerously safe,” or even “memorably forgettable.”
I looked over to Princess Twilight. For someone with the responsibility of watching over a kingdom, she seemed relaxed and incredibly well put together. I was stressing over what to wear, and the other me had others literally relying on her to protect them. She was me, but almost completely different, despite our similar appearance and thought process. It made me wonder how similar we really were.
"I'm curious," I spoke up. "What's your idea of a perfect date?"
"Well, I haven't really given it much thought," she said with a dreamy hum, and I immediately knew she was lying. "Maybe go to the Canterlot History Museum or maybe even the aquarium. Then, we’d walk to the little restaurant by the castle and end the night with a stroll through the park.”
Just as I guessed, she had thought about it before and thought about it a lot, most likely in the middle of the night while clutching a romantic book and staring up at the ceiling wistfully. A pint of ice cream was most likely not too far out of reach.
I decided not to call her out on it.
“Twilight?” called a voice in the distance, which I immediately recognized as my mother’s. She was home earlier than I expected. Panicking, I looked to Princess Twilight who was staring back at me with what I assumed was the same horrified expression that was on my face.
“Hide!” we both shrieked, struggling to think of an escape route. Taking charge, Princess Twilight grabbed me by the shoulders and unceremoniously shoved me into the walk-in closet on the opposite side of the bed.
I held my breath and hoped that I got out of sight fast enough. When I felt calm, I stepped forward and squinted to see through the tiny wooden blinds built into the door.
“Hello, Mother,” I heard Princess Twilight say, albeit a bit stiffly. From what I could tell, the other me was most likely adjusting to the idea of seeing her mother as a human.
“Hey, sweetheart,” my mother said back. It felt weird hearing her address someone else with that pet name. Sure, she thought she was talking to me, but it didn’t stop me from feeling just a little bit jealous.
Sheepishly, Princess Twilight looked down at the piles of clothes at her feet. “Er, sorry about the mess.”
“Oh, sweetie.”
“It looks bad, doesn’t it?” Princess Twilight asked, through what I assumed was a sheepish smile.
There was a short silence before my mother walked into view, joining my doppelganger on the edge of the bed. She placed her hand on Princess Twilight’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you were so worked up about this.”
“Well...” the other me said while staring down at her feet. “I might be a little bit nervous. I just want to make to make sure it isn’t terrible.”
My mother laughed and slapped at Princess Twilight's back. “It’s a first date, Twily. Your first first date. It’s supposed to be terrible.”
"You would think—"
My mother's laugh cut her off. "Did I ever tell you about my first date with your father?"
I perked up and pressed my ear against the door. It almost seemed worth it to reveal myself just to be right next to her when she told the story.
"Well, I know you two met through work," the other me answered, most likely using her own experiences for an educated guess.
Mom hummed. "Your father asked me out for some coffee, and I said yes, thinking that it was just a creative meeting."
Princess Twilight giggled. "That must have been really awkward."
"Oh, it was," she said with a light smile. "I was tearing into him, telling him that he was mishandling my book, that his film adaptation was going to be awful, that he was just a studio hack, et cetera."
"And what did he do?" the other me asked, echoing my thoughts exactly.
"He just sat there, taking notes," my mother answered. "And after I was finished ranting on what to fix, he simply took a sip of coffee and said, 'Y'know, I thought we could talk about something other than work, but okay,' and I knew he was a keeper."
"Wow," was all Princess Twilight was able to get out, still mirroring my thoughts.
"Now, before you get all anxious," she started, "just remember that if I got through that, got married, and had two beautiful children because of it, then you'll be fine."
Princess Twilight laughed. “You’re right, Mom. I should totally listen to you and just relax.” As if I hadn’t gotten the point, Princess Twilight turned and faced the closet door. It took a large amount of self-restraint to keep myself from audibly groaning.
Sliding across the bed, my mother wrapped her arm around Princess Twilight. “Oh, my baby’s going on her first date!” Excited, she brought my other self into a sideways hug.
“Mom,” Princess Twilight wheezed. “It’s not that big a deal.”
Not a big deal? This date could set the course for my relationship. If it went wrong, I didn’t think I’d be able to look Sunset Shimmer in the eye at school.
I might even have to transfer back to…
I bit my lip and tried to force the thought from my mind.
When I came back to reality, my mother was out of sight, but I could still hear her gentle, almost reassuring breaths.
“You know,” my mother started, “you should really wear your hair down more. It suits you.”
With that, she left.
Princess Twilight looked towards me to signal that the coast was clear. Wanting to get out from the stuffy closet, I flopped onto the floor and ignored the dull pain that followed.
“That was…” we both said with a gasping breath, “interesting.”
We looked at each other for a quick moment.
“You know what this means?”
“Way ahead of you.”
Giddily, we jumped up and reached for the pile of clothes.
“Alrighty,” Princess Twilight said while slipping on the black turtleneck, “so should we start with hair up, glasses off or hair down, glasses off?”
•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·☀·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•
Aside from the faint stench of manure, the inside of Applejack's barn was the perfect place to hold a Rainboom rehearsal. It was indoors and, more importantly, secluded from the ears of those that might have opposed an unrelenting five-minute drum solo from Pinkie Pie.
Reminded of an old joke, I nudged Pinkie’s arm. “What’s the dynamic range of a drummer?”
Pinkie shrugged. “I dunno. What?”
“On or off,” I said after an amused chuckle.
“I don’t get it,” Pinkie said. “What are dynamics?”
Indignant, I balled my hands into fists. Although I probably shouldn’t have been surprised. “The volume a musician play—nevermind.”
“Yer barkin’ up the wrong tree there, Twilight,” Applejack cut in. “We just give her two drumsticks and let her do her thing.”
Perking up, I said, “That reminds me of another jo—”
“Yeah, yeah, spare us your stand up routine,” Rainbow Dash dismissed, carelessly noodling on her guitar. “By the way, you totally missed out on a kick-butt Hearth’s Warming party, Twilight."
"Yeah!" Pinkie cheered while adjusting her ride cymbal stand. "A little after nine o'clock, the party started getting craaazy."
Rarity huffed and crossed her arms. "We're better off if we don't mention anything."
"What happened?" I asked.
Rainbow forcefully rammed her way through a guitar lick. "By ten, Rarity passed out face first into the stack of Hearth's Warming gifts."
"Hey!" Rarity piped.
"By the way, Rarity," Sunset spoke up, "Your mom's super cool for letting us try some of the wine."
"Yeah," Rainbow jumped in, punching Rarity's shoulder. "I totally would have never pegged you as a lightweight. One sip and we had to tie you down to keep you from hurting someone."
Rarity blushed. "Well, my mother only let us do that because it was Hearth's Warming, after all, and we were under her supervision. Any other day, she'd rather die than encourage underage drinking."
I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to have been there. Sure, an intimate party among close friends and family sounded fun, but I couldn't really condone the drinking. My grandmother tried the same thing on Hearth's Warming and I got the chance to practice being assertive, at the very least.
“Speaking of heavy drinking,” Sunset brought up playfully, “I had way too much cider. Mind if I use your bathroom, AJ?”
Applejack only nodded, and Sunset slung off her guitar before leaving the barn.
Waiting a few seconds, I turned to the rest of the girls.
“So…” I said. “Do you have it?”
The “it” was a set of flashcards, containing various things that Sunset Shimmer either liked or disliked. I had a general idea of some things, but the flashcards supplied by the girls helped fill in the blanks.
“Yeah, yeah,” Rainbow said, digging into her pockets until she pulled out her contribution. “Still, isn’t this kinda… creepy?”
“Nah, it’s juuuust the right amount of obsession!” Pinkie answered, passing in her own stack.
“Nevermind that,” I interrupted, skimming through the cards. “Can we just run through it once?”
Rarity smirked as she snatched the set of paper from my hands. “Only if you join the Rainbooms, Twilight.”
The other girls seemed to nod in agreement, and the rehearsal suddenly turned into an intervention. The girls, with their instruments strapped over their shoulders (including Pinkie and her drumset), stepped in closer, using the power of peer pressure to their advantage.
I crossed my arms in a stubborn show of resistance. “I already told you guys I’m not a singer, but I can play the piano.”
“But Rarity’s the pianist,” Fluttershy answered back.
“She’s a what-now?” Rainbow Dash cackled. “‘Cause I thought you just said she was a—”
“Piano player!” Applejack cut in before punching Rainbow’s arm. “It wasn’t even funny the first time, Rainbow.”
If Sunset wasn't my ride home, I would have just left and walked home. Speaking of Sunset, I could have used her backup as she seemed to be the only one who was on my side when it came to my refusal to join. But apparently inter-dimensional unicorns also have to use the bathroom.
“Come on, just one more run-through of the cards.”
“I dunno,” Pinkie said. “It looks like Sunset might come back any second now.”
“The last thing you want is for her to stumble upon us quizzing you on this.” Rainbow Dash chuckled before swiping the flashcards from Rarity. “Although, if you become a Rainboom, I’m sure we can squeeze in a lightning round.”
I grimaced before finally conceding. “Fine,” I said. “Backup singer only.”
“For now, but this conversation ain’t over, Twi,” Rainbow said, flipping through the cards in her hands. “What’s Sunset’s favorite ice-cream flavor?”
“Strawberry cheesecake,” I answered. “With real pieces of cheesecake.”
“Favorite book?”
“Daring Do and the Griffon’s Goblet.”
“Favorite car freshener?”
“Trick question,” I said. “She drives a motorcycle. Who even wrote that one?”
“I did!” Pinkie beamed. “But wrong! It’s ‘Summer Sun Scentsation.’”
I rolled my eyes and motioned for Rainbow to continue. In a span of a minute and a half, we burned through a majority of the flashcards, and I began to feel a little more comfortable now that I knew a little more.
When Sunset came back in, I had just barely shoved the flashcards into my bag. “So what’d I miss?” she asked while walking over to her guitar.
“Twilight decided to join the Rainbooms!” Pinkie announced.
“As a background singer,” I clarified. “Nothing more.”
“We’ll see about that,” Rarity said.
I figured that I should probably find someone else for help. Otherwise, I would be the lead singer, songwriter, and manager if I came to them again. Luckily, my social circle was relatively large.
•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·☀·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•
“So you finally nutted up,” Sugarcoat chided. I found myself having a hard time thinking of a more eloquent phrasing. She crossed her arms and nodded, leaning back in her computer chair with an approving smile, almost pleased with the announcement of my first date. “I told you that, and I quote, all you had to do was ‘ask her on the damn date.’”
“I know,” I answered back sheepishly. A round of teasing laughter followed, and I felt self-conscious. Normally, the dorms in Crystal Prep were wide and spacious, ridiculously large, but the room suddenly felt like a shoe box as all five girls focused on me.
“So what’s the plan?” Lemon Zest asked. She sat up from the bed and lay on her stomach, supporting her head with her hands. She kicked her feet playfully before adding a cheerful, “Looking to hit a home-run, champ?”
“Please,” Sunny Flare scoffed. “She’s blindly swinging at tee-balls.”
I countered with a short, “Hey!” but dropped it at that.
The baseball metaphor, at the moment, was lost on me. After some online research at home, it became clear that the sport represented stages in a relationship. First base meant kissing, and from that point on, it seemed to escalate far past what I was comfortable with on a first date. But yes, I was in fact blindly swinging at tee-balls.
To keep to the metaphor, I also desperately needed coaching.
“Iron Will’s Ultimate Guide to Imposing Your Confidence and Love to Potential Mates?” Indigo asked, pulling out a stack of books from my bag. Immediately feeling my face heat up, I dove for her and desperately clawed at the bag she held just out of reach. One by one, the contents of my most recent library trip were put out in the open for the rest of the girls to see.
“I couldn’t help it,” Indigo apologized. “It was just sticking out.”
Sunny Flare leaned in and swiped the book from Indigo. “Wow, that title is not creepy in the slightest.”
“It’s just for research!” I defended, crossing my arms with an annoyed huff. “I mean, I also came to you guys for help.”
“After Iron Will,” Sunny shot back.
“Well isn’t that just great?” Sour Sweet clicked her tongue. “The guy who sells windshield cleaners was her first pick over us!”
“The girl definitely has her priorities straight then,” Sugarcoat added. “I’d rather trust that infomercial hack with my love life before I go to you guys.”
“It’s not like that.” I’m sure they were all joking, but their comments always felt a little mean-spirited. “I just needed all the help I could get.”
“Clearly,” was Sugarcoat’s response. To emphasize her point, she reached for the rest of the books. “I’m pretty sure The Big Book of Body Language and Buddy the Love Loofah’s Relationship Manual are the signs of a hopeless romantic who got lucky.”
I didn’t bother to fight it because she was exactly right.
“I need help,” I admitted. “It’s my first date… ever.”
“We kinda figured,” Sunny Flare said, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Come on, I have an idea.”
“What do you have in mind?”
•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·☀·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•
“Seduce me.”
“What!?”
“You heard me,” Sunny Flare said, smirking as she toyed with a wine glass filled with orange soda.
Sunny Flare sat across from me at a makeshift dinner table, constructed out of her computer desk and a bedsheet. The rest of the girls sat off on the bed, each holding notepads and scrutinizing my every move.
“I, uh…”
Immediately, the rest of the girls began to scribble down notes.
“Wrong,” Sunny scolded, writing down what I assumed to be the same thing the others wrote. “Do not talk about yourself until your date asks you a question. Now, Lemon, tell me what was Iron Will’s sage advice?”
“‘Remind your potential mate of how virile you are by asserting your awesome traits via speech within ten seconds of making eye contact.’” Lemon winced. “Ugh, the machismo in this sentence alone is giving me a testosterone rush.”
“See?” Sunny leaned in. “If you stuck with this doorstopper posing as a published work, you’d be standing on the dinner table and flexing before the main course is even served.”
I crossed my arms and leaned back into the swivel chair. “I get it. I should’ve come to you guys.”
“Damn straight,” Sugarcoat added.
•·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·☀·.·´`·.·•·.·´`·.·•
I found myself reviewing both the flashcards from the Rainbooms and the notes from my Crystal Prep friends on the walk home. Thumbing through the cards, I couldn’t help but feel that this may have been a little excessive. Key words being “a little.”
When I got home, I was met with a call from the basement.
“Twilight!” I knew that tone of voice. It was my dad, and he most likely needed help. I dropped my bag and marched down the stairs to the basement. Sure enough, my father was hunched over a tiny model in the center of the room. While some people had model trains or war reenactments, my father made a replica of the set of whatever movie he was directing.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, looking over the basement step railing at my father’s newest problem. Whatever he was doing, it was still early on in the planning phase from the look of the scattered notes on the table.
“I need help, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, sure. What’s up?” I asked, hopping off the bottom step.
“This scene,” my father said, motioning towards the model. “For some reason, I’m having trouble blocking it properly.”
The film definition of “blocking” refers to the position and actions of actors in relation to the camera. If done well, the character’s movements on screen subtly influence the audience’s thoughts. My father recognized this and made an effort to act out the scenes himself (or with his unsuspecting family). However, now that computers and 3D printers became easily accessible, I had lost my lead roles to small pieces of plastic.
Still, even with the advancement of technology, my dad had his struggles with shooting certain scenes, which was where I often came as a fresh set of eyes.
My father’s creative bankruptcy often meant that I got my name on the credits of whatever movie my father was making. It definitely looked good on my resume to be an “assistant consulting creative director” or whatever that meant.
All I had to do to get my name on the silver screen was give my dad some advice on how characters in a scene should move. I’m directing the director.
Excited, I walked over to the tiny model on the table. It was a recreation of a high class restaurant, and there seemed to be a group of soldiers waiting in the model kitchen. But there was one figure that caught my attention. It was a small, stiff figure that was clad in an explorer’s get-up and an unmistakeable pith helmet.
“Is this…”
“Daring Do,” my father answered.
“You didn’t.”
“I did. Well, your mother did. She smooth-talked Yearling into selling us the film rights… under the condition that we have A.K. on set during all shoots, list her as producer and story consultant, and only your mother and I can work on the script.”
“She must be very protective of her books. I would be too,” I said coolly, but inside my mind was a fireworks show. “So… was this the secret project you and Mom were working on?”
My father chuckled. “This is the secret project that you are working on. Depending on how well this scene turns out, I’ll have the NDA in your room by the morning. From this point on, I’ll refer to it by the codename ‘Bravely Blue’ in all future discussions, public or private. What’d ya say, Twily?”
“Only if I’m listed as a full on consulting creative director.”
“Sweetie,” my father grinned. “I’ll make you the director if this goes well.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, of course not, but I really do need the help.”
“So what’s this scene?” It took all my self-control not to bounce up and down like an excitable kid at the realization that I was working on the film adaptation of Daring Do and the Sapphire Stone. “No, wait. I know. It’s the opening scene where Daring talks her way onto a lead for the Sapphire Stone!”
“That’s exactly the one,” my father beamed.
“It’s exactly how I had it in my mind, right down the fountain in the shape of the Stone… the scarlet carpet with the gold, heart-shaped accents—even the diamond shaped napkin holders!” I bent over and stuck my head into the miniature building, inspecting every single awe inspiring detail.
“I had the model set approved by Yearling herself when she came over.”
I lost all self-control at the comment. “You mean she was here… today?”
“Yeah, she’s in your mother’s book club.”
“She’s…” At this point, I was weak in the knees, and I had to grip the table for support. “C-can I meet her?”
“You’ve already met,” my father answered nonchalantly, straightening a miniature dining table until it was placed perfectly in the desired shot. “She was the one who personally gave you a first edition copy of Sapphire Stone at your sixth birthday party. Of course, that was before she blew up in the literary world and became a virtual recluse.”
“T-that was h-her?” I was salivating, my mind completely blown by the information bomb. “And I’m just hearing this now?”
“Maybe we should work on the scene later—”
“No! Now!”
“Alrighty then, Twily. Give it a go.”
Before I even was ready, I was at the creative helm of Daring Do and the Sapphire Stone. I just had to say it again to make sure it was real. Somewhere in its credits, my name would come up.
I nearly fainted at the thought.
“So if this is Daring,” I said, looking over the other plastic figure in the set, “this must be—”
“Dr. Cabelleron,” my father answered with a light chuckle. “Of course—”
“—We don’t know it’s him until Razor of Dreams, where he makes his full debut as an antagonist.”
“Exactly,” my father said with short laugh. “So it’s the opening scene where—”
I was breathing heavily. “I know the one, Dad. So! In this scene, Daring had an escape route handy because she knew she was being set up. The owners also happened to owe her a favor, so she made a codeword and preparations with the staff in case she needed the escape.”
“Uh-huh,” was my dad’s reply. His focus entirely on me and the notepad in his hands.
“You could set it up like a dance. After all, Daring’s escape codeword was ‘Tango.’”
“Go on.”
I jumped forward and grabbed the figurines. Thinking about it for a moment, I brought Daring to the center table and held the other figure a short distance away.
“So the conversation plays out like this: Daring is sitting down, sipping her drink, while Dr. Caballeron is standing, lecturing, droning, seemingly in control—leading the dance.”
I brought them both to the model table. “So then Caballeron sits down, and they’re both on an equal playing field. This is where the momentum shifts and Daring starts to lead the dance. She pries the information from him and says the line, ‘it takes two to tango,’ and then she makes her escape through the chaos caused by her plan. You could even have the music be a calm, suave tango to juxtapose the anarchy with how composed Daring is.”
My father raised his eyebrow, “And how will we shoot the escape?”
“A tracking, slowed down, heavily-chaotic long uncut take following Daring. We can get really good fight choreographer and stunt people, considering the property.”
“A long take? For this scene? Those things are crazy to shoot. Just one mistake can set back filming for days.”
“Trust me, Dad. The audience will love the commitment and attention to detail, especially if it’s made obvious this early.”
My father nodded. “I’ll tell Yearling about the scene. I’m just sure she’ll love it.” He grabbed a pencil and began to write down what I had just gushed about for the past few minutes.
I felt my heart swell up with pride. “Thanks, Dad! You don’t know how much you’ve made my day. I’ve just been so anxious and worried about my date tomorrow.”
Surprised, my father dropped his pencil, and it hit the ground with a resounding click.