Getting to Third Date by Kelly McClymer Page A

and Todd didn’t have a clue that he was being used to prove a point. I had suggested to Tyler that I simply hang around the area of the dining hall where he liked to eat lunch. I figured if I smiled and talked to him there was a good chance he’d ask me out again. Eventually. Some girls are brave. Me, I’m a coward. I prefer to back my way into a relationship under cover of a friendship if I have to do the maneuvering.
    But both Sophia and Tyler had pointed out that this was not likely to get me a date for the weekend—which would leave me (and the readers waiting for Mother Hubbard to prove herself wrong) without a column next week.
    One thing I know. I’m more like Mother Hubbard than even I realized. I really hated asking him out. That stomach squeezing moment when he was filling up his milk glass and I wasn’t sure if he’d say yes was awful. Not to mention hard on the pocketbook when he stood back and let me pay for the tickets. And the popcorn. And the soda.
    I guess I can see why guys might like to abandon the old-fashioned notion of asking a girl on a date and paying for everything. Not to mention being chewed over by her father and cooed over by her camera-snapping mom. At least in college, there’s no chance of that happening, no matter how old-fashioned the date happens to be.
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    The theme of Todd’s and my third date seemed to be me in charge and him following like a sheep. I picked out seats on the aisle because there was a bit of aisle light to discourage him from deciding I’d invited him to a make-out session. That was definitely not happening. He did at least carry his own popcorn and soda.
    There were only four other people in the theater—two couples much like me and my date.
    Except for the fact that they looked like they were still in high school. It seemed fitting, given the immaturity of my own date. On the other hand, it was also awkward; the other two couples weren’t exactly interested in the movie, as evidenced by the kissing and giggling sounds coming from the opposite dark corners they had settled themselves into.
    The movie was good. I laughed. Todd didn’t. But he didn’t snore, either. I think he had started to put his arm around my shoulder once. Probably when the noise from the dark corners of the theater inspired him. Fortunately, I was able to head him off by leaning forward and tying my shoe until the urge passed and he sat back to stuff a big handful of popcorn in his mouth.
    As soon as the credits started rolling, I started worrying. Would it be horrible to tell him to just take me home? I didn’t want to get stuck paying for him to eat a burger. I’d paid enough for the movie and I had plenty of material for my column—enough to convince all the readers that I was right not to date this guy again.
    As we got up to leave, I attempted to break what was becoming an awkward silence. “So, did you like it?”
    â€œNo.”
    What to answer to that? He couldn’t even muster the effort to tell a polite lie? “I did. I’m really glad I picked this one.” Take that, bad date guy. I didn’t even apologize for his hating it. Why should I tell a polite lie if he wasn’t going to bother?
    He didn’t reply. He had more important things on his mind, apparently. “Want to get something to eat?” He looked a little hopeful, and I didn’t doubt, from the way he’d plowed through his popcorn, that he was still hungry. Guys were bottomless pits. Maybe that’s why in the olden days they were the ones who paid for the food.
    A few excuses ran through my mind. But I didn’t use them. I just echoed him instead. “No.”
    â€œOkay.” He didn’t say anything else as we drove home. Not that he seemed mad or anything either. He turned on music and hummed to it a little. Every so often he took his hands off the wheel to play the air guitar at some riff that called to