What If

Chapter 28

Paul and I played a good game. He and I kept it tied the entire time; he would score a point then I would score a point. I think the foosball table was unusable afterwards. We practically destroyed it with how competitive we were getting. Unfortunately, Paul was able to score the last round, putting him one more point higher than me. As disappointed as I was in my overall girl-power, I had to give it to him: he won fair and square. Even when I cheated a little bit. His balls will never be the same.

After obliterating the foosball table, we played round after round of pinball, taking turn after turn trying to keep the ball from falling in the hole longer than the previous person. Little did Paul know that I was the champion of pinball. That's all I did for a time being in my childhood. Needless to say, I kicked his ass in that game.

Then we played a few rounds of darts. Paul had much better aim than I did and got the dart perfectly in the middle of the board one time. I couldn't get them anywhere close to the middle. Darts was never my forte. Paul had to laugh a couple times when I almost hit one of the boys standing next to the board, who I think nearly had a heart attack from almost losing an eye, and from when I tripped over my own boot and sent the dart flying into some man's fries.

Paul and I then sat down in one the bar's booths for some lunch: two slices of pizza each and the biggest bowl of onion rings I'd ever seen for the both of us. I had already finished my pizza and there was only about one-fourth of the original onion rings still in the bowl. Paul was slowly chipping away at his second slice of pizza, having an onion ring or two every few minutes.

I saw a particular good-looking onion ring and picked it up, raised it up high, and slowly lowered in into my mouth like a sword swallower in a circus.

Paul watched and chuckled to himself, mouth full of pizza. "Boy, for a girl, ya sure can eat," he commented after swallowing.

I waved away the thought and said "What can I say? I like my food." I grabbed another onion ring and ate it the same way, sucking the fried goodness from my fingers afterward.

"No, that's a good thing!" he insisted, picking up an onion ring himself. "Some girls don't eat at all. It's good you have an appetite. It's a wonder you're so skinny though." He looked me up and down trying to figure it out for himself.

I smiled. "Yeah, I'm one of lucky ones. I can eat whatever I want and won't gain a pound." Another onion ring went down the hatch.

Paul finished the last bite of his pizza, ate one more onion ring, and asked "Are you ready to go to the next place?"

I looked at him shocked, nearly choking on food. "There's another place?" I asked in disbelief.

He smirked and looked down at the table. "Well, two other places. But they're both surprises. You're not allowed to know until we get there."

"Ugh!" I whined, eating the last of the onion rings. "Come on! I hate surprises! I mean, I love surprises, but not when I know there's a surprise because then I just have to know what it is."

He laughed. "Well, you'll just have to wait. Ready to go?"

"Yeah, I'm ready, you secretive bastard." We stood up and left the establishment, leaving two greasy plates and a bowl full of fried crumbs in our wake.

The snow was still coming down at its normal light pace. It had completely covered the grass during the time we were in there, but only just.

Paul grabbed onto my hand, smiling at me as he did and led us back up the way we came towards the diner. When we came to the bus stop, he stopped and waited for one to arrive.

"We're getting on the bus again?" I complained.

He chuckled at my whine and said "Don't worry. This is the last time. I promise."

I playfully huffed and waited impatiently for a bus to arrive. That was a qualm I had about myself. I was very impatient. I can't wait for anything for too long without getting frustrated. I just prayed that a bus would get here so I could get to my surprise faster.

I looked around one more time at the cute little plaza and at the pretty snow and took a deep breath of fresh air. Then I looked down at my hand and noticed Paul was still holding it. I felt a giant pang of uncomfortableness looking at it. I didn't like Paul like that and I didn't think he and I were close enough as friends for him to be holding my hand at all really. But when I tried to pull it away, his hand followed, holding on even tighter.

"Paul," I said, dragging out his name. "It's time to give my hand back."

He looked down at me from the corner of his eye and smirked. "Maybe I don't want to give it back," he responded with a seductive tone in his voice.

Oh no, I thought. Here we go again. "Paul, we talked about this. I don't want to be mean, but please give me my hand back."

"But I like it," he argued like a child, getting candy taken away.

"Paul," I warned.

His smirk disappeared as quickly as it came and he rolled his eyes in frustration. Upset, he let go of my hand and said "Fine."

Then the bus showed up at the stop, screeching loudly as the driver pushed the brakes. Once he opened the door, a horde of the slowest elderly people to ever exist got off.

"Don't worry, Paul," I said, walking onto the bus. "Maybe someday."

His eyes lit up with hopefulness: an emotion I didn't intend to give him. I meant maybe one day hold hands as friends, not whatever I probably accidentally put in his mind.