Speechless(74)

                I shake my head.

                “Snoopy?”

                Nope.

                “Okay… Linus?” No. “Peppermint Patty?” No. “Marcie? Pig-Pen?                     Lucy?”

                No, no, no.

                Sam grins. “Damn. I thought it would be Lucy. You seem like the                     Lucy type.”

                I shoot him a withering glare. Lucy? Really? The girl who yanks                     away the football and is bossy as hell?

                “Fine, fine, not Lucy then.” He pauses, considering, and then                     snaps his fingers. “I got it. Woodstock?”

                I grin and flash him a thumbs-up. I can’t believe it took him                     so many guesses. I mean, who doesn’t love Woodstock?                     He’s adorable.

                “All right, I have one last question for you,” he says. “Asha’s                     birthday is tomorrow. I’m taking her ice skating. Do you want to come?”

                I’m so caught off guard by the question that I almost trip over                     one of the steps. I barely manage to stop myself from falling flat on my face by                     grabbing on to the handrail.

                “Asha asked me to invite you. I realize it’s probably not the                     level of cool you’re accustomed to when it comes to social outings,” Sam says.                     “Your crowd’s idea of a fun time is probably driving around bashing mailboxes                     with a baseball bat.”

                I want to resent his assumption, but the truth is Warren and                     Joey drove Kristen and me around town at three in the morning doing precisely                     that like five times over the summer.

                Ice skating. Okay, not really my thing, but it’s for Asha, and                     a way to prove I’m not just using her. I look defiantly at Sam and nod.

                “You’ll come?” He doesn’t bother to conceal his surprise.

                I nod again, more firmly this time, and Sam blinks once, but                     then shrugs.

                “Okay,” he says. “I’ll pick you up around noon.”

                We finally fight our way through the steady stream of students                     and stop at my locker. Sam leans against the one next to mine. He looks like                     he’s waiting, or like he just wants to chill out. I stand there and wait for him                     to say something. It’s not like I expect him to keep me company or whatever.