Chapter 9 Of Where Her Story Met Mine

 

The next afternoon, I biked over to Sierra’s to start work on our project.  Any reason to see her was a good reason. My heart was racing, and not just because of pedaling my bike. 

With Sierra’s mom providing us with our usual tray of snacks and cans of Coke, we got down to working on our project, a report on The Hound of The Baskervilles. Sierra’s drawings of how she thought Sherlock Holmes, Watson, and the rest of the characters looked just blew my mind.

“Amazing work, Sierra,” I commended her. “These depictions look like they came right from the time the book was written.”

“Thanks,”  Sierra grinned. “With your analysis of  the book, we’ve got an A here.”

“Let’s hope so,” I replied. I set my notebook down, the room suddenly feeling a little quieter, except for the racing of my heart.

And then I did it again.

I reached across and took her hand, this time letting it last longer.

And once again, Sierra didn’t protest, just smiled, her blue eyes gleaming.

That evening, after I got home and wound down, I called Tom and told him about my afternoon with Sierra.

“It’s getting closer, Tommy, I can feel it. That look she gave me tells me that she’s thinking the same thing I am, so the only question is do I spill my heart out, tell her how I feel and ask her to be my girlfriend before or after the dance?  Things might go south if I ask before and she says no. Two weeks won’t kill me, so maybe I should just play it cool until then.”

“You definitely want to be sure that you’re both on the same wavelength,” Tom agreed. “I’ve got your back, if you need anyone to advocate to her on how much of a great guy you are.”

I kept those words in mind over the next couple of days. Before I knew it, Thursday arrived, and Sierra and I were standing in front of our English class presenting our project. As expected, we got an A. 

“A small celebration is in order.” I told Sierra as we congratulated each other on the success of our hard work.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked.

“How about pizza at Carl’s again, just us this time. How about Saturday?”

“So our pre-date date?” she laughed. “Deal. I’m going shopping with Mom that afternoon, but the evening should be free. How does 7:30 sound?”

“I’ll be there, just bring your appetite.”