The Story of Us: Part X (aka "Lust, Loathing and Lattes")

Nothing like a gravestone to give you a little reality check.

Not mine, of course, but my first "big" stories for The Evergreen were on teenage vandalism to grave markers in neighboring Rosalia (population 648). I thought I was on my way to a Pulitzer.

And then I got a rude awakening (emphasis on rude) to the world of college newspapers.

Where I came from -- The Clover Leaves -- newspapers came out once a month. And publication was a mandatory class missed only in the event of death. Or something like that. Therefore, I had no idea that staffers were expected to show up at The Evergreen every day -- and no one told me any differently. I figured that my gravestone story was a one-time thing, and I didn't come in the next day. A little dinner with my new friends, a lot of homework, and to bed by midnight. No big deal, right?

Wrong. The next day, the boom was lowered. Our esteemed leader was not too thrilled with my no-show status, and even though I was an admittedly clueless freshman, she didn't care. She expected me to go out to Rosalia -- more than 20 miles away -- and I didn't have a bike, let alone a car. I basically was on Candace's bad list, and I was fully aware that I had to dig myself out quick -- or find another job.

I was horrified -- and furious. No one had showed me the ropes beyond a quick lesson on how to log onto the paper's computers and a deadline for my first story. No one was providing me with any support, and I was nearing the point of hating my job. It felt like The Clover Leaves, redux.

And making me even more annoyed was that the first thing that crossed my mind was that I should have listened to Chris. He clearly was right. (You see that, Chris? I'm admitting that I was wr ... you know, I've already said it once in the course of telling this story; is it really necessary to repeat?)

So when he left me a friendly message, I called him back that night.

We ended up talking for 45 minutes.

And during the conversation, he asked me out.

Now, you'd think that I wouldn't have been the least bit nervous going out with someone with whom I had already held hands, danced, hugged ... and broken up with.

That last part was terrifying to me. I had already burned and been burned by Chris once, and I didn't know how this would go. I didn't know he felt. Hell, I didn't know how I felt. We had agreed to a truce that Sunday in my room, but that was a cordial, professional agreement, not Saturday afternoon tossing my hair while smiling coyly over a cup of coffee.

And even worse, Chris and I had never been on a real date. At least not one where we weren't in the presence of chaperones and a DJ playing Sir-Mix-Alot's "Jump On It."

So I alternated between pacing back and forth in front of my closet and panicking to Emily, who, despite having just broken up with her own boyfriend, was super supportive. So much that she called for backup. I don't know if she just wanted to calm me down (and shut me up) or she felt bad that I really had no clue, but she offered to show up at the Starbucks we were going to with her fellow Vancouver-ites (that's Clark County, not Canada) and take a gander at how things were going.

I figured that it couldn't hurt -- Chris had never seen Emily, Katie or Keely, so he wouldn't know I had (or needed) reinforcements, and maybe they could give me some useful feedback if they noticed anything. After all, all three of them had been or were in a serious relationship. Far more serious than a tolo, a prom and a bunch of petty fighting over headlines and deadlines.

So when Chris rang my room from the callbox downstairs, I felt much better. I sprinted down the stairs in a haze of American Eagle and Victoria's Secret Heavenly perfume, threw open the door ...

... and standing there was Chris, looking really good in a button-down shirt and jeans, holding a bouquet of flowers.

I felt my heart skip a beat. He had brought me flowers?!

I wasn't expecting flowers, and that brought my nerves back in full force. Most women know that guys don't just buy flowers. And most people who know Chris are fully aware of his aversion to the grocery store. So that, alone, said something.

I focused instead on small talk -- the still-warm weather, his new car, how nice it was that Pullman had a Starbucks -- on the short drive to the coffee shop. I felt more relaxed once we were inside and I was reading the familiar drink menu -- but it quickly became apparent that I wasn't the only nervous one.

When the barista asked for our order, I asked for a grande mocha, and she perfunctorily gave the total. Chris produced money, paid for it, and stood there. She looked at us in confusion before asking if he wanted a drink, too. Chris looked totally flummoxed, and kind of embarrassedly ordered a venti hot chocolate. Yes, you read that right. Hot chocolate. Back then, his tastes were clearly lacking. After all, he wasn't madly in love with Starbucks, and he wasn't madly in love with me. Or so I thought.

We took our drinks to the closest open table, a cozy setting for two, and picked up our conversation from the car -- opening up little by little as we covered every topic except our past. We discussed classes and professors that he had already had and I was now experiencing, living in Pullman -- and The Evergreen.

It turned out that Chris shared my consternation about the Rosalia situation. He saw no reason for the campus newspaper to even be covering the vandalism, and he thought it was utterly ridiculous for me to be told to drive out there. Neither of us came right out and said it, but it was clear that we both were thinking back to the hazy days of 1996, when I was reporter non grata on The Clover Leaves staff because of my unfortunate billing as a freshman. But this time, it appeared, I had support and sympathy.

Away from the newsroom (and past bitterness), I couldn't help but think that maybe Chris would have been the better choice for editor. After all, he wasn't trying to send me out to Rosalia.

Wow. This was ... nice. Chris and I, sipping drinks and talking newspapers. I felt so grown-up, light years away from the little girl who had been afraid to ask him to a school dance. We had a natural rapport that seemed dangerously close to Lane and Kent territory (circa late Season Two), and I couldn't decide if I was thrilled or horrified. I was leaning toward the former because, honestly, who doesn't enjoy a little undivided male attention -- and flowers -- from time to time?

I actually was somewhat panicked by the arrival of Emily and her fellow sleuths. To anyone else, they were just three students getting a coffee on a Saturday afternoon, but the pointed looks and smiles had me worried that Chris would notice. (Ironically, when he met Emily, he put the pieces together on his own. He clearly should have been an investigative journalist instead of a sports writer.)

Their eventual departure restored my sense of calm, but all too soon, Chris was driving me back to my dorm. And I found myself not wanting our afternoon to end. We had lingered long after our drinks were gone, and the conversation had been wonderful.

I told him as much when he dropped me off, and he looked thrilled. With a smile, he bid me goodbye, and I headed -- or more likely, floated -- up to the second floor. I couldn't stop smiling, even through Emily's questions and a questionable lasagna in the dining hall.

I didn't want to admit it, but the bottom line was that things hadn't felt so comfortable between us since that night in our school cafeteria, when we held hands and danced in the darkness.

Was it possible that Chris was feeling the same way? That he couldn't stop thinking about our afternoon together?

That evening, I received an e-mail from Vroomway (named for both her love of motorcycles and her love of cyberspace), SheBard's best friend and another English teacher at Clover Park with whom I had become friendly. She had spent the summer in Moscow working on her master's degree and had done work on the sets for a play that had opened that weekend at the University of Idaho. Being a thespian/drama teacher herself, Vroomway was excited to see how they had turned out, and asked if I would be willing to go take some photos during the Sunday matinee.

She would have two tickets waiting at will call in case I could do it -- and had someone who wanted to go with me.

Hmm.

Who would possibly want to spend a Sunday afternoon watching a play, in Idaho, no less? I didn't even know if I wanted to -- and I really didn't want to go alone.

Hmm.

I consulted the university's electronic phonebook and picked up the phone for the second time that week.

He answered on the second ring.

"Hi, Chris," I said. "I was wondering if you had plans tomorrow."

To be continued ...