Shelley fiddled with her backpack straps while she waited for her father outside The Francesca.

     Although she couldn't wait to see Bruce on opening night, which was only a day away, she didn't want to think about seeing him on graduation day.

     She didn't want Bruce to leave, at least not without letting him know how she felt about him first.

     She kept her eyes on the street, waiting for the sight of that familiar, but long forgotten Station Wagon.

     What she got instead was a sports car the color of money, pulling up to the curb with her very own James Dean inside it.

     She smiled so big, it was almost a laugh. "Bruce?"

     He stepped out of the car. Despite still being in his Julian school uniform, he looked rough and dangerous. "Good evening, Miss Hepburn. Need a ride?"

     "I'd love to, but I can't. I'm waiting for daddy."

     Bruce opened the passenger side door wide open. "Yeah, about that. I was at home writing my salutatorian speech when I got a call from Edwin saying he needed a favor."

     "Daddy called you?"

     He stepped up to her to take her backpack off her shoulders. "Yes. He sends his apologies and asks that I make sure you're fed."

     Shelley could hardly believe the relationship between Bruce and her father. Even she didn't get along with him that well. "I didn't know daddy had your phone number."

     "I told you I was good with dads."

     Once Shelley was inside the car, he gave her the backpack. "Put it down by your feet."

     "I can hold it on my lap."

     "No, put it down. You need your lap clear."

     "For what?"

     "You'll see."

     Bruce closed her door and walked around the car to the driver's side.

     Shelley looked out the window at Bruce. His features were so mature for his age.

     She soaked up the scent of Lamborghini leather and Bruce's muskiness, which lingered in the car even if he wasn't in it. It was another thing she wanted plastered into her memory.

     He sat next to her and inserted the keys in the ignition, but didn't start the car. "I have something for you."

     No, please. Stop making it harder to let you go. "What is it?"

     "Do you remember when we first met, I called you Hepburn, and you asked me if I was referring to Audrey or Katharine?"

     "Yes, I remember. You were a real jerk."

     Bruce's face turned a light shade of red. "I know. I'm sorry. I want to make it up to you."

     Bruce pointed to the open glove compartment by her knees. "See that white handkerchief? Take it. It's yours."

     This was the first time Shelley received a gift that wasn't followed by words like "Congratulations" or "Happy birthday".

     But this was the Bruce Cassles method of giving gifts, and aggressive as it was, she wanted to receive all gifts like this.

     Shelley reached for the handkerchief. When her fingers clawed around it, she felt something hard inside.

     She took the item out, then peeled away the cloth.

     Beneath the silk handkerchief were a pair of black Oliver Goldsmith Manhattan sunglasses.

     Bruce rested a wrist on the steering wheel, like he was trying to look cool. "Do those look familiar?"

     Shelley recognized them as the ones Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast at Tiffany's.

     She felt a thick and heavy sting spread across her chest. It was the best present she ever received.

     "I figured you'd need them to hide from the paparazzi on opening night."

     How did Bruce end up in her life? Better yet, why did he stay in it? Whatever the reasons, she didn't want him gone.

     Crying became the only way to ease the pressure building in her chest. Tears made their way to her nostrils and eyes.

     Bruce searched her face. "Do you like them?"

     His inquiry commanded the tears to reveal themselves.

     He sighed. "You don't like them. Damn, I'm sorry, kid."

     "No, it's not that. It's just..."

     He took the handkerchief from her lap and brought it to her eyes, inviting her to use it.

     Shelley rambled. "I know we're just friends, but you're so nice to me that sometimes I think you love me, but I know you can't and even if you did, you're leaving anyway so it doesn't matter."

     Bruce put his arm over her seat's headrest. He hung his head in front of her.

     "I just... I really wish you were my boyfriend. You make me feel so pretty. I-I don't know what's happening to me."

     She forgot about the handkerchief and cried into her hands. 

     The car was canned-packed with the sound of sniffling and hiccups.

     After a full minute of silence, Bruce took a deep breath. "I don't know what's happening to me, either, Shelley."

     She wiped her eyes and looked at him. He never called her by her first name.

     He rubbed his eyes, more in fatigue than sadness. "I was so positive that I was everything everyone thought I was. I figured that what I did with Lawrence proved it, even though with him it was just curiosity. It wasn't love or anything."

     Shelley couldn't comprehend a word he was saying. Did she miss something important while she was crying?

     Bruce's words became more passionate and a little lunatic. "And I've had to put up this front to not give people the wrong idea. I did everything I saw other boys doing. I acted like a jerk to girls I liked. I don't know if it was to get them to like me or to keep them away. I don't know."

     His rambling is worse than mine. She wiped her nose. "I don't understand, Bruce. What are you saying?"

     He took her moist hand in his and looked into her eyes. "What I'm saying is..."

     She held her breath, even if all she wanted to do was bury her nose in his chest and inhale his scent forever.

     He hesitated. "I-I'm saying... I... I need to get you something to eat. Right now."

     The disappointment crushed her. She closed her eyes in defeat.

     Bruce straightened up and started the car.

     The sound of the engine awoke her from her trance.

     She didn't get what she wanted, but one comforting truth remained.

     Of all the romantic rejections she faced, this was the most pleasant.

     Perhaps it was a delusion, but she wanted to believe that Bruce had a small place in his rebel heart for her.

     If even the possibility that he could see her as anything more than a friend existed, she was happy to live in that world.

     Bruce drove down the highway, a little faster than usual.

     Shelley wiped her face of all tears. "Bruce?"

     He turned to her for a second, then went back to the road.

     "Have you heard of the San Kolbe County Fair?"

     His tone was cautious. "I have."

     "Because I asked Daddy the other night if he wanted to go, and you know what he said?"

     "What?"

     "He said 'Maybe Bruce would like to join us'."

     Bruce was quiet, but his voice revealed his smile. "He said that?"

     "Mhm."

     "Is that an invitation?"

     Shelley slipped her hands under her thighs. "I know it's not much of a going-away party, but if you want to go, Daddy said it's okay if you join us."

     Bruce lifted up an index finger. "I accept, on one condition."

     "What's that?"

     "You invite your friend Debbie to tag along."

     It took extra long for Shelley to recognize the name. "You want Debbie to come, too?"

     "Yes. Before I leave for Los Angeles, I want to know you'll have a friend. I don't want you wasting your days away missing me."

     She didn't want to think about goodbyes yet. "Okay. Deal."

     "Very well. Now, what are we having for dinner? We're one exit away from McDonalds."

     "McDonalds? Okay. I could go for a Big Mac right about now."

     Bruce scuffed. "You can't eat an entire Big Mac by yourself."

     She laughed. "I don't get fat, but I can eat a lot."

     "Alright, then. At the county fair, you and me, we're going corn dog for corn dog. See who could eat the most."

     "Oh, you are done, my friend. But I promise to take it easy on you."

     Bruce pulled up to the florescent lights of the restaurant. Once he shut off the engine, he got out of the car.

     Shelley rewrapped her new sunglasses and placed them on top of the dashboard. The last thing she wanted was to crush them inside her backpack.

     Bruce pulled open her door and made just enough room for her to step out.

     She used the edge of the door for support as he squeezed her way out of the car. "And you can't use mustard to mask the taste if you—"

     Without warning, Bruce swooped in and pressed his lips to hers.

     Shelley froze. For a second, she thought it was an accident.

     Bruce brought an arm around her lower back to pull her closer to him.

     Her eyes remained opened for heaven knows how long, but eventually she closed them.

     What's happening? What am I doing? What's he doing? Where am I? Who am I?

     When she finally realized she was kissing Bruce Cassles, her mind exploded.

     Shelley thought that in her fifteen years alive, she felt every feeling that ever existed: Anger, joy, grief, fear, thirst, drowsiness.

     But the way she felt now didn't have a name. It was more intense than fear, but not as bad. It was better than happiness, but what was better than that?

     It was a spoonful of sugar to someone who lived off vegetables their entire life. It was pupil-dilating, hair-raising, fatigue-inducing, addiction-building something. 

     She was ready to pass out with confusion, but Bruce's strong arms held her up like a pole tied to a tree to help it grow straight.

     His mouth kissed her lower lip, then her upper one, then both.

     Shelley puckered, unsure how to kiss him back.

     Bruce laughed softly against her mouth.

     She was convinced he was laughing at her loud heartbeat. The cooks inside the restaurant must have heard it.

     After three or four eternities, he pulled his lips away.

     No. Not yet. Shelley kept her eyes closed.

     Bruce kept her locked in his arms. "So, no mustard. Got it."

     She shook her head. "N-no mustard."

     Bruce pulled her away from the car door to close it. Then, he grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the entrance. "Come on, Hepburn."

     Shelley opened her eyes. Her mind was still in a daze. She could barely keep her legs straight.

     There was a small line to the order window.

     Bruce looked up at the menu above it. "I think I want a milkshake. You want one, too?"

     Shelley tried to lift her right hand to point at something on the menu, but something was holding her back.

     She looked down.

     Her fingers were tangled with Bruce's. His firm grip told her that he wasn't letting go.

     "Shelley?"

     "Huh?"

     "You want a milkshake?"

     She smiled up at him. "Sure."