The Dating Experiment by Briar Prescott
Jamie
J: I’m going to win this next game. I’m calling it right now.
Seb: You can’t reserve a win. That’s not how this works.
J: I’m not. I’m predicting the future. Didn’t you know? I’m a psychic. I have the gift of sight!
Seb: So far, I’ve learned that you’re spontaneous, and now you tell me you’re a fortune teller. It’s almost as if you don’t want me to like you.
J: You laugh now, but— Wait! I’m getting a vision! You’re going to meet an average height, moderately attractive stranger. A secret admirer. Or maybe an enemy in disguise? Or just an average person. Who knows? All I can say for sure is that life is full of surprises. But not all the time. And something you lost will turn up soon. Or you will lose something. Either one or the other. Or both. Or neither.
Seb: Not very talented, are you?
J: You regular folks have always mocked The Gift. I’ll have you know I’m practically a prodigy. I’m extremely famous in the clairvoyant community, too. I’d get my hands on an autograph if I were you. I sense that those puppies will go for a lot of money soon. As a sign of good faith, I’m willing to sell you one for a hundred thousand dollars.
Seb: What an offer. Let me get you my bank details so you can take the money out of my account yourself.
J: I guess you’ll be more inclined to believe me once my predictions have come true. I’ll be patient and have my revenge once you come back with your tail between your legs, praising my accuracy.
Seb: Reporting that a week has passed, and I haven’t lost anything. Nor have I found anything or anyone. Attractive or not.
J: Give it time. It’s going to happen.
Seb: You sure about that?
J: Of course. You’re what? Thirty? Forty?
Seb: Shouldn’t you know it already, oh gifted one?
J: We seers don’t like to make you common folk uncomfortable by demonstrating the true extent of our knowledge. Suffice to say, everything I said will happen in the next five to seventy years.
Seb: I have no doubt it’ll happen if your timeline is the rest of my life.
J: Nobody said you can’t use loopholes.
Seb:…
J: What do you think I should use for my statue? Bronze seems like a good idea. I hear it’s durable.
J: Or gold? To really emphasize my superiority. I always thought I’d make a good dictator, so this could be my practice statue. I should rent a horse and a sword.
Seb: You won one game. One game, J. If anybody gets a statue, it’s the guy with fifteen victories under his belt.
J: After the magnificent way I defeated you yesterday, I’m now inclined to think you cheated on all the other games we’ve played. I feel very betrayed. The size of my statue just doubled to ease the pain. Do you think the mayor would agree if I put it in Franklin Park? So that people could worship me properly? Or maybe in front of my apartment building so people would know where to leave the gifts and money?
Seb: You won because I was distracted.
J: I just added another few feet to the statue.
J: But, sure. I’ll bite. What were you doing that was oh so distracting?
Seb: I was at a party.
J: You were playing word games on your phone with me while at a party?
Seb: Yes.
J: You should have told me you were busy, and I would have stopped messaging.
Seb: I wasn’t busy. I went because it was expected of me. I don’t really like parties, so I would have preferred being anywhere else. Chatting with you gave me that illusion, so the evening was easier to stomach.
J: What do you have against parties?
Seb: Parties mean people, and I’m not good at social situations. I never know what to say. If I do say something, I usually choose the wrong thing. It’s stressful and exhausting. I know a party equals a good time to most people, but it’s never been that way for me. It takes a lot of energy to leave a halfway decent impression of myself.
J: I like you just fine. I especially like talking to you, so you might consider that you’re underselling yourself.
Seb: That’s because I’m considerably more charming online. Here I have time to think through what I say. I don’t have the same luxury in a face-to-face conversation. There’s a certain anonymity between us. Even if I’d told you my most intimate secrets, you still wouldn’t have a clue who I was. There’s a freedom in it. No names, no faces, no job titles, no judgment.
J: Tell me a secret.
Seb: What?
J: I’ve been thinking about what you said the whole week. I’m curious now. So, tell me a secret.
Seb: I don’t like pizza. I think it’s overrated.
J: Well, this relationship is over. It was good while it lasted.
Seb: No, no. This is a tit for tat situation. It’s your turn. Tell me a secret.
J: Okay, fine. But if we’re going to do this, we’re going for the real secrets, not that wimpy pizza stuff.
Seb: By all means.
J: Okay. I’ve got a good one for you. Be prepared to learn, grasshopper. This is how you do secrets.
Seb: Wow me, sensei.
J: A few years ago, I borrowed my mom’s car.
Seb: Christ. Please tell me you’re not a teenager.
J: My teenage years are a distant memory. You can breathe easy. Anyway, I needed to go to the pharmacy for something.
Seb: Something? How vague of you. I sense another secret.
J: Nah, there’s nothing secret there. I needed to buy condoms because it was my high school reunion, and Jake McCallister was going to be there. I’d had an embarrassingly obvious crush on him way back when, so I was going to seduce him. For revenge purposes.
Seb: As one does. And did you succeed?
J: No. Turns out he has terrible taste in men. Apparently, he’d been carrying a torch for the physics teacher all these years and also decided to make his move during the reunion. They’re married now.
Seb: Where does the car come in?
J: I borrowed it and when I was about to park once I got back from the pharmacy, I backed into a tree. There was a dent. Nothing terrible. But I didn’t tell my parents. Mom called me the next week and complained about people being careless in the parking lots. I said nothing. It’s been two years. She still doesn’t know.
Seb: Thank you for that blackmail material.
J: Yeah. Sure. Like you’d dare to betray my trust now that I know about your deep, dark pizza secret.
Seb: When I cook, I sometimes pretend I’m hosting my own show on Food Network, so I narrate everything I do.
J: I pretend my shower gel bottle is an Academy Award for Best Actor. My thank-you speeches are very long and detailed.
Seb: So is my fish taco recipe.
J: And now I’m hungry. Can you guide me through dinner prep? What can you make out of pickles and cheese?
Seb: And?
J: No, just pickles and cheese. Do your magic. We can role-play Gordon Ramsay and an incompetent restaurant owner? You can yell at me and call me an idiot sandwich.
Seb: You just went right ahead and tapped into what I find hot.
J: I buy a massive amount of plants.
Seb: Are you a gardener?
J: I wish. My mom is. She brings me all sorts of potted plants, and I kill them all. I’m the most prolific serial killer of the plant world. The thing is, I don’t want to disappoint Mom, so I have to replace them every time she visits. I have a chart that details all the plants I should have and how big they should be. And I have a flower guy. He’s sworn to silence. It’s a whole big production to keep up appearances.
Seb: Couldn’t you learn how to keep your plants alive? Seems easier. What do you do? Overwater them? Dry them out?
J: Yes.
Seb: Isn’t it risky having an accomplice, though? What if your flower guy rats you out?
J: Good point. I shall silence him. Let it be known it was your idea. If I get caught, you’re going down with me.
J: Do you have siblings?
Seb: I have a brother.
J: You know how with siblings, it always seems like each person gets one defining characteristic?
Seb: Naturally.
J: What are you?
Seb: The uptight one.
J: Wow. You didn’t even really need to think about that one.
Seb: I’m also self-aware.
Seb: What’s your word?
J: Impulsive.
Seb: And are you?
J: I guess. I think it seems like I’m more impulsive than I really am because my brother and sister have their shit together, and I’m just waffling around.
Seb: I never did the waffling around part. Just straight from point A to point B.
J: Are you… bragging?
Seb: No. I’m saying, embrace the waffle.
Seb: I used Gilmore Girls as a study guide when it first came out.
J: A study guide for what?
Seb: Speaking. Being likable. I practiced in front of a mirror.
J: How did it go?
Seb: I’m no Lorelei.
J: I prefer you anyway.