XOXO, Violet by Ginger Li
20Violet
The smell of sizzling meat and deep-fried foods greeted me as soon as I stepped through the door of the bustling retro diner. Chase stood from behind a booth in the back and waved to me. I walked over, my yellow boots squeaking against the black-and-white tiled floor with every step.
The boots probably weren’t the best wardrobe choice for a first date. They made me look like an overgrown preschooler, but I didn’t care. It was meant to rain later today, and since rain was so rare here in Southern California, I took great joy in pulling out my rain boots whenever I had the chance.
“Isn’t this place great?” he asked as I slid along the seat, trying not to stick to the faux leather.
“Looks fun.” I smoothed my skirt down over my legs. “It’s my first time here.”
Chase grinned, and it took me a moment to adjust to seeing him without his glasses.
“You’ll love it. They have the best milkshakes here and thick, greasy burgers, the kind our grandparents ate.”
My stomach rolled. Um. Yum?
Chase flipped through the plastic coated menu. “Don’t you hate it when restaurants get all bougie and make fancy food that strays so far from the original that you can’t even tell what you’re eating anymore?”
While I would have readily agreed with what he said before, now I wasn’t sure that I did. “I can see what you’re saying. But have you ever been to a place like Space Donuts? I had a delicious lemon lavender donut there the other day. Sometimes, it’s fun to mix things up.”
Chase looked up from his menu and grimaced. “No offense, but Space Donuts is the very definition of bougie. How can they charge four dollars for a donut? I get that everyone has to make a living, but no way is that place as good as your local mom-and-pop store that serves the classics done right.”
Breathe, Violet.Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion. Chase wouldn’t know that Space Donuts belonged to my best friend’s grandmother. Biting my tongue, I studied the menu.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to endure any further small talk, as a server came by to take our order. Chase ordered a bacon cheeseburger, and I asked for a veggie burger, earning myself an eyebrow raise from Chase.
I stiffened. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m just surprised that you came to a burger place and didn’t order a proper burger.”
My hands gripped my skirt.
Calm down. He doesn’t know you aren’t a fan of burgers.
Chase stared at me expectantly, and I gave him a watery smile before sneaking a peek at my phone. By all that was green and growing, I’d been here less than fifteen minutes, and already I wanted to leave.
Come on, Violet. You just spoke in front of two hundred people. Surely you can make pleasant conversation with a guy that you’ve crushed on for years?
I gave Chase a tight smile. “So, how’s cello going? I heard you got into the All-State Orchestra. And is it true you’ll be playing a solo in the spring concert?”
Like a jukebox that I’d just inserted money into, Chase took off. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but the orchestra at East Beach is a joke. Mrs. Teambouro makes people audition for seats, but anyone’s allowed to join.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Definitely not. People coast by, thinking they don’t need to practice. It’s obvious who the slackers are.”
Yikes. This wasn’t where I thought our conversation would go. I’d expected more enthusiastic gushing and less…complaining. “What about the All-State Orchestra then? Are you enjoying that?”
Chase exhaled a loud breath. “Don’t get me started.” He then told me in great detail about the hour-long drive to rehearsals and his struggle to keep up with his classes.
As he griped about his stand partner, I struggled to reconcile what he was saying with the beautiful music I’d heard him play all these years. Chase was a phenomenal cellist. He played with so much emotion that it tugged on the audience’s heartstrings. But where was that passion now?
I cleared my throat and chuckled uncomfortably. “It almost sounds like you don’t enjoy playing the cello.”
Chase took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “I enjoy it well enough, but it’s merely a means to an end. I don’t want to be a professional cellist. You know how it is. To get into all the top colleges, you need to be exceptional. Simply being a top student doesn’t cut it anymore. Look at Asher. Sure, he’s valedictorian, but he’s also a killer athlete, and he put together that fundraiser. He branded himself as the ‘caring and smart jock’ and snagged a spot at Berkeley.”
The server showed up at our table, and Chase waited until we had our meals before talking again. “I’m ranked eighth in our class. But everyone applying to the best colleges is academically gifted, so I decided early on that cello would be my way of distinguishing myself. I market myself as the ‘artsy and musical’ candidate.”
Wow. I’d never really thought of applications that way before. “That’s very strategic of you,” I said.
And sad. But I didn’t want to sound rude, so I kept that thought to myself.
Chase bit into his burger and nodded. “You’re playing the game too. You’re a smart girl who’s great at science, but you’re separating yourself from the rest of the pack with your plant hobby. That’s a genius move.”
Excuse me. Plant hobby? That comment niggled at the back of my mind. Sure, to some, collecting plants was a hobby. But I’d moved out of the hobby stage years ago. I’d figured out a way to turn plants into a business. And I wasn’t running a YouTube channel just to get into top-tier schools; I was doing it because I genuinely loved plants and wanted to help my family out financially. Labeling it a “hobby” made everything I’d worked for all these years seem trivial.
Not appearing to realize how his words affected me, Chase took another bite of his burger. “The food here’s good, isn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nibbled my veggie burger and fought back a grimace. It was simultaneously gritty and mushy—like someone had taken baby food, fried it, and coated it with sand.
Chase wiped his hands and pulled out his phone. “Before I forget, let’s get a picture of the two of us. That way, we can always remember our first date.”
How surprisingly sentimental of him. A slight smile crept across my face. “Sure.”
Chase scooted around the table to get close to me and draped an arm across my shoulders.
There weren’t any butterflies, but I told myself to give him a chance. We took a couple of photos, and he expertly added filters to the images.
“There. I think I got it now.” Chase’s final photo resembled a faded Polaroid picture. A smiling couple stared back at us from the screen. The boy wore a faded T-shirt and a metal pendant, and the girl wore a flowy cotton blouse, her hair tied up in milkmaid braids. If I hadn’t known that the photo was of us, I’d have thought it was an ad for some overpriced trendy clothing line.
Chase took the phone back and posted the image to Instagram with the caption: “Being with you makes me feel alive @shyplantgirl #shyplantgirl #wallflowersunite #firstdateofmany #mygirl #couplegoals.”
“Man. This picture’s going to get a ton of likes.” He returned to his side of the booth and began eating again.
I stared at my uneaten burger, gritting my teeth and feeling hotter than boiling magma. Was he seriously using me to get likes? Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have a problem with people tagging me in photos. Yesterday, I’d taken hundreds of pictures with fans. But this felt different. Chase and I were in the middle of a date. A horrible date. And he was tagging our photo with #mygirl and #couplegoals? Of all the phony things to post. Unbelievable.
Chase glanced down at his phone, and his face lit up. “Wow. Two hundred likes already.” As he looked up, I couldn’t help but wonder if he saw me as some sort of golden ticket to popularity and influence.
That possibility didn’t sit well with me at all.
“Chase, why did you ask me out today?”
He slid his phone into his pocket. “Because I wanted to get to know you better.”
“Yeah. But why now? I mean, we’ve known each other for years.”
Chase reached out and took my hand.
Again. Zero butterflies.
“Honestly, I began seeing you differently once you started hanging out with Wesley.”
Um. What? I snatched my hand away.
“Look, Violet. You were always kind of shy, and it was hard getting to know you. And now I get why after hearing your story. Geez, I can’t imagine being bullied like that.”
I stiffened. “Yes, but I’m fine now.”
“Right.” Chase grabbed a French fry off my plate and ate it. “I figured you must have another side to you if Wes was hanging out with you. And then you taught that succulent class and I found out you were Shy Plant Girl. You surprised me. You weren’t who I thought you were.”
Suddenly, the picture became clear. And I didn’t like what I was seeing. “I’m probably really interesting now that you know how popular I am online.”
Chase frowned. “Geez, don’t take it like that. Lighten up. Isn’t this date what you wanted?”
I stared at my crusty, mushy veggie burger. No. This was definitely not what I wanted.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” Feeling almost giddy, I pulled a couple of bills from my bag and placed them on the table. “I’ll cover lunch. Because I have money. From my plant job.”
Chase’s lips curved downward in a pout. “You sure? We could hang out some more. I know a great dessert place that serves the best soft-serve ice cream.”
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m full.”
He glanced at my practically uneaten burger. “Sure. That’s cool. So, um, do you want to go out again? With school and rehearsals starting up again next week, I could maybe squeeze you in this coming Saturday for dinner? You could choose the restaurant this time.”
“Sorry. That’s not going to work.” I began walking toward the door, with him following behind.
“Violet?” he called. “Wait up.”
I whirled around and stared at the guy who wore glasses he didn’t need and dedicated his life to an instrument he didn’t really love all for appearances. “Look, Chase. You’re a great guy. But I think we’re better off as friends.”
“B-but I thought you…liked me.”
Yes. Liked. As in, used to. But I was ready to move beyond my crush to something solid and real.
“I’m sorry, but there’s someone else.”
Chase wrinkled his nose. “It’s Wes, isn’t it?”
He stuck both hands into his pockets and frowned. “You realize that Wes is a serial dater, right? You go with him, and you’ll just be another notch on his belt. He’ll toss you aside in a couple of months.”
I didn’t flinch. The nerve of this guy—as if Chase could speak when he’d just taken a photo of me and drooled at the number of likes it got him. “Maybe. But that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Good luck.”
I walked out without giving him so much as a second look and sent Wesley a text as soon as I reached my truck.
Me: Hey are you free?
Wes: I can be. Why?
Me: Can you swing by my place?
Wes: Sure. Be there in half an hour.
This was it.Time to tell Wesley how I felt.