The rest of the summer found me fending off phone calls from the boy at every turn (ok not every turn, but frequently enough to know he was still interested...very interested) despite my attempts at aloofness. I used many excuses not to go out with him, the most freqently used being, "My dad won't let me." Now that I think about it, aside from his initial caution, I never did ask my dad for his permission! The story may have been altered drastically if I had! After one particularly tempting invitation (a movie date to the newest Julia Roberts flick), I told him I was busy re-decorating my room. I actually was! He took this to be on the same level as the old excuse, I'm washing my hair, and laid off the phone calls for longer than usual.
And then, school was back in session. With that first Friday night came our small town's firsts home football game. Everyone, who was anyone, was at that game. I of course was no exception. Neither was the boy.
At some point, he caught up with me and never went away. I'm still slightly-but-not-really mad my obnoxious friend (at the time), begged for his jacket when he was so clearly not into her. As the game came to a close, I headed for the gate and my ride, my Auntie. The boy was clearly not done with this night and asked if I could come for a motorcycle ride with him. (Of course, I could not without permission from mom!).
The boy had some guts...he came to my grandparents home, where he officially met my mother, Auntie, grandmother, and grandfather just to ask permission to take me on his motorcycle. As if his healthy fear of my father wasn't enough!
I got permission. I went.
Standing in the porch-light, of my grandparent's iconic Victorian home, the boy gently placed a helmet on my head and adjusted it carefully under my chin, while my mother, grandmother, and Auntie spied on us from the window (my Auntie later gushed about the sweetness of the helmet adjusting).
Not only did he get permission to take me on his motorcycle , but he also received permission to take me home (in his car) that night. I lived 20 miles from town and he lived 30 in the opposite direction. It would be the first of many rides home in the weeks to come.
The phone calls were now something I waited for. I was falling for this boy...but the story, our story, was still just beginning.