before you even start with the “Of course he’ll like you! You’re so great!” just put it in park for a second. I know that he can’t. Why? Because he is
1. a good-looking British guy
2. who is an actor
3. and who is also in college
4. in London, where he wrote a play
5. which I have just purchased ALL OF THE TICKETS FOR because of this letter thing and have only managed to give away SIX of them.
But just for fun, let’s review my romantic history, shall we?
1. Den Waters. Made out with him exactly three times, all three of which he did the scary lizard-tongue thing and thanked me afterward.
2. Mike Riskus, who I obsessed over for two years and never even spoke to until right before Christmas last year. He was behind me in trig, and he asked, “Which problem set do we have to do?” And I said, “The one on page 85.” And he said, “Thanks.” I lived on that for MONTHS.
So, as you can see, my chances are incredibly good, given my wide appeal and experience.
Enclosed you will find a copy of the program from Keith’s show.
I miss you so much it’s giving me a pain in my pancreas. But you know that.
hove,
Ginny
The Hooligan and the Pineapple
Only three people showed. Since two people had already purchased tickets before Ginny got there and she had used one herself, this meant that absolutely no one she had given tickets to had come. Her Japanese girls had let her down.
The result of this was that the cast of Starbucks: The Musical outnumbered the audience, and Jittery seemed very aware of the fact. That might have been the reason he decided to skip intermission and keep right on going, eliminating any chance of letting his audience escape. For his part, Keith didn’t seem to mind at all that hardly anyone was there. He took the opportunity to dive into the seats and even to climb one of the fake palm trees that sat on the side of the room.
At the end, as Ginny leapt up to make her escape, Jittery suddenly jumped down off the stage as she was reaching down to get her bag. He dropped into the empty seat next to her.
“Special promotion, eh?” he said. “What was that about?”
Ginny had heard tales of people being tongue-tied, of opening their mouths to find themselves incapable of any speech. She never thought that was literal. She always thought that was just another way of saying they couldn’t think of anything good to say.
Well, she was wrong. You could lose the ability to speak. She felt it right at the top of her throat—a little tug, like the closing of a drawstring bag.
“So tell me,” he said, “why did you buy three hundred quid worth of tickets and then try to give them away on the street?”
She opened her mouth. Again, nothing. He folded his arms over his chest, looking like he was prepared to wait forever for an explanation.
Speak! she screamed to herself. Speak, dammit!
He shook his head and ran his hand over his hair until it stuck up in high, staticky strands.
“I’m Keith,” he said, “and you’re…clearly mad, but what’s your name?”
Okay. Her name. She could handle that.
“Ginny,” she said. “Virginia.”
Only one name was really necessary. Why had she given two?
“American, yeah?” he asked.
A nod.
“Named after a state?”
Another nod, even though it wasn’t true. She was named after her grandmother. But now that she thought of it, it was technically true. She was named after a state. She had the most ridiculously American name ever.
“Well, Mad Ginny Virginia from America, I guess I owe you a drink since you’ve made me the first person in all of recorded history to sell this place out.”
“I am?”
Keith got up and went over to one of the fake palm trees. He pulled a tattered canvas bag from behind it.
“So you want to go, then?” he asked, tearing off the Starbucks shirt and replacing it with a graying white T-shirt.
“Where?”
“To the pub.”
“I’ve never been to a pub.”
“Never been to a pub? Well, then. You’d better come along. This is England. That’s what we do here. We go to pubs.”
He reached behind once again and retrieved an old denim jacket. The kilt he left on.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing to her as if he was trying to coax a shy animal out from under a sofa. “Let’s go. You want to go, yes?”
Ginny felt herself getting up and numbly following Keith out of the room.
The night had become misty. The glowing yellow orbs of the crossing lights and the car headlights cut strange patterns through the fog. Keith walked briskly, his hands buried in his pockets. He occasionally glanced over his shoulder to make sure Ginny was still with him. She was just a pace or two behind.
“You don’t have to follow me,” he said. “We’re a very advanced country. Girls can walk beside men, go to school, everything.”
Ginny tentatively stepped beside him and hurried to keep up with his long stride. There were so many pubs. They were everywhere. Pubs with nice English names like The Court in Session and The Old Ship. Pretty pubs painted in bright colors with carefully made wooden signs. Keith walked past all these to a shabbier-looking place where people stood out on the sidewalk with big pints of beer.
“Here we are,” he said. “The Friend in Need. Discounts for students.”
“Wait,” she said, grabbing his arm. “I’m…in high school.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m only seventeen,” she whispered. “I don’t think I’m legal.”
“You’re American. You’ll be fine. Just act like you belong and no one will say a word.”
“Are you sure?”
“I started getting into pubs when I was thirteen,” he said. “I’m m sure.”
“But you’re legal now?”
“I’m nineteen.”
“And that’s legal here, right?”
“It’s not just legal,” he said. “It’s mandatory. Come on.”
Ginny couldn’t even see the bar from where they were. There was a solid wall of people guarding it and a haze of smoke hanging over it, as if it had its very own weather.
“What are you having?” Keith asked. “I’ll go and get it. You try to find somewhere to stand.”
She ordered the only thing she knew—something that was conveniently written on a huge mirror on the wall.
“Guinness?”
“Right.”
Keith threw himself into the crowd and was absorbed. Ginny squeezed in between a clump