Suddenly, she swung back toward the school ground and swiftly walked away. I felt smacked across the face, failing yet again at a thing I’d felt was my specialty: flirting.
Somewhere behind me, I heard a bright, familiar laugh. Rushing around, I watched as Alim pulled up in his car, his eyes burning with glee.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my face growing sour.
“Just watching you fail, time after time,” he said, tossing his head back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so pronounced before; she’ll hardly look at you.”
“That’s not true,” I told him. “She gave me her name.”
“Oh? That’s step one.” Alim patted the seat beside him in the car. “Come on, buddy. We can’t all get lucky today.”
But I wouldn’t give up. Over the next few days, I found myself drawn to the school—no longer even doing it for the bet, but just for my own, personal drive to succeed. I tried everything. I brought Angie flowers, and wrote her cute little cards. One afternoon, I borrowed Alim’s adorable golden retriever puppy and walked him to the entrance. I watched as Angie crouched down, gave the puppy a kiss. But still she refused a dinner date with me, telling me she had to make a phone call with her parents.
Each day, Alim was in the background laughing at me. “Not today, my friend,” became his catchphrase, as I sank into the front seat of his car and hung my head with anger. I knew my tactics needed to change, but I’d never had to try so hard before.
“I told you. They’re too headstrong,” Alim said, darting the car toward my penthouse apartment and parking in the garage below. “They know what they want, and they certainly know what they don’t want. It kind of sounds like you’re edging on the ‘don’t want’ list. Doesn’t it?”
On the following Monday, I made up my mind to stop screwing around. Donning a black button-up and a pair of jeans, I set my sights on Angie at the end of the school day, marched up to her, and said in a firm-yet-kind voice, “Listen. I’m sorry I’ve been so abrasive this past week.”
Angie’s smile faltered. She looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time in several days. Her pink lips parted, hunting for something to say, but I continued before she could.
“I like you. I think we would have things to talk about, if you wanted to give it a chance.”
“It?” she asked, her eyebrows coming together in the center. “What do you mean, it?”
“I just mean…walking down to the market and letting me buy you something from your favorite street vendor. Surely you like to eat. And if you don’t like anything there, then you just haven’t had the right thing yet. I can show you,” I told her. From where I stood, the air hung heavy with the smells and spices from the market. I knew they filled her nose, too.
After stuttering for a moment, Angie glanced toward the door. For the first time all week, the other woman wasn’t poised there, watching us. After a long, anxious pause, she finally answered.
“I’m kind of hungry, sure,” she sighed. Her smile fluttered, then fell. “I can meet you out here in ten minutes. If you can wait?”
God, could I wait. I felt over the moon.
I tried to play it cool, nodding slowly. But I sensed, as she darted back inside the school, that this was my way in. The beginning of me finding a way to make her fall in love with me. I spun on my heels to find Alim in his car. I gave him the first thumbs up of the week and he drove away, tossing his head back with laughter.
He still thought he was winning. But I felt determination stirring in my stomach. I wouldn’t let myself lose.
Some twenty minutes later, Angie appeared back in the doorway. She was dressed differently, having donned a bright yellow dress and a pair of sandals. She swept delicate fingers through her black hair, then joined me, giving a small nod.
“Sorry. That took a bit longer than I expected,” she said, her eyes shimmering. She was inspecting every inch of me. And I let her, taking a step back. It felt, suddenly, that something big was about to happen. But I allowed the feeling to pass.
As we began our stroll toward the market, I considered all the things I could buy for her. All the things that would show her that falling in love with me could have lucrative benefits. But as we stuttered into the beginning of our conversation, I reminded myself that I wasn’t Rami, the Sheikh. Not right now.