You get a call a few days later, right as your life drawing class comes to an end. You don't recognise the number, and you plug in your earphones before answering the call, packing away your sketchbook as you talk.

“Hello?”

There's a fumbling of words from the other end of the phone, before a voice extremely close to the speaker rings out. “Ah, yes, h-hello there, mystery lady.”

You recognise the voice instantly, and your face splits into a grin before you can help yourself. It's the cute girl from the gig that Mike was throwing. You only went to grab a drink, and couldn't seem to find her upon returning to the spot you'd first interacted with her. The rest of the night had been spent searching for her, and even though you'd still enjoyed the music and the atmosphere, you found yourself missing the nerdy, confident girl who had so boldly held out her hand for you to shake.

“And hello to you. Pearl, was it?”

“That's right. I... was informed that the polite thing to do in these situations is to call the number you provided me, but this isn't my phone... it's Steven's.”

“Steven?” You rack your brains for any familiar faces, and you vaguely remember seeing Pearl return to a boy and a girl hovering nearby. “The kid you were babysitting, right?”

“Yes, er... well, I'm one of his guardians, so... but yes, I don't currently have my own cellular device, so this conversation will have to be short.”

You have to really fight down a laugh, because this girl is truly something else. You've always had a soft spot for studious types (lets just say you haven't had much fortune with girls from the slam poetry scene) and especially the smug, cocky type. And there's something about Pearl that is so factual it's slightly disjointed, in a way that somehow makes her even cuter.

“Sure thing, I was just finishing my art class anyway.”

“O-Oh, you're studying?” Pearl seems surprised. “B-But you seem to be at least in your twenties.”

“I'm a college girl. What about you? I thought maybe you were a high school senior, but you said you're looking after a kid?”

“Oh, age is an illusion,” she says dismissively, and you have to crack a grin.

“Know how that is.”

“Not like I do,” she says seriously, and she sounds a little proud. You head outside, secure your sketchbook to the side of your bike, and climb on.

“So, Pearl, usually the reason people call a number given to them by a stranger is if they want to get to know them. Is that where this is going?” You hold back a laugh as you add, “Since you seem to not have much time, I figured I'd cut right to the chase.”

She squeaks, a little flustered by the directness of your question, and then answers hurriedly, “Well, yes, that is what I envisioned, but we hardly know each other. That is... I'm not sure you'd enjoy my company.”

You clip on your helmet, mulling over this for a few moments, before replying with candid honesty, “We were getting on just fine the other night, in my opinion. I was coming back for a round of twenty questions, but you were already gone.”

“R-Really?!” She sounds genuinely shocked, and you feel a pang of something that hurts a little. You wish that girls like the two of you didn't have such a hard time expecting other girls to like you, but you also know it's a process that takes time, so if educating Pearl on how to spot the signs of mutual attraction come from you, so be it.

“Really. So, what about it? You wanna come to Ocean Town, or should I come to you? I'm guessing that isn't your usual scene, from you get up.”

More indignant noises. “I-I'll have you know, I was dressed far more accordingly at the start of the night! Plans changed, and... well, I wasn't sure I was even going.”

“Well, I'm glad that you did.” You stare up at the sky and wonder if Pearl is looking at it too, and that's when you know you already have it bad for this dorky party girl who somehow survived a car chase against Ocean Town cops and still had the gusto to breeze into a scene totally out of her depth to ask about your damn hair dye. “So, your place or mine?”

There's radio silence for a few moments, save for some hushed whispers drawn just far enough away that you can't make out the words. Sounds like her wingman (or wing-woman, you aren't sure which of her friends was egging her on that night) is still listening in.

Finally, she responds, “M-Maybe the Big Donut? Since you enjoy their beverages so much.”

You snort. She's got you in a corner there – in your opinion, they make the best coffee around, and you needed a fix to drag yourself to that show that night.

Hearing your laughter, she quickly back pedals. “O-Or not! Maybe the beach, or the board walk, or... or what are they, these 'mosh pits'? Oh, dear...”

Now you can't hide your giggles, they continuously spill out from your lips and you hold your side as you laugh helplessly, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. When you finally calm down enough to speak you gasp out, “Big Donut's fine. Damn, you're funny.”

“I-In a... bad way?” Pearl ventures. You can only imagine the look of hesitance and confusion on her face, and you have to hold back a groan because girl, you've got it bad.

“In the cute way,” you assure. “I actually have the rest of the day free. Wanna meet for three?”

More hushed whispering, before she clears her throat. “That sounds acceptable, thank you. I guess I'll see you there, then. G-Glad we got that sorted!”

“Er, yeah. Groovy.” You wince – why did that have to slip out? – and try and salvage your dignity by talking through it. “So, I'll see you later?”

“And I'll see you, mystery girl?” Her voice is teasing, almost flirty, and your heart skips a beat. Damn, what is this girl doing to your head?

“Count on it.”

The line goes dead, and you start up the ignition, feeling a spring in your step as you kick off, your bike taking you further and further towards the promising future of a coffee shop date that doesn't involve your date knocking over all the cups in sight.