A full twenty four hours went by before the full realization of what had occurred in her kitchen came to light in her mind. She was in Algebra 2, writing down notes when the scratching of her pencil stopped abruptly. Her head never moved from its position cradled in her palm, but her eyes seemed to widen to the size of saucers.

Nate asked her on a date.

Why didn't she grasp that sooner!?

For a moment, she thought she might leap out of her chair to run home. But that would require more explanation then she really wanted to give, and seriously, who skipped school simply because they realized that they had a date sometime in the future? So she forced herself to at least attempt at focusing on the work in front of her until she was free. Then she bottled the anxiety that was starting to swell until she was about halfway home. But her feet unwillingly began to increase their tempo on the sidewalk until she was jogging, then running home.

She threw the door open and ignored her dogs barking from the living room, running upstairs and throwing her closet open. What the heck was she supposed to wear?

More importantly, if she couldn't find something suitable, did she have time to mill around the mall and search? They hadn't picked a specific time or even day yet. She carelessly rustled through her closet, tossing things onto her bed or shoving them sideways to remain on their coat hangers.

What would they even do?

This gave Castille pause. She shouldn't dress too nice. Nate had a way of making normal encounters turn into running from police or being covered in some sort of dirt...or paint...or flour...So casual then.

But what if he decided to actually make this a real, date-like encounter? Slim chance, but he could actually make it nice and vandalism-less. She sighed. Somewhere in the middle.

Her bed was now sufficiently covered with clothing, and she began the arduous but exciting task of sorting through her initial choices. "These are nice...I haven't worn this shirt in forever....Does this even still fit?" she mumbled to herself, sorting her one big pile into smaller piles. There was a knock at the door, and her younger stepbrother entered before she could respond.

"Dad wants to know.." he started, then stared at her clothing sprawled all over her room. "What the heck are you doing?"

"Don't worry about it." Castille said, tossing another blouse away. It made her look like she was thirteen. "Too young. Anyway, what did dad want?"

"Are you looking for something?" he asked, poking at the clothes closest to him with a toe, as if they might rear up and bite him.

"I said don't worry about it alright? I'm just looking for something nice. Now what. did. Dad. want?" Her patience was wearing thin. Suddenly Tyler's eyes lit up.

"Something nice? Like for what? A party?" he dearly loved parties. "Can I come?"

"No you cannot come." the blonde girl replied, standing up and pressing a shirt to her front in the mirror. Red, her favorite color. But maybe it was too simple...

"Well you aren't going on a date, so it has to be a party!" Tyler snorted, and waited for Castille to cave and tell him the details. When she remained silent and digging through her clothes, comprehension dawned on the pre-teen.

"Wait, it IS a date, isn't it? That's why I can't come!"

"Tyler, out!" she shouted, pointing at the door. Tyler knew at that moment her had hit the nail on the head.

"A date! Castille has a daaaaaaaate!" he sing song shouted, dodging a tennis shoe thrown with almost deadly accuracy. He continued to wail his discovery, ans Castille slapped her forehead with a hand. Awesome. Now her dad would hear, and she would have to deal with him interrogating her about just who he was, and what he did and what grade he was in...

She stared down at the outfit she had picked out, and smiled.

Maybe it would be worth it.