“Oh, yeah, yeah probably. Dads freaking out is definitely bad.” It’s like his pattern of speech is contagious. Reflexively Summer glances at her bag, where the phone is, as if she might need to check to be sure the smartphone saved the number. “I won’t — I mean, I won’t need the book back. I might call you, though?” A thought strikes her, and she carries on with it before she can wind herself up about it. “I’m going midnight bowling with some of my buddies tomorrow night, if you want to come?”
Stiles is in the middle of pushing himself standing when Summer extends her offer. It results in him sort of jerking the rest of the way upwards, frowning faintly when he does. It isn’t a refusal, exactly, but he does look awfully confused. “…I…is…is that like…a date?” He doesn’t seem to have any worldly idea of what to do with the idea of the concept alone.
“Like a da — No! Nononono — ” Summer waves her hands frantically in negation, then rethinks it. Does he /want/ it to be a date? He’s so confused, so hyperactive emotionally it’s hard to tell. “I mean, if you want it to be like … a date … I just mean, to come and hang out. Like friends?” God, she hasn’t been on a date in — well, in years. Since she was his age, in fact. there’s a disturbing thought.