“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.
“Oh, okay…?” Stiles says it almost like it’s a question, his face condensing almost into something passingly unhappy at what seems like an initially incredibly negative response to the idea of a date. He blinks, owlishly, in an erratic pattern, and eventually, Stiles just sort of nods, accepting of something, at least. “Yeah, yeah, I should…make sure Dad doesn’t need me for something first, it’s just him and me, but…I could…maybe…should I be bringing other friends, or…?”
Now that Stiles has put the idea in her head, Summer can’t make it go away; it’s /annoying/. She’s not dating; she’s not going to be interested in someone right now.
Not as long as /he/’s still looming over her life, anyway. Figuratively speaking.
A moment ago she didn’t want Stiles to leave; now, reminded of things she doesn’t want to be thinking about, she can’t wait for him to go, so she can hate herself in private, for trying again, for not just accepting the truth, /his/ truth that he stabbed her with. But she still doesn’t like the idea of Stiles bringing other people to the bowling alley. Which is why Summer says, of course, “It’s fine if you do. I don’t mind. One can never have too many friends.”