Chapter 3: First Date, Second Chances "Come in!" Daphne called, squealing as a well-aimed pillow glanced over her hair, effectively scattering it out of place and over her eyes. "Vel-MA! You messed up my hair!" "How will I live with the guilt," came her opponent’s sarcastic reply. As Velma dodged across the room to retrieve her pillow, using half-dry orange sweaters as interim ammunition, Daphne began swinging her own pillow wildly, attempting a return shot. Her vision obscured, she could only rush at the orange blur she saw and hope for the best. "Ha!" she cried triumphantly as the pillow found its mark. Or at least, she thought it had. Brushing her troublesome locks away from her face, she could see the other girl suddenly drop to her hands and knees. "My glasses!" Velma exclaimed, patting her hands over the floor. "Oh, gosh, I’m sorry Velm! I couldn’t see where I was…. Aiming…" Her voice trailed off as she saw that they were not alone in the room. "Fred Jones! How long have you been standing there?!" Daphne cried, putting her hands to her hips in mock exasperation. Then she remembered-- the knock on the door. She’d been so into the "fight" that she hadn’t really thought about it. "Long enough to see your little Cousin Itt impersonation there," Fred teased back. "Still, you did manage to cream Velms…" "Speaking of which, can someone help me find my glasses?" came Velma’s voice from near the floor. Daphne glanced around at the floor. Her pillow swipe had knocked the glasses to the other side of the room, near the adjoining suite door by which Fred had entered. She was about to make a move to go get them when a startling sight met her eyes. Someone was already at the task… and that someone was the very person she and Velma had been so long talking about-- Ethan! Daphne watched with a surprised smile as the young man very carefully picked up the glasses and proceeded across the room to the still-crawling Velma. When she glanced over to Fred, he met her smile with one of his own and winked. So he had something to do with this! Ethan crouched down in front of Velma, who was still oblivious, her eyes locked to the floor. "Here," he said, touching her shoulder to stop her and then proffering the precious glasses. "It’s a good thing they aren’t broken or anything." She fumbled in his hand for the spectacles and then slid them gratefully onto her nose, too relieved to have taken note of the voice that had spoken to her. "Thank you," she said, finally bringing her eyes up. "E--- Ethan?" "Hey, Velma." His voice was as soft as the smile that slowly spread over his face. She smiled, too, shyly, and looked down again. Ethan tipped his head. He’d seen her stand in front of television cameras and talk confidently to international audiences, face down demon monsters, and stand up to criminals-- but she was shy around him! "I can’t see without them," she said, sounding a little awkward. "My glasses…" "Yeah," he replied, unsure of what to say as he helped her up. Stepping back and hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans, he took in the sight of her standing in front of him. Instead of her turtleneck and skirt she wore a small orange t-shirt and a pair of red shorts, both with tiny Spooky Island logos sewn on. No knee socks, either, he noticed-- her feet were bare. (He actually thought the knee socks were pretty cute.) Her dark chestnut-colored hair was slightly in disarray from the round of pillow-battering. All these things taken into account, she might have looked like she’d just woken up, had it not been for her alert expression and her face warmed and glowing from her recent exercise. Certainly it was not the look that a woman on the brink of a first date would be going for, but Ethan thought she looked positively adorable. Velma was also liking what she was seeing, and she couldn’t hold back an almost open stare. It was as if the days that had passed between their last meeting had only intensified his good looks, though she knew that wasn’t possible. What it had intensified was her attraction to him. He was dressed simply in black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves pushed up just below his elbows. The shirt was of thin cotton and showed off his slim, well-shaped physique. His almost-black hair was a bit damp-- he must have just showered-- and the moisture brought out its waviness. Velma realized that she would like-- badly-- to run her fingers through it; with that thought, she swung her hands behind her back and clasped them-- her characteristic pose. Only a few moments could have passed, but it seemed like longer to the prospective couple and their expectant companions. Fred, always the leader, took the initiative and addressed the situation. "Ladies," he began, using his most charming voice, "me and Ethan here were wondering if you’d like to go hit the amusement park. You know-- ride some rides, play some games..." Both Ethan and Velma came out of tunnel-vision at that, though it was difficult. Ethan felt like a complete dolt-- he hadn’t even had the presence of mind to ask her out himself. Talk about preoccupied, he tried to scold himself. Instead of actually saying something half-intelligent to Velma he’d been trying to inconspicuously memorize her figure-- which he was finding quite to his liking-- before she inevitably covered it up with one of those bulky sweaters. Realizing that his visual activity was probably entirely obvious and potentially inappropriate, he made himself look over at the speaker. "That sounds great, Freddy," Daphne answered quickly, if not a little overloud and enunciated. "Velma?" She met eyes with her friend, trying to cue her with a hinting expression. "I’d like that," Velma answered, looking at her new date as she did so. He grinned at her, and she immediately felt her blood, and probably her face, start to warm. She looked down, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. "I’ll-- I’ll have to change first, though." She was fairly sure she didn’t have anything dry enough to change into yet, but all at once she felt uncomfortable in the unfamiliar clothes she was wearing. They had been part of massive load of Spooky Island-themed gifts Mr. Mondavarious had heaped on the entire gang, which was the only reason she had them to wear in the first place. She hadn’t worn anything but her turtleneck and skirt ensemble for at least the past two years-- in public, at any rate-- except for a few formal banquets at NASA where she’d worn a dress. It had to be admitted, though, that her favorite, practical outfit was not always so practical. Why on earth she had packed the sweltering cowl-neck sweaters—and only them-- to wear on a tropical island in early summer she had no idea. And they call me the smart one! It hadn’t been too bad during the actual casework, which had taken place mainly at night and in the underground caverns, but over the past few days she’d been miserably hot. Yet she’d refused to buy anything different, just as she had been refusing for years. The farthest she had ever ventured had been the occasional t-shirt and shorts, but only in hot weather and only because Shaggy, an obvious t-shirt connoisseur, had bought her a few for Christmas one year. That had been years ago, too. It was funny, she thought briefly, how something she was supposedly so apathetic about-- her dress-- had turned into a point on which she was totally defensive. She remembered one shopping trip with Daphne about month before the gang’s breakup during which the fashion-conscious redhead had tactfully mentioned that she might want to experiment with some more sophisticated apparel. She’d practically taken Daphne’s head off, as if the other girl had personally insulted her. It was as if her usual outfit had become like a kind of armor. And let’s face it, Dinkley, if you want to be "the smart girl," you certainly dress the part. It won’t kill you to try something new for once, and it’s looking like this is the time to do it. If it was something new and different she wanted, Freddy was certainly ready with a suggestion. He’d been rooting around in the closet, trying to find a particular piece of apparel amidst the vast sea of Daphne’s purple wardrobe. "Hey, Velms-- how about this little number?" he spoke up, smiling wickedly at his success and dancing an orange garment back and forth in front of him. "Found it on the floor of the closet." Velma recognized the oversmall, deep v-neck shirt at once-- it was the one her "possessed" self had been wearing while inhabited by the monster. "Oh, swell-- demon wear," she replied sarcastically. Nevertheless… she found herself considering it. The sweater was figure-flattering-- she’d even noticed the supermodel-loving Freddy looking her over when she’d worn it! Not exactly the best recommendation, but still... "Ah, come on Velms-- you looked great in this! Very non-dorky-chick! Ethan, can I have a little support here? Trust me on this." He said this last with a confidential smile aimed at the other young man. Ethan wanted to point out that he thought she looked great already, but all he got out was a throat-clear. Too sappy? Too obvious? He had to admit, though-- he wasn’t going to complain if she took up Fred’s suggestion. Daphne could see that Fred, though trying to be helpful, was dangerously close to creating a very uncomfortable situation. As if set-ups weren’t awkward enough… "Freddy, Ethan—" she cut in smoothly, flashing her most charming smile, "why don’t you boys wait for us in the living room. We need some time to get ready." She accompanied her suggestion with a firm look aimed at Fred, and he quickly took the hint- a blessed relief. "Sure," he affirmed easily, cocking his head in the direction of the open door. After tossing the sweater back onto the bed, he left the room with Ethan following. The younger man closed the door behind himself, looking over his shoulder at his date one last time before he did so. Daphne watched him go, then let herself fall back against the closed door. "I know I’ve said this before, but that-boy-is-HOT." Her over-enunciated words and enthralled expression confirmed the fact. "Isn’t he?" spoke up Velma, her nasal voice uncharacteristically dreamy. "I think the carpet is singed." Daphne looked over to see her friend staring starry-eyed after the door, a lazy, slightly goofy smile playing across her face. Daphne did a double-take. Sure, she had seen Velma go a little loopy over a few guys in her time, most unfortunately over Ben Ravencroft, but not like this! All that was missing was a big, red cartoon heart floating above her head. "You know, Velma, there may be something to this goatee fetish of yours after all," Daphne said, guiding the still-entranced girl, who was mumbling something about incredible-smelling aftershave, over to the vanity dresser and into the chair. "Do you think I could talk Freddy into growing one?" The thought of pretty-boy Fred with a goatee was enough to snap Velma out of her Ethan-induced haze. Trying to stifle her giggles, she noticed that Daphne had picked up her orange-handled hairbrush. "Shouldn’t I change first?" she asked. "Do you have anything to change into? Besides a turtleneck?" "Well," Velma replied, testing the waters, "I guess there is that other sweater..." Daphne’s eyebrows raised, but she did not look displeased. "You’d really wear that? You do like this guy!" "I don’t know. I was thinking about it." She looked totally unsure. "Well, it really all depends on one thing. Is it important to you that Ethan look you in the face when he’s talking to you?" "...Yes...." Eye contact was certainly good. "Then I wouldn’t wear that shirt." Velma got the gist of her friend’s comment immediately. Though she hoped Ethan had a bit more control than that, she realized that she herself would probably have a hard time keeping her mind off what she was wearing-- she’d be constantly wanting to hitch up that low neckline. "Oh," she said quickly, reaching down and picking up a few of her sweaters. Still damp. Sighing, she looked down at her outfit. "I guess this is going to have to be it." "It’s fine," Daphne replied easily, moving past the issue of dress and studying Velma’s slightly tousled hair with a critical eye. "Just don’t put on those knee socks--you’ll look like you’re going to summer camp. You can wear those red canvas tennis shoes you have; those don’t need socks." "But I was using these clothes to sleep in!" This was the truth. Despite an excellent air conditioning system, the tropical climate of Spooky Island made for some warm sleeping. Velma had been sweltering in her usual red, long-sleeved pajamas. She’d tried turning up the air conditioning to near-arctic levels the previous night, but Daphne had rightfully complained. "They look like regular clothes to me," Daphne tried to assure her. "It’s not like we're going anywhere fancy." Bringing out the heavy artillery, she added "Besides, Ethan likes you in this." "He does?" Velma asked, an uncertain tone coloring her voice. "How can you-- ?" Daphne smiled. "Oh, come on Velma, isn’t it obvious?" she teased, borrowing the other girl’s phrase. "He was totally checking you out!" "Really?" She hadn’t noticed-- she’d been too busy trying to hide the fact that she was checking him out. "Really! Pupils dilating and everything." Velma laughed, and Daphne took the opportunity to attack her hair with the brush. And it truly was an attack. "Jeepers, Velm-how much hairspray do you use?" Immediately she felt her friend’s shoulders stiffen. "I don’t know," Velma answered noncommittally, shifting a bit in her chair. She didn’t know for sure-- but she did know it was a lot. No one would never let her live it down if they knew that it probably took her longer to do her hair in the morning than it took the perfectly-coiffed Daphne! Her roommate hadn’t caught on yet (for once Velma was happy for the endless time her friend took getting ready in front of the bathroom mirror) but usually it took the better part of an hour. And for what?! Her parents had had her hair cut in a pageboy when she was a little girl, and she’d kept it up through her teen years because it was easy to care for. It looked good on her, too. But as she got older, for some reason she became adamant about keeping her hairstyle so exact that it took her forever, plus a large amount of extra-hold hairspray, to get it just so every morning, and to make it stay that way. If her never-varying outfit was her armor, her hairstyle was like her helmet-- quite literally. Another thing I need to work on, she reminded herself, trying to make herself unwind. It wasn’t right to get defensive with Daphne, who was only trying to help. "What are you doing to my hair, anyway?" she asked, only the slightest edge remaining in her voice. "Just trying to soften the look a little," Daphne replied, relatively undaunted. She brushed vigorously, but there was simply too much spray in there for her to be able to carry out the intended style. "I think they boys are going to have to wait a few more minutes," she announced decidedly. "Why?" "Because you’re going to wash your hair so we can start from scratch," Daphne informed her. "Come on, you can just use the sink." Without waiting for a reply, she pulled her friend out of the chair by her arm and herded her over the large bathroom sink. It didn’t occur to her until after she’d flipped on the warm water spigot that she’d actually gotten away with bossing the nearly indomitable Velma. "Is this necessary?" her friend asked, eying the rapidly filling basin. "I don’t want to keep the guys waiting." "Velma, we’re girls-- it’s our prerogative to make them wait! They can play video games or eat or something. Hey, and if we make good time with your hair, I can do your makeup and..." "Don’t push it, Daph."
A mere fifteen minutes later, the four young people were heading out into the hotel corridor. Thanks to a rapid hair washing and Daphne’s mega-watt hair dryer (Velma had remarked that they could either use it to dry hair or to heat a small village in Alaska,) Daphne had pulled off a minor transformation in a very short amount of time. All she had really done was re-part her friend’s hair and brush her bangs to one side, rather than curling them stiffly into their usual mat across her forehead. Left to itself without a load of hairspray (which Daphne only lightly spritzed on) Velma’s hair framed her face softly and sleekly. The changes were nothing revolutionary, which eased Velma’s mind, but at the same time made her look considerably less severe. Ethan noticed. "You look great," he told her quietly when she joined him in the hall, and she smiled and thanked him. "So do you," she added, watching as Daphne and Fred linked hands and started down the hall. He was watching, too. "Velma," he began, sounding a bit hesitant, "I know you were put on the spot back there, and I don’t want to pressure you." She eyed him quizzically, and he took a breath and continued. "So if you don’t want to go out, just say so." He didn’t want to think of how awful he’d feel if she took him up on this, but he had to say it. The way he’d just turned up at her room with Fred hadn’t given her a real opportunity to give a straight answer. What was she supposed to do, just turn the date down right in front of her friends? Had Velma not wanted to see Ethan she might have done just that-- but of course that was not the case. "I do want to, Ethan." She paused. "And there’s something I need to say, too. I need to apologize for the way I brushed you off before." "Hey, don’t worry about it," he assured her quickly. "It was my fault, I moved too fast." "No." Velma swallowed; this was even harder for her to talk about than she’d thought it would be, but it had to be said. Ethan deserved an explanation. "You didn’t do anything wrong. It was right. I just...." She struggled—hard—for the right words. "You don’t have to explain," he interjected softly, thinking of his earlier conversation with Fred. "I understand. Really. How about we just start over?" "No," Velma replied. She didn’t know how Ethan could understand what she had been trying to say, but he seemed to want to move past it. "No?" Ethan’s heart sank. "If we did that, I’d have to forget everything that you’ve already done for me, especially how you faced that monster to rescue me. And I don’t want to forget." "That didn’t go very well." "Doesn’t matter." They looked at one another for the space of a few moments. "Well, okay," Ethan answered lightly. "Anything to rack up a few points in my favor!" he laughed. "Come on, let’s get out of here."
"So, what brought you to Spooky Island?" Velma asked. It was two hours later, and, having hit all the rides (made possible by the fact that they were advanced to the front of every line,) the foursome was walking along a torch-lit path toward the game booths that lined the pier. Velma and Ethan walked side by side, lagging back a bit from the other couple and snacking on a churro that Ethan had purchased for them. "I graduated from college a couple of weeks ago," Ethan began, "and I guess I just wanted to have some fun before I hit the old rat race, you know?" "Understandable." "And... I guess I wanted some time to figure out what I want to do." He couldn’t help but let out a sigh of frustration at the thought of the pressure he was under. "My uncle offered me a job at his business, doing computer work. Programming." "You don’t sound too happy about it." Velma tried to take a delicate nibble from the churro, but the cinnamon-sugar coating still shook off onto her clothes and hands. So much for being lady-like, she grumbled inwardly. Without taking her focus from her partner’s words, she tried to brush off her t-shirt without attracting his notice. "Yeah. I should be-- it’s a good job, pays well, but... I don’t know." His brow furrowed, and Velma could sense from his sudden tension an air of helpless frustration. This decision was weighing on him heavily, though she could tell he was trying to keep up his usual easygoing manner. "What did you study in college?" she asked, handing him the churro. They had both had large dinners and so had decided to share one of the long, tubular pastries. "Not computers, I take it." "Music," Ethan replied quickly, and took a big mouthful. A bit of the sugar clung to his upper lip, and she actually had to restrain an impulse to reach up and brush it off for him. A second later, he did it himself. A bit flustered, she turned her thoughts back to what he had been telling her. That he had studied music was not exactly a revelation to her-- she’d figured as much. Either art or music would have been her guesses. There was simply something in his intense, thoughtful manner that seemed to denote artistic ability. That, and she thought that he simply looked artistic-- like a handsome Shakespearian-era poet. Velma smiled to herself at her girlish thought but tried to focus on the conversation. "Performance, general, theory.... ?" "Performance. I probably should have gone with general, though, but I didn’t know that when I went in, so... I just did performance ‘cause I’d been playing the guitar for so many years. I taught myself back in junior high, and I’ve played it every day of my life since." Ethan wondered what Velma would think if he told her he’d mainly taken up playing the guitar to try to impress the girls. Probably, he figured, she at least suspected it. Not like I’m the first guy ever to do that! he kidded with himself. What he hadn’t expected in his venture (though it had worked, eventually) was how much his music was to become a part of him. One of the most important things in his life. He was never more comfortable than he was with his guitar in his hand, and he’d played it not only for hours after school but at his lunch breaks, between classes-- anytime he could. His music was like an extension of himself, and... he just wasn’t sure that he could break with it. Velma watched Ethan intently as they were silent for a moment. He feels about music the way I feel about mysteries," she realized. She could read it in his face and hear it in the tone of his voice. No wonder he’s having such a hard time with his decision. "So why did you think you should have gone with general?" "I got into my theory and composition classes and found out I really dug it. With a performance emphasis you don’t get to take as much of that. Still enough to keep you busy for five years, though." "I took Music Theory in college as one of my free electives. It’s very difficult," Velma commented appreciatively. "It’s strange to think that something so creative as music has so much mathematics involved." "Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’d always just played my guitar pretty much by ear. I could write out the chord patterns and basic melodies, but not very much besides that. So those classes were great-- just really tough. A bunch of my friends dropped out or changed their majors. Man, I wanted to about halfway through my piano class. But you have to have the piano for composition, so I stuck with it." "You write songs? That’s terrific." Velma hoped she sounded as impressed as she felt. "Sure. On guitar, mostly." "Heavy metal? I know you’re into that." She’d noticed that his black shirt bore a Led Zeppelin logo, as had the shirt he had worn on their first night on the island. Ethan laughed. "Not as much as people think. I’m not a total metal head. It’s really the rush from it that I like, the adrenaline." Velma nodded. She could understand that; she got a similar feeling from chasing ghosts, and it was exciting. "But I play mostly classic rock. I’m even getting into setting classical music on guitar." Velma let her eyes meet his, and she managed to smile despite the fact that her breath felt caught in her throat with anticipation of her next words. "I’d love to hear one of your songs sometime." There! That wasn’t so hard! I wonder if Daphne would count that as flirting, because I tried! "You would?" Ethan swallowed, his heart beginning to beat fast and hard. He wasn’t entirely sure, but, the way she’d said it... she was actually flirting with him! Or at least, he thought she was. Wishful thinking? "Uh... great, yeah, anytime." His words practically tripped over one another; he was so transfixed by the smile she was giving him. He hadn’t acted this way around a girl since he was... well, in a very long time! One smile from her just seemed to send all his usual cool confidence right out the window! He only hoped that she could see past his sudden awkwardness and see how happy he was at the prospect. Making sure, he tried again, regaining some of his composure. "I brought my acoustic with me, so just tell me when." Ethan was wondering if he should change the topic when he noticed that they had polished off the churro during the course of their conversation. All at once thinking of his manners, he reached out and took the slightly-greasy waxed paper that it had been wrapped in from her hand and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. He’d been so engrossed in talking with her that he hadn’t noticed she’d been stuck holding it. Brushing yet some more of the remaining loose sugar from his hands, he realized that they at last had their hands free. He had never been a hand-holding type of guy-- he usually just draped his arm casually over a girl’s shoulder if felt so inclined during a date. But now he wanted to for some reason, and he sidled up a little closer to her. The way she walked made things a bit complicated, however. She had a very confident stride, and her arms, bent at the elbow, swung jauntily at her sides. Hand-holding was obviously not a possibility at the moment, so Ethan thought back again to changing their topic. He loved talking about music, but he didn’t want to talk about himself all evening. I could ask about NASA, he thought. Man-- NASA. I still can’t get over that. She’s an absolute genius and she’s still interested in what I have to talk about. Though he had no intention of telling her so-- at least not until they knew each other better-- when he’d overheard her telling Fred about working at NASA when they were all on the plane, he’d almost lost his nerve to approach her. He had earned good grades in college, but she was obviously in a whole different, higher sphere intelligence-wise. He’d been a little intimidated, thinking that she probably liked brainier men-- scientists or great mathematicians or something like that. Finally he had come back to himself and realized that she just might be tired of those types of guys. Who said she might not like to try out a guitar-playing guy like himself? Why not? It still did come to him occasionally, though-- I’m just an average guy, and here I am on a date with her. After a slight pause, Ethan came up with something to say, discarding the NASA idea in favor of something a bit lighter-- something that he hoped would pan out. "So... I know you’re good at music." "Me? Jinkies, I don’t think so. I can play the keyboard a little, but believe me, it’s nothing to write home about." "No, I meant-- you can sing." Ethan grinned at her. The memory of her performance in the lounge was still very clear in his mind-- it had been re-played often enough. Though it had been funny to see her behaving that way, parts of her song had also been pretty risqué. Some of the college guys were still talking about it. Though he well knew it probably wasn’t the best thing he could be thinking about, it was pretty hard for him not to. Velma rolled her eyes. "I don’t even want to think about how I must have sounded that night. I have no idea how I got drunk enough to do that." "You weren’t drunk," he stated matter-of-factly. "What?" "I got curious about what was in your drink – because there was barely any alcohol in mine – so I tasted it. There was more in yours, but I found some undissolved powder at the bottom of the mug, too. The alcohol was probably only to cover up the taste.... and any suspicions that someone might have," Ethan finished. He couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of his theory. "That’s good detective work, Ethan." "Coming from you-- wow, what a compliment." Even more of a compliment to him was the fact that she didn’t look surprised at his reasoning ability. "What is it?" Velma asked, eyeing him curiously. "You look... surprised." "I guess I am," he mused. "That you weren’t... surprised. A lot of people would be. Sorry, I’m not doing a very good job of explaining here." Truth was, it was a rather uncomfortable subject, and Ethan preferred to just leave it alone if he could. "No, I understand," she nodded. And she did. Heaven knew she did, after all the snap judgments she’d had to endure. She could imagine that others might not picture Ethan as being smart, just because of his clothes, his taste for heavy-metal music, and the fact that he used more slang than he did upper-level vocabulary. But she hadn’t made that mistake. She knew he was intelligent, and very much so, though not in an incredibly-obvious, brainy way. There was such a keenness about his eyes and in the direct way that he asked questions that bespoke a large amount of intelligence. "Hey, I bet there’s a Karaoke bar or two around here. You could give us an encore," Ethan broke in. As he did so, he gave her a nearly wicked teasing smile that made her heart jump. It was not enough, however, to throw off one of her dry-toned replies. "I think I’ll spare everyone, thanks. The guests here are too young to lose their hearing." "No, really-- you were good!" "Ummm-hmm" Velma murmured doubtfully, looking sideways over at Ethan. "I mean it!" he protested, all sincerity. He paused a moment, his mouth twitching almost unnoticeably. Shrugging casually, he continued. "But I guess if you don’t believe me, you could just ask any of those guys who tried to throw you their room keys." He quickly glanced over, hoping for a dramatic reaction from Velma. He wasn’t disappointed. "What???" she gasped, stopping dead in her tracks and facing him dead-on. "You’re making that up!" she exclaimed, sounding incredulous but not at all accusing. "It’s true, I swear," Ethan replied stoutly, his face a mask of seriousness. He thrust his hands into his jeans pockets and swayed back on his heels, trying to distract himself from her completely flabbergasted expression. "I mean, I know I sang ‘Hey, Big Spender’ but…" she trailed off. Ethan choked down a laugh-- she was actually trying to remember the scene! She’d fallen for it! Unfortunately, he was a bit too pleased at how his joke was playing out and found himself struggling hard to keep a straight face. Unable to look at her or risk breaking the joke, he turned his eyes away and cupped his hand over his mouth. It was all to no avail. A whole two seconds later, he burst out laughing. "Ethan!" she exclaimed, catching on immediately. He hadn’t stopped to think how she might react to the joke, but he would have had no need to worry even had he done so. Velma dished out enough sarcastic one-liners at her friends to realize that she would get it back. It was a welcome change to have someone try it! However, she wasn’t about to let him get off easy. Feeling a bit combative, she swung out with her right hand and gave him a playful backhand to the chest. "Oww!" he yelped, laughing, more out of reflex than any real pain. It hadn’t hurt, though he could tell she was strong. The little punch she’d given him in the cavern had actually doubled him over-- but he didn’t want to think about that particular scene just now. Especially not when he felt her hand take hold of his wrist in a firm grip. "We’ve almost lost Fred and Daphne," she explained, in between breathless laughs. "Darn," Ethan replied jokingly, but she didn’t hear it. Just as the word was leaving his lips, he felt himself nearly jerked off his feet. She was running to catch up with her friends-- and taking him right along with her! She was strong alright, no doubt about it, though she was so small it was hard to picture. And I didn’t believe those stories Fred told me on the way to the room about her picking up the whole gang and running! Guess I should have! Daphne and Fred turned at the sound of loud, rapid footfalls behind them and came face-to-face with the out-of-breath, laughing couple. Even after they came to a standstill, they continued to nudge one another playfully, and the older couple exchanged a knowing glance. Obviously, this date was going well! Velma still hadn’t let go of Ethan’s wrist, though her grip was so loose it was nearly non-existent. As if she didn’t want to let go, but was waiting for a cue from him... Ethan wasn’t about to let the opportunity get by; he was finally able to do what he’d been wanting to do for half the night. Slowly and deliberately he pulled his hand up so that their palms brushed, and then even more slowly interlaced his fingers with hers. All the while he looked down at their hands, watching intently, and when he raised his eyes, he could see that she was doing the same. A second later she looked up, and they smiled privately to one another. At least, it would have been private had it not been for the presence of Fred, Daphne, and the hundreds of other college kids in the immediate vicinity. Daphne had the good grace to try to look oblivious, though Fred nudged her in the ribs and grinned broadly. Coming back to the reality of the crowded pier, Ethan and Velma cleared their throats a bit awkwardly. Daphne smiled. It was a priceless moment. "So how about some games?" Fred suggested, looking at the surrounding booths. The little group had arrived just at the outskirts of the midway. Daphne and Velma nodded their agreement, and a second later Ethan did as well. He wasn’t really all that crazy about carnival-type games; he’d rather just walk around and soak up some of the excitement. Because everyone else seemed up on the idea he didn’t say so, and he wasn’t sure that he could have come up with anything better at the moment anyway. His mind seemed temporarily fixed; he couldn’t believe how much a little thing like hand-holding had affected him. It certainly shouldn’t have been a new sensation. He’d had girls grab his hand on the way out to the car going on a first date, and it hadn’t meant much to him. Sure, it was nice, but this... this was different. He shook his head, a bit baffled. It’s just her, was all he could come up with. Velma was consumed with her own thoughts on the subject. She knew this was pretty much on the lowest tier of displays of affection, but it was all new to her and meant so much. So sweet-- like in some small way, they belonged to one another. Looking over at Ethan, she still couldn’t believe that he was her date, but he was, and this in a way confirmed it. It simply felt good to hold his hand, too. Daphne had always complained back in high school that her dates had clammy, sweaty palms, but Ethan’s hand wasn’t at all like that. It was a bit rough, probably well-calloused from playing the guitar. She liked that, though-- it was masculine. "But look at the prizes," Daphne commented, coming very close to whining. The group looked where she was indicating. Instead of the brightly-colored giant stuffed animals, small trinkets, and goldfish that usually made up carnival game prizes, there were stuffed shrunken heads, toy skeletons, monster dolls, and the like. "This is Spooky Island, Daph," Fred reminded her. "I know, but do all the prizes have to be so... icky?" Daphne pretended to pout, all the while scanning the booths for a suitable prize. "Ooo... Freddy, look!" Following her gaze, the blond man could see that one of the farther-off booths offered the more traditional fare: teddy bears of the rather cute and fuzzy variety. The game was the classic milk-bottle toss, though it had been dressed up to match the creepy theme of the island. The bottles glowed under a black light, and the baseball was painted to look like a skull. "You’re in luck, Daphne," Fred announced, sighing with satisfaction. "That game just so happens to be my specialty. Come on, gang." Smiling at one another and shrugging at this comment, his three companions followed him to the booth, though they had to step lively to keep up with his suddenly bravado-filled stride. On their way, he began to regale them with stories of his exploits as captain of the baseball team back in high school. Velma rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "The ego has been launched," she murmured to Ethan, who laughed. Now that Fred had stopped taking over her credit, she actually found his macho displays rather amusing. Daphne did as well. She’d really meant to play the game herself, but she didn’t mind her boyfriend showing off for her a little. Fred took his place in line, though the few people in it immediately let him through to the front, and when he pulled out some money from his pocket to pay for the game the booth operator waved it away. Looking over and realizing that his new friend hadn’t followed him, he called out. "Ethan! C’mere, my man." Though he didn’t want to play, Ethan decided to go along with it and made his way up to the booth’s counter, on which Fred was leaning. At his approach, the other man straightened up and moved to him in a conspiratory manner. "I’ll tell you some privileged information about Velma," he said quietly, though it was fairly obvious from the way he was looking over at the two women that she was the topic of conversation. "She loves cute little animals. You get one of these bears for her, and she’ll go gaga. Not kidding." "Really?" Ethan had a hard time visualizing super-sensible Velma going gaga over much of anything, but he figured Fred would know better than he would. "Little known fact. Oh, and... nice move with the hand-holding." He added, accompanying his approving statement with a quick salutatory nod. "Umm, thanks." Ethan wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that one. He also had no idea how he was going to take up Fred’s suggestion. He was a confident person... in just about everything but sports. Athletic ability was definitely not one of his strong suits, and he well knew it. "But isn’t this game rigged or something?" he asked, trying to hide the note of uncertainty in his voice. None of the college kids who were attempting to win at the game were having any luck whatsoever, except for one obviously inebriated guy who managed to bring down the tower of bottles. Unfortunately, it was not the tower he was supposed to hit-- the one if front of him-- but one two rows over. Fred was rolling up his sleeves in an exaggerated manner as he prepared for his turn, throwing a dazzling smile over his shoulder to Daphne as he did so. She smiled back. Velma crossed her arms and pretended to look exasperated at Fred’s show-offy manner. "I mean, you’re not supposed to be able to...." His statement was temporarily cut off as Fred hurled his baseball at the bottles, scattering them all over the booth in spectacular fashion. "win," he finished lamely. He had been hoping that Fred wouldn’t be able to do it, though judging from the other man’s brawny physique, he knew he shouldn’t have counted on it. "Thank you, Freddy," Daphne said, looking very pleased as he presented her with a large, very cuddly teddy bear. Putting her free arm around his shoulders, she reached up and gave him a sweet thank-you kiss. Ethan watched from his place at the counter. Now he had to win at the game himself or look like a total wimp in front of Velma, but he really didn’t think he could. He might have just turned away from the booth had Fred not rejoined him. "Okay, your turn," he announced to everyone within a good 50 yards of the booth. "Let’s see you knock ‘em down." Thank you, Fred, Ethan groaned inwardly. He liked Fred and knew he meant well; it was hard to be mad at the guy who had set up his whole date with Velma in the first place. But he had also put him in a very embarrassing position, and now he was stuck. Absolutely, one-hundred-percent stuck. He knew somehow that Velma really wasn’t going to care if he couldn’t do it-- but he cared. Fred was obviously an all-star athlete; he couldn’t know what it was like to be on the other end of the athletic spectrum. Ethan had dreadful memories of freshman-year P.E. traumas: always being one of the last kids picked for the teams, being teased about his skinny physique, and... being taunted because he "threw like a girl." That year he had asked for, and received, a weight machine for his birthday, and working on it had helped to fill him out and build up his strength. He still kept it up, when he had time. However, all this had not helped his skill or ability. And that was exactly what he needed right now, because even though he was strong, he knew he didn’t have the brute strength required to just shatter the bottles like Fred had. Seeing Ethan’s hesitation, it began to dawn on Fred that he may have done something stupid. The dark-haired young man had paid for his game and was studying the stacked bottles, his hands resting awkwardly on his hips. Though Fred didn’t know him very well yet, it would have been obvious to anyone that he was uncomfortable. "You know," he shared confidentially, coming up alongside him, "you’re right-- this game is rigged. The bottles are weighted." Ethan nodded in agreement. "But I’ve heard that if you aim right in between the last two bottles on the bottom row, they’ll come down. It’s like the weak point." "Thanks," Ethan replied, and picked up the baseball that lay on the counter in front of him. Behind him, Velma bit her lip. She hoped he knew that it wasn’t important to her if he could do this or not. He didn’t have to prove himself to her, though the fact that he wanted to made her feel incredibly special. No guy had ever done that for her before. She was nervous for him as she watched him draw back and fling the baseball as hard as he could. There was the promising sound of bottles clattering, and when she leaned forward to look, she saw that every last one of them had been knocked from the stand! With a feeling of intense relief and achievement, Ethan collected his bear and settled it proudly into Velma’s waiting arms. To his surprise, she did in fact go a bit gaga over the stuffed toy-- hugging it, staring into its plush face, and comparing its relative cuteness with Daphne’s bear. (The bears were in fact identical, but neither of the girls seemed to pay this much heed.) Ethan watched, amused, and began hoping that some of the affection she was lavishing on her prize might make its way over to him. Not that he expected it, and he certainly wouldn’t hold it against her if it didn’t. He could tell that Velma would take some time to warm up to a relationship-- being new to it, as Fred had explained-- and he was willing to give her that time. All the time she needs, he reminded himself. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare her off again. He did know, too, however, that even though she seemed conservative in her manner, she wasn’t an absolute and total prude, which was a relief. She had sung that song in the lounge, after all, drunk or drugged or what have you! What Ethan didn’t know was how closely Velma’s thoughts were paralleling his own. She needed to thank him, but how? There were the words of course, but she wanted to do a little more than that. She could mirror Daphne’s actions with Fred and give Ethan a kiss, except on the cheek. That would be nice, and she was in no way adverse to it. Kissing Ethan was an appealing thought-- very appealing. The only trouble was that everyone seemed to be looking at her, or at least Fred and Daphne were. It wasn’t as if they could help it, but it was making things more complicated. She’d never initiated a kiss before, not even a polite-type kiss at a family reunion. (Her extended family had never been the type of people to go in for an abundance of physical affection-- in fact, it was rather funny to go to one of their family parties and see them all standing around with their hands clasped behind their backs.) What if she tried it and messed up? Could you mess up a kiss? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to find out in front of an audience. Thinking of her family, though, gave her an idea. Some of the funniest occurrences at the Dinkley household came about when Harold, Velma’s father, announced out the blue that he had let himself get out of shape and was determined to do something about it. (Velma adored her father but had to admit that he was perpetually out of shape.) He would dust off his old exercise equipment, spend all his free time plugging away at his workouts, and every few days Velma and her mother, Marilyn, would be treated to a presentation of all the new muscle he was developing. She remembered the big show he would make of it, rolling up his shirt and flexing his biceps-- usually with the other hand underneath, pushing up the slack muscle and arranging it appropriately. (She and her mother pretended not to notice this.) Even though there was very little change from the previous time he’d asked, or in fact from the time he’d started, they would always make the hoped-for huge fuss over his newly acquired muscle. Once, and only once, he had asked them to punch his stomach, eager to show off his new ‘rock-hard’ abs. Unfortunately, Velma had done the punching-- and, well... it wasn’t a good thing. Still, when he wasn’t doubled over in pain, she could remember how proud and pleased he looked-- like they’d given him the biggest compliment of his life. "Thank you, Ethan-- that was... very impressive," she began. Very impressive?! Are you trying to compliment him or write a comment on a term paper? Come on, you can do better than that. "May I?" she asked, gesturing up to his arm with a cupped hand. "Uh, yeah, sure," Ethan answered her, proffering his arm and unable to keep his surprise out of his voice and countenance. Velma let her hand close over his bicep, then felt him flex underneath her light grip. He was strong. "Jinkies," she said, impressed. No faking here! Ethan smiled, though he still looked rather confused by her unexpected action. "Yeah, you oughta think about playing some baseball," Fred offered offhand, impressed by Velma’s move. Releasing his upper arm, she made a fist with her right hand and pressed it very lightly against Ethan’s middle. "Whoa, take it easy there Velmster! Don’t go pulling a N’Goo on him." "What?" Ethan asked, looking up. He’d been watching Velma’s actions intensely, but now she was moving back. "Velma clocked that N’Goo guy in the cavern. Two punches-- he was gone!" "Don’t hurt me," Ethan joked with Velma. "I won’t. Besides, I don’t think I could," she added, smiling up at him. "I mean, feel this," she added, again pressing with her fist. Ethan knew from previous experience that this wasn’t true, but he didn’t care. He’d never been complimented this way by a woman, and it felt terrific. As he took Velma’s hand again and the little group made their way to a different game booth, he felt about 20 feet tall.
The hallway door closed behind Fred and Daphne as they returned to Mystery, Inc.’s sitting room later that night. After a few more games, Ethan had suggested the pool hall, and they had a fun hour playing that-- more or less badly, except for Ethan, who looked like an expert in comparison. Shaggy and Mary Jane had turned up with Scooby in tow, and the three of them happily joined the party. (Scooby was actually better at shooting pool than the majority of the human players, though this was not saying much.) Though Mary Jane, Shag, and Scoob had stayed at the arcade to play some serious Pong, the other four had headed back to the hotel, and Daphne had herded Fred into the suite so that Velma and Ethan could say goodnight to one another privately. Standing a few feet away from the closed door, Fred assessed the potential situation playing itself out in the hallway. "You know how we were talking about baseball earlier? Well five bucks says our Velma is heading towards first base," he informed Daphne, crossing his arms and grinning widely. "Fred!" his girlfriend exclaimed. "That is so adolescent! No one talks about those silly bases anymore-- not after they get out of junior high." She let out a noisy sigh, but then paused for a beat and looked at Freddy. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. As if sharing a thought, they dove for the door, straining to see through the peephole. "We can’t even see anything," she announced after a moment of scuffling, as if dismissing herself from the entire situation. "And we shouldn’t be spying, anyway." The pair moved back from the door. "It’s not spying, Daph-- we’re detectives. It’s investigating. We’ve got to look out for our friend’s interests, right?" "I think Velma can take care of herself. Besides, Ethan’s a total gentleman." "Well, that’s true," Fred admitted of both statements. "I mean, I set them up tonight." "I know. And it was a very sweet thing for you to do, Freddy." Daphne snuggled up against him and gave him a little kiss. "It reminded me exactly why I love you so much." "You have to be reminded?" Fred blanched slightly, but Daphne just giggled and circled her arms around him. He pulled her in closer, wrapping her in a strong embrace. She sighed happily, not only for herself, but for her friend in the hallway. "She really likes him, you know," she said softly. "Even before tonight." "Tell me about it-- what was up with that song the other night!? She did the whole first part to him, and man! Who would’ve thought our little Velms had that in her!" "Oh, I don’t know, Freddy-- she’s had to wait for this a long time. Its had years to build up." "Kind of like... a volcano or something. Just... waiting to erupt." Drawing back, he looked at Daphne. Daphne looked back at him-- and then they both leapt towards the peephole. Out in the hallway, Velma and Ethan started at the sound of two bodies collectively hitting the door near them. "I think we’re being spied on," Ethan laughed. "So I better just say this. I want to see you again," he told her, looking her directly in the eyes. She’d placed the teddy bear she’d been holding on the floor, propped up against the wall, and she and Ethan stood facing one another, their hands linked. "I’d love that," she replied, matching his honesty. There was no occasion, or time, for anything else. No "I’ll call yous" or "Maybe we’ll see each others." "So, would breakfast be too soon, or...?" Ethan half-teased. "No, but I can’t. I have a fitting tomorrow morning. For the gala on Saturday?" "Oh, yeah." The media was throwing a huge, formal gala for Mystery, Inc. It was to be a chance for the public to meet their heroes and to thank them. "In fact, I wanted to ask you.... if you’d be my date for it." The question was addressed more to the walls and floor than to the young man in front of her. Ethan couldn’t believe that she actually looked and sounded uncertain when she made her offer. "Of course," he immediately answered. He wasn’t sure he would like going to a gala, but if Velma wanted him, there was no way he would turn her down. Not for anything. "What do I have to do?" "You’ll have to go to the fitting, too," she informed him, sounding apologetic. She wasn’t crazy over the idea of having her hair and makeup fussed over, or having to try on formal dresses for half the morning, either. "No problem. What time?" "Nine." "Well, how about we get that done, and then we can hang out for the rest of the day. I haven’t taken you on that dinner I promised yet, either." "That sounds great." "Yeah? It’s a date, then." He paused, knowing they had reached the unmistakable and nearly always awkward first date landmark-- the goodnight. It was definitely time, but he wasn’t sure what he should do. Of course what he wanted to do was to kiss her, even though he had always made it a rule not to kiss on first dates. That was out, though. Once bitten, twice shy, he thought, remembering in spite of himself what had happened the first time he’d tried for that. So what was left? Hug-- good but not enough. Handshake-- out. He couldn’t even believe he’d thought of that. He could kiss her hand-- I bet she’d dig that. That was how he usually ended his dates, in fact. But this time he just wanted to be closer. "Goodnight Velma," he said quietly, then pulled her in close, slipping his arms around her as he kissed her cheek. It was not a tepid peck on the cheek; he pressed his face against hers a little before he did it, and Velma loved it. His skin was smooth and freshly shaven (except for the goatee, of course, which tickled her a little,) his breath cinnamon-scented, and she thought she could drown (pleasantly) in the scent of his aftershave. The actual kiss was soft and pleasant, and she thought to herself that it would have felt very nice against her lips as well, though she was glad he hadn’t done that. He wasn’t the only one that remembered the scene in the cavern, and she preferred to wait. Coming out of the embrace and telling her goodnight again in a soft voice, Ethan turned to leave. He had a kind of errand to run before he returned to his room for the night. Velma was pulling on her knee socks the next morning when a knock sounded at the door. "Did you order room service, Daph?" she asked. "No, Shaggy and Scooby are cooking breakfast for all of us. I’m not sure I want to know what it is, though!" answered Daphne from the bathroom, where she was applying her makeup. Seeing that her friend was occupied, Velma headed for the door and squinted through the peephole. It was too hard for her to get close enough to see anything because her glasses kept knocking against the door, so she opened it halfway. A hotel employee stood there, carefully holding a single rose in his hand. "Miss Dinkley," he began, recognizing her immediately, "I have a delivery for you." Smiling, he presented her with the rose, which she accepted, surprised. When she reached into her skirt pocket for a tip, he spoke up. "No need for that-- its already been taken care of. Have a good day, Miss." He turned to leave, and Velma shut the door, eager to look at the card that was tied onto the rose with a bit of dark red ribbon. The rose itself was a beautiful deep red as well, almost black. What was written in the card, however, was even better than the gift itself. ‘Velma-- thank you for giving me a second chance. – Ethan’ Velma held the card in her hand and re-read its simple message, feeling a bit teary. I was the one who needed the second chance, Ethan. Thank you for giving it to me.
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