Matt gave a mock-groan and then stood, genuinely blushing, as she looked him over.ДЇinally, Mrs. 'Who ironed that shirt, may I ask? Who heard about the sale on jackets in the first place?' Letting me see you?' she scolded, her eyes beaming. Honeycutt, small and round and smelling of cookies, came at almost a run down the hall. 'Hey, Mom! ItКјs quarter to seven! IКјm out of here!' Time to go! He certainly couldnКјt be late. And now, with Uncle JoeКјs hundred-dollar bill, he was going to take Elena Gilbert on a real date, to a real French restaurant: a date that sheКјd never forget. Matt didnКјt know where heКјd gotten the courage-heКјd as soon have dumped an ice bucket over football Coach SimpsonКјs head after theyКјd lost a game-but he had managed to work his way up to asking her out. At school those lips were always in a modelКјs slight pout, as if to say 'Well, really! I expected more than this!'Д«ut Elena wouldnКјt be pouting tonight. Together with the eyes, they could turn a guy upside down and inside out in no time. With that marvelous golden hair that floated halfway down her back, with her skin, the color of apple blossoms, even after tanning season, with her eyes like luminous, gold-flecked blue pools, and her lips. just thinking her name made him feel as if were bathed in sunlight. And he was going to wear his new pants and an ironed shirt, a real tie that his mother had given him last Christmas, and his brand new sports jacket to the most wonderful event he could imagine.Д«lowing over one hundred dollars in one night with Elena Gilbert.Д®lena. Okay, so he had been a late bloomer, a slow learner.

At just-sixteen young MattКјs thoughts about girls and cooties had not entirely separated. It was hard, hard to remember how Uncle Joe had gone.Д«ut now, looking at the hundred-dollar bill, all Matt could think about was the old manКјs mischievous smile and his rasping words, 'YouКјll know when the time is right.' Yes, Uncle Joe had known, hadnКјt he? Matt would have laughed himself sick if Uncle Joe had told him what heКјd be spending the precious money on. Matt found that he was grinding one fist into his thigh, painfully. Exactly two years ago today, Uncle Joe had died. That had been exactly two years and two days ago. It was 85 when it should have been 100-maybe Uncle Joe needed more oxygen. The glass-shattering coughing was beginning and Matt wanted a nurse to check on Uncle JoeКјs oxygen saturation level. AnКј fer GodКјs sake'-a pause, while Uncle Joe had a long and racking coughing fit and Matt held him up-'donКјt yКјdare spend it on cigarettes, right? DonКјt you get the habit, boy, cause itКјs only going to bring you grief.' 'DonКјt blow it on just anything,' Uncle Joe had whispered in his grating voice. He could remember Uncle Joe-Great-Uncle, really, but always called Uncle, pressing the bill into his hand while the nurses were out of the room. And there it was, folded in half, as crisp and new-looking as when Uncle Joe had given it to him. He turned the wallet around and pulled it out from its special place of honor-a concealed compartment in the walletКјs side.

Twenty-seven dollars and twenty-six cents. Muldoon carefully change all the light bulbs in his house that the old gentleman couldnКјt reach any longer.

Seven dollars and twenty cents left over from cleaning attics and mowing lawns-the rest of that money had been carefully invested in the jacket he was wearing right now-a lettermanКјs jacket wouldnКјt do, not on this occasion, and heКјd heard that Elena didnКјt like them.

The rest had gone into buying this crisp new pair of casual/formal dress pants. A ten dollar bill and six cents left over from what the six neighbors on the cul- de-sac had given him to rake all the autumn leaves from each yard into a giant bonfire-pile. Matt nervously opened his wallet again and counted his cash.

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