course I wanted a boyfriend. It was the ultimate normal teenager thing to want. But boys didn’t like girls like me. They just didn’t. So I shouldn’t have been surprised that Nate wasn’t interested. If he had tried to kiss me, I wouldn’t have known what to do anyway. Being friends is good, I thought. I tried to make myself believe that.
“Kids, the burgers are ready,” Nate’s mom called from downstairs.
Nate moved toward the door. “Okay, Mom, we’ll be right down.”
Mr. Larson got home, and I managed to carry out a civil conversation with both of Nate’s parents all through dinner. They were really impressed with my mathlete origins. But then, they did have a son who spoke five languages, so my traveling to Washington, DC, for national math competitions probably seemed common to them.
The grandfather clock in the corner of their dining room chimed seven times just as we finished eating. “I should head home. Thanks again for dinner, Mrs. Larson. It was delicious.”
“It was my pleasure. And I do hope we’ll be seeing you again soon, Samantha. ”
I looked over at Nate. “I hope so too.”
Nate raced up to his room to retrieve my backpack. When he returned to the dining room, he jingled his keys in my direction. “Ready to go?”
When we were in his car, he asked me, “So why didn’t you tell me you were a mathlete?”
I shrugged. “You know, I was trying not to intimidate you.”
“Right, of course.” He popped a CD of whiny emo music I’d never heard before into his stereo, giving us both an excuse not to say anything.
Still, the lack of conversation grew heavy in the car. I tried to think up interesting things to say and finally lamely settled upon: “So, your parents seem pretty nice.”
“Yeah, they’re all right.”
When we pulled in front of my apartment building, I looked up and saw that the lights in our unit were all off. When I’d told my mom I was having dinner at a friend’s, she said she’d probably just work late. Apparently, she was still there.
“Well, goodnight,” I told Nate. I opened the car door and stepped out into the drizzle.
“Don’t forget to call Gabby.”
“I won’t.” I walked toward the empty apartment, glad I had an academic excuse to call home.
The next day in English, Mr. Donavan figured out he needed to assign some kind of homework. Instead of making us write papers, like a normal English teacher would, he divided us up into groups and told us to film a five-minute video acting out one of the scenes from Macbeth. Extra points would be given for artistic display, props, and creative interpretation of the scenes. I was assigned to do Act 5, Scene 1 with Kaitlyn and Eli.
Kaitlyn glared at me in disgust. “I already have plans tonight. But if you guys want to come over to my house tomorrow, I’ve got video editing software and stuff.”
“I’ve got basketball practice until five,” Eli said. “Assuming you want me to shower, I could probably meet tomorrow night at seven.”
“Fine,” Kaitlyn exhaled, looking bored.
Eli turned toward me. “I totally love driving. If you want me to pick you up, I wouldn’t mind.”
Eli already had his license. I wouldn’t turn sixteen until August. I knew I was younger than all the seniors I hung out with, but was I younger than every single person in the Portland metro area? At least I wouldn’t have to ride the bus. “Sure, I live in the apartments on Twenty-First and Flanders. Can you pick me up at six forty-five?”
“I’ll be there.”
Nate gave me a ride home from school that day. Since my mom was busy settling into her new job, she’d been working pretty late most evenings. I didn’t want to slink around the apartment alone for hours. “Do you want to come up? We can do homework or whatever.”
“Sure.” Nate followed me through our small two-bedroom apartment, his fingers tracing the tops of still-packed boxes as he walked. When I opened the door to my bedroom, he followed
“Kids, the burgers are ready,” Nate’s mom called from downstairs.
Nate moved toward the door. “Okay, Mom, we’ll be right down.”
Mr. Larson got home, and I managed to carry out a civil conversation with both of Nate’s parents all through dinner. They were really impressed with my mathlete origins. But then, they did have a son who spoke five languages, so my traveling to Washington, DC, for national math competitions probably seemed common to them.
The grandfather clock in the corner of their dining room chimed seven times just as we finished eating. “I should head home. Thanks again for dinner, Mrs. Larson. It was delicious.”
“It was my pleasure. And I do hope we’ll be seeing you again soon, Samantha. ”
I looked over at Nate. “I hope so too.”
Nate raced up to his room to retrieve my backpack. When he returned to the dining room, he jingled his keys in my direction. “Ready to go?”
When we were in his car, he asked me, “So why didn’t you tell me you were a mathlete?”
I shrugged. “You know, I was trying not to intimidate you.”
“Right, of course.” He popped a CD of whiny emo music I’d never heard before into his stereo, giving us both an excuse not to say anything.
Still, the lack of conversation grew heavy in the car. I tried to think up interesting things to say and finally lamely settled upon: “So, your parents seem pretty nice.”
“Yeah, they’re all right.”
When we pulled in front of my apartment building, I looked up and saw that the lights in our unit were all off. When I’d told my mom I was having dinner at a friend’s, she said she’d probably just work late. Apparently, she was still there.
“Well, goodnight,” I told Nate. I opened the car door and stepped out into the drizzle.
“Don’t forget to call Gabby.”
“I won’t.” I walked toward the empty apartment, glad I had an academic excuse to call home.
The next day in English, Mr. Donavan figured out he needed to assign some kind of homework. Instead of making us write papers, like a normal English teacher would, he divided us up into groups and told us to film a five-minute video acting out one of the scenes from Macbeth. Extra points would be given for artistic display, props, and creative interpretation of the scenes. I was assigned to do Act 5, Scene 1 with Kaitlyn and Eli.
Kaitlyn glared at me in disgust. “I already have plans tonight. But if you guys want to come over to my house tomorrow, I’ve got video editing software and stuff.”
“I’ve got basketball practice until five,” Eli said. “Assuming you want me to shower, I could probably meet tomorrow night at seven.”
“Fine,” Kaitlyn exhaled, looking bored.
Eli turned toward me. “I totally love driving. If you want me to pick you up, I wouldn’t mind.”
Eli already had his license. I wouldn’t turn sixteen until August. I knew I was younger than all the seniors I hung out with, but was I younger than every single person in the Portland metro area? At least I wouldn’t have to ride the bus. “Sure, I live in the apartments on Twenty-First and Flanders. Can you pick me up at six forty-five?”
“I’ll be there.”
Nate gave me a ride home from school that day. Since my mom was busy settling into her new job, she’d been working pretty late most evenings. I didn’t want to slink around the apartment alone for hours. “Do you want to come up? We can do homework or whatever.”
“Sure.” Nate followed me through our small two-bedroom apartment, his fingers tracing the tops of still-packed boxes as he walked. When I opened the door to my bedroom, he followed
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