Hooked by Catherine Greenman

blankly.
    “Oh,” Will said, “the singles, you mean?” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “Yeah, that was a break, I guess. I tend to be lucky in things that involve sweepstakes.”
    “My name’s Olivier, nice to meet you.” He shook Will’s hand.
    “I’m Will, and this is my mom, and my girlfriend, Thea Galehouse.”
    Olivier nodded, assessing me with his French eyes. “Listen,” he said to Will, “I’ve asked some people from the hall over for a little thing tonight. I hope you can swing by.” He looked and sounded like he couldn’t care less if Will came. I dubbed him “Sweaterboy” in my head. So far college seemed like an endless series of “little things” where people stood around avoiding each other. After some more small talk Olivier cleared his throat. “I’m just off the plane from Paris this morning, so I’m starting to fade. Time for a catnap.” He nodded again and sort of bowed to Mrs. Weston, whose smile switched on and off as he walked away.
    “So, Thea, you’re a senior now, is that right?” Mrs. Weston nibbled on a cube of cheese and bored into me with her gray eyes, which looked somehow icier now that she was standing by a window. “What are your plans? How is Thea Galehouse going to set the world on fire?”
    “Good question,” I said, belching out a stiff, truncated laugh. “Haven’t quite tackled that one.” I looked around the room at all the tall, tanned kids oozing summer relaxation in their new olive-hued lounge, and felt suddenly overwhelmed. How was I going to face senior year without Will? Take the SATs? Apply to colleges? Write essays? How was I going to do any of it? Dad’s face flashed in front of me. His intense, steely scrutiny, demanding results and performance. How was I supposed to be a normal high school student when I had this rope pulling me here? It wasn’t fair that Will had gotten away to this place, to his own room with the plastic cat in the hall and Sweaterboy across the way, while I still had this mountain to climb.
    Mrs. Weston must have read something on my facebecause she paused, orange cheese cube in midair, and said gravely and urgently, “Be positive, Thea.”
    I nodded, seething at her new age–claptrap comment. Be positive. Could two words in the English language be more meaningless?
    “Frankly, I think your generation has it made,” she said, folding her arms. “Mine was still scatterbrained. Too many mixed messages from our mothers.” She tapped her bony temple with her fingertip. “Anyway, Thea, I wish you every success. We need strong women like you out there, forging ahead with great things.” Will looked at me, wide-eyed, as if to say, Don’t mind her, she’s crazy.
    Mr. Weston appeared next to Mrs. Weston and cleared his throat. “There’s an officer circling the cars downstairs. Lynne, I think we should make ourselves scarce.” He seemed to always have the same smiling expression on his face, as though he were cracking deeply ironic personal jokes to himself all the time. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed them with his shirt as he turned to Will. “You all set?”
    “Yep,” Will answered, giving his father a hug with half his body and patting his back.
    Mrs. Weston turned to me and held her hand out formally. “Goodbye, Thea,” she said pointedly, and I understood the gesture right away: she believed she was saying goodbye to me forever.
    They ambled side by side through the swinging doors as Will started to reach for a toothpick to pick up a cube of cheese. He glanced at me and retracted.
    “You could have told me they’d be here,” I said.
    “I didn’t tell you?” he asked. He reached again and this time popped a cube into his mouth. “Sorry.”
    “Your mother hates me.”
    “What are you talking about?” Will rolled his eyes and stuck the toothpick in the side of his mouth. “She wouldn’t know how to hate you. What was all that about setting the world on fire, or whatever she said? She’s