M or F? by Lisa Papademetriou Page A

tennis match, back and forth.
    â€œAnyway,” I told her, “I think you’re right. It doesn’t have to be a date-date yet. You can go slow.”
    She started gathering up her stuff; we’d finish the fashion show later at her house. “You’re just saying that ’cause you want to be there,” she said.
    â€œCorrect.”
    â€œWell, good, because you’re coming.”
    I took her ten-dollar bill for the hot chocolate and gave her a five, five ones, and a big chocolate chip cookie in change. She put the five in the tip jar.
    â€œTomorrow after fourth period,” she said, and turned to go.
    â€œDon’t be nervous,” Calvin called after her.
    â€œI’m not,” she called back without looking, but I saw her dump the cookie in the garbage on her way out.
    At this point in the movie version, we cut to the next day with a slow fade. Maybe go into an overhead shot of suburban streets. The music comes up loud and the camera finds Frannie’s car driving along. It swoops down so you can see us inside, bopping our heads to the sound track, which it turns out is coming from the car stereo. We’re both obviously a little hyper. Cut to inside the car. Frannie looks in the rearview mirror and floofs her hair, then makes a face.
    â€œYou look fine!” I shout over the music.
    She’s still looking in the mirror. “What?”
    I turn off the stereo. “You look perfect,” I say.
    And she did—just a little makeup, not too much. She had gone ahead with the striped shirt and corduroy skirt, too. They were just right, as in, casual enough so she wouldn’t look like she’d dressed up for him, but nice enough so he’d notice. I had changed my mind about the blue tee and gone with a vintage short-sleeved madras plaid that Frannie had given me for my birthday, insisting I needed to have something besides a steady diet of T-shirts in my wardrobe.
    â€œThis is so stupid,” I said. “Why am I nervous?”
    She gave me a puppy dog look. “’Cause you love me,” she said. “And because we’re brain twins.”
    â€œOh yeah.”
    Ever since Jeffrey had given Frannie (and me) those daffodils and asked her (us) out to lunch, it was like the stakes had gotten higher. And even though they weren’t my daffodils or my stakes, for that matter, I couldn’t stop my knees from bouncing up and down in the car. If she was the star of this show, then I was the nervous director standing behind the camera and biting his nails.
    We pulled up to the curb outside of Disgusting Macrobiotic Café or whatever that place was called; I can’t remember.
    â€œAll natural.” I sighed. “I should have guessed.”
    â€œI didn’t think you’d come if I told you,” Frannie said.
    â€œAre you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for anything. But we’re stopping at IHOP for some real food on the way back to school.”
    She was barely listening. “Is this weird?” she said. “This whole thing is weird, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “It’s lunch.”
    â€œLunch with a guy who thinks he’s been having private online conversations with me.” Jeffrey was turning out to be a regular customer in the school chat room, so he was almost too easy to find. Our second chat with him had gone even better than the first, unless you counted how nervous it was making Frannie now.
    â€œThey are private conversations,” I assured her. “Brain twins don’t count.”
    â€œTechnically, maybe, but still, ethically . . . I don’t know.”
    â€œListen,” I said, “remember Great Adventure last summer? The guy in line for the log flume?” A little smile crossed Frannie’s face. She had done some Oscarworthy flirting that day. She’d even used a British accent. “Just remember that feeling,” I told her. “Like