Shrimp by Rachel Cohn

long copped to us. They're just not as gossipy.
    We almost didn't make it to the symphony at all because Nancy threw a hissy fit, whining that my short black skirt with an Irish World Cup team football jersey, black leather motorcycle jacket, and combat boots was not appropriate attire for the symphony. Sid-dad took my side, reminding Nancy would she rather I be dressed like a debutante, or
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    would she rather I be exposed to the music? Nancy gave up but she was still sore when we got to Symphony Hall. She was appeased by our balcony box seats above the orchestra, excellent seats for Nancy to inspect the other box seats to see who she knew that might have gotten seats just a little better than ours, and ideal listening perches for Sid-dad and I to shut our eyes and let the music seep through. The Mozart symphony, all lulling and then fierce, inspired a major neon laser show in my shut eyes for a good fifteen minutes. Then the giant gong banged and my eyes sprung wide open. I could feel a set of eyes staring at me from across the hall, and my eyes went from looking at the orchestra below our seats to the box seats directly opposite us.
    SHRIMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    I wanted to jump out of my seat and into the lobby for some slo-mo movielike reunion, but Nancy would have lost her mind if I had gotten up before intermission, and anyway, Shrimp didn't stand up like he was going to run out to meet me. He didn't even wave, but a sly smile spread across his face. Instead of shooting up, his formerly spiked hair was longer and falling down from his head, and the formerly platinum blond spikes at his forehead had grown out to their naturally dirty blond color. His face looked fuller, tanner, and redder, like he'd been baking in the sun since his temporary exile from SF fog shroud. I almost fell out of my chair and over the balcony with wanting to throw my arms out for him to run into.
    Normally I hate intermissions because they seem like a major waste of time and I just want to gag watching Nancy socialize with all her biddy friends about charity galas and Yes, let's do lunch next week, but the minutes before
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    intermission came for this symphony felt like an eternity. The lights weren't up and the applause barely started the moment the music ended when I bolted from my chair. Nancy was all, "Cyd Charisse! Where are you go--," but I was gone--forget about slo-mo reunion; I was sprinting. I slowed down right as I approached the turn to the lobby bar area. I didn't want to appear too enthusiastic, but Shrimp had beaten me. He was standing at the bar already, not out of breath.
    OMG, how much do I love him? He was wearing a canary yellow polyester leisure suit with a white shirt tucked into the pants and a huge collar tucked over the yellow jacket. He looked like some mack daddy disco pimp, bless his hotness. He was taller and heavier than I remembered, by at least two inches and a month's worth of Shrimp's beloved peanut butter milk shakes with ground-up Oreos and brownies, and that's not just because I wasn't wearing platform boots. He came up to my nose instead of my chin as I stood before him.
    Strange that two people who've been as intimate as two people could possibly be couldn't even manage a simple touch at their first meeting after the breakup--no rub on the shoulder, no clasp of hands, no hug, and certainly no kiss. It's like there was this invisible beam between us like in the prison cells on Star Trek that would go bzzz and repel us if Shrimp or I dared to reach over the awkward invisible energy to touch each other.
    "Hey," Shrimp said.
    "Hey," I said. "You look taller."
    "Yeah, Java's now calling me Jumbo Shrimp."
    "So, Jumbo, when did you get back? When are you coming to school again?"
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    "Got back a few days ago, back to school this Monday. Hit the waves today. Ocean Beach seems tame after riding the waves in the South Pacific. Still better than making up three weeks of schoolwork, though."
    In my head I was