The Perfect Blend by Allie Pleiter

weren’t in class.”
    â€œUh…yes, I know.”
    â€œI was worried something might have happened to you. You should have people checking up on you, you know. Head injuries can develop complications a few days later.”
    Develop complications? Oh, I think we can safely say we’ve developed complications. I walked out of the house four minutes ago to escape my problems, not slam headlong into them.
    A sudden, terrorizing thought strikes me. “You didn’t tell the class what happened, did you? You didn’t explain why I wasn’t there?”
    Will blinks at me. “I don’t know why you weren’t there. Which is why I’m here. But, no, I found it best to leave the telling to you. Or, the not telling. You don’t owe your classmates any explanation.”
    â€œOh, good.” I say, leaning up against the wall. I’m surprised at how relieved I am to hear that.
    â€œBut,” says Will, leaning up on the wall beside me, “you do owe me an explanation.” He crosses his hands over his chest and looks me over. “You’re obviously well enough to be up and about. Why weren’t you in class?”
    Got any ideas how to answer that one? I stall for time. “I just sort of…panicked, I suppose.” Then the answer comes to me. “It was that assignment. That’s a mean trick to play on someone like me. You can’t just boil a life’s passion down to three words like that. It’s impossible. I’ve been working on that nasty thing for hours, but the paper’s still empty. Not that I don’t have words. I’ve got a list of thirty-seven words taped to my refrigerator. I just can’t boil it down to only three.”
    Will unfolds his arms. “Now do you see what I mean?”
    â€œOkay, fine, you were right. But that’s what I pay you for. You’re the teacher, it’s your job to be right. Right?”
    Will shakes his head, as if his proper British brain just doesn’t know what to do with me. He freezes, one hand in the air, eyes squinted shut, and you can just see the guy think. Or count to ten to calm down. I’m not sure which until he pops his eyes open and starts to undo his tie. “Have you eaten?”
    â€œIf you count ice cream as dinner, yes.”
    â€œI was more thinking along the lines of actual food. ”
    â€œWell, then, I suppose no.”
    â€œRight then. Let’s go get your massive list, and we’ll discuss tonight’s lesson over a sandwich.”
    You gotta love the way this guy speaks. American guys would say, “let’s go grab a burger,” but no, we’re “discussing over a sandwich.”
    I start walking back to my door. “You English and your sandwiches.”
    â€œBeg your pardon?”
    â€œYou know,” I’m laughing as I turn my key in the lock. “Sandwich.” I broaden out the A in sorry attempt at British. “Cucumber, Earl of, that sort of thing. It’s just so funny.”
    â€œI hardly see the humor in eating a sandwich.” Will follows me up the stairs.
    â€œI know and that’s what makes it so funny.” I unlock my apartment door, “Hang on, I’ll be right back.” I snag the list off my fridge, pretend I’m not really checking my hair in the mirror, snag an even bigger pair of sunglasses even though it’s dark now and head back to the front door. “List in hand. Let’s go have a sandwich.”
    â€œPerhaps I should have a hamburger now. Or fried chicken. Something less British.” He’s got the same expression my brothers have before they launch into a load of teasing.
    â€œOh, no, I’d like a sandwich.” I put on my glasses even though it makes things so dim I have to squint and squinting hurts a bit. I make my way down the stairs, holding the railing tight because I can’t really see the stair edge with these glasses on. At