After Ever After (9780545292788) by Jordan Sonnenblick

box of oranges in a cool crate that says IMPORTED FROM CALIFORNIA on the side. Long story, but she made me share one with her right there in the empty gazebo. It’s pretty messy eating an orange with ski gloves on, but we had fun. I had given her my usual speech about how presents don’t mean much, and she shouldn’t go to any trouble, blah, blah, blah. She didn’t listen. First, she whipped out a rectangular gift about the size of a lunch box. There were little reindeer riding bikes on the wrapping paper, which I thought was cool.
    I felt like Lindsey really understood me, you know?
    But then I opened the box, and there it was: a Hello Kitty bicycle horn, bright pink. It was ghastly. Lindsey said, “Do you like it? I saw it and thought of you because of the whole bike … you know … uh, Jeff? Say something?”
    So she gave me these puppy-dog eyes, and I forced myself to smile and say, “Uh, it’s perfect! Thanks, Linds. I’ll get this onto my bike, um, right away!”
    Then she busted out laughing. “I’m kidding, silly! It’s just a joke. I would never make you put that on your bike. But here’s for being a good sport!” And she fed me a chunk of orange. Juice got all over my face, but then Lindsey wiped it off with her mitten. I know it sounds strange, but it was definitely — I don’t know — a moment.
    She had a real present for me: a whole album of photos of me and her, somehow digitally edited together with funny things. One had her face on Cinderella, and mine on Donald Duck. Another had her as the Little Mermaid, and me as Goofy. She really went with the whole Disney theme (another long story).
    But the last photo was just me with a heart around it. I was kind of mortified. I mean, if Tad ever sees this thing, I’llbe hearing about it until forever. Still, the whole thing is strangely cool: Lindsey sees me as a guy in a heart.
    We finally had to go back to the house before A. Mom sent out a search-and-rescue team, or B. The orange juice all over our faces and gloves froze us to death. Then something happened that made everything else seem even better. You know how I don’t like walking in front of someone because of the whole limp problem? So I kind of waited around for Lindsey to walk first. She was waiting for me, though. Then she asked if anything was wrong, and I actually TOLD her why I get embarrassed about walking. My heart was pounding. I mean, like, going-up-a-mile-long-hill pounding. I didn’t know what she would do or say. Tad told me a story a few weeks ago about how a girl he liked called him out about his limp in sixth grade, and then he stopped even trying to get out of his wheelchair at school.
    You know what Lindsey did? She asked me a million questions about my leg: how it feels, when it started, whether it will ever get better, why it doesn’t bother me when I’m on my bike. Then she said, “Thanks for talking with me about it. I was afraid to ask. I didn’t want you tothink I was shallow, but I wanted to know. I want to know everything about you.”
    I can’t believe how this girl is always three steps more mature than me, in every single possible way. Did you ever feel like that with Annette? That somehow, while you’d been learning how to incinerate bugs with a magnifying glass and make fart noises with your armpit, she’d taken some secret girl class that made her an expert on guys? I mean, I could never think Lindsey was shallow. Seriously, if I’m a puddle, she’s the Pacific Ocean. But I didn’t say that to her. All I could get out was, “Uh, no problem.”
    She looked at me like I was a cute kitten that had somehow wound up lost in her sock drawer, got up from the bench again, and held her hand out to me. We held hands — I mean, through mittens and gloves, but still — all the way home.
    Thank God I’m not sending this, by the way. I could