of someone?
I pounce. “Unless what? Unless who ?”
I study Q’s face. It’s fascinating: Q is suddenly shy .
“Come on,” I say. “Who is it you like?”
Like I mentioned, Q and I normally never talk about romantic interests. But he must have them. Sure, he’s a huge socially awkward nerd—but he’s a boy just like any other boy. It just feels weird to talk about romance with a friend you’ve had forever. He liked a girl one time in middle school—Kara Tram—and we barely talked about it. She moved away, and that was that.
Q thinks with his mouth open for a long moment before speaking. “That bit of information is only for the queen herself, old chap.”
“Amelie Shim.”
Q’s lips go tight. He shakes his head. “Mmm.”
“Naima Gupta.”
Q sighs. “No, and it doesn’t matter anyway. The objet of my affection is already going out with someone else.”
“That sucks.”
“It positively fellates.”
“What can you even do?”
“Just pine away,” says Q. “I can pine like a tree.”
I lean in and whisper. “Who is it?”
“So we get to college, and then what?” says Q, ignoring me. “Your parents will still call and visit. And what about after college? Are you still swapping gems? One day, college ends. And then?”
This is exactly what I didn’t want to talk about. I just wanted to talk about how sweet me and Joy’s setup is, and how freaking magical my night with Brit was. Not this future crap.
“Hanna is and then ,” I blurt. “You know how she married Miles at city hall? Because she knew Mom-n-Dad would never show up to a real wedding? That’s and then . She and Miles’ll have kids, and they’ll grow up, and Mom-n-Dad will get super old, and that’s and fucking then .”
“Hey, hey,” says Q.
“She married a black dude. You of all people know how basic this bullshit gets. Come on, man.”
Q puts an arm around me and squeezes my shoulder. “I feel you. I really do.”
“I don’t know and then . No one does. I just—I had a really great night with Brit. One of the best ever. That’s all I really want to talk about right at this moment. This moment in time is about all my brain can handle.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” says Q, calming me. “I feel you.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re good,” says Q.
“Got a little worked up.”
“It’d be weird if you didn’t, old boy.”
I smile at him. “You’re so great, you make that wall in China feel like a chain-link fence.”
Q smiles back. “You’re so cool, global warming’s scared of you.”
“You’re so bomb, they had to evacuate the building.”
And so on. This is our version of the Dozens, except instead of insulting each other’s moms, we hurl compliments back and forth. We call it the Baker’s Dozens. In a round of the Baker’s Dozens, no one ever loses and everyone wins.
“I’m happy you’re happy, and to hell with everything and everyone,” says Q, squinting at me through his invisible monocle and raising an invisible gimlet. “To this moment in time.”
“To this moment.”
We invisible-toast.
chapter 12
illuminating
“Frankie-ya, you want beer, something?” says Dad. “Joy, hi, nice see you.”
Dad sets a six-pack of beer—nice stuff, supposedly, IPA something-or-other—onto the floor as if feeding a cage of strange animals, and steps out again. It’s the Kims’ turn to host tonight’s Gathering.
“Daddy,” says Mom’s voice. “Don’t give alcohol.”
“They take SAT, should be relaxing now,” says Dad.
Yes: I took the SAT this morning. Although it feels a little like the SAT took me.
First, I sneezed on my test booklet, a prodigious specimen, and had nothing to wipe my nose with except the test booklet itself.
Then a girl’s cell phone went off, and she was almost disqualified but for an impassioned three-minute speech about her dreams of becoming a pediatrician. That bit of theater was entertaining, sure, but it also destroyed my concentration.
When we
I pounce. “Unless what? Unless who ?”
I study Q’s face. It’s fascinating: Q is suddenly shy .
“Come on,” I say. “Who is it you like?”
Like I mentioned, Q and I normally never talk about romantic interests. But he must have them. Sure, he’s a huge socially awkward nerd—but he’s a boy just like any other boy. It just feels weird to talk about romance with a friend you’ve had forever. He liked a girl one time in middle school—Kara Tram—and we barely talked about it. She moved away, and that was that.
Q thinks with his mouth open for a long moment before speaking. “That bit of information is only for the queen herself, old chap.”
“Amelie Shim.”
Q’s lips go tight. He shakes his head. “Mmm.”
“Naima Gupta.”
Q sighs. “No, and it doesn’t matter anyway. The objet of my affection is already going out with someone else.”
“That sucks.”
“It positively fellates.”
“What can you even do?”
“Just pine away,” says Q. “I can pine like a tree.”
I lean in and whisper. “Who is it?”
“So we get to college, and then what?” says Q, ignoring me. “Your parents will still call and visit. And what about after college? Are you still swapping gems? One day, college ends. And then?”
This is exactly what I didn’t want to talk about. I just wanted to talk about how sweet me and Joy’s setup is, and how freaking magical my night with Brit was. Not this future crap.
“Hanna is and then ,” I blurt. “You know how she married Miles at city hall? Because she knew Mom-n-Dad would never show up to a real wedding? That’s and then . She and Miles’ll have kids, and they’ll grow up, and Mom-n-Dad will get super old, and that’s and fucking then .”
“Hey, hey,” says Q.
“She married a black dude. You of all people know how basic this bullshit gets. Come on, man.”
Q puts an arm around me and squeezes my shoulder. “I feel you. I really do.”
“I don’t know and then . No one does. I just—I had a really great night with Brit. One of the best ever. That’s all I really want to talk about right at this moment. This moment in time is about all my brain can handle.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” says Q, calming me. “I feel you.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re good,” says Q.
“Got a little worked up.”
“It’d be weird if you didn’t, old boy.”
I smile at him. “You’re so great, you make that wall in China feel like a chain-link fence.”
Q smiles back. “You’re so cool, global warming’s scared of you.”
“You’re so bomb, they had to evacuate the building.”
And so on. This is our version of the Dozens, except instead of insulting each other’s moms, we hurl compliments back and forth. We call it the Baker’s Dozens. In a round of the Baker’s Dozens, no one ever loses and everyone wins.
“I’m happy you’re happy, and to hell with everything and everyone,” says Q, squinting at me through his invisible monocle and raising an invisible gimlet. “To this moment in time.”
“To this moment.”
We invisible-toast.
chapter 12
illuminating
“Frankie-ya, you want beer, something?” says Dad. “Joy, hi, nice see you.”
Dad sets a six-pack of beer—nice stuff, supposedly, IPA something-or-other—onto the floor as if feeding a cage of strange animals, and steps out again. It’s the Kims’ turn to host tonight’s Gathering.
“Daddy,” says Mom’s voice. “Don’t give alcohol.”
“They take SAT, should be relaxing now,” says Dad.
Yes: I took the SAT this morning. Although it feels a little like the SAT took me.
First, I sneezed on my test booklet, a prodigious specimen, and had nothing to wipe my nose with except the test booklet itself.
Then a girl’s cell phone went off, and she was almost disqualified but for an impassioned three-minute speech about her dreams of becoming a pediatrician. That bit of theater was entertaining, sure, but it also destroyed my concentration.
When we
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