Little Earthquakes by Jennifer Weiner

air was soft and lilac-scented, and the campus and the town had a riotous, swoony feeling, an end-of-the-
school-year anticipation, as if at any moment everyone would throw down their books and tear off their clothes and roll around on the freshly mown grass.
    It was raining that night, a gentle gray drizzle. Sarah came back to the kitchen and said that Andrew was sitting at the bar, alone. “Do you want me to spit in his glass?”
    “That’s a generous offer, but no.” I don’t need him, she told herself. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking. Andrew wore a brown suede jacket and a hangdog look, and there were purplish circles under his eyes. I have a boyfriend, Becky thought. And she was going home to fix him a late supper, after which they would have satisfactory, if slightly vanilla, sex, so screw you, Andrew Rabinowitz. But after she’d wiped down her station, wrapped up her knives, and walked out the back door, there was Andrew, waiting for her, his arms wrapped around himself in the drizzle, standing next to her car.
    “Well, well,” she said, “look who’s here.”
    “Becky,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you.”
    “I’m busy.”
    “Please.” He sounded desperate. It was all she could do to shore herself up, remembering how he’d hurt her, what he’d said.
    “I have to get going.” She paused to give her next statement its full impact. “My boyfriend’s waiting for me.”
    “It’ll just take a minute.” His voice was so quiet she could barely hear it. “The thing is…” He mumbled something she couldn’t make out.
    “Pardon me?”
    He raised his head. “I said, I think I’m in love with you.”
    “Oh, blah blah, whatever.” She managed to sound nonchalant, even though her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he’d be able to hear it. “You know what?” She lifted her wrapped satchel. “You should know better than to fuck with someone who’s carrying knives.”
    “I am. Becky, you’re funny and smart…”
    “…and fat,” she finished. She leaned down, unlocked her car, tossed the knives in the backseat, and sat down behind the wheel. Andrew walked around the car and put his hand on the passenger’s side door.
    “Oh, no,” she told him. “Step away from the vehicle.”
    “I didn’t exactly say that,” he said. “And it’s not what I think. I think you’re beautiful, but I was pushing you away because…”
    She stared at him through the mist.
    “I have to tell you something,” he said and cleared his throat. “A private thing.”
    “Go ahead,” she said, looking around the empty parking lot. “I don’t think anyone’s listening.”
    “Could I just—” he said, reaching for the door handle.
    “No.”
    “Fine.” Andrew took a deep breath and rested his hands on the roof of her car. “First of all, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
    “Apology accepted. No big deal. I’ve been called worse by better.”
    “Becky,” he pleaded. “Please. Look. Please just let me finish this.”
    She paused, curious, unable to help herself.
    “See. Um.” He shuffled his feet. “The thing is, I’m…shy.”
    She laughed incredulously. “That’s your big secret? That’s the best you can do? Oh, please.” She slammed her door.
    “No. Wait! That’s not it. The thing is…” His voice was muffled by the rolled-up window.
    “What?”
    Andrew said something Becky couldn’t hear. She leaned over and rolled the passenger’s side window down. “What?”
    “It’s a sex thing!” he hissed, then looked around as if expecting to see an audience hanging on his every word.
    “Oh.” A sex thing. Oh, God. He’s a cross-dresser. He’s impotent. He’s an impotent cross-dresser, and he wears a smaller size than I do.
    Andrew leaned into the car and didn’t lift his head to look at her as he spoke. “You know when you get used to doing something a certain way and then that’s the only way you can do it? Like, you drive to work a certain way every day