slayed me. It was like the rest of their bodies hadn’t caught up to their enormous new front teeth. “My goal is to be the only third grader who can dunk.”
“Is that so?” Calvin asked, laughing. He dashed over, picked Tommy up, and raced him back to the hoop. “Quick! Quick!” he cried. “Do it. Dunk!” Sitting on Calvin’s shoulders, Tommy was higher than the hoop, and he easily dropped the ball into it. “And the crowd goes wild,” yelled Calvin. “Aaaah!” He ran around the driveway, Tommy on his shoulders, both of them cheering.
As they finished their victory lap, Tommy called, “Hi, Zoe!”
“Hey!” I waved to them. “Where are your brothers?”
“Jake’s getting Luke at Aunt Margaret’s house and then he and Calvin are taking us to the movies.” He lowered his voice and informed me confidentially, “We’re going to see a PG-13.”
“In your dreams , little man,” Calvin said. He lifted Tommy off his shoulders and put him on the blacktop next to him. Tommy gave me a knowing wink and went over to the grass on the other side of the driveway to retrieve the ball.
Calvin was breathing heavily from his lap with Tommy on his shoulders. He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head at me. “You running away from home?” he asked, nodding at the suitcase.
“Yeah.” I shrugged and looked off to the end of the block. “You know how it is. Big dreams. Little town.”
“Sure,” he said. “I get it.”
“Actually, these are just some clothes for Olivia,” I explained.
“You packed her a suitcase?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah,” I said, surprised that he was surprised. “Does that seem weird to you?”
“I don’t know.” He wiped his sweaty forehead with his upper arm. “I can’t imagine any of my friends going through my clothes.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s a girl thing.” As soon as I said it, I was annoyed with myself. I hate gender stereotypes like girls love princesses and boys like guns. All the guys I was with at NYBC had had to deal with being called fag and homo just because they liked dance. I mean, a lot of them were gay (or at least well on their way to being gay), and words like fag and homo are totally unacceptable whether or not people are gay, but my point is that tying particular behaviors and interests to a particular gender seems to be the major reason guys who like dance get called names.
“Or maybe it’s a Zoe-Olivia thing,” he said.
“Maybe,” I agreed.
After our bickering earlier in the week and then my angry apology Saturday morning, this felt almost like a truce. Together we watched Tommy set up, shoot, and miss the basket by a mile.
“Good try,” said Calvin. “Don’t lean back so much.”
Tommy headed to retrieve the ball, and I glanced over at Calvin. To my surprise, he was looking at me. There was something intense about how he was doing it—not anythinggross, like he was checking me out, but more like he was watching for something or wondering about something, and he could only learn the answer if he studied me long enough.
I felt self-conscious about how I was staring at him or he was staring at me or we were staring at each other. “You’re really good.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I was mortified.
“What?” He smiled, but there was a confused look on his face.
“I meant I . . . I mean, I meant to say you’re really good with kids .” I looked away, watching Tommy because it was something to watch besides Calvin. “I’m not very . . . natural with them. It’s a little awkward.”
“I’m sure you’re fine.”
“Trust me. I’m not one of those people who say they’re bad at things they’re good at.” Tommy sank his shot and Calvin gave a long, low whistle. “Nice job, T-dog!” Tommy did a brief victory dance.
“Are there a lot of those people?” asked Calvin.
“What people?” I was confused.
“People who say they’re bad at things they’re good at.” He
“Is that so?” Calvin asked, laughing. He dashed over, picked Tommy up, and raced him back to the hoop. “Quick! Quick!” he cried. “Do it. Dunk!” Sitting on Calvin’s shoulders, Tommy was higher than the hoop, and he easily dropped the ball into it. “And the crowd goes wild,” yelled Calvin. “Aaaah!” He ran around the driveway, Tommy on his shoulders, both of them cheering.
As they finished their victory lap, Tommy called, “Hi, Zoe!”
“Hey!” I waved to them. “Where are your brothers?”
“Jake’s getting Luke at Aunt Margaret’s house and then he and Calvin are taking us to the movies.” He lowered his voice and informed me confidentially, “We’re going to see a PG-13.”
“In your dreams , little man,” Calvin said. He lifted Tommy off his shoulders and put him on the blacktop next to him. Tommy gave me a knowing wink and went over to the grass on the other side of the driveway to retrieve the ball.
Calvin was breathing heavily from his lap with Tommy on his shoulders. He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head at me. “You running away from home?” he asked, nodding at the suitcase.
“Yeah.” I shrugged and looked off to the end of the block. “You know how it is. Big dreams. Little town.”
“Sure,” he said. “I get it.”
“Actually, these are just some clothes for Olivia,” I explained.
“You packed her a suitcase?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah,” I said, surprised that he was surprised. “Does that seem weird to you?”
“I don’t know.” He wiped his sweaty forehead with his upper arm. “I can’t imagine any of my friends going through my clothes.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s a girl thing.” As soon as I said it, I was annoyed with myself. I hate gender stereotypes like girls love princesses and boys like guns. All the guys I was with at NYBC had had to deal with being called fag and homo just because they liked dance. I mean, a lot of them were gay (or at least well on their way to being gay), and words like fag and homo are totally unacceptable whether or not people are gay, but my point is that tying particular behaviors and interests to a particular gender seems to be the major reason guys who like dance get called names.
“Or maybe it’s a Zoe-Olivia thing,” he said.
“Maybe,” I agreed.
After our bickering earlier in the week and then my angry apology Saturday morning, this felt almost like a truce. Together we watched Tommy set up, shoot, and miss the basket by a mile.
“Good try,” said Calvin. “Don’t lean back so much.”
Tommy headed to retrieve the ball, and I glanced over at Calvin. To my surprise, he was looking at me. There was something intense about how he was doing it—not anythinggross, like he was checking me out, but more like he was watching for something or wondering about something, and he could only learn the answer if he studied me long enough.
I felt self-conscious about how I was staring at him or he was staring at me or we were staring at each other. “You’re really good.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I was mortified.
“What?” He smiled, but there was a confused look on his face.
“I meant I . . . I mean, I meant to say you’re really good with kids .” I looked away, watching Tommy because it was something to watch besides Calvin. “I’m not very . . . natural with them. It’s a little awkward.”
“I’m sure you’re fine.”
“Trust me. I’m not one of those people who say they’re bad at things they’re good at.” Tommy sank his shot and Calvin gave a long, low whistle. “Nice job, T-dog!” Tommy did a brief victory dance.
“Are there a lot of those people?” asked Calvin.
“What people?” I was confused.
“People who say they’re bad at things they’re good at.” He
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