think he’s sweet?”
“I’m an excellent judge of character.”
“I’m not, though.”
“Sure you are,” I said.
“Remember the last guy I had a crush on? Jerry? Tall, very-tall-so-he-must-be-perfect-for-me Jerry? Remember how we had lunch outside by the flagpole? And how he said he had something to share with me? Do you remember what he shared?”
“Yes, Iz. I remember.”
“Say it.”
“No, Iz. I will not say it.”
“Say it.”
“I don’t remember.”
“He blew milk through his nose, didn’t he, Al?”
I tried very hard not to smile.
Izzy dropped her head to the table. “Oh, man, what if he’s another Jerry?”
“He’s not,” I said confidently.
“What if he doesn’t like me?”
“He will,” I said, but just to be on the safe side, I resorted to the crossed fingers once again.
That afternoon in study hall I wrote Sam a simple, no-nonsense, I-just-want-to-help note. Things were getting off to such a good start that I wanted to make sure they stayed that way. I kept imagining a last-minute crisis with Morgan interrupting the plan, Sam calling Izzy with some bogus excuse, Izzy devastated.
I folded the note and passed it back.
Sam,
Izzy’s so psyched!!! You should have seen her. I know you guys will have a great time. Need any help with Morgan? I’d be happy to keep him company. Honest.
Al
A few minutes later my note was returned. Sam had written at the bottom in a nearly illegible scrawl:
A—Thanks, no. Jane volunteered to keep an eye on him. Had a talk with M, he’s promised to behave, all’s well.
Glad Izzy’s glad.
I still love you.
I still love you
.
I read the words a thousand times, but I did not turn around. I crumpled up the note, then reconsidered, folding it neatly and tucking it into my notebook. When the bell rangand we shuffled toward the door, Sam and I ended up right next to each other. We walked side by side, as stiff and self-conscious as a bride and groom heading down the aisle.
When we reached the door we went our separate ways without a word.
That night Sam called me. “Are you sure about this?” he asked me yet again.
“I’m sure.”
“Do you think she knows?”
“No,” I said. “I’m sure she doesn’t. And it has to stay that way.”
“I love you, Alison,” Sam said.
I waited. I could hear the breeze nudging the palms outside my window, I could hear Sam’s even, steady breaths.
“I love you too,” I said, and then I hung up the phone.
On Friday afternoon Gail and I went over to Izzy’s for the great pre-date conference. Most of it was spent on what Izzy called her very own personal Easter parade: a steady procession of headwear.
She was very cool about letting us see her head. Part of it was red from the radiation she’d been receiving, as if she’d been sunburned. The technicians had marked her scalp with purple ink to make it easier for them to pinpoint her treatments.
We settled at last on a black scarf. I advised against a skirt (the motorcycle again), so she opted for a pair of black jeans with a great vest Rosa had embroidered for her.
“We have to go, Izzy,” I told her a few minutes before Sam was due to arrive. “We have empty, dateless lives to lead.”
“Stay,” she pleaded. “Stay till he gets here.”
“No,” I said.
“Let’s,” Gail argued. “We can live vicariously.”
“Come on, Gail.” I pulled on her arm urgently.
Izzy led us to the door.
“You look great,” I told her.
“Gorgeous,” Gail agreed. “Our little Isabella, all growed up.”
“Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.
“Not a clue,” Izzy said. She grinned. “You know what’s great about this? I feel normal for the first time in ages. You know, healthy normal. For the first time I’m not thinking about radiation and doctors and tumor size. Well,” she added wryly, “at least I wasn’t until now, when I brought up how I wasn’t thinking about it. The
point
is, all I care about at this particular
“I’m an excellent judge of character.”
“I’m not, though.”
“Sure you are,” I said.
“Remember the last guy I had a crush on? Jerry? Tall, very-tall-so-he-must-be-perfect-for-me Jerry? Remember how we had lunch outside by the flagpole? And how he said he had something to share with me? Do you remember what he shared?”
“Yes, Iz. I remember.”
“Say it.”
“No, Iz. I will not say it.”
“Say it.”
“I don’t remember.”
“He blew milk through his nose, didn’t he, Al?”
I tried very hard not to smile.
Izzy dropped her head to the table. “Oh, man, what if he’s another Jerry?”
“He’s not,” I said confidently.
“What if he doesn’t like me?”
“He will,” I said, but just to be on the safe side, I resorted to the crossed fingers once again.
That afternoon in study hall I wrote Sam a simple, no-nonsense, I-just-want-to-help note. Things were getting off to such a good start that I wanted to make sure they stayed that way. I kept imagining a last-minute crisis with Morgan interrupting the plan, Sam calling Izzy with some bogus excuse, Izzy devastated.
I folded the note and passed it back.
Sam,
Izzy’s so psyched!!! You should have seen her. I know you guys will have a great time. Need any help with Morgan? I’d be happy to keep him company. Honest.
Al
A few minutes later my note was returned. Sam had written at the bottom in a nearly illegible scrawl:
A—Thanks, no. Jane volunteered to keep an eye on him. Had a talk with M, he’s promised to behave, all’s well.
Glad Izzy’s glad.
I still love you.
I still love you
.
I read the words a thousand times, but I did not turn around. I crumpled up the note, then reconsidered, folding it neatly and tucking it into my notebook. When the bell rangand we shuffled toward the door, Sam and I ended up right next to each other. We walked side by side, as stiff and self-conscious as a bride and groom heading down the aisle.
When we reached the door we went our separate ways without a word.
That night Sam called me. “Are you sure about this?” he asked me yet again.
“I’m sure.”
“Do you think she knows?”
“No,” I said. “I’m sure she doesn’t. And it has to stay that way.”
“I love you, Alison,” Sam said.
I waited. I could hear the breeze nudging the palms outside my window, I could hear Sam’s even, steady breaths.
“I love you too,” I said, and then I hung up the phone.
On Friday afternoon Gail and I went over to Izzy’s for the great pre-date conference. Most of it was spent on what Izzy called her very own personal Easter parade: a steady procession of headwear.
She was very cool about letting us see her head. Part of it was red from the radiation she’d been receiving, as if she’d been sunburned. The technicians had marked her scalp with purple ink to make it easier for them to pinpoint her treatments.
We settled at last on a black scarf. I advised against a skirt (the motorcycle again), so she opted for a pair of black jeans with a great vest Rosa had embroidered for her.
“We have to go, Izzy,” I told her a few minutes before Sam was due to arrive. “We have empty, dateless lives to lead.”
“Stay,” she pleaded. “Stay till he gets here.”
“No,” I said.
“Let’s,” Gail argued. “We can live vicariously.”
“Come on, Gail.” I pulled on her arm urgently.
Izzy led us to the door.
“You look great,” I told her.
“Gorgeous,” Gail agreed. “Our little Isabella, all growed up.”
“Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.
“Not a clue,” Izzy said. She grinned. “You know what’s great about this? I feel normal for the first time in ages. You know, healthy normal. For the first time I’m not thinking about radiation and doctors and tumor size. Well,” she added wryly, “at least I wasn’t until now, when I brought up how I wasn’t thinking about it. The
point
is, all I care about at this particular
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