The Trouble With Flirting by Claire LaZebnik Page A

people’s feelings are getting hurt . . .”
    “So am I supposed to do something about it now? Go find Julia and apologize or something? I’m not sure what I’d be apologizing for, though.”
    “I don’t think you need to apologize, exactly.”
    “What then?”
    “I don’t know.” I make a helpless gesture. “I guess all I’m saying is try to be aware of how what you do affects people.”
    “I get that,” he says. “And I’ll try.” He steps a little closer to me. “And what about you, Franny? Are you aware of how what you do affects people?”
    I force a laugh, suddenly a little uncomfortable. “Not an issue for me, Harry.”
    “I don’t know about that. Us talking right now?” He lowers his voice to a throaty whisper. “I think maybe it’s affecting me.”
    I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. So all I say is, “Thanks for not just telling me to screw off.”
    “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
    “I know you’re just enjoying all the admiration, but Julia’s more fragile than you’d think. Don’t forget that, okay?”
    “Yeah, I’ll keep it in mind.” There’s a pause. He slides his eyes toward me. “So you think people admire me, do you?”
    “You know they do.”
    He grins with sudden delight, then holds his hand out and I take it, thinking he wants to shake or something, but instead he bends down and kisses me lightly on the cheek. “You know, if you’re going to take me aside when I’m behaving badly, I may start behaving worse. Just to get some attention from you.” His eyes briefly catch the light and glow gray-green for a moment. “Possibly even some admiration.”
    “Harry . . .” I take a deep breath and raise my face to look him in the eyes. “Don’t flirt with me, okay? Not if you want us to be friends.”
    He drops my hand and scuffs at the cement stoop. “I was being sincere,” he says.
    “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Just talk to me normally, okay?”
    “I was .” A pause. He kicks at the step some more, then glances at me. “Do you want us to be friends?”
    “Of course.”
    “Okay, then, I’ll tell you what: I’ll promise to try not to flirt if you’ll promise . . .”
    “What?”
    He cocks his head at me. “Not to assume that everything I say to you is insincere.”
    “Even if it is?”
    He shakes his head. “Ah, Franny. That’s not even trying.”
    “Sorry. I’ll do better.”
    “Liar,” he says, almost fondly, and leaves.

scene two
    H ere are some of the things people say to me on Monday, while I’m measuring them for costumes:
    “I’m taller than you’d think from my measurements.”
    “Subtract a few inches—I like things to fit really tight.”
    “I can only wear cotton or I break out in hives.”
    “My waist is not twenty-nine inches, thank you very much! I wear a size two—zero at the Gap.”
    “Don’t let her put me in something ugly.”
    “Hey, watch those hands! LOL.”
    “I know you’re not supposed to tell us what our costumes are going to look like, but you can tell me . I won’t tell anyone else.”
    “You know what would be cool? If I’m the only one in the cast who’s wearing red.”
    “Kneel before Zod!”
    “What does ‘Kneel before Zod’ mean?” I ask Lawrence at dinner.
    “ Superman reference. From the eighties movie with Christopher Reeve. Zod’s a supervillain from Krypton. Why?”
    I point across the room at a tall, thin, redheaded boy who is walking with his tray to a table. “Sam Carson said that to me when I was measuring his inseam.”
    “He’s such a nerd.”
    “Hey, you knew the reference.”
    “I never said I wasn’t a nerd.”
    “Gay or not gay?” I ask, gesturing again at Sam. It’s a game we all play here.
    “Gay as the night is long,” Lawrence says. “He and Brian Emmanuel hooked up a couple of days ago.”
    “People are pairing off like crazy,” I say, watching Isabella and Alex jostle each other in line.
    It’s possible I sound a little bitter.
    “Tell me about