“Alex was late. I was grateful. I was also incredibly nervous and I'd gotten mascara in my eye. I blinked a lot as I did a last check.”

“Subject: Hey. Just thought I would check and make sure you weren't felled by a rogue turkey bacteria.Subject: A,I really hope I didn'tSubject: Alex,”

“Frankie,I noticed as I flipped the mic up to its normal position, was staring at me through narrowed eyes, clapping so slowly that I could actually measure the silence in between beats.I felt about three inches tall as I stepped off the stage.~~~"...and went down like a rock.Bam.""Oh,man. What did you do?""What could I do?" I shrugged. "I hopped up, took a bow, and ran. I was late to meet you."Alex was gently rubbing my bare knee. I'd rolled up my jeans to show him the bruise already blossoming there. "I would have caught you," he said, fingers sliding to the inside of my leg and making my insides feel like jelly."Not likely, O Gallant One.The stage is only a foot high.""I gotta see this place sometime.”

“Mr. Stone is a jackass."That was Alex's greeting when he found me in the hall Friday afternoon."Probably," I agreed, levering myself out of the corner where I'd been waiting, on nervous Hannanda alert, for him to show up. "But I don't think he can help it.""Generous of you." Alex swung his backpack from his left shoulder to his right, then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, pulled mine out of my hand. I was too surprised to stop him. "Allons-y."We turned a few heads as we went. I would have happily met him a block away from school, but he'd preempted my cowardice, sliding a note into my locker that morning. Front hall, 3:15. I ignored the stares as Alex held the big front door open for me, my heavily inked bag dangling from his wrist. I figured any speculation would last only as long as it would take for us to hit the street in front of the school. By then, at least one "Wait. Wait. Alex Bainbridge left with Freddy Krueger?" would have been met with "Yeah. He's tutoring her in French. Winslow's making him.”

“Okay,three things,and one of them has to be in French."I was back in the weird squashy chair; Alex was flopped on the bed.This time, along with the lemon soda, there were two bags of Doritos on the floor between us. He'd had one waiting. I'd brought one."I don't think this is what Mademoiselle Winslow had in mind," I told him.Truth: Despite all my good intentions to keep Frankie happy and my hopes down, I'd been looking forward to this all week, hoping Alex wouldn't forget. I'd thought up and rethought clever things I could say. Further Truth: I didn't want to sound like I'd been looking forward to it all week and thinking up what I wanted to say.Home truth: Yes, I am that pitiful.”

“Alex shrugged out of his jacket and slung it onto the bed.When he reached for mine, I tried to remember if I'd taken the tampon out of the pocket. I could just imagine it winging across the room.But Alex hung the jacket carefully over the back of the chair.”

“When I got back to the kitchen, my heart nearly stopped. Dad was leaning across the stainless worktable, over a pile of shrimp, almost right in Alex's face. He was holding a new knife, this one small and very sharp. "You got that,kid, or should I say it again?" he was demanding.Alex looked more nervous than I'd ever seen him. But only for a second. Then his face hardened, and he slapped both palms flat on the table. "I've got it," he said. He shoved up his sleeves and reached for the knife. Moments later, he was deveining shrimp with a lot of enthusiasm and a little skill.Dad turned and caught me gaping. He tilted his head in obvious warning. Raw, icky, slippery: This was the task he'd given the boy I brought into his kitchen, and I was not to interfere.Poor Alex. He was being tested for a position he didn't even want.”