“With Thanksgiving approaching, I quietly hoped this would finally be the year I wouldn't find myself at the children's table.”

“1."Ahem. I know you hate Mondays, madam, but you picked the absolutely wrong one to play hooky. Or be sick. Yes, I suppose it's vaguely possible that you are actually sick. Anyway, here we are at lunch, Sadie and I, witnessing total social disorder. Your friend Alexander Bainbridge is sitting at the usual table, but facing the room. Amanda Alstead is sitting at Table One. Or, should I say,sitting more or less on a Phillite senior boy, whose name is unimportant, at Table One. A very nice young lady at the next table over-you know, the one who writes about Mr. Darcy-has just informeed us that Amanda dumpled Alex over the break. On Thanksgiving Day,no less. By e-mail. No telling how much truth is there, but a lot more than a kernal, I would say. We have a large, seven-dollar bag o' movie popcorn here. Thought you'd like to know. Call me.”

“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,”

“Mystery is good."He drummed his fingertips on my thigh. "Maybe.Maybe not. But I'll let it go. How about this: If I were to open the top drawer of your dresser, what would I find?""Are we back to discussing my underwear again?""Only in graphic detail..." He flicked my sore knee, but not where the bruise was. "I keep loose change and my oldest comic books in mine. Some people have journals or photographs or awards...""Okay,okay." I sighed. "Underwear," I said. "Two ancient swimsuits, and a magazine file.""Of...?""Pictures I've pulled out of magazines.""Yes,thank you. I gathered that. What's in it?"I squirmed a little and contemplated lying. Travel pix, shoes, hints on getting glue off of Ultrasuede... "Mostly pictures of models with short hair," I confessed finally. "It's sort of a goal of mine."Alex reached up and wrapped a strand around his finger. "I like your hair," he said quietly, "but I think you'd look great whatever you did with it.”

“Dealing with my French teacher is one thing; she wears pants with little whales on them. But I was convinced Dr. Rothaus could smell a lie from ten words away. I found myself feeling sorry for any children she might have. I imagined them as shadowy figures with excellent posture and skill at declamation.”

“I couldn't think of any possible universe where wrapping myself around his knees to keep him in place would be construed as anything other than psychotic."Okay." He unfolded himself from the stoop, six feet of spendid, and actually held out his hand.For a second, I thought he wanted to shake. I levered myself halfway up before realizing he was offering to help me up.What a gent.What a spaz. Me, that is. I crouched there, helpless, sat back down a little, then realized how incredibly stupid that must look,started up again. By the time I finally took his hand, I was almost upright,and if I haven't let go almost immediately, I would have looked even more ridiculous than I felt."So,Ill see you Monday, maybe," he announced. "On the floor somewhere.""Not unlikely," I managed. "I can often be found on floors." Whatever that meant. I winced inwardly. Then compounded the idiocy. "I watched a Brady Bunch marathon once when I had strep throat."He laughed. "Nice try, Grasshopper, but no dice.”

“Oh,for God's sake," I scolded myself, channeling Frankie. "It's just a French session.It's just a French session with a cute guy.It's just a French session with a cute guy who no longer has a girlfriend, who drunk e-mailed me about my name, and who makes me feel like I've swallowed a caterpillar." I thought maybe I should sit down.The green hood of Alex's car nosed into view at 5:09. I flung myself out of the room, down the stairs, and then had to lean against the sofa for a second to compose myself. Then I stood right behind the door, counting a slow ten after he knocked before opening it. Wouldn't want to look eager, now, would I?"Hi," he said."Hi." What else could I say?It had turned seriously cold over the break. He was wearing a big black peacoat with Russian symbols on the buttons. I tried to remember if I'd ever known the Russian word for "hi." I didn't think so. He waited patiently for a minute, then asked, "Okay if I come in?"I flushed and stepped back.”