“You ready to play?" Dave asked, bouncing it."I don't know," I said. "Are you going to cheat?""It's street ball!" He said checking it to me. "Show me that love."So chessy, i thought. But as i felt it, solid against my hands, i did feel something. I wasn't sure it was love. Maybe what remained of it, though, whatever that might be. "All right," I said. "Let's play.”

“What the hell," I said, pushing off the wall, ready to take off the head of whatever stupid salesperson had decided to get cozy with me. My elbow was still buzzing, and I could feel a hot flush creeping up my neck: bad signs. I knew my temper.I turned my head and saw it wasn't a salesman at all. It was a guy with black curly hair, around my age, wearing a bright orange T-shirt. And for some reason he was smiling."Hey there," he said cheerfully. "How's it going?""What is your problem?" I snapped, rubbing my elbow."Problem?" "You just slammed me into the wall, asshole."He blinked. "Goodness," he said finally. "Such language."I just looked at him. Wrong day, buddy, I thought. You caught me on the wrong day."The thing is," he said, as if we'd been discussing the weather or world politics, "I saw you out in the showroom. I was over by the tire display?"I was sure I was glaring at him. But he kept talking."I just thought to myself, all of a sudden, that we had something in common. A natural chemistry, if you will. And I had a feeling that something big was going to happen. To both of us. That we were, in fact, meant to be together.""You got all this," I said, clarifying, "at the tire display?""You didn't feel it?" he asked."No. I did, however, feel you slamming me into the wall," I said evenly."That," he said, lowering his voice and leaning closer to me, "was an accident. An oversight. Just an unfortunate result of the enthusiasm I felt knowing I was about to talk to you.”

“I don't know," I said. "Maybe you're right, and all that stuff I think I missed is overrated. Why should I even bother? What's the point really?"He thought for a moment. "Who says there has to be a point?" he asked. "Or a reason. Maybe it's just something you have to do."He moved down to start bagging while I just stood there, letting this sink in. Just something you have to do. No excuse or rationale necessary. I kind of like that.”

“So," he said as we turned onto the main road, the muffler rattling, "I've been thinking.""Yeah?"He nodded. "You really need to go out with me." I blinked. "I'm sorry?""You know. You, me. A restaurant or movie. Together." He glanced over, shifting gears. "Maybe it's a new concept for you? If so, I'll be happy to walk you through it.""You want to take me to a movie?" I asked."Well, not really," he said. "What I really want is for you to be my girlfriend. But I though saying that might scare you off.”

“Plastic ware," he said slowly, "like knives and forks and spoons?"I brushed a bit of dirt off the back of my car—was that a scratch?—and said casually,"Yeah, I guess.Just the basics, you know.""Did you need plastic ware?" he asked.I shrugged."Because," he went on, and I fought the urge to squirm, "it's so funny, because I needplastic ware. Badly.""Can we go inside, please?" I asked, slamming the trunk shut. "It's hot out here."He looked at the bag again, then at me. And then, slowly, the smile I knew anddreaded crept across hisface. "You bought me plastic ware," he said. "Didn't you?'"No," I growled, picking at my license plate."You did!" he hooted, laughing out loud. "You bought me some forks. And knives.And spoons.Because—""No," I said loudly."—you love me!" He grinned, as if he'd solved the puzzler for all time, as I felt a flushcreep across myface. Stupid Lissa. I could have killed her."It was on sale," I told him again, as if this was some kind of an excuse."You love me," he said simply, taking the bag and adding it to the others."Only seven bucks," I added, but he was already walking away, so sure of himself. "Itwas on clearance,for God's sake.""Love me," he called out over his shoulder, in a singsong voice. "You. Love. Me.”

“You're a rule person," he said."My sister was a cheater. It sort of became necessary.""She cheated at this game?""She cheated ateverything ," I said. "When we played Monopoly, she alwaysinsisted on being banker,then helped herself to multiple loans and 'service fees' for every real estatetransaction. I was, like, ten oreleven before I played at someone else's house and they told me you couldn't dothat."He laughed, the sound seeming loud in all the quiet. I felt myself smiling,remembering."During staring contests," I said, "she always blinked.Always . But then she'dswear up and down shehadn't, and make you go again, and again. And when we played Truth, she lied.Blatantly.”

“You bought me plastic ware," he said. "Didn't you?'"No," I growled, picking at my license plate."You did!" he hooted, laughing out loud. "You bought me some forks. And knives. And spoons. Because—""No," I said loudly."—you love me!" He grinned, as if he'd solved the puzzler for all time, as I felt a flush creep across my face. Stupid Lissa. I could have killed her."It was on sale," I told him again, as if this was some kind of an excuse."You love me," he said simply, taking the bag and adding it to the others."Only seven bucks," I added, but he was already walking away, so sure of himself. "It was on clearance, for God's sake." "Love me," he called out over his shoulder, in a singsong voice. "You. Love. Me.”