“I get out of the car, and I'm blasted by the stench of body odor. Cricket is beside me, and he's talking, but his words don't reach my ears.Because it's my mother.Smelling.On my porch.”

“Lola?" Cricket is on his knees at the side of my bed. I feel it. "I'm here," he whispers. "You can talk to me or not talk to me, but I'm here.”

“Cricket walks several steps behind me. It's a careful distance. I wonder if he's looking at my butt.WHY DID I JUST THINK THAT? Now my butt feels COLOSSAL. Maybe he's looking at my legs. Is that better? Or worse? Do I want him looking at me? I hold on to the bottom of my dress as I climb into the backseat and crawl to the other side. I'm sure he's looking at my butt. He has to be. It's huge, and it's right there, and it's huge.No. I'm acting crazy.I glance over, and he smiles at me as he buckles his seat belt. My cheeks grow warm.WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?”

“I know. And I couldn't wait any longer, I have to tell you - "The panic rises, and I grip the French band tighter. "Cricket, please -"But his words pour forth in a torrent. "I can't stop thinking about you, and I'm not the guy I used to be, I've changed -""Cricket -" I look back up, feeling faint.His blue eyes are bright. Sincere. Desperate. "Go out with me tonight. Tomorrow night, every ni -" The words cut off in his throat as he sees something behind me.Cigarettes and spearmint. I want to die."This is Max. My boyfriend. Max, this is Cricket Bell.”

“Still have your passport?"I feel my coat once more. "Got it.""Good." And then his hand is inside my pocket.My heart spazzes,but he doesn't notice.He pulls out my passport and flicks it open.WAIT.WHY DOES HE HAVE MY PASSPORT?His eyebrows shoot up.I try to snatch it back,but he holds it out of my reach. "Why are your eyes crossed?" He laughs. "Have you had some kind of ocular surgery I don't know about?""Give it back?" Another grab and miss, and I change tactics and lunge for his coat instead. I snag his passport."NO!"I open it up,and it's...baby St. Clair. "Dude.How old is this picture?"He slings my passport at me and snatches his back. "I was in middle school.”

“He glances down and notices that I'm still wearing a certain blue something, and, this time, it's HIS index finger that wraps underneath MY rubber band. I shiver wonderfully. "I'm never taking it off." Cricket brushes the delicate skin of my wrist. "It'll fall off." "I'll ask you for another one." "I'll give you another one." He smiles and touches his nose to mine.”

“Cricket Bell.” I smiled into my phone. “How did you get so wise?”