Love and First Sight(15)

“Fine,” says Mom. “But I’ll wait in the parking lot so you can text if you need me.”

? ? ?


That evening, I’m sitting on my bed listening to the recording of “The Gift of the Magi.” It’s actually really short, and after it’s finished I listen to some blog posts on my phone about how the invention of the iPod led to a boom in the audiobook industry when Siri interrupts to say, “Notification: Message from Cecily.” I tap my phone and listen to the text.

“Hi.”

I tap once more and Siri reads it again.

“Hi.”

Really? That’s it?

“Hi.”

Just one word: Hi. What does that mean? Does she want to apologize? Is she trying to initiate conversation but doesn’t know what to say? Does she pity poor blind Will and feel obligated to send condolences via text?

How do I respond to such a vague opening statement? I run through a variety of options in my mind. I scratch a sticker and soak up its aroma of campfire. Finally I settle on a proportionate response.

“Hi,” I reply.

Her next text comes back almost immediately.


Cecily: I feel really stupid.

Me: Why?

Cecily: About what I said at the end.

Me: It’s OK.

Cecily: No, it’s not. I was wrong.

Me: Thanks for saying that. Consider yourself forgiven.



I migrate from my bed to my desk. The wall of the savory. I scratch the pizza sticker and take a big whiff. I scratch a hot dog sticker and find it blends surprisingly well with the waning aroma of pizza.

Then she writes back.


Cecily: That’s really nice to hear.

Me: I’m a pretty nice guy… when I’m not accidentally staring at people.

Cecily: Can you do emoji?

Me: I don’t know. How do you do it?

Cecily: They’re little pictures you send by text. Here I’ll send you one and you can tell me what your phone says.



On her next message, my phone reads, “Smiling face, dancing monkey, cat face with wry smile.”

I text her what it said.

“Cool,” she replies. “So it’s reading you the names of the pictures. What does this one say?”

I listen to her next message and tell her what it said: “Smiling pile of poop.”

I wonder what that could possibly look like. And, for that matter, why would anyone ever send it?

Then she sends me three more. Siri reads me the message: “Small up-pointing triangle, large red down-pointing triangle, black left-pointing double triangle.”

I write: “?”

There’s a pause before Cecily replies with a long text: “Before today, I never noticed how roads look like triangles as they disappear into the horizon. I only saw roads getting smaller as they got farther away. Now, thanks to you, I’m seeing triangles everywhere.”

I smile. I open Facebook and send her a friend request.

There’s a knock on my door. My door, by the way, is covered on both sides with scratch-and-sniff stickers that fall more into the “odor” category than “scent.” Rotten eggs, gasoline, smelly socks, skunks. That kind of thing. Sort of an olfactory-based KEEP OUT sign.

“William, time for dinner,” says Dad.

“Okay, just a sec.”

I text Cecily, “Gotta go, family dinner.”

I get one more text from her before I head downstairs to dinner. “Just accepted your request. Glad we are officially friends now.”





CHAPTER 7


That Friday I sit alone at lunch. The academic quiz team is at an away tournament all day. So Cecily’s not in journalism, either.

But after school, Ion texts me to say that they won, so they’re going out for a celebratory dinner and would I like to join them?

I’ve never been to the restaurant before, so after Mom drops me off—I decline her offer to park and guide me in—I stand outside and hope someone from the group will arrive to show me inside.

A door swings open, dinging a bell. I recognize the next sound: the deliberate but controlled steps, treading gently, as if she’s trying not to leave footprints. I’ve never seen a footprint, of course, but my understanding is that the harder you press, the more of an impression you leave behind.

“Hi, Will, it’s Cecily.”

“I know,” I say.

“I was waiting inside and saw you standing here, so…” Her voice drifts off as she guides me inside, and we wait in the front of the restaurant, me still holding her arm.

Then I get a text from Ion. She’s so sorry, but Whitford is sick and she is going to have to skip the dinner so she can take care of him.

“That’s weird,” says Cecily.

“What?”

“He didn’t seem sick at the tournament today.”

Then Cecily’s phone buzzes. It’s a text from Nick. His mom is going out, and he has to babysit his brother.

Well, this is awkward. No longer is it a celebration dinner with five people. Now it’s like… a date.

And I mean, Cecily is a nice person and all, but dating is the last thing on my mind at the moment. I’ve had girlfriends before, and it was cool and everything, but it brings all kinds of drama. And I’ve got plenty of drama to deal with already, thank you very much.