The Row(6)

“What’s your name? You don’t like cars, right?” He continues to smile at me while I consider my answer. The kid couldn’t be more than six years old. “I’m Matthew.”

“I actually do like cars.”

“Then you’re cool.” He lifts his cupped hands up and releases no fewer than eight cars onto the tabletop. His big brother frantically shoots his arms out, trying to prevent them all from careening off onto the floor.

Matthew slides out of his seat and walks to my table. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

Maybe all of my friends should be six. The questions of children seem to be so much simpler than those of adults. Something deep in me really doesn’t want to lie to this kid. “I’m Riley.”

His brother jerks his head up with an embarrassed expression. “Matthew, she doesn’t have to tell you her name if she doesn’t want to.”

“But … she already did.” Matthew looks at his brother like he just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He sticks his small hand out to shake mine.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, sincerely. The gesture melts me and I place my hand in his. All my worry about Daddy’s hearing dissolves as he grips my hand firmly and shakes it like this is the most important meeting each of us will ever have. “Now, tell me what your favorite color is.”

After tossing the cars into a green plastic container, Matthew’s brother gets up and puts his hands on Matthew’s shoulders. “Sorry, he has no filter with strangers.”

“It’s fine. I like being told that I’m cool.” I shrug before lowering my eyes to Matthew. “My favorite color is purple.”

Matthew dives for the green bin and starts digging through it without another word.

“I think that was your official invitation to play … in case you didn’t recognize it.” Hot Guy rubs his hand on the back of his neck. His cheeks flush slightly and then he smiles at me. “I’m Jordan, by the way.”

“Your brother is really cute.” I lower my voice so Matthew can’t hear us.

“Yeah, that’s what all the girls say.” Jordan shakes his head.

“Oh, I see.” I lift one eyebrow, deciding these two might be the perfect pair to distract myself with today. “This is part of your game then? Bring your adorable brother to the mall. Hit girls with tiny cars. Have him get them to tell you their names … very smooth. Will he ask for my number next?”

Jordan looks horrified for an instant before he picks up on the fact that I’m joking and a grin spreads across his face. “Or maybe we’re part of a research project and he’s just a very small scientist.”

The server comes with my milkshake and I stick my spoon into it. “What would you be researching?”

“The effects of tiny cars on complete strangers.” Jordan sticks his hands into his jeans pockets as his face turns mockingly serious.

“Fascinating.”

Matthew drops a bright purple convertible onto the table in front of me. I pick it up to look at it and before I know it, Matthew is pushing himself and his green bin of cars into the seat on the other side of my booth.

Jordan blinks at Matthew and then me before shaking his head. “Buddy, we need to stay in our booth. I think we’ve bothered Riley enough for one afternoon.”

Matthew freezes in the middle of organizing his cars on my table and looks at me in shock. “I’m bothering you?”

I shake my head fast and firm. “Not at all.”

“He’s fine.” I look up at Jordan and then gesture to the seat beside Matthew. “Looks like I’m officially part of your experiment—or pit crew—depending on where this afternoon takes us. Care to have a seat?”

Jordan sits down, picks up a yellow race car, and runs it over the back of Matthew’s hand. His eyes lift to me and he frowns like something is bothering him.

“There is something kind of familiar about you, Riley. Do you go to school around here?”





4

I SWALLOW AND LIFT MY PURPLE CAR in front of my eyes, pretending to be very focused on the front wheels as my mind spins. I really don’t like the idea of lying to Matthew, because lying to a kid who is so blatantly honest feels wrong for some reason, but I don’t want to tell Jordan any more than I have to. There is obviously only one solution here.

Tell Matthew the truth. With Jordan, I’ll lie through my teeth.

“Nope. I’m homeschooled, actually.” I spin the wheels around once before lowering the purple car back to the table. “Maybe I just have one of those faces?”

Jordan nods slowly and then says, “Maybe…”

“Do you play sports?” Matthew jumps in before Jordan can say anything else.

“Not really.”

“Jordan plays—” Matthew looks up at Jordan, his forehead wrinkling up. “Do you still play or do you used to play?”

Now it’s Jordan’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I might play again, but for now I don’t play.”

Matthew gives me a knowing nod. “He don’t play.”

I look from one brother to the other, waiting for someone to volunteer the missing information.

“Football,” Jordan says, and his expression is surprisingly guarded. I wonder for a fleeting moment if I look the same way to him.