What to Say Next(25)

“Are you following me?” I ask in a jokey tone. I’m borderline flirting with him in front of the maxi pads with wings. I drop my jumbo pack of super-absorbent Tampax and kick it behind me so he doesn’t see.

“No, of course not,” David says, and he sounds offended, like I’ve accused him of something.

“I didn’t mean…Never mind. It’s just funny to see you here.”

“Just picking up some stuff for Miney,” he says, and it occurs to me that actually I’ve been the one seeking him out lately, with the notable exception of the football snack shack. I chose his lunch table after all. I offered him a ride home yesterday. Maybe I’m annoying him?

“Miney?”

“My sister.”

“You have two sisters?” I wonder if Miney is as effortlessly cool as Lauren. I decide not. Not only does she have a weird name—who would name their kid Miney?—but no one is as effortlessly cool as Lauren Drucker. I glance at his basket: a bunch of different cold medicines.

“Just the one. Miney’s a nickname. Lauren graduated last year.”

“I know.”

“You know Miney?” he asks.

“I mean, I know who she is. Everyone at school does.” I wish I could somehow move us out of the feminine hygiene aisle, but condoms and lubricants are next.

“Really?”

“Of course. President of her class. Homecoming queen. She’s, like, Mapleview royalty.” If I were talking to Justin, I probably wouldn’t have admitted knowing all this info about his family. I don’t bother playing it cool with David. Not sure he’d notice.

“You don’t have any siblings, right?” he asks, and for the first time I see that he looks a lot like his sister. Different demeanor and mannerisms and voice, but the same face. Dark eyes and long eyelashes and full lips. If it weren’t for his jaw, which is square and strong and always has a dusting of five-o’clock shadow, he’d be almost pretty.

“Just me. All by my lonesome.” He nods, as if confirming that which he already knew.

“You seem like an only child.”

“I can’t decide if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

“Neither. It’s an observation. I’ve always thought it would be even lonelier not having a sister.”

“Are you saying I seem lonely?” This is what it is like to talk to David Drucker. Dive straight into the center. No matter that we are in a drugstore, surrounded by tampons and Monistat. We make good conversational partners, I think: I’ve forgotten the art of small, inconsequential talk, and he’s never learned it.

“No, not really. But there’s a stillness to you. Like if you were a radio wave, you’d have your very own frequency. Which is isolating because I don’t think everyone can hear you.” He delivers his speech to my feet but then suddenly looks up and stares into my eyes. The eye contact feels raw and intimate, and I shiver. I blink first. “I mean, you have lots of other waves too, all those commonly shared frequencies, the ones I most certainly lack, but the most important waves, the core you ones, those are harder for other people to decipher. That’s my theory, anyway.”

I don’t know what to say to this. David Drucker has a theory about my metaphorical radio waves.

—

Once we are outside in the bitter cold, standing with our hands stuffed into our winter jacket pockets, I suggest we get something to eat. I don’t want to get back into the car. I don’t want to go home. Both of these involve feeling feelings, which I prefer to avoid. Distraction is what I need. Distraction keeps time from being in slo-mo.

“Pizza Palace?” David asks. It’s just a few doors down. I picture my friends all huddled in a booth in the back. No need to combine David with my real life.

“Nah.”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to go there. Pizza Pizza Pizza is so much better and has that great two-for-one deal. I just didn’t want to suggest it,” David says.

“Why?”

“The name. It’s not like they have three times more pizza than other places. Ridiculous.”

“How about we not get pizza at all?”

“I thought you might say that too, since you had such a hearty, well-balanced lunch.” He pauses. Clears his throat. Stares at the single car making its way down Main Street. “That’s going to be one of those things I said out loud and then will regret later, isn’t it?”

I laugh and it feels good. He looks sweet when he realizes he’s said the wrong thing. His eyes go big and wide. To rescue him, I link my arm with his and start us walking down the street.

“Just so you know, if asked, I would have no idea how to describe your frequency,” I say.

“Honestly, sometimes I think only dogs can hear me,” he says.

“For what it’s worth, I can hear you just fine.”

“It’s worth a lot,” David says, and I blush, and I’m pretty sure he does too.

—

We end up at the counter at Straw and we order double cones of vanilla and chocolate brownie ice cream, despite the fact that it’s cold out. It’s easier this way, sitting at the counter facing forward, so we don’t have to look at each other while we talk. It’s crazy but I don’t feel self-conscious around David like I do with pretty much everyone else, but still, staring at the old-fashioned mini jukebox instead of his face helps me to forget myself.