doubt spend a long time telling me how unusual my upbringing has been and how wrong all my mom’s ideas about education were.
What’s important is that I know my education wasn’t weird. After all, do weirdos know that the secret to growing really great kale is old coffee grounds? Or that Dostoyevsky wrote Crime and Punishment in six weeks because he needed the money? Or that John Wilkes Booth was actually a hot, famous theater star before he shot Lincoln? Actually, these are probably exactly the things weirdos know.
I decide to ride my bike—another miscalculation on my part. MapQuest said the distance to the River School was eight miles. I was down with that; after all, back at the RC I used to ride twenty miles all the time. But after the first pretty stretch, the rest of the route is malls and Quiznos places. Plus, of course, the temperature is scorching, even at seven forty-five. By the time I show up, my fancy blazer is stuffed into my backpack, my shirt (and bra) are soaked, and I have car soot all over my face. Maybe I should have taken Miss Lee up on being chauffeured to school by Josie, but it bugged her so much when I insisted on biking that I had to do it.
“Bicycle?” she said two weeks ago when I told her that was my preferred mode of transportation. “That is just hogwash, Alexandria. No, no. No, no, no. And again, no. Magnolias should travel the way God intended—in an automobile.”
“Um…”
“It would be so much fun to buy you a car. How about a cute little Saab, or—”
“Nah. Just a Bianchi,” I said.
“Is that an Italian coupe?”
“It’s a bike.”
She grimaced, unimpressed. I didn’t get my Bianchi, but she managed to meet me halfway—the next day a truly rad Public M8 in chartreuse showed up in the garage. I’ll say this for my forever-twenty-one-looking grandma: She’s not cheap.
Although now I’m sort of wishing I did have an Italian coupe. Because here I am, drenched, locking my bike to a light pole in front of the River School’s compound of swank brick buildings, and who should walk up looking at me like I’m a salamander that just crawled out of the primordial ooze but Thaddeus, completely camera-worthy in a cranberry-colored shirt and chinos.
“Hey,” I say. “I couldn’t find the bike racks.”
“No,” he says. “No one bikes to school.”
“Huh.” I stand up, rolling down my right cuff to cover the bike grease on my ankle. “How’s the reading?”
“You were right,” he says. “That was an excellent book. Not the easiest to get through, but quite good. Especially the war part.”
“Yeah. And how about those love scenes with Frederic and Catherine? Totally orgasmic.”
“Right,” Thaddeus says, looking at me oddly.
Crap. I can’t believe I just said that.
“Not that I even know what an orgasm is!” I say. “I mean, I do know. I do it all the time! Or sometimes. Whatever.”
Stop talking! my inner voice screams. Stop talking now!
Thaddeus smiles. I finally made him smile! So what if I made an ass out of myself ?
“So, were you okay the other night?” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from this infinitely awkward territory.
“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice snapping back to its usual distant tone.
“After the fire.”
“Of course.”
“It was weird how it was burning and then just went out like that,” I press, determined to get some answers about the other night. “Is that some kind of special Southern fire-making? Because I get the feeling you didn’t find it at all weird that it just sort of extinguished itself when I came close.”
“Thad!” someone yells. A group of people at a picnic table out on the sun-beaten lawn are waving to him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says hurriedly. “Just remember, Savannah’s not like California. Especially if you’re a Magnolia.”
“What do you—”
“Dude!” A ruddy boy in a rugby shirt joins us and slaps Thaddeus on the back. “How was your summer? Did you make it up to Rockville for the regatta? I heard the chicas were bangin’.”
Wow. I am invisible to these people.
Without another word, Thaddeus and Rugby Shirt walk toward the picnic tables. Not even a backward glance.
“Thanks for introducing me to your friends,” I say to his retreating back. I take a deep breath, trying to slow the frantic thumping in my chest. School is swarming with kids, and they all either ignore me or give me the stink eye. A couple of