that the only way I’d find out was to ask. I understood how much Dean valued his privacy, and I hoped I hadn’t gotten too personal.
I kept my phone with me through dinner, waiting not-so-patiently for the buzz telling me Dean had responded. It finally did while I was cleaning up the dishes. I couldn’t just run off and leave them, so I rushed through them as quickly as I could before dashing to my room and shutting the door behind me.
PrezMamasBoy: You can ask. I just hope it’s okay if I don’t know the answer.
PrezMamasBoy: I’ll try to give you one anyway.
PrezMamasBoy: I used to think something was wrong with me. Everyone else talked about sex and attraction in a way that I didn’t understand. My friends would see a good-looking girl or guy, and it did something to them that it didn’t do to me.
PrezMamasBoy: It took me a while to understand that, for me, attraction isn’t about what the person looks like, but about who the person is, and learning who someone is takes a long time.
PrezMamasBoy: Have you ever seen a guy you thought was attractive and developed a crush on him, but when you spent time with him and got to know him, you realized he was awful and that knowledge killed your attraction?
PrezMamasBoy: I’m going to assume the answer is yes. Well, for me, it’s basically the opposite of that.
PrezMamasBoy: I hope that makes sense. I’m still trying to understand it myself.
PrezMamasBoy: Sorry, I have to go. Talk to you later, Dre. ~Dean
I smiled, reading what he’d written at least a dozen times. I didn’t know what I wanted from Dean, and I didn’t know what he wanted from me, but it seemed the possibilities were endless and, for now, that was enough.
DreOfTheDead: it’s cool if you don’t know the answer . . . i hardly know the answer to anything . . . but i kind of think you explained it perfectly
Dean
ERIC SHU DODGED the tackle, pivoted, turned, and cranked back his arm. The bleachers shook as everyone rose to their feet. We were down by two touchdowns in the third quarter, and the Spartans had refused to give away a single yard without making our team fight for it. They’d harried Eric all night, forcing as many errors as possible. It looked like they were about to force another. Eric paused. We paused. We prayed. And then he released the ball, throwing it in a tight, high spiral that sailed sixty yards down the field right into the hands of DeMarcus Jackson as he broke away from the cornerback covering him. He put on a burst of speed and crossed into the end zone.
The crowd was so shocked that there was a full second of silence before they realized that our team had scored, and they broke out in a roar of approval. The cheer squad went wild, channeling our enthusiasm into a chant.
Let’s go, Lions, let’s go!
Let’s go, Lions, let’s go!
It was infectious, and soon I was chanting with them. Craig ran onto the field to kick the extra point. The ball sailed easily between the posts. I was surrounded by Tamal and Astrid—who kept telling everyone they were keeping things laid-back but whom I caught linking fingers together when they thought no one was paying attention—and Jessi, Fonda, and Shane. I knew them casually, but I’d made it my mission to meet every person in our class and try to know their names. Not because it was good for my image, but because people fascinated me and bewildered me and gave me hope. The more I learned about others, the more I seemed to learn about myself.
My phone vibrated, alerting me that I had three new messages on Promethean. I had to resist the urge to open my phone right then and read them, but the habits my mother had drilled into me were pretty hardwired. Be present, she’d often said. When I was with my friends, I should be with them and not be on my phone. Besides, I always had to think of my image. Of what it might look like if I were sitting with my friends staring at my phone and a photographer snapped a photo. Sure, I might look just like every other teenager at the game, but I couldn’t afford to look like everyone else. Who I appeared to be reflected on my mother. And there was always a photographer hiding in plain sight