Actually, I want to tell them, we can get just as much of a sense of the cute waiter at Escuela Taqueria who hit on you yesterday without you standing up and shouting it.
But they would just laugh. “Oh, are we embarrassing you, AB?” Their voices becoming louder, turning into a waterfall of teen shrieks. “ARE WE EMBARASSING YOU, ANNABELLE BURNS?” And I’d cover my ears with my hands and lean over the table, but I’d still be laughing. Sometimes, when you prefer to play things a little under the radar, you recognize the significance of keeping people around who do not.
And yet now, as we approach the table, there is no gesticulating. No raised voices or fits of giggles. They stare at me and Will like a set of bored chickens waiting for their eggs to hatch. Faces expressionless, eyes large, all in a little row.
“Hi, everyone,” I say loudly, trying to draw attention to how weird they are being without actually having to say so, and snap them out of whatever they think they are doing.
“Hey, Annabelle . . .” Ava says as we take a seat. Both the slowness of her speech and use of my full name a way of her saying right back We’ll stop being weird when you tell us who the babe is. Ava and I have been able to communicate borderline telepathically since the third grade.
“Everyone,” I say, “this is Will Hale. He just moved here.”
“Halfway through senior year?” Nisha says. “That sucks.”
I shoot her a look that says, Cut it out. Nisha has an attitude problem. But Will just smiles knowingly.
“You’d think, right?” he says with a shrug, grabbing a grape and tossing it in his mouth.
“So, Will Hale, who were you at your old school?” Ava asks, as though this is a job interview.
“Myself?” Will says through grape chews, looking confused.
“No, like, what was your thing? Jock? Band geek? Judging from the clothes I think we can rule out skater punk.” Nisha snorts.
Will holds his arms out wide and lets his eyes run over his outfit. He’s got on a perfectly worn in chambray shirt, and deep olive khakis. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” he asks good-naturedly.
“Nothing,” the whole table replies enthusiastically, and I cringe.
“Phew,” Will breathes, his eyes sparkling. “Wanna make a good impression.” He tilts his head toward me with a smirk, letting his hand rest on my knee just long enough for me to catch my breath. “How am I doing so far?”
“Fine,” I squeak.
“Cool,” Will says quietly, still gazing into my eyes. I swallow.
“Hello?” Nisha throws a Goldfish across the table and it nails me on the nose. I shoot her a fiery stare, but if she notices, she ignores it. “Will didn’t answer our question.”
“I was a little bit of everything.” Will shrugs.
“A Little Bit of Everything is a title many strive for, but few actually accomplish,” Ava states. “Prove it.”
Will sighs. “Well, I was cocaptain of the soccer team, president of the Debate Club . . .”
“Duh and duh,” Ava says as she sips Diet Coke through a straw.
“Hosted my own radio show, head of the Wilderness Outing Club—”
“Impressive, but not entirely surprising,” Nisha says to Ava, as though they are two scientists observing an animal in the wild.
“. . . and a four-year member of the Mathletes,” Will finishes.
The table goes quiet. Now my friends are looking at Will like he is a woolly mammoth someone just uncovered on the tundra.
“Seriously?” Nisha says.
“No instruments?” Ava finally asks.
“Ah, you’ve found my weakness.” Will points a finger at her. “Terrible at all of them, and don’t think I didn’t try. I love music; I just can’t actively participate in it.”
“That’s okay, neither can I,” I tell him, surprising myself when I let my own hand pat his knee. The look on Will’s face says he is thrilled.
“Okay, you’ve convinced us,” Ava announces. “With those credentials, I am confident you’ll be able to survive this crazy institution after all.”
“So far it doesn’t seem that bad,” Will says. I look at my friends and see they are looking at me, all googly-eyed, and then realize that Will has been smiling at me all along.
“Oh,” I say, feeling myself blush.
“She is not good with the boy stuff,” Nisha whispers to Ava, and Ava snorts her Diet Coke.
Of course, like on so many occasions, I walk out of class at the end of the school day having no idea who is picking me up. They swap in and out a lot. Most of the time it’s Dad, but sometimes Mom, if she has a meeting over on this side of town, or maybe Sam or, on rare occasions, one of Mom’s interns. But this time Elliot is there, waiting.
He’s leaning against the back of the BMW with a smug expression on his face, his long legs crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed, too, each hand gripping an opposite bicep. I know that, though I can’t see them, his drumsticks are probably sticking out of his back pocket. He thinks he’s so cool. A real redheaded James Dean.
“You look lost,” Elliot observes when I am just a few car lengths away, and I stop and make a face at him.
“Since when do you care?” I ask. I want to hear him say it. Hear him ask, “Annabelle, do you need a ride?” Because it’s just so like him not to. To let other people do the heavy lifting in favor of an ever-present air of Who Gives a Crap?
But Elliot doesn’t reply; he just keeps smiling, maybe a little wider this time, because the trouble is he wants me to ask him back. Because we are playing a game here. Because he knows I don’t have a choice. It’s this or I walk. And I am just about to do exactly that when Will’s perfect silhouette comes into view between us.
“Annabelle!” he says loudly, maybe nervously. “Hey. Hi.” I like the way he does that. The two hellos, as if he’s not sure which one sounds better, so he’s giving them both a shot.
“Hey, Will,” I say, and it comes out in sort of a sigh, and I want to crawl behind one of the cars I’m standing next to. “How was the rest of your first day?”
Behind Will’s shiny black hair, I watch one of Elliot’s eyebrows rise quizzically.
Will nods. “It was great,” he says, “thanks to my tour guide.”
Both Elliot’s eyebrows are now raised.
I giggle, feeling my face flush a little. “I did nothing,” I say. And then I say, “What?” Because he’s looking at me again, in that way. That way like I’ve got something in my teeth.
Will dips his head down like a nervous little kid, and scuffs one of his feet on the pavement. Then he looks up. “I was just thinking. Would you like a ride home?”
Now both Elliot’s eyebrows are knitted together in a squinty, confused frown, like he did not plan for this and possibly like Will is speaking another language.
Will sees me looking behind him, and I am instantly nervous that he’s going to assume Elliot is my boyfriend. My annoying delinquent boyfriend, and maybe he’ll think I’m not available anymore. But instead he just says, as kindly as he’s been to everyone else today, “Oh, hey, man. I’m Will.”