The party continued on . . .

 . . . into the following week. “You have to let me make it up to you,” Alana said. “Your eighteenth birthday! I was so bummed to miss it.”

We made plans to meet after school. I’d pick her up in my new (old) car. My time management was way better by then, so the dogs were walked, dishes done, homework almost finished (nothing that couldn’t be put off until later), and laundry folded (my careless decision to fold in front of TV that one day went over so well with Mom, she added it to my permanent list of chores).

Then I took another shot at the graphic novel. It was like a dark cloud always hovering over me, raining down dismal thoughts whenever I thought about it. Alana’s so-called belief in my superior talent only served to make me doubt every creative thought that popped into my head.

Say something important, the dark cloud dared me. And then it laughed because it knew I had nothing important to say. A walking, talking tub of popcorn threatened by the Diet Coke’s attentions to the far more interesting box of Milk Duds? Please. What was next? A jumbo slushy to teach the popcorn how to be a man? The drawings were good, and I stared at them for a long time wondering how a substitute storyline might at least save these characters. But the longer I looked at them, the more I detested them. One by one, I dropped the five pages into the paper shredder. Better that no one else sees this mess. Maybe I’d resurrect the idea of the abominable snowman, howling wolves, and a crazed individual living on the frozen edge of civilization. There must be something important to say in all of that.

Then it was time to pick up Alana, and I found myself in a huge line of cars waiting with all the parents of kids too young to drive. Never having been in that position before, I underestimated the slow progress of the line. By the time I got to the front of the school, Alana was sitting on the grass, slouched against a tree looking hot and neglected. She smiled when I pulled up and leaned over to open the passenger door.

“Hop in!” My cheery disposition was down a few notches by then. I had new compassion for parents who did this every day.

“Hudson! Cool car.” Alana buckled her seatbelt, and we took off. The air conditioner didn’t work, so all four windows were down to combat the heat of the afternoon. I turned to look at her, head thrown back, eyes closed, wind whipping her hair into an even greater tangle than usual. I could get used to this picture.

And when I looked back at the road, Alana blindsided me by leaning over and kissing me on the cheek.

“Happy birthday, Hudson,” she said, and I melted from something other than the heat in the car.

“How was the rest of your day?” I asked casually, as though it was perfectly normal for me to pick up Alana after school and have her lean over and kiss me on the cheek.

“Okay,” she answered unconvincingly. “Kind of sucky, actually.”

“Sucky” was not what I wanted to hear on the day I was celebrating my birthday with Alana Love.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

I didn’t have a lot of experience with girls, but it seemed to me that “I don’t want to talk about it” was an entirely unfair tactic used by the female sex. I’d even heard my mother say it on rare occasion. To me, it always felt personal and exclusionary. It also felt like the person who said it really did want to talk about it, but they wanted you to drag it out of them. When you ask a guy what’s wrong, he’ll usually answer and then move on, but at least you’re not left guessing. I decided not to let it ruin my day.

“So, you said you had plans for us. Tell me where to go.”

“First stop, the mini-mart,” she brightened. “Turn in here.”

She led me through the front door which had height measurement markers in case the clerk needed to identify a fleeing robber.

“Selfie!” She had us pause at the door marker where I straightened my spine and lifted up a little on my toes to take me to all of five-foot-six. We smiled into her phone camera and she clicked it for posterity. Eighteen.

“Okay, follow me.” She walked to the counter and asked for a pack of cigarettes. “It’s for him,” she said to the clerk, pointing to me. Then she randomly grabbed three or four adult magazines and shoved them into my hands.

“I don’t want these,” I protested.

“Of course you do. Today only.” She turned to the clerk. “How much?”

“I’ll need to see some ID,” the clerk said.

“Of course you need to see ID!” Alana turned to me, grinning. “Hudson, show the nice man your ID.”

I did it gladly because she was getting such a kick out of it. And I must admit when I gave my ID to the clerk and he looked at it and then looked at me, it was kind of a rush. I know I seemed much younger than eighteen, but here I was with a real ID doing something perfectly legal.

Alana laughed and threw her arm around me as we walked out the door. I tossed the cigarettes in the nearest garbage can but kept the porn.

Then it was on to early bird dinner at a local vegetarian restaurant. Would I expect anything else from Alana Love? But, hey, she was paying. By then her mood had slumped again, and she was unusually quiet over dinner.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are you going to make me drag it out of you? And by the way, I really don’t want to do that.”

I tried to laugh it off like I was joking even though I wasn’t, but she didn’t laugh back. I was a little peeved. This was supposed to be my birthday celebration. She slurped the last of her green smoothie through a straw and then looked up at me with those enormous kitten eyes. Or were they puppy eyes?

“It’s nothing, I don’t want to be a downer on your birthday.” She sighed. “It’s just Bryce.”

Bryce wasn’t invited to my birthday dinner and neither was any talk of him, so I didn’t say anything.

“But since you asked,” she went on after a pause that didn’t lead to any follow-up on my part, “I’ll tell you, if you really want to know.”

“Sure. Why not?” Could she have missed the disinterest in my voice? Apparently.

“We usually have lunch together, by that tree near the auto shop. You know where it is?”

Of course I knew where it was. I knew exactly where Alana ate lunch last year when she first came to our school. I wondered whether the more self-conscious you were, the more you were conscious of others. I wondered if Alana knew where Cameron, Eunice, and I ate lunch last year, or where my locker was. I didn’t wonder, I knew. She didn’t.

“Yeah, I know where it is.”

“But ever since football, the guys on the team have been pressuring him to eat with them at their table. You know where that is? Where the two benches are pushed together next to the fountain?”

What did she take me for, a blind man? I was a senior, but unlike her, I’d been cognizant of the social chess game for more than three years.

“Yes, I know where they eat,” I answered tersely. The broccoli quiche wasn’t quite cutting it at that moment.

“A couple of times I’ve just gone with Gus and Penelope for lunch and told Bryce to hang out with his football friends. I mean, I don’t want to be a drag on him, and I know it’ll be over as soon as football season’s over.”

“Yeah.” Somehow, I doubted it would be over then, but I didn’t say so.

“I think I’ve been bending over backwards to give him his space. I’m not exactly the clingy type.”

“The clingy type. What does that even mean? I mean if you like someone and all . . .” No I didn’t have insight into these types of games, but I threw it out there to see if it would stick. She basically ignored my question and went on.

“And then today he drops it on me that a bunch of them are going away for a week during Christmas break to Hawaii. Some guy on the team, his dad is really rich, and he rented a huge house a block away from the beach.”

“Maybe they want to finish up the season with some of that male bonding shit. Could be worse.” I envisioned a week over winter break with just me and Alana and nothing to do all day. And no Bryce in the picture.

“That would be fine if it was just male bonding, but there are some girls invited too. There’ll be ten kids in all. Six guys and four girls.”

“Oh, well . . . not you?” Even better. Maybe Alana would break up with Bryce over this. I just had to be cool and supportive.

“No, not me. Exactly my point.”

“So where does that leave you?”

“That leaves me nowhere, which is why we had a big fight today.”

I started working on my green smoothie which was suddenly surprisingly tasty.

“What would you do if you were me, Hudson? Do you think I should break up with him if he goes?”

Now, even I knew this was a trap. If I said “yes,” then she might question my motives. If I said “no,” she stays with Bryce.

“I can’t make that decision for you,” I shifted the tone of my voice to mature concern. “You have to decide what you can and can’t put up with.”

Break up with him, I said in my head.

Alana stared down at her soup as though the answer were to be found somewhere in the bowl. Finally she looked up. “He’s not like those other guys, Hudson. If he was, you know I wouldn’t be with him. He’s different. He’s like us.”

Like us.

“Does he want to travel after he graduates?”

“No. Not like us that way. He’s going to college, but I think it’s just to make his parents happy.”

Not like us.

“Anyway, this is my problem, not yours. It’s your birthday. Tell me about your novel. What’ve you decided?”

“I destroyed it,” I said flatly. “You were right. It was crap.”

“No! No! You shouldn’t ever do that. Keep everything for when you’re famous. Someday all your early stuff will be valuable.”

I couldn’t imagine popcorn-man ever being valuable and my face must have betrayed that.

“Okay, well, what’s done is done. But I’ll bet you’re working on something new. What is it?”

“I have some ideas.” I picked up a whole-wheat roll and started gnawing on it. “I’ll let you know when it’s far enough along.”

“Fair enough.” Alana pulled her backpack onto her lap and started riffling through its contents. “I have your present. Promise you won’t laugh.” She pulled out a scroll tied up with a ribbon and passed it across the table to me.

I unwound it carefully. It was a sketch she’d done of me from the neck up, pretty decent likeness. And all around me, the great landmarks of the world—the Eiffel Tower, Pyramids, Leaning Tower of Pisa, Big Ben. As tribute to my fantasy, there was even a tropical island in the upper left corner. A blue lagoon dimpled its center like a thumbprint cookie. The message was clear. This was my future. Our future. I’d be her companion, standing in for Bryce who had chosen college over traveling with Alana. I can’t say I minded. In fact, I was touched and honored.