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“What?”
“Why am I not your type?”
“Well... because...” This should be easy to answer, and yet I find myself searching for excuses. Why does it matter? Why is he making this all so confusing? “Well, you sleep during class. You haven’t done any of the homework from our assignment, and you have a temper.” Those are all perfectly good reasons. They should be enough.
“Then what is your type?”
Why is this boy so bold? So what if he thought I’d be the girl there tonight? It’s not like he likes me.
He can’t like me.
“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” It’s true. I haven’t.
“Do you really expect me to believe that?”
This is exhausting me even more. Why can’t he just drop it? “I don’t care what you believe. I don’t know what I want,but I do know you aren’t it.” And yet, those words are thick on my tongue as if I don’t really want to say them.
“But a goody-two-shoes guy who does his homework is?”
Papa starts to walk back toward the table with a plate of pizza in each hand.
“I have to go,” I say.
“But we aren’t done talking—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at school.” I hang up the phone and slide it back into my pocket just as Papa sets the pizza down on the table.
“Who was that?” he asks.
“Just someone from school.”
Papa pushes my plate toward me. “Does this someone have a name?”
I tilt my head and give him a look. “His name isn’t important.”
His eyes soften with concern. “Is he the reason you’ve been down all evening?”
It’s Papa: I can’t lie to him. Besides, maybe talking to someone about the confusing thoughts I have might help. “His name is Daniel. Annie likes him.”
“Oh,” he says, like he suddenly understands the entire situation. “How do you feel about that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t like it at first, but after I got to know him, I realized he wasn’t so bad.” I fidget with the plate in front of me. “I asked him to go to the bookstore tonight to meet Annie.”
Papa nods. “I see.”
“I think they could be good for each other,” I say. Maybe if I keep saying that out loud, it’ll get easier to hear.
“You know,” Papa says, taking a breath, “growing up, you two never fought.”
“We aren’t fighting—”
“You didn’t let me finish. Everyone was always shocked you two never fought. The other kids your age would fight over toys, but you guys never did. I used to think that you guys got along better than most, but then I realized you just gave Annie the toy every time.”
“Daniel isn’t a toy,” I say. “And it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m not interested in him.”
“Why not?”
My jaw falls open. He knows why it would be a terrible idea. “Because it wouldn’t be right.”
