The Boyfriend List

hadn’t even realized that Nora’s family did, and (2) when Nora went into the kitchen to get us all some pop, Gideon told me that he liked the gross, heavy banana bread better.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you have to think for yourself,” he said. “You can’t believe everything people tell you.”

“But did it really taste better?” I wanted to know.

“Not really,” he said. “Politically.”

“Okay, but did it at least taste kind of good? Or were you faking?”

“That’s not the point, Roo. You know that.” He said it like he had confidence in my understanding.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I know.”

It was then that I decided that Gideon was fascinating, and wrote “Ruby loves GVD” on the bottom of my sneaker that same night. I started tracing over it with a purple Magic Marker, whenever I was bored in class. Within a week, it had become this nice lettering that looked like calligraphy.

Then one day, I put my feet up on the chair in front of me during assembly.¹ Nora saw the sole of my shoe. “You mean GVD, Gideon, my brother?” she cried.

I blushed.

“Ag! I can’t believe you like my brother!”

“She loves him,” squealed Kim, grabbing my foot and turning it so she could see. “That’s what she wrote.”

“Don’t angst, I swear I won’t tell,” promised Nora.

“I won’t tell either,” added Kim.²

“But since when do you like him?”

“No, since when does she love him?”

“He’s a nice guy.” I yanked my foot away.

“Nice doesn’t make you love someone,” said Kim.

“Ugh,” said Nora. “He’s gross.”

“He’s different,” I said. “He wants to be a musician.”³

“You think he’s cute?” asked Nora, wrinkling her nose in disbelief.

Of course I did. He was—and is—incredibly cute in a messy, rebellious way. “Not really,” I said.

“His eyebrows grow together.”

I loved his eyebrows. I still love his eyebrows. “It’s more his personality,” I said, feeling stupid.

“And he never cleans his room. There’s mold growing around up there.”

He was unusual, I wanted to say. He had better things to do than be tidy. “Don’t tell!” I begged.

Nora shook her head like I had revealed an interest in bug collecting, rather than her brother. “I said I wouldn’t.”

But of course she did. Or at least, she hinted. That very afternoon, as I was heading across the quad to the library, Gideon caught up to me. “Roo, I hear there’s something on your shoe that I should see,” he said.

“What?”

“On your shoe.”

“There isn’t anything.”

“I think there is.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Come on, let me see it.”

“No!”

“Please?”

“It’s nothing, leave me alone.”

He tackled me, laughing, and I fell onto the grass, squealing, completely embarrassed, oh, the horror, having never told a boy I liked him, ever in my life, smelling his Coca-Cola smell, laughing and almost crying and worrying that he would notice I didn’t have any boobs yet and that my sneaker was stinky.

As soon as he saw what was written on the bottom of my shoe, though, Gideon’s face changed. I don’t think he knew what it would say, just that it would be something about him. And here is the reason that I still like Gideon Van Deusen, with his lovely hairy eyebrows: He didn’t laugh, or tease me, or tell me to get away. He sat up very seriously, and said, “Roo, that’s so sweet. I’m flattered.”

“It’s only a doodle,” I said, looking down at the grass.

“No, it’s nice. I’d much rather it was you writing about me on your shoe than that annoying Katarina.”

“Really?” Katarina was considered adorable by almost everyone.

“Sure,” he said. “Write on your shoe all you want. Write a whole book. Fine by me: I’d be famous!”