Tandem

of my hand—I’d lived there since I was seven, in a ramshackle Victorian that Granddad had bought in the early eighties—and the neighborhood just wasn’t that big, fifteen blocks by fifteen blocks max. I was pretty sure Grant had lived there all his life. But as we strolled the familiar streets together, I felt like I was discovering it for the first time. Everything seemed like a much better version of itself; the grass was a little greener, the historic brownstones and houses with their painted gables seemed better cared for and more brightly colored, and the breeze that came off Lake Michigan was sweeter and cooler than it had been two hours ago. I was pretty sure this was all in my head. Nothing had changed, not really. But it still felt like something had.

Grant was strolling languidly, his face tilted toward the sky to catch the warmth of the sun, as if he was in no hurry. I, however, was. Granddad enforced a very strict dinnertime—six o’clock on the dot, every night, no exceptions.

“Where do you live?” Grant asked.

“South Kenwood, between Fifty-Second and Fifty-Third.”

“Not that far from us, then. We’re on Fifty-Fourth and Ridgewood.” He waited for a moment, then added, “My mom and I. It’s just the two of us.”

“Us too,” I said. “Just me and Granddad.”

“Yeah, I was wondering—where are your parents? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“They died,” I told him. That part always made people uncomfortable. They didn’t know what to say, and most of the time they ended up apologizing, but even though I missed my parents every day, it wasn’t painful to talk about anymore. In fact, I preferred not having to dance around it. Hiding it to avoid awkwardness seemed disrespectful to their memory.

“I’m sorry,” Grant said, as I knew he would. He kneaded the back of his neck in what I took to be a nervous gesture.

“That’s okay. It was a long time ago. What’s the story with your parents?”

He shrugged. “Divorced. Dad’s an attorney out in L.A. I haven’t seen him in a while. Your grandfather teaches at the university, right?”

“Yeah, physics. He worked there for thirty years and then retired, but when he inherited me he had to start working again. I used to feel bad about it, but actually I think he missed it. He would’ve used any excuse to go back.”

“My mom’s a professor, too, but she hates it.” Grant laughed. “She’s always complaining about ‘office politics,’ whatever those are.”

I smiled. “Granddad too. He never talks to anyone in his department if he can help it. Physics, he loves; physicists, not so much.”

“And what do you love?” Grant asked. I looked up at him in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you know, what’s your passion?” He held his fist out in front of me as if he was offering me a microphone. “Sasha Lawson—what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I leaned forward as if speaking into it. “Not sure yet.”

“Not sure, huh? I would’ve thought you had your entire future planned out by now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re really focused. Killer grades, tons of extracurriculars. You just seem like the kind of girl who knows what she’s doing.”

“Then my master plan is working,” I said with a smile. “But no. I don’t.” It killed Granddad that I didn’t have a major picked out yet, much less a college. He claimed he decided to be a physicist when he was six years old, but that always sounded like an exaggeration to me. “What about you?”

“I’m enrolled at Loyola for the fall,” Grant said, naming a university only a few miles from where we lived. I was surprised he wasn’t venturing farther away from home. “But I’ve got no idea what I’m going to do there.”

We paused at the corner of Fifty-Fourth Street and South Kenwood. “Are you sure you want to walk me all the way home?” I asked.

“Sasha, it’s only a couple more blocks. I think I’ll live.” He squinted at me, as if he was trying to bring me into focus. “Are you trying to get rid of me or something?”

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just …” I trailed off as we passed Ridgewood.

“Yes?” He drew the word out slowly.

“I’m confused,” I said. “You have literally never spoken to me before. Then today you show up out of nowhere and offer to walk me home? Was there something you wanted?”

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “No, not exactly. But I …” He stopped and turned to look at me. I stared back, trying to read his mind, but it turns out that’s pretty difficult when you don’t really know a person. He seemed sincere, but guarded, too. He took a deep, bracing breath. “I graduate in like a month, and it’s making me think about all the things I wish I’d done differently.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” he confessed, averting his gaze.

“Me? Why?”

“I don’t know!” He seemed to be retreating further and further into himself with every passing second. I’d never seen Grant look embarrassed or uncomfortable; this was a whole new side to him, a stark difference from his big man on campus persona. The moment was strange and intimate; I was starting to feel bad for giving him such a hard time. “You seem smart and cool, and you’re clearly pretty. I mean, you know you’re pretty, right?”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He shuffled his feet. “Anyway, I just wanted to spend some time with you. Get to know you a little better.” He held up his palms in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not going to try anything funny, I swear.”

I laughed, and he relaxed visibly. “I believe you, I believe you. I’m sorry for making this so awkward. I just didn’t get it.”

Grant smiled, and my stomach did a dramatic flip-flop. We lapsed into silence, and as we continued walking the weirdness between us began to dissipate. I kept turning his words over in my head: I’ve been thinking about you. You seem smart and cool, and you’re clearly pretty. I wanted to barrage him with questions, get some more definitive answers, but even my admittedly limited experience with boys told me that wasn’t a very good idea.

When we were only a few yards from my house, Grant stopped again.

“Can I ask you something?” I nodded. “Have you thought about prom at all?”

What a ridiculous question—of course I’d thought about prom. It was all most girls in my class could talk about, now that it was only about a week away. But I hadn’t expected anybody to ask me and, sure enough, nobody had. I wasn’t terribly disappointed—there wasn’t even anyone in particular I wanted to go with—but I couldn’t deny that there was a part of me that wanted to go, if only to see what all the fuss was about.

“In what way?” I asked. Maybe that response was dense, but this whole experience was so odd; I knew that when I walked through the door of my house I would have a hard time believing it had even happened.

“Do you, maybe, want to, I don’t know, go with me?” He held my gaze so tightly that it was impossible for me to look away. His face was full of anticipation and dread, which baffled me. I couldn’t believe that Grant, of all the guys I’d ever known, was standing in front of me now, worrying about whether or not I would say yes.

“Really?”

“Or whatever. You’re probably going with someone else, or already have plans that night or something. You can say no, it’s okay.” He smiled as if to reassure me. “I promise to only be a little crushed.”

“That’s not fair!” I cried in mock-outrage. “You’re trying to guilt me into saying yes.”

“Is it working?”

“No,” I said. He took this as a rejection, and shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, but I knew it did. I rushed to clarify, not wanting the opportunity to slip out of my hands. “I don’t need to be guilted. I’d love to go to prom with you.” Overcome by another wave of awkwardness, I added a stilted, “Thank you for asking me.”

“My pleasure.” He grinned. “It’s going to be fun, I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” I told him, with a grin of my own. “Now I really have to go in.” Granddad was