Page 27 of My Own Kind of Person

“Okay,” Mazzei says stoically. The whiteboard behind him reads TRUTH. “Time to tell some stories.”

He asks us to write major categories from our lives—family, work, school—in circles, spin off lines with people or places from each category, and make lists of memories from those. I write down the day I got my first paycheck from the library. I write down the time I went to a girl’s house to study for chemistry and had no idea she did not intend to study for chemistry.

“In a minute,” Mazzei says quietly, “I’ll ask you to choose one idea and share it with a partner.”

I look over at Elijah and he’s absorbed in his page.

From my pocket I remove the folded paper and read, in perfect cursive, You seem like your own kind of person. I fold it and put it away.

I write on my page, Mom bringing out the birthday cake.

When it’s time to share with a partner, Elijah and I turn to each other. My heart pounds.

Elijah carefully closes his notebook and pushes it away like it’s cursed.

I laugh. “What is it?”

He makes an eek face. “My life!”

I laugh again. “I hear that.”

“My story is embarrassing. Can you go first?”

“Okay.” I pinch my thigh under the table until it hurts. “The night of my seventeenth birthday—”

“Hold on.” Mazzei puts a hand between us. “You counted wrong.”

Someone is absent in front of us. Mazzei does some pointing and rearranging and I get put with Steph Rooney. Elijah and I make eye contact before moving our seats apart, and I could be wrong, but I think he looks disappointed too. He gets put with Jay, which is truly horrifying.

Steph’s pink makeup ends abruptly at her pale neck. Her brown hair is extra fluffy today. She starts talking before I’ve even repositioned myself. “I have to go first because there is no way I’m following you.”

“That’s silly but—”

“This is one of my favorite memories,” she says, putting both hands on her desk. She tells a story about a camping trip when she saw a cute chipmunk. I try to listen, but mostly I think about what story I’ll tell. I am not telling her about almost crying at a birthday cake.

At some point Steph stops and I tell myself to applaud. “That was great. Really great.”

She blushes.

“I love chipmunks!” I say.

“They are so cute.” She sits up and fluffs her hair. “Your turn.”

“Let’s see.” I look at my notes. All I can think about is Mom holding the cake, but I tell myself to talk about anything else. “When I was in tenth grade, a girl asked me to help her ‘study for the Chemistry Regents.’ Except tenth-grade me didn’t hear the air quotes.”

“Oh no.” Steph laughs and the sound wakes me up. I quickly write down the line so I remember to keep it.

“So I showed up at her house with my study guide, ready to talk about hydrogen bonds.” I start remembering how to talk. “She was like, ‘Oh, you brought your book,’ and I was like, ‘Yeah, how else am I gonna ace this test? With that scented candle you’re carrying?’ ”

Steph laughs.

“So she was like, ‘Maybe we could go upstairs to my room and study,’ and I was like, ‘That would be fine,’ and that is. Exactly. What. We. Did.”

Steph snorts. “Oh my God.”

I bow in my seat and Steph gives some snaps, but I’m surprised to find I feel disappointed. By all appearances she liked the story.

“Let’s switch!” Mazzei says from the front of the room. “Try your story with a new partner.”