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Little Gayle covers her mouth. “Why? What happened to them?”
“They’re going to peak in high school,” I explain.
“What?”
“That’s right,” The Mouse agrees, nodding. “And after high school, it’s all downhill. Babies. Cheating husbands. Dead-end jobs. You don’t want to peak in high school. If you do, the rest of your life is a disaster.”
“I never thought of it that way.” And she looks over at the two Jens like they’re freaky aliens from another planet.
“Speaking of which,” I ask, “what do you hate most about high school?”
“Um, the food?”
“Not good enough. Cafeteria stories are boring. And you can’t say Donna LaDonna, either.”
“I guess I’d have to say cliques.”
“Cliques.” I nod and raise an eyebrow at The Mouse. “Why?”
“Because they make you insecure. Like you always know if you’re not in a clique because those people don’t talk to you. And sometimes if you are in a clique, it’s like being in Lord of the Flies. You always wonder if you’re the one who’s going to get killed.” She puts her hand over her mouth again. “Did I say too much?”
“No, no. Keep talking.” I turn over my notebook, open it to a blank page, and start scribbling.
“So this story I’m doing for The Nutmeg is coming out really well,” I say, taking a batch of chocolate chip cookies fr
om the oven.
Sebastian turns another page of Time magazine. “What’s it about again?”
I’ve already told him at least a dozen times. “Cliques. I’ve interviewed about ten people so far, and I’ve gotten some really interesting stories.”
“Hmm,” Sebastian says, clearly not interested. I press on, nonetheless. “Walt said that while cliques provide protection, they can also stunt your growth as a person. What do you think?”
“What I think,” Sebastian says, not looking up from his magazine, “is that Walt has issues.”
“What kind of issues?”
“Do you really care?” He looks at me over the rim of his Ray-Ban-style reading glasses. Whenever Sebastian wears his reading glasses, my heart melts. He has a flaw. He doesn’t have perfect vision. It’s just so darn cute.
“Of course I do.”
“Then trust me and leave it alone,” he says, and goes back to his magazine.
I remove the warm cookies from the pan and gently place them on a plate. I put the plate in front of Sebastian and sit down across from him. He absentmindedly takes a cookie and bites into it.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
“More about the recession,” he says, flipping the page. “No point in looking for a job now, that’s for sure. Hell, there’s probably no point in going to college. We’re all going to be stuck living in our parents’ basements for the rest of our lives.”
I suddenly grab his wrist. “What do you know about Walt?”
“I saw him.” He shrugs.
“Where?”
“At a place you don’t know and don’t want to know about.”
What is he talking about? “What kind of place?”
