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Him: Oh. Then after school?
Me: I've got a homework date with Daisy. Seven?
Him: Seven works.
--
After school, Daisy and I locked ourselves in my room to study for a couple hours. "It's only been three days since I retired from Chuck E. Cheese, but it's already shocking how much easier school is," she said as she unzipped her backpack. She pulled out a brand-new laptop and set it up on my desk.
"Jesus, Daisy, don't spend it all at once," I said quietly, so Mom wouldn't hear. Daisy shot me a look. "What?"
"You already had a car and a computer," she said.
"I'm just saying you don't want to spend all of it."
She rolled her eyes a little, and I said what again, but she disappeared into her online world. I could see her screen from the bed--she was scrolling through comments on her stories as I read one of Alexander Hamilton's Federalist essays for history. I kept reading the words but not understanding them, then circling back, reading the same paragraph over and over again.
Daisy was quiet for a few minutes, but at last said, "I try really hard not to judge you, Holmesy, and it's slightly infuriating when you judge me."
"I'm not judging--"
"I know you think you're poor or whatever, but you know nothing about being actually poor."
"Okay, I'll shut up about it," I said.
"You're so stuck in your head," she continued. "It's like you genuinely can't think about anyone else." I felt like I was getting smaller. "I'm sorry, Holmesy, I shouldn't say that. It's just frustrating sometimes." When I didn't respond, she kept talking. "I don't mean that you're a bad friend or anything. But you're slightly tortured, and the way you're tortured is sometimes also painful for, like, everyone around you."
"Message received," I said.
"I don't mean to sound like a bitch."
"You don't," I said.
"Do you know what I mean, though?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said.
We studied together quietly for another hour before she said she needed to leave for dinner with her parents. When she got up to leave, we both said, "I'm sorry," at the same time, then laughed. By the time Davis texted me at 6:52, I had mostly forgotten about it.
Him: I'm in your driveway should I come in?
Me: No no no no nope no I will be out shortly.
Mom was emptying the dishwasher. "Headed out to dinner," I told her, and then grabbed my coat and got out the door before she could inquire further.
"Hi," he said as I climbed into his car.
"Hi back," I said.
"Have you eaten?" he asked.
"I'm not really hungry, but we can get food somewhere if you are," I said.
"I'm good," he said, backing up. "I actually kind of hate eating. I've always had a nervous stomach."
"Me too," I said, and then my phone started ringing. "It's my mom. Don't say anything." I tapped to answer. "Hey."
"Tell the driver of that black SUV to turn around this instant and come back to our house."
