FRIDAY

Standing outside Funville Arcade, I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and mentally cracked my knuckles. As soon as I opened that door and walked over to the pool tables, it would be official. Thompson and I would be hanging out.

Check that: Me. Thompson. Hanging out. Oooh, yes. Yes. Yes yes yes.

It was this joyous thought, I think, that gave me the courage to open the door. So smitten was I by Thompson's dashing good looks and easygoing charm that ordinarily I was incapable of movement or speech when he was around. But now, my confidence restored by his asking me to hang out-yup, he asked me, Lor MacQuarrie, to hang out-I was ready. My red baseball cap was artistically arranged backwards on my head, my favorite blue shirt with the rocket was clean, as were my baggy jeans. I smelled lemony fresh with a hint of mint. I was ready for anything, including making witty but casual chit-chat with Thompson.

As I strode through the arcade, I even tossed my hair. Short hair covered by a hat doesn't toss much, but I did it anyway. I practiced my best toothpaste-commercial smile. By the virtual motorcycles I caught sight of him, that gorgeous blue hair, those broad shoulders, those sunglasses, and my wrists shook with a little spasm. You are not nervous, I told myself. Be cool. Be cool.

He didn't see me until I was right next to him, until we were both bathed in the glow of the lamp over the pool table. He turned and smiled at me then, his eyes crinkling up around his signature sunglasses. Idly I wondered what color his eyes were, and couldn't help suppress a smile at the thought that I'd find out soon enough. I was hanging out with Thompson!

"Lor," he said quietly, "hi."

"Hey! What's up?"

He moved his head from side to side and inhaled. This is great, I thought gleefully, he's nervous! He looks just like me trying to get up the guts to open the door!

Slowly he exhaled. "I wanted to talk to you." Thompson said.

"Yeah?" I asked eagerly.

"About Tish." He finished.

My heart seized up, froze, and shattered. Tish. Tish Katzufracas. One of my best friends. Smart, earnest, diligent, perky. I felt like I'd gotten the wind knocked out of me. This wasn't playing out the way it had in my dreams. "What.what about Tish?"

He tilted his head up toward the ceiling and twisted his fingers around. "She's so dreamy!" he sighed. Dreamy?! Oh, perfect. I was really glad I couldn't see the look in his eyes when he said that. I might have hurled all over the untouched game of pool.

I tried to keep a bored expression on my face. "Uh-huh. Right. And?"

"Well, you guys are like this, right?" He held up two crossed fingers. "I was hoping you could help me out. I mean, I never know what to talk to her about except for algebra class. I don't want her to think I'm some kind of geek."

"No, no," I assured him, feeling sicker by the minute, "Geek is good. Ask her about the dulcimer sometime."

"No way! She plays the dulcimer?"

"Yeah.oh, don't tell me. You do too."

"Since I was seven."

"Well, that works out nicely then," I said, not really meaning it. "I've, uh, I've gotta go. See you at school or something."

"Okay. Thanks for your advice, though, Lor, you're the best!"

And with that, he saluted me and walked off.

Sadly I looked at the triangle of billiard balls. I wondered how Tish would take it, when he finally finished moving his head and taking deep breaths, and finally got up the guts to tell her how he felt. After all the times she'd insisted she didn't like Thompson, that he was all mine as far as she was concerned, would she actually turn him down? I would be just as bummed if she did-if I wasn't good enough for him and he wasn't good enough for her, what was the point? I mean, at least if Thompson and Tish found happiness, that'd at least be something good, right? So how come I wasn't feeling glad for my friend? How come I was feeling sorry for myself?