We turned into the diner, and a waitress led us to a booth where we sat facing each other. The reality of Cross before me was jarring: his tallness, his pale skin and cropped brown hair, his blue eyes, which seemed to contain both intelligence and boredom. I would not have imagined that Dede and I had similar taste, but Cross Sugarman was the best-looking boy I had ever sat so close to. And this fact was both thrilling and mortifying. It was as if I had, as in a dream, plucked him from his own world, the world of lacrosse games and sailboats and girls with long blond hair wearing sundresses, and pulled him into mine: a grimy restaurant in a depressed mall, on a rainy day. “Sorry,” I said. “For-I mean-I don’t know-”

“It’s no big deal.”

“But you’re being so nice to me.”

He looked away and made a kind of grumbling sigh, and I knew immediately that I had said the wrong thing.

When he looked back, he said, “This has or hasn’t happened to you before?”

“Once it did, a few years ago. After a soccer game when I was in sixth grade.”

“My sister faints,” he said.

The idea of Cross having a sister was intriguing. I wondered if she thought he was cute, or if she felt lucky to live in the same house he did.

“She fainted on a plane coming back from California. The flight attendants asked if she wanted the pilot to land the plane, but she told them no. I thought she should have told them yes.”

“Yikes,” I said. There was something in the mildness of Cross’s tone and expressions that made me unsure how to react to the things he said. Normally, you could tell just by observing people when you were supposed to nod, or laugh, or frown in sympathy. But Cross’s expressions were all so muted that I’d have thought he was hardly paying attention to what we were talking about. It was his eyes that made me know this wasn’t true-they were watchful, but not the way I imagined my own were; his was a disinterested, unself-conscious watchfulness.

The waitress appeared, and Cross ordered a vanilla milkshake. I opened the menu, and the quantity of words was overwhelming. I closed it. “I’ll have a vanilla milkshake, too,” I said. After the waitress left, I said, “I wonder if it’s bad for me to have dairy right now.”

Cross shrugged. “You’ll be okay.” There was something in his shrug I envied-an ability to prevent misfortune by choosing not to anticipate it.

I looked down at the table and then back at him. “You don’t have to stay here,” I said. “You probably were planning to go to a movie, right? And I’ll be fine. Not that I don’t appreciate-” The only thing I could think of to say was you taking care of me, and that seemed even worse than you’re being so nice to me. Lamely, I said, “But you really can go.”

“What about my shake?”

“Oh, I can pay for it. Especially after you helped me.”

“What if I want my shake?”

“Well, you can stay if you want to. I’m not telling you to leave. I just thought-”

“Relax,” he said. Then he said, “Lee.”

In this moment, I understood for the first time in my life what it was to feel attracted to someone. Not to think they were funny or to enjoy their company, or even to find one thing about them cute, like their dimples, or their hands, but to feel that physical pull toward them. I just wanted to close my eyes and have my body against Cross’s.

“Are you a freshman?” Cross said.

I nodded.

“Me, too,” he said.

He seemed so much older, I thought, as old as a man-eighteen, maybe, or twenty.

“I think I’ve seen you before. Do you live in McCormick’s?”

“No, Broussard’s.” I didn’t ask what dorm he lived in because I knew. There were fewer than seventy-five people in our class, and I knew everyone’s name, even the people I’d never talked to.

“I have Madame Broussard for French,” he said. “She’s kind of strict.”

“Do you know Amy Dennaker?”

He nodded.

“Well, Amy does these imitations of Madame. She’ll be like-” I paused. I had to do the accent; it wouldn’t be funny without the accent. “Like, ‘There is foie gras on my bidet!’ Or, she’s invented this poodle that Madame keeps, named Ooh La La. So she’ll say, ‘Ooh La La, if you do not stop barking, I shall send you to the guillotine!’ ”

I looked at Cross; he appeared unimpressed.

“I guess you have to be there,” I said. But it almost didn’t matter that he hadn’t laughed, because I had said something entirely unnecessary, I had told a story. For a moment, I had shrugged off my flattened Ault personality. “Where are you from?” I asked.

“The city.”

“Boston?”

“New York.”

“How did you end up at Ault?” Something was definitely different; apparently, I was to be the one carrying the conversation, and this was not even an unfamiliar dynamic. Back in South Bend, both in class and at home with my family, I had been curious and noisy and opinionated. I had talked like a normal person, more than a normal person.

“It was either here or Overfield,” Cross said. “The teachers here seemed more laid-back. It’s all old men in bow ties at Overfield.”

“So you always knew you would go to boarding school?”

“Pretty much.”

“I guess that’s how it is for people from the East Coast,” I said. “It’s different where I’m from.”

“Where’s that?”

“Indiana.”

“Oh, yeah? You’re a Hoosier?” He might have been making fun-I wasn’t sure. “You like basketball?”

“I don’t really follow sports,” I said. “No offense.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, since you’re a big athlete. Aren’t you?” As I said it, I realized I was revealing the lie of our introduction in the store; I had already known who he was.

“I’m into sports,” he said slowly.

“That’s all I meant.”

“You think that makes me a meathead?”

“That’s not-”

“It’s okay.” He held up his hands, palms toward me. They were huge. “I think we understand each other.”

“I never said that you’re a meathead.”

“I do use silverware,” he said. “At least in public.”

My heart was beating faster. This was a kind of teasing I didn’t like, when boys mocked you in a way that assumed you could not, just as easily, mock them back; they took for granted their own wit, and your squeamishness and passivity.

“I’m literate, too,” he said. “I read the newspaper.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “How about the bathroom? Have you gotten the hang of indoor plumbing?”

We regarded each other. My face was hot.

“I know it can be tricky,” I continued. “But it makes living in a communal environment a lot nicer for everyone.”

Both of us were silent. Then he said, “Well, well, well,” and it was in such a strange voice-the voice, perhaps, of a high-spirited Southern grandmother-that I knew if he was making fun of me, he was also making fun of himself. His goofiness made me forgive him; it was un-Aultlike. “Indiana, huh?” he said. “What’s Indiana like?”

“There’s a lot of land. You don’t feel crowded. And people are friendly. I know that’s a stereotype about the Midwest, but it’s true.”

“So why did you leave?”

I looked at him quickly, but he seemed only curious this time, not sarcastic. “I don’t know,” I said. Then I said, “I thought my life would be more interesting if I went to Ault.”

“Is it?”

“I guess so. It’s definitely different.” Since arriving at Ault six months before, I hadn’t actually considered this question. In fact, my life at Ault was more interesting than my life at home had been. I was less happy and my life was more interesting. Perhaps that was not the worst trade-off in the world.

“My life is better here,” Cross said. “I went to an all-boys’ school in New York, so that completely sucked.”

I laughed. “You like going to school with girls?”

“Sure.”

Then, because I didn’t want him to think I was implying that he liked going to school with me, I said, “You go out with Sophie Thruler, don’t you?”