“
Livvy,
”
a voice calls to me as soon as she drives away. It
’
s Jon, a boy who used to be a student here with me until a little over a year ago. I guess he
’
s not really a
boy
anymore. The soft sideburns and hints of whiskers on his chin prove that my former childhood friend is becoming a man. A very attractive one, at that. I
’
d always had a crush on him, and his early teasing turned into genuine interest and attention, so I
’
d wondered if he might like me, too. When he stopped coming to the school, I assumed he didn
’
t.
“
Hey, Jon! How are you?
”
“
I
’
m good. I was hoping you
’
d be here. I heard you were teaching a class.
”
“
Who
’
d you hear that from?
”
“
The newsletter,
”
he laughed.
“
I still subscribe, you know. Just because I don
’
t go to the workshops anymore doesn
’
t mean I
’
ve left Nate
’
s Art Room behind.
”
“
Cool.
”
“
Plus, I have to keep up with you somehow. I know how your dad abhors things like Facebook.
”
“
He doesn
’
t abhor it. He just values privacy,
”
I explain, just as my dad explained it to me. Jon nods his head in understanding.
“
I miss this place.
”
“
You can come back.
”
“
No, I can
’
t. Well, I wouldn
’
t–not while I have the money to pay for classes elsewhere.
”
“
The program isn
’
t as fun without you.
”
Now that his mother has gotten her degree and a professional job, she can afford to enroll him in art classes at a community college. That leaves one more spot for another kid who
’
s less fortunate, so I can appreciate what he
’
s doing.
“
Can I walk you home? Your parents wouldn
’
t want you walking home at this time of night. It
’
ll be dark soon.
”
“
I
’
ve been doing it for years, you know this. I think Granna sticks around and spies on me until I
’
m within eyeshot of my house. That
’
s my theory, anyway.
”
We both look around in search of her car, even though I
’
m joking.
“
How
’
s school?
”
he asks me as we begin walking very slowly toward my house. Jon goes to public school, and has always been at the top of his class.
“
It
’
s hard,
”
I tell him.
“
I tested out of the tenth grade, but I
’
m having a hard time keeping up with my school work this year.
”
“
You
’
re a junior?
”
I nod.
“
That
’
s great, Livvy. I
’
m impressed.
”
“
Thanks. How
’
s your school year going?
”
“
Good. I
’
m studying for the SATs.
”
He holds up a thick paperback.
“
You? Study?
”
“
Well, not all of us get a free ride to college, you know.
”
I stare at him, unsure what he
’
s implying. He knows my parents are wealthy–we always knew we were different–but it had never bothered him and he had never made an issue out of it before.
“
Oh, God, Livvy, no,
”
he stutters.
“
I wasn
’
t talking about your parents.
”
“
Right,
”
I come back at him curiously, walking quickly in front of him.
“
Livvy, come back here,
”
he calls to me, his voice sounding sorry. I stop and cross my arms in front of my chest, but turn around to glare at him as I wait for his explanation. I melt at the expression on his face, and shiver at his close proximity. He is mere inches from me, and there
’
s no way I can continue be annoyed with him when I have this weird queasy feeling in my stomach. He puts his hands on my shoulders.
“
What I meant was not all of us are child prodigies who are sure to get art scholarships to any school they want to go to.
”
My stomach jumps.
“
Oh,
”
I barely manage to breathe out.
“
Okay.
”
“
You always were sensitive.
”
He crinkles his nose and grins as he says this.
“
I am not.
”
“
Oh, you are,
”
he argues.
“
But I like that about you.
”
“
Oh.
”
This time, I
’
m not sure he can even hear me.
“
So your sixteenth birthday
’
s coming up soon, huh?
”
I
’
d never noticed how long his eyelashes were.
“
Next month, yeah,
”
I tell him, surprised that he remembers.
“
Are you gonna let me be your first date?
”
he asks quietly.
“
Or is that privilege saved for someone else?
”
“
I
’
m yours,
”
I tell him,
and then
hear what I
’
d said.
“
I mean,
it
’
s
yours.
It
’
s
.
”
“
It
will
be my privilege. Thank you.
”
“
You
’
re welcome,
”
I say, the only words I can think of to say.
“
Cool.
”
“
Cool,
”
he repeats as he kicks one leg forward deliberately and starts to walk again. I stay at his side and keep pace with him.
“
You think your dad will be okay with that?
”
“
I don
’
t care,
”
I tell him.
“
But yeah, I don
’
t see why he wouldn
’
t.
”
“
I don
’
t know. I bet he
’
s been happy I haven
’
t been around so often.
”
“
Why would you say that? He barely knows you.
”
“
Well, I asked him a year ago if I could take you to a movie.
”
“
You what?
”
“
Yeah. He said no; he told me to come back and ask when you
’
re sixteen.
”
“
He said
no
?
”
“
Of course. I knew the rule. I had just hoped I could prove to him that I wasn
’
t some scary perv or something. Apparently, I failed,
”
he says, then laughs.
“
He didn
’
t like the idea of his fourteen-year-old daughter going out with a sixteen-year-old. That
’
s what he told me.
”
“
I can
’
t believe he said no. He
’
s such a jerk sometimes. And I can
’
t believe you never told me that!
”
I tell him with a big grin.
“
I haven
’
t really seen you. Plus, I was embarrassed. But I
’
m good now. I
’
m up for the challenge.
”
“
What do you mean?
”
“
I
’
m walking you home so I can talk to your dad.
”
“
No, you
’
re not.
”
“
I sure am. I
’
ve been gearing up for this for a year. You can
’
t stop me now.
”
“
He
’
ll be pissed that I was with you in the first place.
”
“
I beg to differ. I was studying nearby when I saw those guys following you.
”
“
What guys?
”
I ask, turning around.
“
There were no guys, Liv,
”
he says, rolling his eyes.
“
But he doesn
’
t need to know that.
”
“
Ohhh...
”
I say, following his plan.
“
Cool.
”
“
Yeah, cool. You
’
ll play along?
”
“
Of course!
”
As we turn the corner, I see my dad and my brother playing catch in the light of the streetlamp. That
’
s what they do every Thursday night until I get home.
“
Is he in a good mood tonight?
”
Jon whispers.
“
He
’
s always in a good mood,
”
I mutter.
“
Always so upbeat. It
’
s annoying and–
”
“
Mr. Holland,
”
Jon calls out to him, cutting me off. My dad squints as he tries to figure out who I
’
m with.
“
It
’
s Jon. From Nate
’
s Art Room?
”
he reminds him. The realization hits him quickly, and I
’
m sure Dad
’
s sizing him up, noticing how much he
’
s grown in the past year and a half.
“
Jon,
”
he says, shaking his hand after taking off the baseball mitt. Trey watches us from the porch.
“
How are you, Mr. Holland?
”
he says formally,
too
formally. I expect my dad to correct him, tell him to call him Jack like he does all of my other friends, but he doesn
’
t. For some reason, this just ticks me off.
“
I
’
m very well, thank you, Jon. Livvy, you know the rules,
”
he says, and although his words sound like a warning, his reminder to me sounds kind and not angry.
“
Mr. Holland, it
’
s not Livvy
’
s fault. I was studying at the smoothie place next door,
”
he says, deliberately showing my father his study guide,
“
and I saw her start to walk home. There were some sketchy guys watching her from across the street. I decided to walk with her. Make sure she made it home safely.
”