Chapter 3

Trying to not watch the clock, I lean across the counter and doodle on a napkin. I write his name and mine, enclosed in a heart. I don’t like the way it looks, so I draw another heart, and another, until the napkin is covered in little symbols of love. I don’t hear the door open and don’t even realize I’m no longer alone until someone leans down in front of me and says, “Hey, dork face.”

I look up to find my best friend Josh standing at the counter. We met in second grade when a girl I liked punched me in the gut during recess and Josh came to my aid, kicking her in the shin. We both got detention for it, and have been close ever since. He’s the only person I’d let get away with calling me names. He does it because he knows I hate it, but I don’t say anything because I know he wants me to get upset about it. That’s the kind of friendship we have.

Sparing a glance at the chalkboard on the counter, he asks, “What’s the special today?”