anyone?”
“Yes! Um, I’ve been”—a deep sigh—“in love with my best friend, Eric, for like, four years? I know we’ll end up together someday, we get along so well.…”
“Really?” I say. In my experience, girls who say “I know we’ll end up together” tend to be a short stroll from psychotown.
“He lived on our street in high school, and I drove him to school every day when he totaled his car and we just talked for hours. The only problem is that he sees me as a friend and I’m not great at, you know, flirting. And since we left high school it’s been hard to keep in touch.” She sighs again. “He slept with Emily, my former best friend, at prom.”
“No,” I say. “What a bitch.”
“A hellbitch,” agrees Coco. “It wasn’t his fault. He was drunk and she totally took advantage of him.”
“He tripped and landed in her vagina, huh?”
Coco giggles despite herself. “No! I wish he hadn’t done it, but he didn’t know how much I like him … and I can’t help it, I like him anyway.” She’s a bit further from pyschotown than I thought. That’s a relief. “Have you ever been in love?”
“No,” I say automatically. “Well, yes, but … it doesn’t matter. Where’s Eric tonight? Maybe we can go and see him.”
“Oh, no, he’s at Yale,” she says importantly. “How do I make the transition from text friends to text flirting?”
“Be sarcastic. Be a smart-ass. Guys love a surprising text. It’s like … a little mental rough-and-tumble.”
Coco casts an anguished look at me, drumming Rilla of Ingleside with her fingertips. “What do you mean?”
“Flirting is just a game. It’s easy, it’s nothing. Look, I’ll show you.”
I pick up my phone and start casing through the numbers. Who can I practice on? Thompson I’m ignoring, not that he seems to be noticing, Dave, no, Jonah, hell no, Matt H., no, Matt W., no … Mike.
Mike! Perfect. He’s called and texted like sixteen times in the past two weeks, I’ve just been too busy and stressed-out to reply. I owe him.
“Okay, so this is what I’d text to get his attention.…” I say, tapping.
From me: Hell of a week. Rewarding myself with Doritos and beers. Am I turning into a middle-aged man?
“Oh! That’s funny,” says Coco. “Mike who?”
“And now we wait for a response.” I get up for a glass of water and ignore her question. Halfway through filling up the glass, a response comes.
“What a keen bean!” Coco’s far more excited than I am.
I raise my eyebrow as I read it out loud.
From Mike: Hmm, evidence inconclusive. Have you recently invested in a Porsche and/or hair plugs?
I raise my eyebrows to myself. Cute text. I wouldn’t have expected that from him.
“Tell him you bought a truck!” squeals Coco. “Ask him if he knows anything about driving stick.”
“I think that might push the entendre the wrong way, sugar-nuts. Okay, I wouldn’t usually respond to his text straightaway, but for the sake of this lesson, I will. How about this?”
From me: Actually, I just bought a pink truck. I think it brings out my eyes.
From Mike: You’re kidding me. This I have to see …
From me: Play your cards right, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you sit in the passenger seat one day.
From Mike: Wow. Would bribery work? How about a drink? When are you free?
“See?” I say to Coco, putting the phone down. “Easy. Now it’s your turn.”
“It’s easy for you. He obviously already liked you,” says Coco glumly.
“No, he didn’t,” I say firmly. He couldn’t, right? It was just a one-night thing. “So. What was your last text to Eric?”
“Um, I asked him about whether his mom liked poinsettias at Christmas,” she says, biting her bottom lip. “I hadn’t heard from him in days, so I just wanted to send a little hi, you know, like a wave.”
“There is no such thing as ‘just waving’ when it comes to flirt texts,” I say. “And Coco, questions in text tend to be
“Yes! Um, I’ve been”—a deep sigh—“in love with my best friend, Eric, for like, four years? I know we’ll end up together someday, we get along so well.…”
“Really?” I say. In my experience, girls who say “I know we’ll end up together” tend to be a short stroll from psychotown.
“He lived on our street in high school, and I drove him to school every day when he totaled his car and we just talked for hours. The only problem is that he sees me as a friend and I’m not great at, you know, flirting. And since we left high school it’s been hard to keep in touch.” She sighs again. “He slept with Emily, my former best friend, at prom.”
“No,” I say. “What a bitch.”
“A hellbitch,” agrees Coco. “It wasn’t his fault. He was drunk and she totally took advantage of him.”
“He tripped and landed in her vagina, huh?”
Coco giggles despite herself. “No! I wish he hadn’t done it, but he didn’t know how much I like him … and I can’t help it, I like him anyway.” She’s a bit further from pyschotown than I thought. That’s a relief. “Have you ever been in love?”
“No,” I say automatically. “Well, yes, but … it doesn’t matter. Where’s Eric tonight? Maybe we can go and see him.”
“Oh, no, he’s at Yale,” she says importantly. “How do I make the transition from text friends to text flirting?”
“Be sarcastic. Be a smart-ass. Guys love a surprising text. It’s like … a little mental rough-and-tumble.”
Coco casts an anguished look at me, drumming Rilla of Ingleside with her fingertips. “What do you mean?”
“Flirting is just a game. It’s easy, it’s nothing. Look, I’ll show you.”
I pick up my phone and start casing through the numbers. Who can I practice on? Thompson I’m ignoring, not that he seems to be noticing, Dave, no, Jonah, hell no, Matt H., no, Matt W., no … Mike.
Mike! Perfect. He’s called and texted like sixteen times in the past two weeks, I’ve just been too busy and stressed-out to reply. I owe him.
“Okay, so this is what I’d text to get his attention.…” I say, tapping.
From me: Hell of a week. Rewarding myself with Doritos and beers. Am I turning into a middle-aged man?
“Oh! That’s funny,” says Coco. “Mike who?”
“And now we wait for a response.” I get up for a glass of water and ignore her question. Halfway through filling up the glass, a response comes.
“What a keen bean!” Coco’s far more excited than I am.
I raise my eyebrow as I read it out loud.
From Mike: Hmm, evidence inconclusive. Have you recently invested in a Porsche and/or hair plugs?
I raise my eyebrows to myself. Cute text. I wouldn’t have expected that from him.
“Tell him you bought a truck!” squeals Coco. “Ask him if he knows anything about driving stick.”
“I think that might push the entendre the wrong way, sugar-nuts. Okay, I wouldn’t usually respond to his text straightaway, but for the sake of this lesson, I will. How about this?”
From me: Actually, I just bought a pink truck. I think it brings out my eyes.
From Mike: You’re kidding me. This I have to see …
From me: Play your cards right, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you sit in the passenger seat one day.
From Mike: Wow. Would bribery work? How about a drink? When are you free?
“See?” I say to Coco, putting the phone down. “Easy. Now it’s your turn.”
“It’s easy for you. He obviously already liked you,” says Coco glumly.
“No, he didn’t,” I say firmly. He couldn’t, right? It was just a one-night thing. “So. What was your last text to Eric?”
“Um, I asked him about whether his mom liked poinsettias at Christmas,” she says, biting her bottom lip. “I hadn’t heard from him in days, so I just wanted to send a little hi, you know, like a wave.”
“There is no such thing as ‘just waving’ when it comes to flirt texts,” I say. “And Coco, questions in text tend to be
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