I knew how this worked with boys. There was a kind of offering I could make, an invitation for them to look at me. I’d smile at them for longer than was strictly necessary, sit a little closer than I needed to, accidentally-on-purpose brush against them. I wasn’t entirely sure how to do that with Steph, who wasn’t a boy, and always at the back of my mind lurked the knowledge that Lisa existed, but when I looked at Steph and she looked at me, something happened to push all reason aside. As if my body had already made a decision without any input from my brain.

I sat on the edge of the wooden platform next to the rows of impatiens, stretching my legs across the aisle. I saw her gaze drop, sliding over my limbs. My shorts were almost too short to sit in, but I didn’t unroll them. I crossed my ankles, my fingers curling over the rough edge of the platform, and said, “I listened to the Madchen CD. My favorite is ‘Twenty-One.’ You sing the chorus on that, don’t you?”

A tinge of pink rose in Steph’s cheeks, but it was so faint I might have imagined it. “Thanks,” she said. “Yeah. It’s the song I told you about.”

“I thought so.”

“Did you read the poems, too?”

“Not yet, but I’m going to read them. Thanks for letting me borrow the book.”

“Anytime.”

We were looking at each other again, and her hand came so close to my thigh as she placed the potted impatiens on the platform, the tiny pink blooms limp and defenseless. Maybe she would brush her hand accidentally against my skin. The thought of it made a thrill go through me, as if she already had touched me, and I remember thinking that we were looking at each other for far too long—this was getting obvious—and then Steph seemed to shake her head slightly and broke the gaze. She shifted, straightening up to push the cart a little farther down the aisle, because the platform near me was full now, and she had to stock the next section.

I was a little disappointed. She wasn’t looking at me anymore. I started to wonder if I’d gotten this all wrong, but she said nothing and I said nothing. I heard the sound of carts rolling and the hollow thunk of someone placing a terra-cotta pot on the ground, and a woman asking loudly, “Where are your gardening gloves?”

And then Steph said, “I have my lunch break in half an hour. If you want to hang out here for a while, we could get something to eat.”

She met my eyes again, directly, and just like that my disappointment vanished.

“Okay.” I stood up, brushing the dirt off the back of my shorts, and when I turned around to walk away, I knew she was watching.

—