The result was: I was a Logistician. That meant I was responsible, honest, reliable, and analytical, and that I liked rules, regulations, and systems. Hmm. A lot of the traits were incredibly accurate, but some were a bummer and it made me feel grumpy. I was steady and reliable but also, reading between the lines, kind of boring and unimaginative.

I snapped shut the computer, and my phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Thx, Sierra had written.

Hmm. She was still mad, I could tell. I wrote a new text:

Thank you for organizing a fun, spontaneous night with my classmates. See you tomorrow. Xo

I pressed send and set down my phone, not expecting a reply.

But the phone buzzed a second later.

Text Colin!

Grrr. Now I was really grumpy. I stared at the phone and tried to imagine what I’d say to him.

“Hey, Colin. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was home. I’ve been so busy! How is your summer going?”

My thumbs hovered over the screen without typing. Anything I said would seem lame at this point. I realized now that I was bad at making new friends, and bad at keeping old ones. I threw down my phone in disgust, brushed my teeth, and got ready for bed, all the while thinking of my personality type and how it said I was “slow to make friends” and tended to have a “small inner circle.” Even though this was true, it irritated me. I didn’t like thinking of myself as a predictable type, and I was annoyed that the diagnosis had been so spot-on.

I called good night to my dad, flipped off the overhead light, and got under the covers. He came in to say good night and talk about plans for the next day. Even though I was too old to be “tucked into bed,” I still liked that my dad came in to say good night, since I didn’t get to see him every day now that he and my mom had divorced.

“Is everything okay with you and Sierra?” he asked. “You two were awfully quiet on the way home.”

I sighed. “Yeah. I think we’re good now.”

He ruffled my hair, guaranteeing bed head for me the next day. “Okay. Let me know if you ever need to talk anything through. You two are such old friends, and I know there can be ups and downs. When I was your age, George and I didn’t speak for a whole year. Can you imagine?” He clicked off the bedside light.

George was my godfather and my dad’s best and oldest friend. I couldn’t imagine them going that long without speaking.

“Why?” I asked, swallowing nervously. With only three real friends, I couldn’t spare losing one for a year!