“No,” she replied, realizing she was never going to be able to eat M&M’s again without wanting to keep the greens for him. Or watch baseball games, or shoot hoops, or talk about flowers, or drive to school, or be on the bus, or . . . any of it. His friendship had become the most important relationship in her life, and now she realized it was so much more than friendship to her and she was never going to get up the courage to tell him so. She struggled to find the right words, to not fear another rejection, to be certain of his interest in her.

“So,” he said, smiling, “when do you think your mother was taken by the aliens, and how come they gave her back?”

He watched the corners of her mouth turn up, and wondered if he would ever get tired of seeing her smile. And if he’d ever have the nerve to tell her how he felt.

•   •   •

A few days later Laura decided to talk to Polly and Nina about her revelation. They both simply stared at her.

“Sorry,” said Polly. “You’re telling us you’ve realized you fancy Bob?”

They were sitting on the floor in Nina’s apartment, and Nina was sorting books. She’d sorted her books twenty-nine times, each time slightly differently. This time she was sorting by both author and historical chronology, which meant she had to look things up on the Internet. She was as happy as a toddler with a stir stick. Now she pulled her laptop closer. “Sorry, Laura,” she said. “This is not news to anyone.”

“I will say,” said Polly, who was risking unemployment by occasionally—and very successfully—moving a book from one pile to another without Nina noticing, “that you may have missed the boat.” She shrugged and turned her mouth down. “Sorry, but I have to be honest, it’s my code. At first he was definitely interested in you, but lately he seems more . . .”

“Platonic,” said Laura sadly.

Polly nodded. “I’m sure we can find you someone else to play with,” she said. “Bob’s very good looking but he’s not exactly exciting.”

“How do you mean?” said Laura a little defensively.

“Well, you know,” said Polly. “He’s so straight he doesn’t need a ruler.”

“Worst insult ever, Pol,” said Nina, frowning at a stack she thought she’d already finished. “Sorry, but I have to be honest, it’s my code.”

“Fair enough,” said Polly, “but you have to admit, he doesn’t do much. He works, he watches football or whatever, he talks about work or football or whatever, and presumably he thinks about work and football or whatever.” She shook herself. “I like a guy with a bit more fire.”