The only problem was, he couldn’t think of a single thing to ask her. All the questions that had passed through his mind over the past few days suddenly ran together as one, their voices drowning one another out until he couldn’t hear a single one. Who? What? When? Where? How? Before he could complete one thought, another shoved it aside, clamoring for attention.

“What’s your favorite color?” He heard himself ask the question, but couldn’t believe he’d actually done so.

“My favorite color?” Caddie repeated. “That’s what you want to know?”

Ben scratched his forehead distractedly. “Yes,” he said, trying to sound confident. “Yes. What’s your favorite color?”

Caddie sighed deeply and shook her head. “Blue,” she said, raising her hands and returning them to their protective position. “I guess it would be blue.”

“Blue,” Ben repeated, nodding his head as if this information were terribly important. “Blue,” he said again. “Blue is good. I like blue too. I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite, but I like it. I prefer green.”

Caddie said nothing. Ben cleared his throat. “How about food?” he said.

“Yeah,” Caddie said. “I like food.”

“What kind?” asked Ben, grasping for something—anything—to say. He could almost physically feel the conversation turning cold, and anxiously rubbed his hands on his thighs to warm them.

Caddie studied him. “What is this?” she asked. “A first date? Can’t you come up with some actual questions instead of this small-talk shit?”

“Why do you swear so much?” Ben asked. “It makes you sound like a whore.”

Caddie stared, her mouth open. Ben, realizing that he’d said the wrong thing, tried to minimize the damage. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly. “I just meant that that kind of language—”

“Is the kind of language whores use,” Caddie finished. “Well, maybe that’s what I am then. A whore.” She spat the last word. Ben, hearing it, felt himself blush.

“It just makes you sound low-class,” he said.

“I’m sorry I’m not living up to your high expectations,” said Caddie. “I guess I shouldn’t have skipped all of those charm school classes.”

“Let’s back up,” Ben suggested. “Okay?” He looked at Caddie, watching her face. Her mouth was a tight line, and her fingers dug into her sides as she hugged herself. Finally, she shrugged.

“Whatever,” she said.

Ben sighed, trying to relax. He paused, clearing his mind so that he could, hopefully, get the conversation back on track. “What kind of things do you like to do?” he tried.

Caddie considered the question. Ben couldn’t tell whether she was really thinking about it or if she was trying to come up with the answer that would most successfully express her disdain for it.

“I like to write,” Caddie said finally.

“Write,” said Ben.