“Yeah, I guess, but I didn’t want to.”

Someone pulled up to the curb, rolled down the window, and blew a slide whistle.

“Do they do that at all blind schools?” I asked Lexie.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “This one is just weird.” She turned her head slightly to the side. “I hear my driver further up the street. C’mon, you can ride home with me.”

She led me to a black Lincoln—a car service that the Crawleys had hired to take Lexie to and from school. The driver had a Pakistani look about him, and rather than using a plain old noisemaker, he was playing the harmonica. Badly.

“My father started him off with a kazoo. I gave him the harmonica because it’s so much more dignified. I figure he might actually be able to play by the end of the school year.”

We got in the car and sped off, with Moxie lying across our feet.

“Your grandfather says you’re angry at me.”

“He told you that?”

“Yeah, and I think I’ve got a right to know why. I mean, you dumped me in the middle of a concert, and now you’re the one who’s angry at me?”

Moxie sensed a little anger on my part, and he barked. It was the first time I had ever heard him bark.

“Dumped you? Is that what you think?”

“No, I guess not. I guess you just fired me. That’s just as bad. So now I want to know why you’re the one who’s angry. If anyone should be mad, it’s me.”

“I’m not angry. I’m just . . . disappointed.”

“Why?”

“Because you dumped me.”

“Now you’re just playing games with me.”

“No, I’m not,” she said. “As long as you were being paid, we couldn’t really be dating, could we? I even said that at the concert, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“So if Calvin is my paid escort, my grandfather gets what he wants, and then you could ask me out for a real date.” And then she added, “But you didn’t.”

My jaw swung open like Wendell Tiggor in math. Words failed me.

“I swear,” said Lexie, “you sighted people don’t see anything unless it’s staring you in the face.” And then she leaned forward and planted a kiss square on my mouth. It was a perfect hit, like she had a radar lock on my lips. Then she said, “Is there anything unclear about that, or do you need a Hallmark card?”

I looked around, self-conscious as anything, but there was no one to see us but Moxie and the Pakistani driver, who kept his eyes on the road like it was the hardest level of a video game.

“I guess I get the picture now,” was all I could say. Then a nasty little thought surfaced to ruin the moment.

“What about the Schwa?”