“Calvin’s my friend,” Lexie said. “He’ll understand.”

“I don’t think so. He thinks you’re going out.”

“Don’t be silly. No, he doesn’t.”

“Hey—you don’t know him like I do.”

“He’s my escort. We have fun together. He knows there’s nothing more to it than that.”

“You don’t get it, do you? If we start going out, it will crush him. He’s one of us handicapped sighted people who believes what he sees.”

Lexie pulled her shoulders back, getting all offended. “I think I’m a much better judge of character than you think I am.”

“All I’m saying is that we can’t do this to him.”

“So you don’t want to go out with me?”

I sighed. “I didn’t say that either.”

12. A Horror Movie Blow-by-Blow, with the Undisputed Queen of the 3-B Club

Unlike my parents, I don’t know much about cooking. According to them, the only recipe I know is a recipe for disaster. I actually have a few of them. Here’s the latest: Take one blind girl who’s not nearly as insightful as she thinks she is, add one Italian ham, sprinkle generously with Schwa, then put in a pot and turn up the heat.

I asked Lexie out to dinner, and she suggested we go to a movie first. It didn’t occur to me that the movies with her would be an altogether different experience. Since I was no longer her paid escort, I had to shell out the money for it myself. I didn’t mind. It felt like an accomplishment.

I knew the Schwa would have a cow if he knew about the date—more than a cow, he’d have a whole herd—but I put him out of my mind, for once allowing the Schwa Effect to work in my favor. I forgot him and let myself have a good time with Lexie.

Usually you took a girl to the movies so you wouldn’t have to talk, and so you’d be in a position to put your arm around her shoulder and, God willing, make out. But going to the movies with Lexie was like taking an Honors English class.

“Okay . . . now she’s walking toward the air lock,” I announced. We were about ten minutes into the movie and I hadn’t stopped talking yet.

“How is she walking?”

“I don’t know—like a person walks.”

“Is she strolling, meandering, stalking?”

“Storming,” I said. “She’s storming down the hallway toward the air lock.”

The music flared, the air lock hissed open, and the audience screamed.

“Is that the monster?” Lexie asked.

“Yeah.”

“Describe it.”

“It’s big, and bluish green.”

“Don’t use colors.”

“Uh . . . okay. It’s crusty like a lobster, and spiny like a porcupine. You know what that is?”

“I’m blind, not stupid.”

“Right.” I had forgotten about “tactile learning.”