It was inevitable that we would hear bits and pieces from Irving, but just enough to keep our curiosity piqued. Now, Pound Junior High had a few upper-middle-class kids but I was not one of them. I grew up with my grandma in a ranch house near the eastern edge of town. Yes, I had a few toys. But there were hardly piles of them. And we went to church a lot. A. LOT. Sometimes my grandma would actually speak at the church, like do that day’s readings from the Bible. So, you know, it was all pretty serious.

We can talk later about why I lived with her. Then you can judge.

At this moment I’m letting you hear about, we’re at the Nebraska State Fair. The sun has gone down and the lights of the Zipper are flying up and down behind my friends, who are all crouched together, whispering excitedly. I dip my head in.

“What? What are you guys talking about?” I whisper.

“They’re there,” my bossy friend Callie replies.

“Who’s there? Where?”

“Right there! Don’t look!” Callie gestures with her head, subtle, and I follow to what looks to be a group of shadows, at the foot of the Zipper.

“Did they see us?” Callie whispers, serious.

“I don’t think so. Who is that, anyway?” I ask.

“Who is that?! Who is that?” Callie looks at me in astonishment. “That is only the only people from Irving Junior High we care about. And that we have to get to like us. Next year. Or we can kiss high school goodbye.”

“Really? Why? Why would we kiss high school goodbye . . . ?”

“There he is. Did he see me?” Callie is practically hyperventilating. But our mutual friend, Sally, placates her.

“No, you’re fine. He didn’t see you,” she soothes.

“Who didn’t see you?” I ask.

Callie rolls her eyes at me. “Zander Haaf.”

I meet this declaration with a stone-cold look of . . . nothing.

“Zander Haaf! You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of Zander Haaf?” She rolls her eyes at me again. Callie rolls her eyes a lot. It’s how she got to be the queen of Pound Junior High.

Sally leans in. “It’s okay, I hadn’t heard of him till last year, either.”

“That’s because you never pay attention.” Callie is somehow getting meaner by the minute. “Is he looking at me now?”

Sally and I look over to the teenage figures entering the Zipper.

“No. They are definitely not paying attention,” I admit.

“They’re just getting on the ride,” Sally adds.

“Fine.” Callie huffs off in the direction of the funnel cakes.

Something about Callie huffing off gets the attention of one of the Zipper guys from Irving. He looks at her. Then looks to where she came from. Then looks at us.

Then looks at . . .

me.

And I know, right then and there, without a description, without a word, without a thought . . . that that is Zander Haaf.