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[FF暑假阅读] How Not to Spend Your Senior Year

[这个贴子最后由luxiaohui2在 2004/07/20 05:40pm 第 1 次编辑]

         [color=#6495ED][size=3][font=Lucida Console]Chapter One[/font][/size][/color]
  [size=2]The Story you are about to read is 100 percent（百分之百）true.
  No, honestly（真的）.
  Of course some things have been changed to protect the innocent（保护清白的人）. But you’d expect that. It’s standard operating procedure（标准操作程序） when it comes to based-on-true-events stories（立足于真实事件的故事）. If this were a techno-thriller（毛骨悚然的）, I could say SOP（代表Standard Operating Procedure）. And I suppose I could anyway. Parts of my story [b]are[/b] quite thrilling（吓人的）, though there really isn’t anything particularly techno about them. Except（除了） for this one part where…
  Okay. Wait.
  I can’t believe this is happening. I’m only a couple of paragraphs（段） into this, and already I’m starting to tell things out of order. A thing which is pretty danged（相当于d#amn）annoying（讨厌人的）, I must admit（承认）, though it does bring up an important question, which is as follows:
  Where does my 100-percent-true story truly start?
  I suppose you could say the whole thing started the day I was born. I’m thinking that’s a bit extreme（极端）, thought. As an alternative（另一种方法）, I’m going to go with the third grade, which I think makes me about eight years old. I’m choosing this because that’s the year my mom died, and my dad and I moved for the very first time.
  Actually let me rephrase（重复）that. This is an important point, and I need to make sure I get it just right.
  That’s the year my mom was killed in a hit-and-run（肇事逃离）collision（冲撞）, and my dad and I moved for the very first time.
  Way back then, of course, I had no idea that these events were related, or that changing location on the spur（刺激的）of the moment was, paradoxically（adv. 荒谬的）, about to become one of the most important constants（常数，这里指一个很重要的部分）in my life.
  Just how often [b]did[/b] we move? Let me put it this way: To the best of my knowledge（知识）, I am the only person in the entire（整个）United States（美国） to have attended（参加，这里指上学的上字）fourteen different elementary school（小学）between third and the sixth grades.
  That’s 3.5 schools a year, in case you’re counting.
  The pace（速度，在这里指换学校的频率） slowed down a little bit in junior high（初中） to 2.5 schools a year, then settled down（下减到）to an even two for the years I was in high school. Except for senior year, of course, but I’ll be explaining more about that in a moment.
  [b]Why[/b] did we move so much? You’re no doubt（不用怀疑的） also wondering（想知道）. The answer to this one is pretty simple.
  I don’t know.
  Or, here’s more of that getting-it-just-right thing again: I know [b]now[/b], but I didn’t know at the time. I didn’t even ask about it, to be completely honest（完全诚实的）. By the time I was old enough（足够大了）to question the way we lived, I was so used to the way Dad and I did things that I thought it was normal.
  I did stop unpacking my suitcases after a while. This isn’t nearly as weird as it sounds. You put your clothes away in dresser drawers（抽屉）. I put mine away in suitcases. In both cases, folding was involved. It also wasn’t nearly as depressing（沉闷的）as you might think. In fact, you can pretty much stop waiting for me to reveal（显示）my inner-trauma girl（少女的内心）about this, because I simply haven’t got one.
  Over the years my dad and I developed a routine（发展了一套程序）when it came to moving. Actually two routines: One for leaving a place, and another for arriving in one. But no matter where we went, the living quarters（住处）were always the same: a furnished apartment（一个有家具的公寓）. This was another aspect（另一方面）of life I simply never thought to question. I think I was about twelve before it finally dawned on me that not all dwelling（适应） places came complete with couches.
  Regardless（不管）of the apartment’s location（方位）, my father and I always performed（执行） the same action upon stepping across the threshold（开始） for the very first time. We looked for the perfect（完美的）location for this big gold-framed photo of my mom. Dad packed it in one of his own suitcases, but he always let me pick out the spot for it. Without fail（失败）, I looked for a place that would let me see Mom’s picture the moment I walked in the front door.
  Not that we were morbid（有病的）about this or anything. We both knew my mom was gone. But we didn’t have to pretend she’d never existed（存在过）, my dad said. Getting out the photograph was just one way of demonstrating（示范） the way she lived on in our hearts.
  Our leaving routine（程序） was slightly（有一点） more complex（复杂）and involved（关于）two distinct（截然不同的） phases（阶段）. Phase one involved [b]Phone Calls of Mysterious Origin.[/b]（不明来源的通话）These always came in late at night and went on for several（几个）nights in a row. Though the calls were another thing I got so used to I never questioned my dad directly（直接的）, I did come up with a couple of theories（理论）about them:
a)They came in at night in the hope that I would be asleep and not hear the phone ring.
b)Dad never talked long, so it couldn’t be a new girlfriend. Therefore, the caller had to be another guy.
  I mean, can we just get real here for a second? I’m a girl. When do I [b]not[/b] hear the phone?
  After a couple of days（过了几天）, the [b]Phone Calls of Mysterious Origin[/b] （不明来源的通话）would cease（停止） as abruptly（突然的）as they started. A day when nothing special（特别的）seemed to happen would go by. Secretly I’d begin double checking my suitcases, making sure everything was in order, because I knew what was coming next.
  That would be phase two. In phase two, [b]The Map[/b]（这里只是地图的意思）got involved. The really big one of the whole United States that covered the entire（整个）kitchen table when we opened it.[/size][/b]

[FF暑假阅读] How Not to Spend Your Senior Year

实在是对不起，因为现在大家都比较忙，本来JUNEYEAH要帮我翻译的，但他现在血液太忙了，所以我就把我还没有翻译的部分给发上来，真是对不起了！
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（接上）
“Hey, Jo-Jo,” my dad would call out as he heard me come in the door. Dad does freelance research. Or maybe, considering our lifestyle, the term should be free-range. He spends most of his day sitting in front of his laptop looking things up for people he almost never sees. Not your standard Dad-type job, I must admit, but it did have an advantage for us in that he could work from home no matter where home was.
  He calls me Jo-Jo because that’s my nickname. My full name is Josephine Claire Calloway O’Connor, if you have to have it all spelled out. Usually I’m just called Jo. Or, occasionally, Jo-Claire, if my dad is seriously annoyed with me about something.
  Dad’s name is Chase William, a name I’ve always thought sounds exactly like a relay race. I’ve never heard anybody call him by either one of his first names. Instead people call him Con. That’s short for O’Connor, not a negative character assessment, by the way.
  “Guess where we’re going,” my dad would say, gesturing to [The Map] while I put my backpack on the counter and headed to the fridge for the glass of juice I’d poured before heading out for school that morning. Just another example of being prepared. I probably would have been a Girl Scout if we’d stayed in one place long enough.
  “Is it warm and sunny with no big bugs?” I’d inquire. This had been my standard question since I was ten, mostly because I thought it described Southern California. If we had to move, why not close to Disneyland?
  “Sunny and warm?” my dad would exclaim, scrunching up his face in mock horror. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Jo-Jo?”
  “Gee, Dad, I don’t know. But if you give me a minute, I’ll find it and pack it.”
  At this, my father would laugh and tousle my hair, a thing which occasionally resulted in juice ending up on the floor.
  “Here, We’re going right here, sweet-heart.”
  With these words, Dad would point to a spot on [The Map]. He never pointed at anyplace even remotely closed to Disneyland, a thing I probably don’t need to tell you. Pretty much without fail, my dad would have selected some town that even the people who already lived there had barely even heard of.
  Not only that, but for some reason I’ve never even attempted to explain, my father seemed particularly attracted to towns whose names begin with the letter B.
  Which explains how I ended up living in Bemidgi, Minnesota; Bottom, North Carolina; Braintree, Vermont (actually, East Braintree); and Boring, Oregon.
  Boring was the last small town we lived in, though. And also the last place beginning with B, now that I think about it. I was about to start high school by then, and the next time my father got [The Map] out, he announced that, for the duration of my high school years, we’d be living in a metropolitan area environment, as this would be better for my overall development.
  I have no idea how he came to this conclusion. Let’s just say I didn’t argue.
  After Boring, we moved to Clackamas, which wasn’t all that far away but did have one key feature of a metropolitan environment which definitely improved my overall development: shopping malls. It also started with the letter C, which I had to figure meant Dad and I were making some sort of progress, even is I didn’t exactly know what kind. That’s where I began my freshman year.
  I finished it across the Washington border, in a place called Enumclaw. I am not making any of these names up, just so you know. Enumclaw is actually slightly east of Clackamas, in a longitude and latitude sort of way. I think it was right about then that I developed this sudden fear that, having spent most of my childhood moving in a westerly direction, my father was now going to touch base at the Pacific Ocean, then start moving us back the way we’d come.
  Before I could get up the courage to ask about this, however, we moved again pretty much straight north, to a place called Issaquah. This did allay my moving-back-east fears, though the thought that we might be headed for the Canadian border did begin to cross my mind.
  The rest of sophomore, all of junior, and the beginning of senior year we spent bouncing from place to place on what people in the greater Seattle metropolitan area called the Eastside, by which they mean the east side of Lake Washington.
  Right about the time I was begging to worry that my father had developed a water phobia, about two thirds of the way through senior year, we got a flurry of [Phone Calls of Mysterious Origin.] As a result, we finally did it. We moved to Seattle. And it’s in Seattle that the main events of my story actually take place.
  There you have it. My childhood in a nutshell.
  Before I get completely up to a date, though, there’s a thing you absolutely must know. I don’t particularly relish confessing this, but I pretty much have to. If I don’t, nothing that happened later will make any sense to you at all.
  Now that I think about it, I suppose I could have started my 100-percent-tru story right here. On my first day at Beacon High. That’s the day I did the very last thing I expected.
  I fell head over heels in love.

[FF暑假阅读] How Not to Spend Your Senior Year

Chapter Two
  His name was Alex Crawford.
  Actually it still is. Nothing terrible happens to him during the course if my story, though it’s both fair an accurate to say he does experience some surprises. A thing which makes two of us, now that I think about it.
  Alex himself was my very first surprise.
  If things had gone the way they usually did at anew school, chances were good Alex and I would never have met. Or, at the most, we’d have seen each other only across a crowded classroom or passing in the halls. He’d take one look at me, maybe notice I was new, then forget he’d never seen me at all.
  No, I am not dissing myself, nor am I suffering from some undiagnosed self- esteem problem of astronomical proportions. I’m just stating the natural result of my number one approach to fitting in at a new school.
  [Always blend in. Never stand out from the crowd.]
  This is actually a lot easier than it sounds. All you have to do is be reasonably pleasant to everyone you meet and resist the impulse to make extreme fashion choices.
  It’s also more interesting than you might expect. To be an observer. To be, as it were, a crowd of one. In my case, it was also the only practical thing to do. There wasn’t very much point in getting noticed or getting attached when I knew that, sooner or later, and usually it was sooner, I’d moving on.
  There is one other advantage of not drawing attention to yourself: It makes it much easier to figure out who the players are.
  On my left, the computer geeks and skateboard dudes. To my right, the always-dressed-in-basic-black artist types. Front and center, the popular crowd. Each school has its own unique variations, of course, fall into two main categories: those who want to be noticed, and those who don’t. If you fall into the second category, as I always did, you develop extremely good adaptation skills, enabling you to identify the players at a glance, then blend right in to virtually any situation you encounter. After all the new schools I’ve had to adjust to over the years, I think I can in all modesty state that I possess camouflage skills that can make any blue mutant you care to name look like a total piker.
  They all deserted me the day that I met Alex.
  It happened my very first day at Beacon, a thing I think I mentioned before. I was standing across the street from the big brick building that would, in just a few moments, become my brand-new (and I sincerely hoped my last) high school, gazing upward. You’re probably thinking I was sizing up the school.
  I wasn’t.
  Instead, the thing that had captured my attention was this big metal column topped by… absolutely nothing. It was doing this in the parking lot of what I had to figure was the main supplier of off-campus food: a retro-fifties fast-food joint.
  [Maybe it’s supposed to be some kind of art,] I thought as I stared at the column. I was living in a big city now, after all. Public art happened. Not only that, it didn’t have to make sense. In fact, having it [not] make sense was probably a requirement.
  “They took it down for repairs,” a voice beside me suddenly said.
  I’m kind of embarrassed to admit this, but the truth is, I jumped about a mile. I’d been so mesmerized by the sight of that column extending upward into space, supporting empty air, that I’d totally lost track of all my soon-to-be-fellow students rushing by me. To this day, I can’t quite explain the fascination. But I’ve promised to tell you the 100 percent truth, which means I’ve got to include even parts which make me less than impressive.
  “Huh?”
  Yes, all right, I know. Nowhere even near the list of incredibly clever replies.
  “They took it down for repairs,” the voice said again.
  “Took it down,” I echoed. By this time, I knew I was well on my way to breaking my own blending-in rule, big time. Sounding like a foolproof method of getting yourself noticed.
  “The car that’s usually up there.” The guy—it [was] a guy; I’d calmed down enough to realize that—said. I snuck a quick glance at him out of the corner of my eye. First fleeting impression: tall and blond. The kind of muscular-yet-lanky build I might as well just come right out and admit I’ve always been a sucker for. Faded jeans. Letterman jacket with just about every sport there was represented on it.
  [Gotcha!] I thought. BMOC. [Big Man on Campus.]
  This made me feel a little better for a couple of reasons. The first was that it showed my skills hadn’t abandoned me completely after all. I could still identify the players pretty much on sight.
  The second was that in my vast, though admittedly from-a-distance, experience of them, BMOCs, have short attention spans for anyone less BOC than they are. Disconcerting and intense as it was at the moment, I could nevertheless take comfort in the fact that this guy’s unexpected and unnatural interest in me was also unlikely to last very long.
  “An old Chevy, I think,” he was going on now. “It’s supposed to be back soon, though. Not really the same without it, is it?”
  He actually sounded genuinely mournful. I was surprised to find myself battling back a quick, involuntary smile. He did seem to be more interesting than your average, run-of-the-mill BMOC. I had to give him that.
  [Get a grip, O’Connor,] I chastised myself. “Absolutely not,” I said, giving my head a semi-vigorous nod. [That ought to move him along,] I thought.
  You may not be aware of this fact, but agreeing with people is often an excellent way of getting them to forget all about you. After basking in the glow of agreement, most people are then perfectly content to go about their business, remembering only the fact that someone agreed and allowing the identity of the person who did the actual agreeing to fade into the background.
  This technique almost always works. In fact, I’d never known not to.
  There was a moment of silence. A silence in which I could feel the BMOC’s eyes upon on me. I kept my own eyes fixed on the top of the car-less column. But the longer the silence went on, the more strained it became. At least it did on my side. This guy was simply not abiding by the rules. He was supposed to have basked and moved on by now.
  “You don’t have the faintest idea what I’m talking about, do you?” he said at last.
  I laughed before I quite realized what I’d done.
  “Not a clue,” I said, turning to give him my full attention for the very first time, an action I could tell right away spelled trouble. [You just had to do it, didn’t you?] I thought. He was even better looking when I took a better look.
  He flashed me a smile, and I felt my pulse kick up several notches. My brain knew perfectly well that that smile had [not] been invented just for me. My suddenly-beating-way-too-fast heart wasn’t paying all that much attention to my brain, though.
  “You must be new, then,” he commented. “I’d remember you if we’d met before.”
  All of a sudden, his face went totally blank.
  “I cannot believe I just said that,” he said. “That is easily the world’s oldest line.”
  “If it isn’t, it’s the cheesiest,” I said.
  He winced. “I’d ask you to let me make it up to you, but I’m thinking that would make things even worse.”
  “You’d be thinking right.”
  This time he was the one who laughed, the sound open and easy, as if he was genuinely enjoying the joke on himself. In retrospect I think it was that laugh that did it. That finished the job his smile had started. You just didn’t find all that many guys, all that many people, who were truly willing to laugh at themselves.
  “I’m Alex Crawford,” he said.
  “Jo,” I said. “Jo O’Connor.”
  At this Alex actually stuck out his hand. His eyes, which I probably don’t need to tell you, were this pretty much impossible shade of blue, focused directly on my face.
  “Please to meet you, Jo O’Connor.”
  I watched my hand move forward to meet his, as if it belonged to a stranger and was moving in slow motion. At that exact moment, an image of the robot form the movie [Lost in Space] flashed through my mind. Arms waving frantically in the air, screaming, [“Danger! Danger!”] at the top of its inhuman lungs.
  My hand kept moving anyhow.
  Our fingers connected. I felt the way Alex’s wrapped around mine, then tightened. Felt the way that simple action caused a flush to spread across my cheeks and a tingle to start in the palm of my hand and slowly begin to work its way up my arm. To this day, I’d swear I heard him suck widen. As if, at the exact same moment I looked up at him, he’d discovered something as completely unexpected as I had, gazing down.
  He released me. I stuck my hand behind my back.
  “Please to meet you, Jo O’Connor,” he said again. Not quite the way he had the first time. “Welcome to Beacon High. So, where are you from, if you aren’t from around here?”
  “Pretty much all over,” I said, retaining just enough presence of mind to give my standard, non-specific reply.
  “O-kaay,” Alex said, drawing out the second syllable as if trying to decide whether or not to ask more.
  From across the street at the school, the warning bell that signaled the imminent commencement of classes trilled sharply.
  “Sounds like we’d better get going,” Alex said.
  “Uh-huh,” I responded.
  He stepped back and made a gesture as if ushering me forward. I walked beside him toward my newest school, trying to convince myself that the reason I suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded was that I’d contracted some bizarre Seattle flu bug.

[FF暑假阅读] How Not to Spend Your Senior Year

Chapter Three
  You know that phrase, everywhere you go, and there you are? Well, my first day at Beacon provided me with the inspiration for variation:
  Everywhere I went, there was Alex Crawford.
  Following our surprising encounter in the car-less-column parking lot, I’d done my best to return to my normal blending-in behavior, an endeavor which was aided by the fact that first period English was a class Alex and I did not have in common.
  I’d timed my arrival at the first classroom with my usual attention to detail. I wanted the room full, but not too full. Then I’d entered calmly and taken a seat about three quarters of the way back.
  This is the seating chart equivalent of the no-extreme-fashion-choices concept, just so you know. All the way at the back says [troublemaker] to the teachers. Too far forward and your fellow classmates think [teacher’s pet.]
  The inevitable announcement that there was a new student brought the equally inevitable several minutes of unwanted attention. After which, when I did nothing further note, my new classmates were content to relegate me to the same category as white noise. A thing that was perfectly fine with me. By the time first period was over, my head felt back to normal, and I was well on my way to congratulating myself on my quick recovery from my encounter with Alex Crawford.
  Right up until the moment I walked out of the classroom and straight into his arms.
  It was hard not to. He was standing right outside the door.
  His hands came up to grasp and steady me at the same time as he flashed me that mind-numbing smile. [How on earth did he get here so fast? ]I wondered.
  “Hey, Jo O’Connor,” he said.
  “Hey, yourself,” I mumbled.
  At that moment, I made a snap decision, a thing I usually avoid. My usual new school adjustment techniques just didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere, at least not with Alex Crawford. If at first you don’t succeed, try try again. Only a fool tries the same thing twice, though. If fading into the background wasn’t going to work, maybe standing out by being obnoxious would.
  “What did you say your name was, again?” I asked.
  Alex laughed. [Oh, nice move, O’Connor,] I thought. It was the same kind of laugh he’d given before. Open, easy, unselfconscious. A laugh that softened all my defenses and pretty much made my heart want to melt like one of those little pats of butter you get at Denny’s left out in the sun.
  It also got attention of anyone nearby who had somehow miraculously failed to notice the extra attention Mr. BMOC was paying to the new girl. Assuming there had actually been anyone.
  “Not to be rude or anything,” I said as I took a step back. This forced Alex to let go of my arms. Unfortunately it also resulted in me stomping on the feet of whoever was trying to get out behind me.
  “Hey, watch it,” I heard him say.
  “But I believe it’s traditional to let the first-period students exit the classroom before the second-period ones go in,” I went on.
  “I’m not going in,” Alex said simply. “I’m walking you to your next class. History, right?”
  [Right,] I thought. Right before I thought, [this has absolutely got to stop.] If I couldn’t nip whatever was happening with Alex Crawford in the bud, there was no telling where I’d end up, though it seemed a pretty safe bet that making a fool of myself would somehow be involved.
  “How do you even know where it is?” I asked, my tone aggressive. “What if it’s nowhere near where you have to be?”
  At this, the student behind me decided he’d waited long enough. He gave me a quick shove. An action that sent me right back into Alex Crawford’s arms.
  “It doesn’t make a difference,” Alex said.
  My brain struggled for most of the rest of the day, but even then, I think it knew that my heart had won.
  “You’ll like Drama,” Alex promised a couple of hours later. We were walking across a wide swath of green lawn that separated the school’s Little Theater from the main classroom building. “Mr. Barnes, the teacher, is great. He makes the whole thing really interesting and fun. Even the performing part isn’t too humiliating.”
  “Gee, that’s a relief.”
  On the far side of Alex, I heard a snort of amusement and knew it had come from the third member of our group, a girl named Elaine Golden.
  I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Elaine. She’d shown up with Alex a couple of times as he’d walked me from one class to another. I had to figure either Alex had asked her to do this, hoping we’d become friends, or she’d tagged along of her own free will, determined to keep an eye on him. It was obvious they were tight, though equally obvious that they weren’t a couple. The vibe between then just wasn’t quite right.
  If ever there was a person whose name suited her perfectly, it was Elaine. Everything about her was sort of… golden. She was tall, with hazel eyes and a head of softly waving gold-blonde hair. Even her skin looked vaguely tan, at a time of year when practically everybody else in Seattle still looked like the inside of a mushroom.
  “Actually, Alex is correct,” Elaine said now. “Even if he expressed himself in a completely pathetic way.”
  Alex made a face at her. “I get no respect,” he signed.
  “Who ran incredibly successful election campaign?” Elaine asked sweetly.
  “Who ran opposed?” Alex inquired.
  “Oh, that,” Elaine said.
  One of the things I’d discovered during the course of the day was just how big a BMOC Alex Crawford truly was. He’d been class resident every year since he’d been a freshman. As a senior, he was considered such a shoe-in for student body resident that he’d run unopposed. After graduation, he was expected to follow his father’s footsteps and study law at Harvard, or so a girl with the unbelievable-yet-apparently-true name of Khandi Kayne had informed me at morning break.
  This was right before she further informed me that she was taking Alex to the girl-ask-boy dance that Friday night. A thing which went a long way toward explaining why my strong instinct had been not to turn my back on her.
  “Just so long as you’ve finished the unit on Shakespeare,” I said as Elaine, Alex, and I neared the theater door. We’d go in through the lobby, Alex had explained, but class was actually held in the auditorium.
  “I had an English teacher my sophomore year who used to make us read it aloud in class. I was completely hopeless. My tongue kept getting all tangled up.”
  “In that case, I really hate to break this to you…” Elaine began.
  I stopped short. “Please tell me that you’re joking.”
  “I’m joking,” Elaine said obligingly. “Unfortunately for you, I’m also lying.”
  [Fabulous,] I thought, just as Alex opened the Little Theater door and ushered us through it with a definitely Shakespearean bow.
  My first Drama class at Beacon was either:
a)Not so bad, or
b)Worse than I could possibly have imagined.
Depending entirely on which portion of the period we’re talking about.
It started off just fine. The class [was] doing scenes from Shakespeare, a thing you’ve probably already gathered by now. The bad news was that Mr. Barnes made it clear from the outset that, since I was now a class member, I’d be expected to participate right along with everyone else. Beginning now.
  The good news was that the class was working “on book,” a term that means with scripts in hand. This meant I wouldn’t automatically be at a handicap because I didn’t already have something memorized.
  I could see right away why Alex and Elaine liked Mr. Barnes. He wasn’t stuffy or pretentious, though he did dress sort of preppy, like he’d originally come from the east coast.
  But his whole approach was simple and straightforward. What did the words mean? Why should we care about them in the first place? Why give a tip about Shakespeare after all this time? That complicated high-flown language couldn’t possibly be expressing things we’d understand, maybe even go through, could it?
  As far as Mr. Barnes concerned, the answer was, “Duh.”
  To illustrate his point, Mr. Barnes had chosen scenes from a variety of Shakespeare’s plays, all with the same thought in mind: to demonstrated that the emotional content was current, even if the language wasn’t. [Romeo and Juliet] was a particularly good example of this. I assume I don’t have to explain why.
  During the course of the period, I’d watched students enact conflicts between best friends and bitter enemies. I’d heard Romeo talk about his latest girlfriend, knowing perfectly well he was going to forget all about her in a few scenes later when Juliet came along.
  I’d even read Juliet’s line myself, in a confrontation with her father, and gotten so carried away with trying to make the guy playing Dear Old Dad see my side of things that I’d forgotten all about my previous bout of getting tongue tied.
  After each scene, Mr. Barnes promoted the class discussion. What seemed real to us? What didn’t? If we suddenly found ourselves in a same situation, how might we respond?
  Then Alex and Elaine got up. They were Romeo and Juliet themselves. Not in the famous balcony scene, but the much shorter scene where they first see one another, literally across a crowded room. A crowded dance floor, to be precise.
  Alex faced the class, while Elaine stood with her back to us, her face turn into profile. Romeo/Alex then gave her first impressions of Juliet/Elaine.
  “O! She doth teach the torches to burn bright. It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth to clear! So shows a shadowy dove trooping with crows as yonder lady o’er fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand and, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
  “Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”
  Then, as if the measure, the dace that Juliet was engaged in during this speech, had ended, Alex moved to Elaine and Romeo began to act on the strength of his first impressions.
  One thing you can definitely say about Romeo: That boy did not waste time. The first meeting between Romeo and Juliet is actually incredibly short. But, before it’s over, Romeo has managed to get two kisses.
  Actually, Alex-as-Romeo only man aged one.
  You should have heard a pin drop—the auditorium was so quite as Alex and Elaine came to the crucial moment. Slowly, as if testing both her nerve and his, Romeo/Alex keened in. Juliet/Elaine stayed perfectly still. Softly, almost tentatively, their lips touched.
  [I wonder what she’s feeling.] I thought as I felt my own lips begin to tingle. I think that was the moment I acknowledged the truth. I had fallen, hopelessly, for Alex Crawford.
  Romeo/Alex eased back from the kiss. He and Juliet/Elaine stared at one another. The air seemed to hum with a funny sort if tension.
  [These guys are really good], I thought. Then Juliet/Elaine broke the spell. In the scene, instead of melting at Romeo’s feet, Juliet makes a snappy, teasing comeback. Maybe Mr. Barnes was right about this Shakespeare-is-relevant thing after all. Not to be deterred, Romeo tries for kiss number two. Elaine waited until Alex’s lips were a breath away before providing a snappy comeback all her own.
  “I don’t think so, pal.”
  Alex jerked back with a strangled laugh, just as the rest of the class joined in. The two sat down to a round of raucous applause.
  “So, what do you think?” Mr. Barnes asked when the class had quieted. “Is what Romeo and Juliet experience love at first sight? Is true love possible after only a few moments, or should we just write off what these two teenagers experience to raging hormones?’
  “Is there a difference?” a guy named Matt Kelly quipped.
  “In the case of some people, probably not,” Mr. Barnes responded calmly.
  “Does it [make] a difference?” I heard voice say over the laughter that followed. “I mean, is whether or not love at first sight is possible even Shakespeare’s point?”
  “Okay,” Mr. Barnes said at once. “What is the point, Jo?” [Now you’ve done it, O’Connor], I thought as I realized the voice had been mine. I’d gotten so carried away with my own inner-monologue, I’d spoken my thoughts aloud.
  “The point is that [they] believe in love at first sight,” I said, somewhat haltingly as every eye in the class turned toward me. “Romeo and Juliet [believe] that they’re in love. They believe it so much they’re willing to die to prove it. I’m thinking that’s a bit extreme, extreme, even for hormones.”
  A ripple of quiet, appreciative laughter traveled through the room.
  “And what about you?” inquired Mr. Barnes.
  “What about me what?” I asked. “My hormones are fine, so far as I know.”
  “Thank you for sharing,” Mr. Barnes said over another round of laughter. “What I’m asking is: Do you believe in love at first sight?”
  I opened my mouth to say of course I didn’t. To say that just because I could believe in Romeo and Juliet’s love at first sight didn’t mean I had to believe in my own.
  That was the minute that Alex Crawford turned his head. Just as they’d done first thing that morning, his blue eyes met mine. Alex’s eyes were almost expressionless. There was no challenge in them. In stead they seemed incredibly patient, as if they were waiting for something. Looking into them I found I couldn’t do the thing my brain’s urging. I simply could not bring myself to lie.
  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” I said.
  Then, much to my relief, the bell rang before I could say anymore.

[FF暑假阅读] How Not to Spend Your Senior Year

Chapter Four
  The rest of the day passed in a blur, with me trying to recover from what I had done. Instead of blending in as usual, I’d fallen in love. Not only that, I’d as good as admitted it in public.
  The day had not gone as planned. At all. A thing which resulted in it being the case that, for the very first time in my entire life, I was actually happy when P.E. rolled around. Not only was it the last class of the day, it was the one place I could be absolutely certain Alex wouldn’t try to tag along. Not only that, the class was doing a unit on track and field events.
  For reasons I assume I don not have to explain, running was sounding like a pretty good option.
  The only potential drawback was that I shared the class with both Khandi Kayne and Elaine Golden. For obvious reasons, I decided to stick close to Elaine.
  “For crying out loud,” she gasped now as she tumbled to the grass at the side of the track. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, you win. I give up.”
  We’d been running for a solid forty-five minutes. Not all that long, of course, if you’re a marathoner. But I’d set a pretty brutal pace. It had taken all of the time Elaine and I had been able to keep going for me to figure out that, no matter how fast I went, I wasn’t going to able to outrun myself.
  “I never asked you to pace me,” I said as I flopped down beside her, breathing hard.
  Elaine sopped sweat from her face with the hem of her T-shirt, propped herself up on one elbow, and glared at me.
  “I’m trying to be friendly here, New Girl, in case you hadn’t noticed. What is your problem?”
  I’m not entirely certain what happened then. I think it was some variation of [Nothing Left to Lose Syndrome]. Absolutely nothing that day had gone the way I’d thought it would. How much worse could things get if I simply admitted the truth?
  “I can tell you in two words,” I said. “Alex Crawford.”
  Elaine stared for a moment, an expression I couldn’t quite read on her face, then dropped down flat on her back. “You’re insane, you know that, don’t you? Any girl on this campus would love to have your problem.”
  “Including you?” I asked, images of the scene from Romeo and Juliet dancing through my mind.
  “And come between him and Khandi Kayne?” Elaine answered promptly, her tone sarcastic. “i don’t think so. Personally, I’d like to live to attend my own graduation.”
  “So I was right.”
  “About what?”
  “I thought she spent most of lunch period trying to figure out how to stab me in the back with her plastic salad fork.”
  Elaine gave a sputter of laughter. “You know she’s taking him to the dance this Friday night, don’t you?”
  “Of course I do,” I said. “She told me so herself. Apparently she thinks this means he’ll ask her to the prom.”
  “Traditional, but not foolproof,” Elaine informed me.
  “I have a question,” I said.
  “What?”
  “Do you think her dress will have red-and-white stripes?”
  “God, I hope so.”
  There was a beat of silence. Then at precisely the same moment, Elaine and I turned our heads to look at one another. I’m not sure who laughed first. The next thing I knew, both of us were roaring.
  “My stomach hurts,” I said when I could speak again. I pushed myself up to sit cross-legged, and Elaine followed suit. “I’m sure it’s all your fault.”
  “Is not,” Elaine said promptly.
  I could feel the laughter begin to well up once more. “Don’t,” I said. “If you do, I’ll have to hurt you.”
  “You mean you’ll have to try,” she said. But she turned her head to look at me, her hazel eyes thoughtful. “You know, I’ve been trying all day to figure out whether or not I liked you. Or even if I wanted to.
  “Gee,” I said. “Now there’s a surprise.”
  Elaine smiled slowly, but her eyes stayed serious. “I’ve known Alex for years, but I’ve never seen him completely lose his head over anyone.”
  “For the record, it’s not exactly in character for me either,” I said, matching her serious tone. “Though I realize you’ve only got my word for it.”
  Elaine continued to regard me for a moment. “I think I believe you, New Girl,” she said.
  “Will you please knock that off?” I inquired. “I have a name. If we’re going to be friends, you might learn to use it.”
  “Are we going to be friends?” Elaine Golden asked quietly.
  “I hope we are,” I answered, meeting her gaze steadily. “Don’t let it go to your head or anything, though. It’s not just that, with Khandi Kayne around, I figure I could use one.”
  Elaine’s smile spread slowly. This time it reached her eyes.
  “It’s always nice to be needed,” she said.
  “Ms. O’Connor, Mr. Golden, the name of the class of Physical Education, not Study Hall. I don’t want to have to remind you again.”
  The voice of the teacher, Ms. Nelson, barked from behind us. Guiltily, Elaine and I scrambled to our feet. At that moment, the bell rang. I had done it. I had survived my very first say at Beacon High.
  “Okay, girls! Shower up!” Ms. Nelson shouted.
  I grinned at Elaine as we started toward the locker room. “Is that what they call being saved by the bell?”
  Elaine nodded. “You know it. And speaking of being saved, how about if I protect you from Khandi Kayne by walking you home?”
  “What about Alex?” I asked.
  Elaine shrugged. “He has to practice some team sport. I can never remember which one.”
  I felt some emotion move through me then. Relief or disappointment, I honestly couldn’t tell.
  “Okay,” I said. “You’re on.”
☆
  “This is a nice neighborhood, isn’t it?” I remarked several moments later as Elaine and I walked along. I suppose, for someone who’s spent their whole life living on streets containing houses with lawns in front of them it might not seem so special. It was a new experience for me, though.
  Now that I think about it, I should have expected that my first day at Beacon High School would be out of the ordinary. Seattle had already changed an aspect of my life that had been the same for as long as I could remember. We were living in a house instead of an apartment.
  Furnished, of course.
  It was big, two stories plus an attic and a basement. A bank of front windows faced the street, staring out over a wide front porch. There were hooks for a hammock at one end. I could already imagine myself swinging n it, lazing away a summer day.
  “Oh, wow,” Elaine exclaimed as we headed up the front walk. “Now I know who you are. You’re the people who moved into Old Mrs. Calloway’s house.”
  A remark which prompted me to trip on the steps and sit down abruptly on the porch.
  “Walk much?” Elaine asked.
  “What did you just say?” I inquired. “I mean, who did you say used to live here?”
  “Old Mrs. Calloway,” Elaine repeated obligingly as she moved to sit beside me, apparently having decided to cut me some slack over the tripping moment. “Though, actually, I have no idea how old she really was. That’s just what all the neighborhood kids always called her. She was kind of a recluse. Never went out much. I think she even had her groceries delivered. She gave out great treats on Halloween, though.”
  She cocked her head and looked at me consideringly. “Didn’t you know her? When you guys moved in right after she died, I thought you must be related or something.”
  “Not that I can think of,” I said, my mind doing its best imitation of a hamster on a treadmill. Perhaps I should just remind you why.
  [Calloway] is a part of my name. Josephine Claire [Calloway] O’Connor. And the thing that’s significant about that was that Calloway had been my mother’s maiden name. Her own last name before she’s married my father.
  “I hear it’s really cool inside,” Elaine went on. “All the neighborhood kids used to dare each other to try and sneak in. I don’t know anyone who actually did it, though.”
  “It is pretty great,” I said. “My bedroom has a window-seat. And the bed has this old pink chenille bedspread on it. Our first day here, I fell asleep on top of it and ended up with this wired pattern all over my face.”
  “Sounds nice,” Elaine said.
  “I’d ask you to come in,” I went on in a rush, “but it’s kind of messy since we’re still unpacking and stuff.”
  “That’s okay,” Elaine said. “I understand.”
  A thing that made me feel like a jerk, as I’d just told her an outright lie. I never had any boxes to unpack. My belongings were in my suitcases, just like always.
  Friends do not lie to friends, particularly brand-new ones. For the record, this is a thing I know. But, sitting beside Elaine on Old Mrs. Calloway’s front porch, I also knew I’d had enough. Enough surprises for one day.
  Before I could invite Elaine inside my first house ever, there was something I had to do. Something I didn’t think she’d understand, as I wasn’t entirely sure I did myself. Something important.
  “Maybe later in the week,” I temporized. “Hey, how about Friday night? We can get all girly and have a sleepover while Alex and Khandi are at the dance.”
  “What makes you think I’m not going?” Elaine inquired blandly.
  I dropped my head down into my hands. The day seemed incredibly long all of a sudden.
  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” I said. “Are you?”
  “No,” Elaine said. “I just didn’t want you to make any assumptions.”
  I gave a strangled laugh. “If ever there was a day to put a stop to that activity, this has been it. Trust me.”
  “Okay, then,” Elaine said as she stood up abruptly. “I guess I’ll see you tomor- row.” She clomped down the porch steps and moved off down the front walk. “Bet you a latte Alex calls you tonight,” she called over her shoulder.
  “In your dreams,” I said as I scrambled to my feet. “I never gave him my phone number.”
  “A grande,” Elaine specified. She turned back as she reached the sidewalk. “Be ready to pay up, New Girl,” she said. “Oh, and by the way, my house is that one over there.”
  She pointed to the house next door.
  Shaking my head, I turned around, dug out my keys, and unlock the front door. As I stepped inside, my eyes automatically performed the first action they always do, a thing they’ve been doing for so long they now do it completely on autopilot.
  They searched for and found the photograph of my mom.
  I think I’ve already mentioned that the first thing Dad and I do when we move to a new place is to find the perfect location for Mom’s photo. Out of all the places and I had ever lived, Old Mrs. Calloway’s house had the very best spot for it: on the wall right above the center of the mantel.
  Other pictures on the wall were undisturbed, but there had been a space in the very center, as if one thing had been taken down. A thing that had been up for a very long time. Its removal had left the wallpaper underneath a different color. Newer, fresher, brighter. There was a faint outline on the wall. An outline that exactly matched the contours of my mom’s picture.
  “Hi, Mom,” I said softly as I crossed the living room to stand in front of her picture. I look a lot like my mother, though I do have my dad’s brown hair and eyes. But the shape of my face, the way I smile, all you have to do is look at her photograph to know where those things came from.
  Was it just a coincidence that the very first house we’d ever lived in belonged to a woman with mom’s last name? Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to think so.
  “I’m home,” I whispered. “But I bet you already knew that, didn’t you?”

[FF暑假阅读] How Not to Spend Your Senior Year

Chapter Five
  That was the moment I secretly changed my name.
  To Josephine D. O’Connor.
  You’re familiar with D, fourth letter of the alphabet.
  In this case, it stands for Denial.
  Because, as I stood there, staring up at my mother’s photograph, I suddenly realize how I was going to handle the fact that I’d just discovered I was living in Old Mrs. Calloway’s house.
  By doing absolutely nothing.
  I suppose you think this makes me a great big wimp, and, under other circum- stances, I’d have to admit you might be right. But as I continued to stand there, I swear I began to hear Old Mrs. Calloway’s house whispering all around me.
  [“Unpack your suitcases,”] it seemed to say. [“You got it right. This is your home now, Jo O’Connor.”]
  “Old habits are hard to break,” I said right back. “Besides, for all I know, you won’t last any longer than any of the others.”
I though I heard the house laugh then.
[“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?”]
“Darn straight, we will,” I said. If there was one thing I wasn’t, it was a pushover.
“Who are you talking to, Jo-Jo?” my dad’s voice suddenly asked.
I jumped and spun toward him. I’d become so engrossed in my dialogue with the house that I’d failed to hear my father coming in the front door.
“Myself,” I said. “No one.”
“Make up your mind,” my father said with a grin as he tossed his laptop case in the nearest couch and came to give my hair a quick tousle. “Hey, I got the scoop on where we should get our pizza tonight,” he continued as he moved on toward the kitchen. “There’s a place right in the neighborhood that delivers.”
I heard several drawers being opened and slammed shut. “Do you remember where the phonebook is?” my dad called out.
“That would be in the drawer right by the phone, Dad,” I called back. “What’s the matter? Photographic memory out of order?”
My dad really does have a photographic memory, by the way. I’ve always been sort of bummed that I didn’t inherit it. I’m thinking it would be a really great attribute on pop quiz days.
The sound of rummaging ceased as my father stuck his head out of the kitchen door. “Don’t be a smart aleck, Josephine, or I’ll have them put anchovies on your half. You want the usual?”
I grinned. “You bet. And a root beer, don’t forget.”
“Have I ever?” asked my father.
Having pizza on my first day of school has been a tradition since out very first move. Originally I think my father did it in self-defense. When I was younger, pizza was one food I could always be counted upon to eat no matter how recently we’d had it, and an extra large would feed us for several days.
We always get a combo, everything on it but the kitchen sink. Then Dad adds anchovies to his half. Gross, but then there’s no accounting for grown-ups.
“I’m going to get a salad, too,” my father said.
“You are not going to get all healthy food on me, are you?” I asked as I joined him in the kitchen.
My father never got a chance to answer. At exactly that moment, the telephone rang.
I could feel the color drain from my face. Dad’s went completely blank. I saw his eyes widen.
[No,] I thought as my heart began to pound in hard, fast strokes. [No, it’s too soon. Not now. Not yet.]
“You’d better answer it,” I said.
My father started as if I’d poke him with a pin.
“Yes, okay,” he said. He lifted the receiver and the shrill ringing ceased. “Hello?”
I held my breath.
My father listened, a strange expression coming into his face. Just for an instant, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were dancing with laughter, and something that looked an awful lot like relief.
“Just a moment, please,” Dad said. Then he held out the receiver toward me.
“It’s for you, Jo-Jo.”
“Jo, it’s Alex,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “You know—Alex Crawford?”
I took a breath, determined to come up with a snappy reply. Unfortunately for the success of this plan, my mind went blank at precisely that moment.
“Yes, I know,” I said. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Alex echoed. There was a pause that probably only lasted about five seconds but felt like about five hours. “So, you’re probably wondering why I called.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“The thing is,” Alex said, “there’s this dance Friday night. It’s a girl-ask-boy. Maybe you heard about it during the day today?”
“Maybe I did,” I said. I could feel my father, hovering just on the far side of the kitchen door.
“So, the thing is…” Alex said again. [He’s nervous], I thought. This probably reveals something incredibly dysfunctional in my psyche, but all of a sudden, I felt much better. The Big Man on Campus was nervous about calling me, New Girl Jo O’Connor.
“I’m going,” Alex said.
“That’s nice,” I replied. I heard him expel a breath into the phone. I thought he was laughing, but I couldn’t quite be sure.
“I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding,” Alex plowed on, “about the fact that I might have to, you know, take things slow.”
At that moment, I got the reason for the call. He was trying to tell me why he felt he couldn’t pursue our attraction right away. Not only that, he’d accomplished the impossible. He’d done this without making it sounds as if he was dissing Khandi Kayne behind her back.
“I won’t misunderstand, Alex,” I said softly. “And just for the record, I think you’re a really nice guy.”
“I can’t tell you how much I wish you hadn’t said that,” Alex said at once. “I have it on very good authority that girls never fall for the nice guys.”
“Guess you’ll have to see, won’t you?” I asked.
“Guess so,” said Alex Crawford. There was a second moment of silence. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
“Alex,” I said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Where’s the closest Starbucks to campus? I owe Elaine a latte.”
Later that night I stood in my bedroom, staring down at my open suitcases and listening to the sounds Old Mrs. Calloway’s house made as it settled all around me. This was a phenomenon that had startled me at first. Apartments simply do not make those sounds. But now that I was used to it, I gad to admit I kind of liked the way the house began to sign and rustle as night came on. It was just one more thing that made it feel like the thing I’d never really had but had always secretly wanted. A home.
I think it was sometime in the middle of my third piece of pizza that I’d realized the truth.
Old Mrs. Calloway’s house had won.
I was tired of being the girl who couldn’t put down roots. Who moved from place to place without even knowing why. What I wanted was to be the girl I’d so unexpectedly caught a glimpse of today. The girl I’d suddenly discovered I could be, if only I was brave enough to try. A girl who had a boyfriend who called her on the phone. Whose best friend lived right next door.
A girl who didn’t have to figure out how to blend in, because she didn’t have to. She fit. She belonged.
[“Go on,”] Old Mrs. Calloway’s house seemed to say. [“Take the first step. It’s not so hard. You can do it, Jo.”]
I stared down into the first of my suitcases. My very favorite sweater was folded neatly, right on top. This was the item of clothing I chose first when I was feeling warm and snuggly, just as it was my first when I was blue and needed cheering up.
Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, I picked it up, carried it across the room, and placed it in my bottom dresser drawer. As I did so, I heard the house sigh. I swear it was with approval.
I returned to the suitcase for the next item.

[FF暑假阅读] How Not to Spend Your Senior Year

Chapter Six
When I think of the next few weeks, I’m reminded of a flashback sequence in a romantic film. The edges of the images are all slightly blurry. The colors are soft. The light, nostalgic and golden. I know it didn’t really look like that. But that’s the way it feels in my memory. Those were special days, carved out of time. Days during which it seemed nothing would ever change. Nothing would ever go wrong.
Ridiculous, of course. If there’s one thing I ought to know, it’s that change happens. And when it does, it does, it’s usually of the major variety.
The next change in my life happened on a Wednesday, if I recall.
The weather was the first thing that alerted. Yes, all right. I know. Talking about the weather is generally considered a pretty lame thing to do. Get over it. But I have to tell you about the weather that day. It happens to be important.
It rained like hell.
I’d began my tenure at Beacon in a stretch of warm, clear weather, which Elaine assured me wasn’t typical at all. Spring in Seattle was cool and rainy, she kept insisting. I should not be packing away my turtlenecks and getting out my tank tops.
I didn’t even try explaining that I’d barely [un]packed the turtlenecks. Though out friendship was definitely growing stronger day by day, I hadn’t yet reached the point where I felt ready to talk about the way things had been before. There’d be plenty of time for that, I kept assuring myself. In the meantime, I was too busy enjoying the way they were now.
Fortunately for Elaine and me, the rain did let up long enough for us to make the trip home. We slogged along the wet sidewalks, my feet getting wetter by the minute. I swear I heard them make these icky little squishy sucking sounds.
“That’s funny,” Elaine said as we rounded the corner of our street.
“What?” I asked, and promptly stepped into this enormous puddle.
“Your dad’s home early. Isn’t that his car in the drive?”
In that instant, I forgot about the rain. I forgot about my wet feet. I forgot about everything but the fact that Elaine was right. My dad’s car was in the drive. I know this doesn’t sound like a big deal to you. All I can say is, to me, it was.
Once my dad and I established a routine, we stick to it. That’s one of the great unspoken rules of our lives. And the rule in Seattle was that Dad got home [after] I did. The reason for this was that he was working in an office for the very first time.
Over the last couple of weeks, I’d developed my own sub-routine until Dad got home. I went to Elaine’s and we did our homework. If Dad worked late, sometimes I even stayed for dinner at the Golden’s.
That was the way things had been since we’d moved to Old Mrs. Calloway’s house. I got home first. Dad got home second.
But there was his car, sitting in the drive. It was a change, and if there was one thing I knew, it was the way one change could lead to another. Not only that, in the case of Dad and me, [change] usually meant [change of location]. That thing I was so [D for Desperate] to avoid.
I gave what I sincerely hoped was a nonchalant shrug.
“Maybe he come home sick,” I said. “Isn’t there some weird flu thing going around? Listen, I’m going to go in and change my shoes before I come down with pneumonia. I’ll be over in a few. If there’s something up Dad-wise, I’ll call.”
“Okay,” Elaine said.
There was a gust of wind, followed by a sudden return of the rain, full force. Elaine and I sprinted for our respective front doors. I heard hers slam behind her as she dashed inside. I stopped on the porch to tug off my wet shoes.
“Jo!” I heard a voice call.
I straitened just in time to see Alex dash up the front walk.
“I thought you had practice,” I said.
“Cancelled,” Alex said shortly. He made the front porch and pushed back the hood of the sweatshirt he had on beneath his letterman’s jacket. His breathing was quick, as if he’d run all the way from school. “I tried to catch you guys but you’d already gone.”
“Elaine’s at her house,” I said.
Alex gave me an exasperated laugh and moved to put his hands on my shoulders, a thing that pretty much made me forget all about my dad’s car in the drive. Apparently Alex had decided that the waiting period was over.
“I didn’t sprint ten blocks to see Elaine,” he said. “I came to see you. There’s something I want to ask you, Jo.”
“No, you can’t borrow my math homework,” I said.
“Shut up, you idiot,” Alex said, giving me a shake. “I want you to go with me to the prom.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. An action which no doubt made me look exactly like a fish out of water.
“That wasn’t a question,” I finally said.
Alex rolled his eyes. “Do you want to know why I like you?” he said. “It took me a while, but I figured it out. It’s because you’re so impossible.”
A laugh bubbled up and out before I could stop it.
“Impossible,” I repeated. “What about annoying?”
“That, too,” Alex nodded. “You’re impossible and annoying and unpredictable. Will you please go with me to the prom?”
“Aren’t you worried about what will happen if I say yes?” I asked.
“Uh-uh,” Alex shook his head. “I’m only worried that you’ll say no.”
“I’m not going to do that,” I answered steadily. “Thank you, Alex. I’d love to go with you to the prom.”
For a moment, he simply stood, his hands on my shoulders. “You better hold still,” he warned.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m going to kiss you now.”
Words failed me. Which turned out to be a very good thing as, for the next few minutes, I needed my lips for something else anyhow.
The kiss ended and Alex eased back. There was an expression on his face I’d never seen before. Sort of startled and blank all at once, as if he’d just discovered something he hadn’t expected but couldn’t quite put a name to.
“Well,” he said.
“Bet you say that to all the girls,” I replied.
“I’m that obvious, huh?”
“Actually, no.”
“Now who’s being nice?” Alex said. He stuck hand in pockets. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I said. He turned, and I watched him sprint off down the walk. It was only then that I realized I was still clutching my sopping wet shoes.
[Very smooth, Jo. No wonder the guy can’t resist you], I thought.
Still feeling dreamy, I opened the front door and stepped into the hall. My eyes automatically sought out my mother’s picture.
As if from a great distance, I hears my shoes hit the floor with a thud.
My mother’s photograph was gone.

[FF暑假阅读] How Not to Spend Your Senior Year

我把这个帖子解了，有什么不懂得单词，句子尽管问，我会尽力帮助你们的！谢谢！