OOM: Invitation
Hannah likes math for its black-and-white-ness. Two plus two is four, a prime number is divisible only by one and itself, the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the square of the other two sides. Always.
She’s midway through her math homework at a table in the school library today. She’s stopped for the moment to check back over her work, because something is off here, and she is going to figure out what. So she doesn’t see the person approaching her table, and she startles slightly when he speaks to her.
“Hey, Hannah. You got a second?”
“Sure, Sam,” she says, looking up. “I could use a break, anyway. What’s up?”
He pulls out the chair opposite hers, turns it around and straddles it, elbows resting on the back. “I just wanted to say thanks, again. For everything. You’re a good first person to meet, in a new place.”
“You’re welcome. First month is the hardest, right?”
“Let’s hope,” he says, and then continues in something of a rush, “Look, this is probably, um, I’ll understand if, you know, but I was - I was kind of wondering - ”
“Yes?” says Hannah.
“I was kind of wondering if you wanted to go out this weekend. Dinner. Movie. Something. With me.”
“Oh,” says Hannah, and she’s thoroughly annoyed with herself for not having seen this coming. “Oh, Sam, that’s really sweet, and I’m flattered, but I have a boyfriend.”
The fact that he’s in some sort of legendary Locker limbo thing doesn’t mean he's not still her boyfriend.
“You do?” Sam says, surprised. “Who?” And then adds in a clumsy attempt to explain, “I mean, I hadn’t noticed anyone . . .”
“It’s kind of long distance,” says Hannah, trying not to show any kind of reaction to just how much of an understatment that is, especially at present. “But it’s pretty serious. I’m sorry, Sam.”
“No, it’s, um, I should have known. Hell, girls like you just aren’t single.”
Hannah’s shoulders stiffen, and she wonders what he’s heard, guessed, or read written in a bathroom stall. “Girls like me?” she asks, as neutrally as she can manage.
“Yeah. Hannah, you’re smart and gorgeous and sweet and funny and girls like you have boyfriends.”
“Oh,” she says, and gives him a half-smile. “I am sorry. If things were different . . . ”
“No, I understand. I just thought I’d ask.” He pauses. “We’re okay, right? Still friends?”
“Of course,” she says, and they are, though she’s pretty sure they’re gonna be going through a slightly awkward phase here for a few days.
“I should go,” he says, standing up with a vague gesture at the library door. “I have this thing . . .”
“Yeah, and I should really get back to precal,” she says, with an equally vague gesture at her homework.
But he stops again, and turns back, before he reaches the door. “Hannah?”
“Yeah?” she looking up at him.
“If things ever are different, you’ll let me know?”
“Um, sure,” she says, uncertainly. “I guess.”
“Okay,” he says, and leaves.
Hannah watches him go, then looks down at her homework and revises her assessment of the problem. Somewhat more than “slightly awkward,” she decides. And for probably more than a few days.
She’s not entirely sure what just happened, but she’s pretty sure it was capital-S Something. Something just . . . changed.