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about Jenny again. I couldn’t think of any way I’d led her on, but I still felt guilty. But I reminded myself that it wasn’t really that big of a deal or anything. She was just trying, in her way, to live on the edge a bit, like Jim Morrison. Kissing me was her way of pushing the bounds of reality.
    Then again, it did seem like I spent every gifted-pool meeting with her butt on one of my arms. Maybe it wasn’t an accident.
    About twenty minutes later, I got an e-mail from Jenny. The subject line read “Plutonian Night.”

    Leon,
    Wasn’t that cabdriver awesome? On the way to my place he was singing along to the radio really loud, and he said the f-word twice. Hope I didn’t freak you out tonight at the end of the cab ride. I couldn’t help myself. I know you and Anna are sort of going out and all, but if that ever changes, I imagine you can guess that I’m interested. Ever since I started reading biographies of Jim Morrison I’ve wanted to live more on the edge, cause some more trouble, and, you know, actually live a bit instead of just doing homework all the time. And the only person I know who is actually doing that sort of thing is you. And I’m not going to go trying to split you and Anna up or anything, but I just thought you should know that I think you’re awesome. I hope this doesn’t weird you out or anything, and that thing scan still be the same between us as they’ve always been if you aren’t interested.
    Sincerely,
Jenny

    Whoa.
    Well, that threw a bit of a wrench in my gears. No one had ever written me a letter telling me how great I was.
    I took a deep breath and thought about things. Sometimes I felt like Anna and I were sort of stuck in neutral or something like that, and I always felt like maybe I couldn’t keep up with her. I mean, she was about ten times smarter than I was, and despite the whole suspension thing, I didn’t think of myself as particularly rebellious. I mean, even Anna wasn’t all that rebellious—she was just better at living on her own terms than the rest of us. I imagine she probably would have been able to talk her way out of suspension if her movie had been the one Mrs. Smollet had a problem with. Anna and her parents were the kind of people I only hoped I could eventually be.
    Maybe that was the way Jenny thought of me.
    And I couldn’t help being flattered.
    I quickly wrote her a reply.

    Jenny,
    Yeah, that cabdriver was all right. I’ve always heard that cabdrivers don’t speak English and don’t bathe. I’m not sure this guy bathed, exactly, but he certainly spoke English! Thanks again for the cab fare and the nice letter; I don’t really think I’m as rebellious as all that, but I’m flattered that you think I am. Don’t worry about things between us being weird—I’m sure they’ll be the way they’ve always been. Not weird at all.
    See ya,
Leon

    I only wished I believed it.

With the exception of the time I spent staring out the window at the green light of the Wackfords sign, there wasn’t a second on Saturday night or Sunday morning that I wasn’t thinking about Anna or Jenny. Anna, mostly. When my thoughts turned to Jenny, I’d try to steer them over toward Anna. But I couldn’t stop the things Jenny had written from running through my head. I thought—hell, I
knew
—that I should just call Anna and say, “Hey, what’s the deal with us, anyway?” but when it comes to things like that, I’m a total chicken.
    On Sunday afternoon, my dad offered to take me thrift-store shopping, and I readily agreed. I was not one to pass up a chance to hit the thrift stores, even with a guy with a Mohawk. And anything that would take my mind off of Jenny and Anna for a while was especially welcome.
    When my parents went to the thrift stores together, it was usually on a cookbook hunt, but when my dad went alone, he was usually shopping for scientific gear—or, failing that, junk he could get away with calling scientific gear. Anything made out of