Free So Much Closer by Susane Colasanti

passing car.
    “On your way home?”
    “Yeah, I was just ... running out for something.”
    “That’s cool.”
    “What about you?”
    “I just got back from bowling practice. I know, it sounds lame. It’s just there’s no lacrosse team here, so I had to get creative.”
    “Makes you miss suburbia.”
    “Not exactly.” Scott looks at my deli bag. “You hungry? I’m getting a sandwich—I found this phenomenal place.”
    “I didn’t know sandwiches could be phenomenal.”
    “Are you kidding? Sandwiches rule.”
    Even though I must look like something that just crawled out of a gutter, Scott doesn’t seem repulsed.
    “So,” he goes, “you in?”
    “That depends. Would you mind if I went home real quick? I’m ...” I gesture at my glasses and sweatpants. “Not exactly presentable.”
    “You look good to me,” Scott says. He looks right at me when he says it.
    This.
    Is.
    Happening.
    We walk to my place. I try not to freak out that Scott Abrams is walking me home in this whole new city that I followed him to. I run upstairs, commencing the fastest reconstruction job ever. I’m not sure how much better I look five minutes later, but at least I’m presentable enough for a phenomenal sandwich.
    On my way out, Dad glances in my general direction. “Going out again?” he asks.
    “Just for a little while. I ran into a friend from school.”
    “Where are you guys going?”
    “Down the street. For a sandwich.”
    Dad’s already back on his laptop. “Have fun. Not too late, okay?”
    “Okay,” I agree. Even though I don’t know what “too late” is. We skipped the rules part of this arrangement when I moved in. Apparently, a lot of basic information gets left unsaid when there’s so much else you’re not saying.
    “Ready?” Scott says when I come out.
    “Starving.”
    He’s right about the sandwich shop. My BLT extra B is seriously delicious. Scott’s club sandwich is huge. It’s so huge that I can’t believe he can keep it from falling apart.
    “That has to be the biggest sandwich ever,” I say. “Is there anything not in it?”
    “Potato chips.”
    “Oh.”
    “And cereal.”
    Of course he said cereal.
    “Did you hear about that guy who dislocated his jaw biting into a big sandwich?” I ask.
    “Nuh-uh.”
    “Yeah, in Georgia. They’re even naming the sandwich after him.”
    “I bet the sandwiches here are even bigger.”
    “This place is awesome.”
    “I know. How nice is it having more options than the fricking Gas ’n’ Sip?”
    So true. Back home, there was never anything to do. Everywhere closed early. Here the possibilities are endless. I like knowing I’m not the only one who’s impressed that a sandwich place is open this late. The fact that I could see a movie at midnight—a quality indie movie—blows my mind. Or how crowded the streets are at two in the morning. Not that I’ve been out that late. I leave my windows open, so I can hear all the people outside. I love street noise. The sounds of traffic soothe me to sleep.
    “So have you acclimated to West Village Community yet?” Scott asks facetiously.
    “Hardly.”
    “Didn’t you join that peer-tutoring thing?”
    “How do you know?”
    “Leslie told me. She’s friends with a tutor who knows Sadie.”
    “Oh.” I don’t know which is more disturbing—that Leslie knows my personal business or that she told Scott about it. I want to ask if he’s going out with Leslie, but it’s obvious he is.
    “She told me you guys ran into each other at some coffeehouse?”
    Okay. This is strange. Why is she telling him all this stuff about me?
    “Yeah,” I say. “Sort of.”
    “That’s cool about tutoring. At least you have goals. I have no clue where my life is going.”
    “Neither do I.”
    “Really?”
    “Why, does it seem like I do?”
    Scott nods. “You come off like you have it all together.”
    “Yeah, right,” I harrumph. “I wish I knew what I want to be. It’s so annoying how everyone’s