Free Kimchi & Calamari by Rose Kent

beat of “You’re a Grand Old Flag.”
    Kelly put her drink down and perked up. “Do you know your story? I mean, who your parents were?”
    â€œOh, sure,” I said. I don’t know what made me say it.Maybe to impress her. Or maybe because I felt dumb not knowing.
    â€œSo you’ve searched for your birth mother? I saw this Russian girl on a talk show who did that. She put a posting on a website and was reunited with her relatives.”
    â€œSort of,” I said. Inside my head I thought I heard that tiny angel Mom calls your conscience calling, “Liar, liar, pants on fire!”
    Kelly stared at me wide-eyed, like a curious cat. I wanted her to think I was interesting, but I didn’t really want to get into all this adoption stuff.
    â€œDid you meet your birth mother?” she asked.
    I shook my head no.
    â€œHave you talked to her on the phone?”
    â€œWe’re, uh, writing letters,” I said. If only it were true. And now I felt like that tiny angel was smacking the inside of my brain, furious.
    Just when I dreaded saying another word, one of the Little Leaguers ran past our table, tripped on his shoelace, and sent his paper plate flying.
    Splat! His slice of meatball pizza landed cheese down on the linoleum, and he started wailing. I got up to hand the poor kid napkins. I hate hearing squirts cry.
    Soon his mom took charge, and the boy calmed down.Kelly and I sat quietly for a few minutes after that. I slurped my soda. It was empty, and I wanted a refill.
    â€œI give you credit, Joseph. I don’t know if I would have searched,” Kelly said.
    I looked up, surprised by her words. “Why not?”
    â€œBecause I like my life,” she answered carefully, as if thinking it through. “You probably like yours, too. I’d be afraid of the skeletons in the closet, if you know what I mean.”
    I didn’t. I wanted to know every single thing I could. What my birth parents looked like, what kind of jobs they had, their favorite foods and colors, even what songs they hummed in the shower. Knowing nothing is worse than knowing the truth. But I didn’t tell that to Kelly. Mostly I wanted to change the subject.
    â€œBe right back.” I walked over to the counter and filled my soda to the top.
    Since my plate was empty and Kelly’s just had pizza crust, we went outside. It had started to rain lightly, and the sky was covered with dark cauliflower-shaped clouds.
    â€œI’m supposed to meet my mom next door,” she said, pointing to the florist. “She has to pick up centerpieces for a dinner for their restaurant suppliers tonight.”
    End-of-date rituals, can anything be more awkward?I thought about kissing her, but it didn’t feel right, what in the rain and with the Little Leaguers standing by the door eating Italian ices and staring at us. Besides, after all that crushed red pepper on my pizza, my breath might have set a class A fire on her lips.
    â€œLet me know if you hear anything about your birth family, okay?” she said.
    â€œSure. So, um, do you wanna go out again sometime?”
    â€œMaybe, but call me way ahead of time. The next couple of weeks are crazy busy. You know, commitments,” she said, rolling her eyes.
    As I nodded and waved good-bye, I tried to think of one thing in my life that qualified as a commitment. But I could only hear Mom yelling at me to hurry with that sack of towels before the Jiffy Wash closed.
    I ran back to the CinemaPlex in the rain and sat on a bench inside, waiting for Dad. He’d taken Gina and Sophie to buy sneakers, and so I still had another twenty minutes to kill. I watched a few older guys standing in the ticket line with their arms around girls. It made me think about my afternoon. In Frankie-speak, I’d made contact with one of the hottest girls in school. We’d had fun together. She’d actually spoken the two victory words, “Call