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“Because I was there. And high as a kite,” I replied.

“Dear me,” she said. “Did they hurt you in jail?”

“No, but there was an officer there who hated my guts. I cleaned a lot of toilets.”

“How long were you there?”

“Ten months. I was pretty much there my entire junior year of high school,” I said.

“What about the other girls?” Fanny asked.

“I kept to myself. The tattooed, pierced broads really scared me,” I said, and Fanny laughed.

“You said ‘broads’,” she chuckled. “I like that.”

I attempted another sip of tea. My teeth screamed.

“I’m sorry, Fanny, but this tea hurts,” I said, grimacing.

“Well, I’ve never heard that used to describe tea,” she said.

“My teeth. The sugar,” I explained.

“Ohhh,” she said. “Another cup? No sugar?”

I shook my head. “Got any water?”

She left the table and filled a glass with tap water.

“We’re not fancy in this house,” she said. “No bottled water. No filtered water. This is what you get.” She placed the glass in front of me.

“I’ll take it,” I said, smiling, then took a sip. “Fanny?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think love is a choice or a feeling?”

‘That’s a peculiar question,” she said. “Are you in love with someone?”

“I don’t know yet. That’s why I’m asking you,” I replied.

“All right then. I think love is both,” she said.

I furrowed my brows. “Can you explain?”

“Well, I think that initially, it’s a feeling. You’re attracted to certain people on a more chemical, emotional level.”

“That’s deep,” I replied.

“Oh, just wait. I’ve got more,” she said, chuckling. “But once you declare your love for that other person, and vice versa, the real work begins, because butterflies don’t last forever.”

“They don’t?”

“Honey, if butterflies lasted forever, do you think there’d be divorces and breakups and heartache?”

“I guess you’re right,” I said.

“And that’s when love shifts from a feeling to a choice,” Fanny explained. “I remember a time in my marriage when I had to confront that realization.”

“You do?”

“Vividly. I was cleaning my husband’s piss off the toilet, and I thought to myself, ‘Okay, the butterflies are definitely dead, so now I have to make a choice to continue loving this man.’”

“That sounds so . . . depressing,” I replied.

“No, it’s not. I’m sure he came to that realization one day when he discovered that all of a sudden, I’d gained thirty pounds.”

I giggled.

“People grow and change. You have to choose to grow and change together. It doesn’t mean the feeling isn’t still there. You just have to work at it a little harder.”

“Like giving CPR to the butterflies?” I asked.

“Precisely. And some will come back to life. But it isn’t easy,” Fanny said.

“Why go to all the trouble?” I asked.

She smiled. “Well, I guess you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Some people are serial daters for life because they only want to experience love as a feeling. Never a choice. I can’t fault them for that, and I don’t think badly of them. But there’s something about sharing your world with one other person, growing old with him, making memories. I guess you call that intimacy. You can’t really have that if you bounce from person to person.”

I nodded.

“Now, who are you in love with?” she asked.

The words slipped right out. “My math teacher.”

Fanny’s eyebrows shot up. “Couldn’t pick an easier one? He can’t exactly take you to prom.”

“What can I say? I’m still in the feeling stage,” I replied. “I have no control over it.”

She laughed.

“Why can’t it be reversed? Choice first, then the feeling?” I asked.

Fanny shook her head. “Don’t ask me. I don’t understand it.”

I took another sip of water.

“Tell me about your math teacher,” Fanny said.

I grinned. It was automatic. “You’ve met him, actually.”

“Have I?”

I nodded. “He’s the guy who helped fix your leaky pipes and patch that wall for you.”

“Oh my! He’s very cute, Cadence,” she said, her eyes twinkling. She looked like she was up to no good.

I sighed. “I know he’s cute.
Very
cute. And very smart. And very manly.” I rested my face in my hands, elbows propped on the table. “And very off-limits.”

“Those are always the best love stories,” Fanny replied.

“Which ones?”

She sipped her tea. “The dangerous ones.”

I thought for a moment. “Well, I’m too chicken to try anything, so I don’t think I need to worry about danger,” I replied. “And shouldn’t you be discouraging me or something? I mean, a crush on my math teacher? It’s completely inappropriate.”

“Well, who am I to say what’s appropriate and not?” she replied.

I shook my head in disbelief.

“How old is he?”

“I’ve no idea,” I said. “How is that even relevant? He’s my
teacher
.”

“Cadence, calm down. I’m not suggesting you start an illicit affair with your math teacher. I’m simply saying that it’s not my business to judge you if you do. Love comes in all kinds of packages. Some are neatly tied up, and some are messy. It doesn’t mean that the messy ones aren’t every bit as good.”

“Good?”

“Yes, good.”

We stared at each other from across the table.

“Of course, it’d make things a whole lot easier if you waited until you graduated,” Fanny said, winking at me.

I grinned. “I’m not waiting for anything because it’s never gonna happen. And you have to promise that you won’t tell my parents.”

“Ha! Why on earth would you think I’d share anything with your parents?” Fanny asked.

“I don’t know. But they keep a tight leash on me. I mean, it’s not as bad as it used to be. But still, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom called you up to ask about our visit,” I said.

“Well, if she does, what would you like me to say?”

“Just say it was nice.”

Fanny smirked. “Truthful yet completely devoid of details.”

I nodded.

“And when she presses for details?”

I finished off my water. “Tell her it was
really
nice.”

I had to hand it to Avery. The girl was good. And completely right about our parents. After we spent the night with each other a few times, our parents stopped calling us. The plan worked. I was nervous as hell, though, on the night of our first fake sleepover. Avery planned to stay the night with me (translation: Gavin), and I was a ball of tingling nerves.

“Straighten up!” she screamed on the other end of the line.

“I’m trying,” I replied, pacing my room.

“My parents aren’t going to call, Cadence. It’s perfectly fine.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m not good with deception, Avery.”

“Then start getting good,” she snapped. And then I heard her huff into the phone. “Of all the freaking girls I pick to help me with my freedom plan . . .”

“Hey! Now wait just a minute! I can totally do this.” I didn’t believe a word of it.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just chill out. That’s it,” Avery replied. “I gotta go. I’m at Gavin’s.”

“Tell him I said hello.”

“No.” And then the line went dead.

I hung up and locked myself in my room. I stayed there the entire night except to go to the bathroom. It was ridiculous and childish, but I was afraid. And I continued to feel afraid all weekend until Avery texted me to tell me she was home. It was Saturday night, and she explained all the things we did together when we fake spent the night. Instead of responding via text, I just called her.

“How am I supposed to remember all this shit?” I snapped.

“It’s not even that much. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like my mom is gonna ask you tomorrow at church. We don’t even sit near you guys.”

“Well, whatever. I think since you spent the night with me, I should be the one making up the stuff we did so that I can actually remember it.”

Avery giggled. “You know, Cadence, you’re like an American Girl doll.”

“Avery, shut up.”

“No, seriously. Who’s the one with the blond hair? Is it Kristen? Kirsten? What the hell is her name?”

“I’m not an American Girl doll!” I screamed into the phone.

“You are so an American Girl doll, and that’s why I like you so much.”

“Kiss my ass, Avery. I’m not an American Girl doll, and I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

“What are you talking about? You get the next fake sleepover. You should be totally excited.”

“I’m not because I’ve got nowhere to go and nothing to do!”

“What about your ice cream cone? You were telling me about wanting to go get ice cream.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

Avery burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it; I laughed, too.

“You wanna actually make it a real sleepover? And we can get ice cream together?” Avery asked.

She must have thought I was totally lame. I had no boyfriend to meet up with, no devious agenda, no friends to go somewhere with, like a party. Oh my God. I realized I
was
an American Girl doll! And I hated it. I freaking hated it.

“You can have the next one,” I said. “I don’t have anything to do. Just go see Gavin again.”

“Cadence? Stop feeling sorry for yourself. We’ll have a real sleepover so you can get out of your house. It’s no big deal. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I only think you’re partially an American Girl doll,” Avery continued.

“Whatever. You already said it,” I muttered. “And it’s true anyway.”

Avery spent the next ten minutes trying to explain how being a partial American Girl doll was actually a good thing. I listened politely. When we hung up, my thoughts immediately drifted to Mr. Connelly and if he thought I was like an American Girl doll. And then I wondered why he would even know what that was.

I remembered the CD he let me borrow. It became a nightly ritual to play “Midnight in a Perfect World” right before I fell asleep. I checked the time. Still early, but there was nothing else to do, so I pressed PLAY on the stereo and crawled under my sheets. I knew it was wrong, but I imagined Mr. Connelly in bed with me, holding me close while we tried to pick out all the different parts of the song. And then he whispered in my ear that it was a perfect song to listen to on a perfect night beside a perfect person. I only halfway believed him. It was a perfect song. And it could be a perfect night. But I was far from a perfect person.

***

“Where is everyone?” I asked, poking my head in the doorway Tuesday afternoon.

“I’m not tutoring today. I have a doctor’s appointment,” Mr. Connelly replied. “Did you forget?”

“Ohhh, that’s right,” I said. My heart filled with instant excitement. Two hours! All to myself! Dad didn’t need to know the session was cancelled. I practically salivated at the idea of unmonitored time to myself. Where would I go? The mall? A movie, perhaps? Maybe I would just drive around, heading nowhere in particular, just happy to be free, even if it was for a short period of time.

“What are you thinking, Cadence?” Mr. Connelly asked.

I shook my head.

“Nice try,” he said.

My face broke out into the widest grin. “I have two hours,” I breathed, eyes big and glassy. Like I was in a daydream—a too-good-to-be-true wonderful, delirious daydream.

“To do what?” Mr. Connelly asked.

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what I do so long as I do something. Two hours!”

“Cadence, I think the smart thing would be to go home,” Mr. Connelly said.