“I didn"t know he was your teacher,” Nadine said in my ear as I lay supine on my bed with my phone laying next to my ear, propped against my shoulder, speaker phone on.
“He was my creative writing teacher,” I said.
“That"s really terrible,” she said. “What are you doing now?”
“Nothing.”
“I"d ask you to come over, but I"m shopping right now.” I could hear different sounds in the background—people"s conversation, laughing, music. The general noise you"d hear in a mall.
“Where are you? The mall?”
“Yeah. I"m trying to find a nice outfit for my date with Franklin, tomorrow night,” she said. “Ooo. Maybe someday we could double date.”
“As soon as I find another boyfriend,” I said.
“What?” I repeated myself. “You broke up with Brett? How could you?” She sounded devastated, as though I were
