I met her one night when the Kijeks came over for dinner. 

We just moved in, boxes still filling up the corners of our house that still felt new and strange and had the faint sense of previous owner. When they knocked at the door, my parents asked me to greet them on the doorstep and let them inside. My mom caught my eye an extra moment to check I understood what I had to do, considering I’d never done it before. Then she gave me a ‘be really polite’ look.

I was nine years old. 

When I got the door, a couple were standing on the doorstep, in the doorstep light, with the sun going down below the street level. It was our neighbors. They were dressed casually and looked as natural as if they were moving in. They had lived here longer than us, they knew this house even better than we did. 

Even to such calm people, introducing myself on the doorstep was the trial of my entire career as a shy nine year old.

Midway through my fumbling attempt to greet them, Mr and Mrs Kijek smiled at me warmly, like I was doing just fine. He stepped forward – bounding right over the top of my sad unfinished ‘hi’ – and took my hand and shook it. My tiny hand was lost inside his larger one but his hand was just as dad-like as my dad’s, and his eyes twinkled kindly.

“Hi, there, son.”

“Yes,” I said. Then blushed. I thought he was going to say ‘Can we come inside’?

The Kijeks pretended not to notice. 

“You must be Tadley.”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

As they went inside, Mrs Kijek touched my shoulder and said:

“See, Alex? He’s not so scary.”

A young girl wandered into the landing after them. Our eyes met. She took me in, inquisitively, how I fit in her street. I stared back at her.

She was nine, like me, wearing a football sweater that was probably her older brother’s, but from when he was much younger. Her hands were shyly bunched up in the loose sleeves. She surveyed everything without reaction, including me. 

I was struck by her eyes; they were brown but very pale, almost orange or pink, and absorbed me boldly, and went through me like I was somehow lacking, smaller and less impressive than she imagined. Back then, to my nine year old self, girls could be cute at most. Alex was cute, and she just was, and I hated it.

As I wondered what to say, my tiny dog bounded up past me, barking, to leap at her. 

                             [author’s comment: may be confusing but the dog is female]

Alex didn’t know whether my dog was a princess or a gremlin. I tried to stop her but I was too late. She leaped up and Alex smoothly caught her in her arms. My dog shrieked in surprise, wiggled like a landed dolphin, and bounced out again. 

“Oops,” she said.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as my dog crept around and peered at Alex from a gap in my legs. “My dog is nice, actually.” My face went red. Redder.

“I’m serious,” I added, as my dog’s back leg trembled. I wished my dog could be like a normal face-licking dog. My dog was supposed to be my bodyguard but wasn’t very good at it.

The girl had mellowed. She smiled and bent to lure my dog out from behind me, but she didn’t move. 

“Hi!” she said. “I’m Alex. What’s your name?” 

“Tad,” I said without thinking. She looked up at me. I blushed again; she was talking to my dog.

After dinner, as my parents carried on talking with the Kijeks. The conversation trailed into the living room, where I switched on the TV. 

Suddenly I realized Alex was on the sofa, and my dog was on her lap. She managed to get her trust by tickling her and then pretending to ignore her. My dog didn’t seem to like the tickling, but kept running back to her with a self-conscious tail wag when playfully ignored, only to get tickled again. My shy dog was a patience project but Alex was obviously a natural with dogs.

Suddenly we were playing video games and laughing about stupid things. That was when I realized she was actually okay. She was sarcastic but not in an annoying way. 

Alex went to my school all along, but she was in different classes. She was shy, yet popular, it was a paradox. I saw her, sometimes, talking and laughing with the other girls. Alex didn’t play up her cuteness at all. She was very dry, cool, and smart. And sometimes very funny. They told her all their problems and she made helpful sarcastic remarks, gave them perspective, everyone laughed and loved her. Girls gravitated to her, but she chose only one as her best friend, and that was Bruna.

Bruna Kadare had started mid-year, her parents were immigrants who fled the Bosnian War in the 90s, and were liberally Islamic. Bruna was shy, occult. She wasn’t cute and cool like Alex, but she had this faraway prettiness that other girls found unfriendly. But not Alex. Alex was a kind of cool that attracted cool, and she thought Bruna was cool and edgy.

I saw Alex after school. Our lives were a Venn diagram with a tiny overlap that contained only the two of us and we liked that. Since she came over to my house a lot, we didn’t hang out at school, it was too weird, like hanging out with your sister. We politely pretended not to know each other at school, passing in the corridor, catching glances in the cafeteria, or in the school yard at recess. It would have been uncool for my best friend to be a girl. And I couldn’t explain to anyone, Alex wasn’t just a girl, she very cool.

After school when Alex came over to my house, she opened a flood gate of gossip about kids in her class, and her teachers. Everyone told Alex everything. And then she came home and told me everything that everyone had told her. 

We met at the skate park, and sometimes with Bruna. It was a weird triangle; I wanted to hang with Alex, Bruna wanted to hang with Alex. We both awkwardly tried to get Alex’s attention, and Alex was cool as usual. I wondered why I was trying so hard to get a girl to notice me.

I offered to teach Alex how to skateboard, she gave me a polite, disaffected shrug, and sat cross legged on top of the quarter pipe ramp and tried to sketch things. Bruna borrowed my skateboard without asking, teased me and tried to find out which girls I liked – did I like Alex? – when I looked at her she always met me with a fierce stare. I resisted her, which she found hilarious. She teased me harder. Sometimes Alex came with rollerblades. Then it was back to school, and we didn’t know each other.

One day the three of us were at the skate park, and it was getting late. The girls glided around on blades. They were good now, graceful, and could even do some tricks on the ramps. Alex bladed dreamily, blowing bubble gum. She seemed distracted. Bruna offered me some gum. She didn’t tease me as much anymore, apart from coming up behind me and playfully tugging my hair sometimes.

Alex did a swift turn and stopped to face us.

“Where are you guys going next year?”

Her eyes shone with sudden interest. We were twelve, with all the awkward years ahead of us, to grow into our bodies.  I was a boy, and they were girls, although usually they weren’t even girls to me, but ‘accidentally not boys’. Friends who – wouldn’t you know it – happened to be the opposite sex. They were loud, colourful  and tomboyish enough to get away with it and I tried not to think about it much. I naively thought it would always be this way, that one day I would introduce Alex and Bruna to my future girlfriend…

The fact they were going to grow up into women, with women’s bodies and the attitude and shape of older women I saw in movies, was too abstract to accept. 

“Hello? Which one are you going to?” Alex asked again. “High school—?”

“St Justina, probably,” I mumbled, knowing what it meant. It was a Catholic private school and no one I knew was going there. 

Alex skidded away, not before shooting Bruna a look. Bruna just shrugged discreetly as if to say, ‘He’s lame. Oh well.’

“Oh,” Alex said, “cringe. Why?”

“My parents want me to. It’s okay,” I quickly added, trying to salvage my image, “they’re not serious.”

Alex meditated on this, gliding directionlessly, before circling vaguely back to me.

“I…dunno. It’s kinda…” she made a face, “—okay and I’m just saying what I heard, but I mean, no one I know would know anyone there so...” 

“Where’s everyone else going?” I asked.

Alex did some wide figure-eights around me. She had flicked the gum away and was now applying lip gloss while blading. I didn’t know why girls always had to be doing two things at once, and usually things that weren’t connected to each other, like putting lipstick on while driving like my mom did sometimes.

Bruna announced:

“My parents were going to make me go to this Greek high school even though I’m not even Greek or anything. But –“

Alex finished for her:

“Her parents let her do anything she wants and now we’re both going to Day Prep.” 

‘Day Prep’ was ‘Dayford Preparatory Academy’, which was the main high school in town, the one everyone went to. Alex went on:

“So…Now all my best friends are going to Day Prep, which is awesome. I mean,” she passed by again, eyeing me quickly. “It could be awesome. You know...but…”

She let out an unsubtle sigh.

I don’t know why it mattered since we didn’t even talk to each other at school anyway. We mostly just glanced at each other in the halls, at recess, awkwardly, not at the same time. We could still hang out like usual. I said:

“I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“I didn’t know you were Catholic,” she snorted. “What, do you want to be a priest when you grow up? Don’t tell me you go to church every weekend? – does it suck?” 

Bruna tried not to laugh, which was annoying, since any mention of her parents own liberal Islam made her blush and avert eye contact.

“I’m not but my mom is,” I said. “I think. Also, my best friend is going to Justina,” I said, stopping to sit down on my board and think about it. “He’s Catholic.”

“Well, maybe he should quit being Catholic,” Alex flashed me a defiant smile, “and go to Day Prep and get cool sometime. Like us. And you should too, dork.”

Pretty soon Bruna’s dad picked her up, and then another car drove up by the skate park and idled. It was Mrs Kijek, coming to pick up Alex. My mom was supposed to finish shopping anytime now, and pick me up too. 

Alex paused by the car to take her blades off, while Mrs Kijek’s window dropped and she leaned her head out. 

“Sweet ride, Mrs Kijek,” I said, trying to sound cooler than Alex gave me credit for.

“Ohh yeah,” Alex said smoothly, somehow also mocking me.

“Hi, Tad,” said Mrs Kijek. “This is Toby’s ‘ride’ –” that was Alex’s dad, “—it’s mine for the weekend. He’s away at a work conference. Tobe put some features in here himself. So I think this car is smarter than I am. That’s the way of the world now, isn’t it?”

“Are there robots in the car?” I perked up. 

Alex nodded.

“That is so cool!” I said. 

Alex beamed smugly.

“Up for a test ride?” said Mrs Kijek. “Since it’s the weekend tomorrow, you’re welcome to stay over this night as well.” She glanced at Alex, “Room for three?”

Alex didn’t say anything. She stood by the car, watching me.

“Right now?” I said.

Before I could ask, Mrs Kijek explained:

“Alex has been trying to talk us into letting you over for some time,” – Alex shot her mom a warning look – “but Tobe has the basement locked down as a workstation. It’s only this weekend he’s away, so now’s your chance. What do you think?”

I didn’t need to think.

“Sure!”

*

“Where are all your dad’s robots?” I said. “And where are all your seats, cheapo?”

Alex was on the bed, looking way more comfortable than I was. She put me on her beanbag.

“Hey,” Alex pouted. “That’s a really good beanbag your butt is on.”

It was fluffy and pastel, and very low on the ground. Her bed was quite high so I had to look up at her.

“It’s girly.”

“I’m girly,” she said defiantly. 

“Not really.”

“What is that supposed to mean? You’re more girly than me?”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You can sit on my bed too,” she said, trying to be nice.

She was lounged all over the bed and there was no more room. Plus it would be weird. And I got embarrassed when Alex was nice to me. It was so much simpler when she just teased me.

I looked away, sinking further into the beanbag. 

“Never mind.”

She shrugged and began to critically examine her nails.

“Can I see your dad’s basement Lab?” I said suddenly, terrified she’d ask me to paint her nails for her. “You know, robots.”

Alex said:

“My dad keeps it locked whenever he goes out.” Her eyes had a defiant gleam, “But, so what? I know where he keeps the spare key. So there.”

Her mom was out shopping. As Alex slipped in and out of her parents’ bedroom closet with the spare basement key, her mom’s car rolled into the driveway.

“Quick!” Alex said. She unlocked the door and pushed me into the basement landing, bundling inside after. She switched the light on and shut the door. A set of stairs went down. It was white, lit, anodyne, not dark and dusty and crowded like other people’s basements. 

We were now standing on forbidden ground, and I felt an invisible timer ticking down when her mom inevitably found us. Or, if we were fast, not.

“What if your mom found out we were in here?” I said.

Alex giggled in a way that reminded me she was a girl.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you!” 

That didn’t answer my question. Cautiously, I followed her downstairs.