“Listen, Linda.” She was attempting to whisper, so her consonants got especially hissy. “I’m not any good at explaining things. I’m not like Leo in that way. After the semester ended I got him to sit with me in the cafeteria and eat a muffin, and he had a bran and I had a blueberry, and we did that against the next week, and the next, and I remember how he tucked in his shirt when he stood up. You know how that is? How you wait for someone to do this thing, and then he does it? He tucks in his shirt the same way every time he stands up, and it seems, I don’t know, like you don’t have to go to all the work getting to know him because he does this thing, this one thing, and you can predict it. He was so smart, and I felt like I knew him better than he knew himself, right away. That’s very powerful.”
“You liked how he tucked in his shirt?” I was intrigued. I was repulsed.
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