The message from Blade was short: “Can’t make it tonight. Got hung up.” I read it over and over, as if I could get the words to tell me more. Why didn’t he explain what the problem was? Why didn’t he at least say he was sorry? He must have some emergency, I told myself. He must be as disappointed as I am. I punched his number into the phone and raised it to my ear. My hand was trembling. I knew I was overreacting, but I was very disappointed. My daydreams had gotten me all psyched to see him. The call went right to voicemail. I listened to his voice: “This is Blade. You know what to do.” I didn’t leave a message. I knew I’d talk to him later. I knew he’d explain everything. And maybe we could get together later tonight. Dinner with my parents seemed to last forever. I hadn’t told them much about Blade. I usually blurt out everything about my life to them. I’m not the kind of person who can hold anything in. But for some reason, I’d decided to keep Blade to myself.
