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sweatsuit, this one in green and yellow. There‘s no resemblance to Wes in his apple-shaped face and dark brown hair, but he does have those big blue eyes. Mr.
    Gershwin stands up to shake my hand and says he‘s glad Wes has made a ―good friend‖ and I should sit next to them from now on during meets. I‘m positively beaming!

    Mr. and Mrs. Gershwin are on the old side, probably eight to ten years older than my parents, but they‘re smiley and vivacious and ask me all about Shorr and premed programs. I‘m almost disappointed to leave them when Amy appears at the den door and motions for me to come with her. After I say my goodbyes and thank-you-for-having-meovers, I join Amy in the guest bathroom, which is decked out with jungle-print wallpaper and a gold papier-mâché parrot dangling from the ceiling.

    ―So,‖ she whispers, ―you‘re fashionably late.‖

    ―Yeah, I know. I should have just asked you to pick me up. You all weren‘t waiting for me to watch the movies, were you?‖

    ―No, but…‖ She leans in close to me, her wavy black hair cresting over her shoulders as she bounces up and down excitedly. ―Gersh asked me where you were, like, three times.‖

    My blood‘s pounding in my ears. ―Oh my God, really?‖ I whisper-shout to her.

    ―Yeah! He kept saying, ‗So where‘s Dom? Shouldn‘t she be here by now?‘‖

    ―Oh, Ames.‖ It‘s hard to talk I‘m smiling so widely. ―You know, at the meet yesterday, he was walking to the sidelines to get some water, and he spotted me on the bleachers. He gave me the cutest smile and winked. Winking is much sexier than waving, right?‖

    ―Coming from Gersh, that‘s like a dozen roses.‖

    ―Exactly! I think something could happen tonight if we could finally get some alone time. I know it‘s only been three weeks—‖

    ―Only three weeks? My patience runs out after three minutes.‖ Amy looks pensive for a moment, the way she does when she‘s holding her palette before a blank canvas. Finally she says, ―All right, I figured it out. There‘s a guy here I wouldn‘t mind hooking up with, so if all goes right, we‘ll both be getting lucky.‖

    ―What are you going to do?‖

    ―No questions. Just follow my lead.‖

    We walk into the living room, packed with over twenty trackies spread out on couches, ottomans, armchairs, and the Persian rug. Wes grins bashfully as soon as he sees me.

    ―Hey, take a seat,‖ he says softly while sidling left to make room between him and Paul on the couch. Meanwhile, Amy heads straight toward one of the discus throwers and seats herself on his lap as if they had been going out for months.

    There‘s a huge spread of Chinese food in front of me on the coffee table, but I‘m too wired to eat with there being only an inch of airspace between Wes and me. Soon Wes stretches out his legs so his right ankle ends up resting against my left pinkie toe. It‘s as if a bolt of electricity surges through me, and all systems are on high alert. I freeze, careful not to move but also unsure of my next move. I try to catch Amy‘s eye to see if she noticed anything, but she‘s totally preoccupied with her guy. I already know what she‘d advise me to do, anyway.

    I take a deep breath and am on the verge of returning a little foot pressure when Wes crosses his legs. My heart sinks into my stomach. Maybe his touching me was completely unintentional after all.

    At the end of the evening, after almost everyone else has gone, Amy tells Wes she‘s bushed and wonders if he could drive me home since I‘m so far out of her way. Wes says sure, adding he needs to fill up with gas anyway. I could kiss Amy for being so sympathetic to my cause.

    A minute later she walks out with discus boy. Wes and I are left alone, and things are suddenly a little tense. We both know what the two of them are going to do now—it‘s like they left behind a hookup vibe that Amy, I‘m sure, means for me to take advantage of.

    8

    “H ey,