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Marisol.”
    Reed starts paging through his little notebook. “Wedge, wedge, where is that . . .”
    I put my hand out to stop him. “Reed. I’m just gonna go talk to Rebecca and wedge her out of the way. Not everything is rocket science.”
    â€œRight. Noted.”
    â€œAre you ready?”
    He nods, still grasping the notebook.
    â€œGood. Now put that thing away and follow me fifteen seconds behind. Too soon and it will be obvious. Too late and Marisol will drift away.”
    â€œGot it.”
    Satisfied that Reed is up to the challenge, I pat him on the shoulder and then leave to approach Rebecca. But when I’m about twenty feet away, I realize that I’m not the only one seeking her attention. Harrison has arrived in the auditorium and made it over to her first.
    Harrison looks like a 1950s football star with his square jaw and blond crew cut. He’s about six feet tall with zero body fat and knuckles that apparently need constant cracking—when they’re not dragging on the floor, that is. He and I have a checkered history. At a mutual friend’s bar mitzvah back in the day, we almost came to blows when he thought I was eyeing a girl he was interested in. Never mind that I never even looked at the girl in question and was merely eyeing the bathroom after an unusually long haftarah. The rabbi intervened, but I’m pretty sure Harrison has kept me on an enemies list taped next to his bed ever since.
    Harrison and Rebecca hooking up is not public knowledge and has been denied by both parties, but their eye contact tells me it’s on like Donkey Kong. Besides, there’s no reason why Harrison would show his face at a college fair other than to see Rebecca. He already has a baseball scholarship and will be sparking bench-clearing brawls in D-I come next season.
    Knowing Reed is following my lead, I continue forward anyway.
    â€œHey, Rebecca!” I say as I reach her.
    She smiles pleasantly. “Hi, Shane.”
    I acknowledge Harrison with a nod but pretend I don’t even see Marisol and focus all my attention on Rebecca. She has curly brown hair that frames her oval face and is prepped out in J.Crew everything. She and I have been reasonably friendly since middle school.
    â€œWhat’s going on with the senior parking lot permits?” I ask. This was one of Rebecca’s major campaign issues, and I know she is champing at the bit to discuss the mind-numbing minutiae of the problem with anyone who will listen.
    Indeed, she lights ups. “You know what? I just had a meeting with the administration about that yesterday. The issue is . . .”
    I can sense Harrison growing impatient, but I do my best to avoid looking at him. As Rebecca continues talking, I slyly position myself between her and Marisol, with my back to Marisol, effectively cutting her off from both Rebecca and Harrison.
    Classic wedge. Separation achieved.
    â€œAnother part of the problem,” Rebecca says to me, “is a lack of data and analytics about traffic flow in the parking lot. What we need . . .”
    Now I’m counting in my head: . . . ten Mississippi, eleven Mississippi, twelve Mississippi. When I hit fifteen, I hear Reedsidle up to Marisol behind me like clockwork. I continue talking to Rebecca, but am much more interested in overhearing Reed.
    â€œHey, Marisol.”
    â€œOh, hey, Reed.”
    She remembers his name. Small victories.
    â€œI can’t believe there’s another college fair. School is ending so fast!” Reed says.
    (Common interests.)
    â€œI know, right? Crazy,” she says.
    â€œWhat do you think about staying in-state versus going away?” Reed asks.
    (Open-ended question.)
    â€œOh, I’m trying to get the heck out of here. What about you?” Marisol replies.
    (Agree with whatever the hell she says.)
    â€œTotally. Me too. I want to get as far away from Kingsview as possible.”
    â€œNice,” she