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part, because for the past two days everyone’s been saying things like, “You can’t let the fear prevent you from drinking Coca-Cola … or theterrorists will have won” or “You can’t put off buying that new Chevrolet … or the terrorists will have won.” But Jasper doesn’t seem to get my reference, or maybe he just doesn’t know me enough to know I’m joking. Because he says, “It’s not about them, really. It’s just about me.” I ask him when his parents are coming back, and he says they’re trying, but they’re not really sure. “When you stop all the airplanes in America, it tends to cause logistical problems.” We talk about the news, and how much of it we’ve been watching, and I’m trying to sense whether or not the spark is there, the one that shot through us at Mitchell’s party. Because even if it is there, I have to imagine it’s been dulled by all the other things on our minds. One person on the news was saying they were already predicting a slew of “9/11 babies” nine months from now, but I wanted to say back to her, do you really think this is putting people in the mood? Not just for sex, but to have children? And I start to laugh, and Jasper asks me what I’m laughing at, and I say, “If we stop having sex, then the terrorists will have won.” And I think, wow, he must think I’m a lunatic, but this time he actually laughs, too. I want to switch the subject before it takes us over again, so I ask him about college, but of course the answer he gives is that nobody knows if school’s going to start on time this year, because people are afraid it’s going to be hard to get there. And if … well, if there’s another attack, people want to be home. “Do you really think there’s going to be another attack?” I ask, and he says, “I don’t know. But I think that’s the whole point of it—that we have no idea.” This is already the strangest date I’ve ever had,because it’s like mortality is factoring into it. And I can’t even tell whether he’s liking me, or whether we’re just two people who happen to be sharing the same space for a certain amount of time. The restaurant is crowded, I think because most people are tired of being in their apartments, watching TV. There are even some groups of people who look like they’re talking about other things, laughing and shouting over each other and debating. I ask Jasper what he’s studying, and he tells me he’s undecided—there isn’t one thing that he gravitates toward. “I wish I could concentrate in General Studies,” he says. “A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” I nod, as if I’ve given the matter much thought. In truth, getting through senior year is intimidating enough. Even though I’ve only had four days of it, the pressure has been insane. But I don’t tell him this, because I don’t want to emphasize that I’m younger. I like it when he looks at me as an equal. It makes me believe I could be an equal, someday. “Have you ever seen Cabaret?” he asks, and I wonder if it’s a trick question. I shake my head. “I mean, not the Broadway one, but the movie.” I shake my head again. “Well, it’s not Hedwig , but do you want to come back and watch Cabaret or something?” “Hells yes,” I say, perhaps a little too eagerly. He smiles. “Looks like we have a plan, then.” We split the check when it comes, then head outside. A gust of wind hits us, and I shudder. I wonder aloud when it’s going to stop smelling like death, and Jasper says that, once again, he has no idea. But he says the waves of it are farther apart now—maybe that means it’ll eventually wear itself out. His brownstone is only a couple of blocks away. It is not normalfor me to go home with someone on a first date, but this feels like more than just a first date, and since Jasper’s friends with Mitchell, it’s not like he’s a stranger. When we step inside the living room, it’s a complete frat-house mess.