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Europeans are so much skinnier than Americans, despite all the Brie they eat?”
    Walking me to the door after dropping me off from wherever we’d been was really the only time David and I could count on the two of us being left alone for a few minutes…at least until Theresa or one of my parents realized we were out there and started flicking the porch light on and off.
    I’m telling you, it’s hard when your boyfriend is the president’s son.
    Anyway, as he walked me to my front door the evening of our first life drawing class, David pulled me into the shadows beneath the big weeping willow tree in the front yard—as was his custom—and pressed me up against the trunk as he kissed me.
    This was also his custom. I must say, both these customs delighted me very much.
    Although that night, I was still sort of weirded out by the whole naked Terry thing and couldn’t quite, you know. Get into it.
    I think David could tell, since at one point he lifted his head and went, conversationally, “Did you really think that guy’s inguinal ligament was small?”
    â€œNo,” I said, to tease him. “Do you really like my hair?”
    â€œYes,” he said to tease me back. “But I really, really like this shirt you have on. Do you want to go to Camp David with me for Thanksgiving? You can come if you promise to wear this shirt.”
    â€œOkay,” I said—then slammed my head against the trunk of the tree as I whipped it back to look up at him. “Wait. WHAT did you just say?”
    â€œThanksgiving,” he said, his lips moving up the side of my neck, toward my right ear lobe. “You’ve heard of it, surely. It’s a national holiday, traditionally celebrated by ingesting large amounts of turkey and watching football—”
    â€œI know what Thanksgiving is, David,” I said. “What I mean is—Camp David?”
    â€œCamp David is the official presidential retreat away from the White House, located in Maryland—”
    â€œStop goofing around,” I said. “I know what Camp David is. How did you talk your parents into letting you invite me there?”
    â€œI didn’t have to,” David said with a shrug. “I just asked them if I could bring you, and they said sure. I’ll admit that was before.”
    â€œBefore what?”
    â€œBefore they saw what you did to your hair. But I’m sure they’ll still let you come. So…want to?”
    â€œAre you SERIOUS?” I couldn’t believe he was being so jokey about it. Because this was big. I mean, huge . My boyfriend was asking me to go away with him. Overnight.
    And okay, his parents were going to be there, and all. But even so, it could only mean one thing.
    Couldn’t it?
    â€œOf course I’m serious,” David said. “Come on, Sharona. It’ll be fun. There’s all sorts of stuff to do there. Horseback riding. Movies. Parcheesi.”
    Parcheesi? Was that some kind of weird boy code name for sex? Because that had to be what he was thinking we were going to do, right? I mean, have sex? Isn’t that what couples who go away for the weekend together do?
    â€œDon’t even tell me you don’t want to, Sharona,” David was saying. “I know you do.”
    But how? How could he know I wanted to? Had I been giving off some I-want-to-have-sex vibe without even knowing it? Because I’m not sure I want to. Okay, sometimes I’m sure I want to, but not most of the time. And especially not now , having been forced to sit there and look at a naked guy for three hours….
    â€œYou said you guys always go to your grandma’s in Baltimore for Thanksgiving,” David went on. “And that it’s totally boring there. Right? So get out of it. And come to Camp David with me.”
    What should I say? I didn’t know what to say!
    â€œMy parents will NEVER let me go away with you.”
    Seriously.