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vacation.”
    I still couldn’t speak.
    â€œYou’re, like, eighteen,” Twig said,
    â€œand you still go on trips
    with your parents?”
    The guy shrugged.
    I could have hugged
    him; that’s how cute the dude was,
    with duck fuzz on his chin
    where a goatee should have been.
    â€œHey,” he said,
    â€œwe stay at the Waldorf,
    okay? It’s cool.
    I’d be a fool
    to turn down a free week
    at the Waldorf-Astoria.”
    I was filled
    with euphoria.
    This was phantasmagoria:
    a dream come true.
    Not only was he
    cute, but the dude
    had bucks. It sucks
    not
to have bucks.
    â€œWhat luck!” I said.
    â€œIt’s a coincidence!
    That’s kind of like
    where we’re going, too!”
    â€œLaura,” said Twig.
    â€œWhat about SoHo?”
    â€œOh, no. No SoHo.
    Waldorf all the way. Hey!
    Do you have room for two more?
    We’ll sleep on the floor.”
    â€œSure,” said the guy.
    â€œMy parents won’t mind.”
    I started to climb
    into his car.
    â€œLaura!” said Twig.
    â€œWe need to wait
    for the police.
    And at least
    you should know his name,
    for heaven’s sake!”
    â€œJake,” he said.
    I liked the shape
    of Jake’s head:
    big enough to hold
    a good brain.
    â€œIt’s great;
    it totally rates
    to make your acquaintance,
    Jake,” I said.
    Manners are a banner
    advertising a good upbringing,
    so I shook his hand.
    Man, it was electric,
    metric-system mathematics
    full of static shocks
    when our eyes locked.
    One plus one equals two
    out-of-the-blue
    in love, or lust, busted.
    Twig was disgusted.
    She sighed
    and rolled her eyes.
    Jake had two
    ear hoops
    and a fine tattoo
    of a Chinese
    squiggle-symbol
    on his arm.
    â€œYou look like
    a poet, don’t
    you know it?” I said.
    Jake smiled,
    and I went wild inside.
    â€œA musician,” he said.
    â€œGuitar strummer, drummer,
    writer of songs.”
    â€œYou can’t go wrong,” I said.
    Twig just shook her head.
    â€œA drummer,” she said.
    â€œWhat a bummer.
    Remember the Mummers
    in the Philadelphia parade?
    I would’ve paid
    those drummers to shut up.”
    I was mortified,
    embarrassment fortified
    by Twig’s wacked
    lack of respect for Jake.
    Sirens shrilled,
    and I could have killed
    Twig. I willed
    myself filled
    with a balm of calm.
    â€œHere come the cops,”
    said Twig. “Hey, maybe
    they’ll throw us in jail.
    It never fails,
    in the movies,
    that the groovy
    people end up
    in jail, no bail.”
    â€œWe’re not going
    to prison,” I said.
    The officer wore dark shades,
    and he asked our names,
    butt-strutted around to
    look at our plates,
    then got on his radio
    walkie-talkie thing
    to call in to somebody
    who cared about stuff
    like this.
    Static crackling,
    the officer started cackling
    when he heard
    that I got a ticket
    for hitting a pig.
    I don’t know how
    you get a gig
    where you can make a big
    deal out of stuff like this.
    But he did.
    â€œKid,” said the cop,
    â€œyou have too many
    Pennsylvania points
    on your license. By
    the way, I need to see
    your license.”
    â€œIt’s in the glove compartment
    of that crushed car over there,”
    I said, and the officer shook his head.
    â€œIs she going to prison?”
    Twig asked.
    The officer shook his head.
    â€œYou should’ve just stayed in bed
    this morning,
    because you’ve crashed and bashed
    your way
    into losing
    your driver’s license, young lady.
    It’ll be revoked.”
    Holy smokes. I was
so
not stoked.
    But then I remembered:
    I didn’t have wheels anymore anyway.
    It was my big day.
    I’d have to just ride away
    into the blazing sunset with Jake.
    This was no mistake.
    This was fate.
    My first date,
    and I couldn’t wait
    one minute more.

Lesson 14
Always Look Your Best Because You Never Know Who You’re Going to Wreck Into
    Jake’s car was
    dented but driveable,
    and