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didn’t act old. He looked like how I imagined Socrates would have — tan skin, a wild nest of white hair, scruffy face, and round belly — except instead of a toga, he wore faded blue jeans and a button-down shirt, open at the top.
    He dropped the basket as soon as he entered and gave Sage a hug, swinging her off her feet. I looked away, but neither Sage nor her dad seemed to care. Afterward, Sage introduced me. Her dad clamped my hand in both of his and studied my face. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Sage has told me about you.”
    I wanted to ask what she’d said, but Mr. Fisher had already moved on. “Who’s hungry?” he asked in a loud voice.
    A few students watching TV or doing homework in the commons glanced up, perplexed.
    “I brought plenty of food,” Mr. Fisher announced, raising the wicker basket. “Enough lunch for everyone.”
    He took Sage by the hand and headed for the door. Several students hung back, wondering if the invitation applied to them. “Come on,” he called to the stragglers. “It’s too beautiful to stay inside.”
    Mr. Fisher led us behind the dorms to the far side of the pond, stopping at a spot we called the cleavage since it lay between two small hills. He spread a blanket on the grass and gestured for everyone to sit.
    Sage sat next to her dad, practically glowing. The rest of the kids were an odd mix of Sage’s friends and students who’d happened to be in the commons when Mr. Fisher had announced his promise of free food. Donald Smails, the chess master, came, along with Muppet, Tracy Lang, Katy Cameron, and the Ice Queen.
    Lately, pretending that Ellie didn’t exist had gotten to be more difficult. For the last week, all anyone talked about was how Mark Watson and her had split up. According to reports, Mark had been expelled for running across campus, swimming the pond, and punching out some guy simply because he was walking with Ellie. The incident had made Ellie a bit of a legend. Senior class officers even started taking orders for T-shirts commemorating the “Mark Watson Run, Swim, and Box for Ellie Triathlon.” Everyone wanted one.
    I’d learned to handle being in physics class with Ellie, but sitting next to her at a picnic made me nervous in an entirely new way. I kept worrying that my stomach might rumble or I’d sneeze or do something dumb. I couldn’t even figure out how to sit. After fidgeting for a few minutes, I tried crossing my legs, but I bumped Ellie’s knee.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled.
    Ellie didn’t say anything. Fortunately, Mr. Fisher filled the silence. He pulled things out of the picnic basket like a magician conjuring objects from a hat.
    “Beaujolais Nouveau,” he said, lifting a large bottle of wine from the basket. “And Dixie cups.”
    “Uh, Mr. Fisher,” Muppet squeaked, “isn’t that against ASMA policy?”
    “Call me Liam,” he replied while opening the bottle. He filled the Dixie cups and passed them around. “What’s bread and cheese without a little wine?”
    Next Liam pulled food out of the baskets. “French bread!” he announced, holding up two halves of a baguette. He smelled the bread, then handed it to Sage. She tore off a hunk and passed it on, smiling at me.
    “Brie!” Liam said, holding up a wheel of cheese. He passed the cheese around with his pocketknife. Everyone cut off a sliver. I ate the cheese and some bread. The rich, buttery flavor blended well with the wine. “Camembert!” he said, holding up another wheel of cheese once everyone had finished the Brie. Then, “Chèvre!” which tasted delicious.
    After the cheeses, Liam pulled out a single nectarine and cut it into slices. “Food of the gods,” he said, raising his bushy white eyebrows.
    We all took a slice. It was the sweetest, most perfectly ripened nectarine I’d ever tasted. Juice dribbled down my chin. I wiped my face with my sleeve, hoping the Ice Queen hadn’t seen.
    Then came mango and pear. Grapes. Gouda. Swiss cheese. Cucumber slices.