Me You Us by Aaron Karo

bad she forgot Jak’s mom’s birthday. But I’ll take anything to get out from under my parents’ microscope for the night, even though I don’t really mind all their questions. At least I know they care.
    Strangely, it’s moments like these that raise my anxiety level about graduation. Even though Taco Tuesday inevitably veers off into some kind of minor drama, at least it’s consistent. It’s my house. It’s tacos. It’s Tuesday. Once I go off to college, it’s gonna be a free-for-all. Tacos any night of the week. But more importantly: life without the support system I’ve always had here in Kingsview.

16
    I CONVINCED JAK TO PLAY hooky from English today so that we could go get lunch together on my free period. There’s a bagel place as well as a Baja Fresh and a few other restaurants close enough to school to drive to. It didn’t take much convincing to get Jak to cut. She claims that her proper usage of whom puts her in the 99th percentile of all English students nationally, and therefore learning any more would just be showing off.
    It’s still the transition period between classes, and I meet Jak at the front of the school, inside the main doors that lead to the courtyard. A surly-looking security guard in a yellow polo shirt keeps a watchful eye over the frenzy of students passing by.
    â€œYou’re late,” Jak says.
    â€œDo I have time to go to the bathroom?”
    Jak sighs dramatically.
    â€œWhat?” I say. “I’ve had to go all morning. I’m dying here.”
    â€œFine,” she says.
    I hurry to the nearby men’s room. When I leave Jak, it strikes me that in all the conversations I’ve had with her recently, we’ve never once discussed running into each other at the mall when I was with Tristen. That’s the kind of thing we’d usually break down frame by frame like the Zapruder film. I sort of got the impression that maybe Jak didn’t like Tristen . . . but Jak never brought it up, so neither did I. ­Probably best to leave it alone.
    When I return from the restroom, I notice that Jak isn’t standing by herself anymore. She’s talking to Adam. He’s trying to explain something to her, and she’s laughing. That in itself isn’t weird. Adam and Jak know each other and have shared a handful of classes together over the years. But when I join them, Adam seems surprised—and perhaps ­disappointed—to see me.
    â€œOh, uh, hey, Shane,” he says.
    â€œWhat’s up, Adam? How are ya?”
    â€œNot much,” he replies.
    What a doofus.
    â€œListen to what just happened,” Jak says to me. “Adam asked me to borrow a pen for class, but he already had a pen behind his ear.” She shakes her head in amusement.
    That’s odd, I think.
    Adam turns slightly red and holds up the pen in question. “I’m an idiot.”
    â€œYeah you are,” Jak says.
    â€œIt’s the glasses,” Adam says. “Sometimes I forget I have things behind my ear.”
    â€œThat’s what she said,” Jak adds.
    Adam forces a laugh, but I don’t even think it’s one of Jak’s better jokes.
    â€œRight,” I say. “Adam, so you’re all sorted with pens? ’Cause we’re gonna grab some lunch. Let’s talk later.”
    Jak and I turn to leave, but suddenly Adam spouts, “I like your sneakers!”
    We pause and instinctively look at our feet. I’m wearing flip-flops. So he must be talking to Jak, who’s wearing her usual grimy Chucks.
    â€œUm, thanks,” Jak says, genuinely appreciative.
    â€œI like Converse, too,” Adam says. “What do you think about their new line?”
    â€œThey’re cool. And everyone says I should get a new pair,” Jak says. “Or at least wash these. But that seems like a lot of effort.”
    â€œI agree,” Adam says. “You shouldn’t do