Top 8 by Katie Finn Page B

was going to come up on my shuffle setting. If he had a problem with Stockholm Syndrome — whichwas some of the cooler music on my iCar — I could only imagine what he’d think about my Kelly Clarkson.
    â€œSo is it just Madison?” he asked.
    â€œYes,” I said. “I mean, my friends call me Mad or Mads.”
    â€œGot it.”
    â€œI mean, they used to,” I said after a moment of silence, punctuated only by Olaf’s soulful wailing. “Back when I had friends, that is.”
    We pulled up to Gofer Ice Cream, which was in the same complex as Putnam Pizza, where Dave worked. I scanned the parking lot, but didn’t see his car parked anywhere, so I figured he must not have been working. The song changed just as I put the car into park.
    â€œIs this Kelly Clarkson?” Nate asked incredulously.
    â€œUm, no,” I said as I killed the engine quickly. I got out, locked the car, and headed into Gofer just behind Nate, trying not to notice how cute his butt looked in his dark-wash jeans.
    I picked up what my mother usually kept on hand — pints of vanilla and chocolate ice cream, and raspberry and lemon sorbets. And for the ride home, I got a cone of hazelnut gelato. To my surprise, Nate ordered himself a cone of mint chocolate chip. It wasn’t until I walked out of the store that I realized I should have ordered a cup. It was going to be impossible to drive and eat my gelato at the same time.
    I suddenly felt like an idiot. Ruth, no doubt, would have foreseen this and ordered a cup. Actually, she probably wouldn’t have gotten anything for herself and would have brought the ice cream directly home for the hungry people who wanted dessert. But whatever.
    There was a little patio just outside the store, with benches and chairs. I gestured to it. “Mind if we sit for a moment? I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle this cone while driving.”
    â€œSure,” Nate said, and we sat down next to each other — but not too close — on the bench. “What did you mean?” he asked after a moment of silent ice cream consumption. “That thing with your friends?”
    â€œWhat thing?” I asked, my mouth full of gelato-y goodness.
    â€œYou said that your friends used to call you by your nickname — back when you had friends.” He took a bite, eyebrows raised. “Care to explicate?”
    â€œOh,” I said, trying not to swoon at the SAT vocab word usage, “that. It’s kind of a long story.”
    â€œIt’s kind of a big cone,” he said, gesturing to his quickly melting mint chocolate chip.
    â€œWell,” I said, thinking. I was a little bit nervous about sharing this much of my life with someone who was pretty much a stranger. And a lot of the details were pretty embarrassing for me. But I did want to talk about it, and with someone who wasn’t involved at all. Andthere was just something about Nate that made me think I could trust him. “Okay.” I took a bite of gelato for strength and launched into the whole Friendversegate saga.
    â€œAnd,” I concluded a few minutes later, trying desperately to stem the flow of my melting gelato with napkins. I hadn’t had much time to eat during the story — because I’d been talking — and my cone was overflowing. Nate, on the other hand, was practically done with his mint chocolate chip, and at this point was just eating the waffle cone. “That’s about it. So, to make a long story short —”
    â€œToo late,” Nate interrupted.
    â€œExcuse me?” I asked, offended, as I drank some of my gelato.
    â€œNo,” he said quickly, perhaps noticing my expression, “I was just quoting. It’s from Clue .”
    â€œThe board game?”
    â€œNo, the movie.”
    â€œThey made a movie about the board game? What, is it like a documentary of people playing it or something?” I took