Right
in front
of everyone—
sending supersonic shockwaves all through me.

And we just sit here,
grinning at each other like Muppets,
knees pressed together under the table,
eyes locked...

Until the bell rings.
“Check, please,” I call,
snapping my fingers at an imaginary waiter. 
This makes Sophie laugh.

And the sound of that laugh,
and knowing that I’m the one who made it happen,
makes me feel sort of all-powerful,
indestructible,

immortal, even.

I’ll tell you what happens.

Rachel and Grace creep toward us,
clutching each other’s arms
like they’re approaching an open coffin—

Grace’s eyes bigger than DVDs,
Rachel’s mouth hanging open so wide
you could reach right in and perform a tonsillectomy.

“Fee,” Grace hisses
through teeth clenched tighter than lockjaw,
“what are you doing?”

When Sophie looks up at them,
her smile disappears,
and suddenly I feel like a man overboard.

Like
if she lets go of my fingers,
I’ll drown.

While her eyes
dart back and forth
between her friends and me
like a pair of crazed hummingbirds.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”
she finally says.
“It looks like you’re going psycho on us,”
Rachel says, with a nervous giggle.

“Well, she’s not,” I hear myself say
in this surprisingly friendly voice.
“Sophie’s totally sane…
and totally amazing.

At which point,
that brilliant smile of hers
blazes back on like a torch,
and I can feel my heart catching fire.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sophie says, all nonchalant.
“I guess I forgot to introduce you guys.
Rachel,
Grace—

I’d like you to meet Robin.”

They gasp in unison.
“But…but…” Grace sputters,
“this…this is Murphy!”

“Robin Murphy,” I say,
holding out my hand for her to shake.
“Any friend of Sophie’s is a friend of mine.

But she backs away from me
like I have leprosy or something,
pulling Rachel right along with her.

Rachel manages a shell-shocked smile
and mumbles, “Uh… nice meeting you.
Then both of them turn and bolt from the cafeteria.

Sophie and I
just sit here in silence,
watching them go.

Then she says, “Well.
I’m glad that’s over with.”
But she doesn’t look too glad to me.

As Sophie and I walk through the halls,
holding hands on our way to art class,
it feels like we’re committing a crime. 

Everyone who sees us
looks offended, grossed out,
horrified, even,

as though I’m King Kong,
and Sophie’s the little blonde
struggling to escape from my huge hairy fist.

They’re gawking at us,
like Sophie’s Beauty and I’m the Beast.
Like I’m Shrek and Sophie’s Fiona.

I can feel her palm
beginning to sweat in mine.
I can feel her fingers stiffening.

But when I try to let go of her hand,
so that people won’t know
we’re together—

she won’t let me.

She tugs me into this little alcove
where the custodian stows his brooms.

Then she presses her forehead against mine
and traces a heart on my palm
with the tip of her forefinger.

“There’s something
so great about this,” she whispers.
“About what?” I whisper back.

“About this,” she whispers. 
“About being outlaws.
It’s just you and me—against the world.

Now do you get
why I like her so much?