in the hallway, since the day I’d overheard her talking with our vice-principal. She’d smile her warm smile, of course, and usually add a little something, like, “That’s a great sweater,” or “You must be keeping busy; I hardly see you anymore,” but it never lasted longer than ten seconds. But just when I’d about given up hope that she and Dad would become “an item,” as Pamela put it, Dad mentioned that the Melody Inn was sponsoring a concert at Montgomery College to benefit the homeless, and that Miss Summers was helping design the posters. Maybe they were going to have one of those meaningful platonic relationships that Elizabeth talked about. Maybe my father was destined to be a troubadour who sang to his lady and loved her from afar. The best thing I could do, as Lester said, was keep my mouth shut. But Mr. Sorringer was a different matter. I felt as though I hated the man. My algebra class was just down the hall from his office, and every time I saw him in the hallway, I stared straight ahead or right through him, even though he said hello.
