“How?”Decided to be popular. I barely understood the concept. The way people saw me felt so out of my control. I was quiet, so people thought I was aloof. I was a Barbanel, so they thought I wasa snob. The idea of trying to control how people saw me was alien.
“I noticed if I dressed like the popular kids, people were nicer to me. If I had the same hobbies as the popular kids, people were nicer to me. If I was a little more basic, people were nicer to me.”
I stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yup.”
“That’sterrible.”
“That’s people.” He stretched his long legs out in front of him.
I wasn’t sure whether to find this depressing or brilliant. “But so—you changed who you were?”
“I didn’t changewhoI was. I changed how I presented myself—got better hair supplies, stopped reading comics at lunch, stopped bragging about baking. It worked.”
“Wow.” I paused. “But—if you’re never really real—it sounds lonely.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, like he was tense, angry, a way I’d never seen him before. “It’s not.”
“But if you’re hiding parts of yourself...” I didn’t feel like people at school necessarily knew me, but I also never felt like I pretended to be anything other than who I was. If Ididhave more friends, I felt sure they’d know everything about me. “What about your best friends? They must know all about... comics and baking and everything.”
For a moment his face was open and surprised and—I don’t know, sad?—before it blanked and he flashed the polished smile Iwas coming to hate, the one he gave to everyone. The one I didn’t want him to give to me. “Sure.”
Which made me think that, maybe, Tyler Nelson—the most popular boy on Nantucket, never without a friend or a girl or a party—might not actually have very many close friends.
I looked out at the yellow marshes, not wanting to prod deeper at the soft spot he’d revealed, not wanting to bruise him. “You still like comic books and baking?”
He shrugged. Then nodded.
“Like what?” I asked. “I’ve readThe Prince and the DressmakerandHeartstopper.”
“Those are good. My moms like those.”
I gave him a light shove. “Here I was feeling so cool, and I’m reading the same stuff as middle-aged women.”
He grinned. “I won’t tell them you called them middle-aged.”
I laughed. “So what do you like?”
“Oh, uh, I likeGreen Lantern. AndFar Sector—which, uh, I guess you wouldalsosay isGreen Lantern, but, um, actually...”
I watched, fascinated, as his cheeks pinkened. Tyler Nelson wasembarrassed.He wasshyto tell me about the comics he liked. And yet he did tell me. As he spoke, the pink of his cheeks mellowed and his tone became excited instead of flustered.
“Would you ever write comics?” I asked. “Or draw them? Since you like them so much.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. But I like how stories dig into howand why people behave the way they do. I’m actually studying psychology for the same reason, I guess. I like to understand what makes people tick.”
“Cool.” I tilted my head. “Do you think it’s because you spent so much time thinking about that when you were younger?”
“Maybe.” His voice was thoughtful. “I think... the more time I spent trying to understand why people behave the way they do, the more interesting I found it. And I think if you’re interested and passionate about something, you should pursue it.”
I watched the clouds drift, felt the cold seep through my coat and into my arms. “What if you’re not passionate about anything, though?”
He rolled onto his side and looked at me. “Everyone’s passionate about something.”
I shook my head. “I’m not.”
“You’re passionate about skating.”
