Her All Along

I cocked my head as something hit me. I lost respect for women when they went near me.

A psychologist would have a field day digging into my brain.

I side-eyed Pipsqueak. She was watching the boys playing soccer.

“Can I ask something, Pipsqueak?”

“Yes,” she stated. “I know that’s a common way to phrase yourself, but it’s still funny to me. Of course you can ask something—you just did. You have a mouth, and you have the ability to speak. It goes without saying that you can ask.”

I smirked faintly to myself and took a sip of the lemonade. “The more formal word ‘may’ was at some point replaced by ‘can’ without altering the meaning,” I explained to her. “So, even if someone asks if they can ask a question, emphasis is on permission, not on the physical ability.”

She pursed her lips. “That makes sense. It’s one of those helping verbs, right?”

I nodded. “It is. Good job. Do you know the other term for a helping verb?”

That made her huff and give me a look. “It’s summer break, Avery. English isn’t even your area of expertise.”

I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

She waved a hand. “You may ask your question now.”

Christ, this girl. I let out a soft laugh and shook my head, and she smiled very widely.

“I was wondering why you come over to chat sometimes,” I said. “You have plenty of friends, and you evidently don’t want me to pretend to be an English teacher, so what is it?”

“First things first.” She held up a finger. “Have I stepped on any toes, figuratively, or come over too often?”

“Not at all,” I assured.

“Okay.” She flashed a quick smile, then chewed on her lip and grew pensive.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she’d say. Pipsqueak was young and inexperienced at the same time as she was wise beyond her years, and she had an insight many couldn’t accumulate in decades. She was analytical, practical, and attacked problems from several angles. One perspective was never enough for her, and logic was her religion. She felt with her heart and left the thinking for her brain.

A couple years ago, I witnessed her having a meltdown, complete with panic, breathing difficulties, tears streaming down her face, body shaking, and ear-shattering screams. But later, as she was starting to calm down, when Darius asked if she wanted to come with us to the store and pick out some things for a movie night, she’d asked us to wait. Because, “I can’t make any logical decisions right now.”

Darius and I had been on our way to the store to buy beer for a barbecue, and Pipsqueak had eventually tagged along. Only, once there, she struggled with choosing what she wanted for her movie night, claiming every decision would be based on the fact that she hadn’t eaten yet and was starving for everything she laid her eyes on.

“That chocolate looks amazing right now, but what if I won’t want it after dinner?”

She understood cause and effect better than any other teenager I’d ever met.

“Maybe you don’t have a specific reason.” I offered her an out since she wasn’t saying anything.

“No, I have several. I’m currently compiling a list.” She tapped her temple. “Hold, please.”

Okay, then.

I sat back in my chair and finished the lemonade, and I wondered if I should give the indoors a break so I could fix the patio a bit. It was summer. I wanted to be able to sit out here and throw a steak on the grill. But for that to happen, I had to get started on the deck. And, well, I had to buy a grill. Or maybe I should wait till next summer.

“All right, I’m ready,” Pipsqueak declared. She wasted no time and started counting the things on her fingers. “My brothers like you, so I can trust you. You don’t speak to me like I’m a mentally challenged toddler, and most people outside my family do that. You like children. You may prefer to teach your students about politics and current events, but you also teach history, which means you can help me put Darius and Ryan in their place when they get their facts wrong—like you did that one time last year. That was so funny.” My mouth twitched. I did remember. I’d whispered the correct date of a battle to her when her brothers had claimed it’d happened in September. “You’re not overwhelming,” she went on. “I can be silent with you, and it’s not awkward. You’re honest. You’re straightforward. When I ask something, I feel like you take me seriously and think through your answer. The teacher thing is really good—you know a lot. And…I guess… I don’t know, but I get along with boys better than girls. Sometimes it sucks, but it’s okay too.”

I definitely got my answer.