Ryan and Nolan played basketball in the driveway. I had my PowerBook on the breakfast table, and I caught bits of their conversation through the open window as I worked.
". . . a freshman?" Ryan said.
"Yeah," Nolan said.
"What's her --" A car drove up the street, and drowned Ryan out.
Her? My parental spideysense switched on, but I tried to stay focused on my work.
"That's cool." I thought. "I shouldn't be listening to their conversation, anyway."
For the next several minutes, I couldn't hear anything but the bounce of the ball, and then "Brick!" from Nolan as the ball bounced off the backboard, and landed beneath the kitchen window. Ryan walked over to pick it up.
" . . . is so freakin' hot," Nolan said.
"Yeah," Ryan said as he picked up the ball, "but she's not your type. She's a geek, just like me."
I looked out the window. Did he see me? No. He tossed the ball back to Nolan.
"Your ball," he said.
I closed my Powerbook and watched them play in the fading afternoon sunlight. I saw that Ryan was wearing a Mozilla T-shirt.
. . . just like me.