It was my mother who told me.

"Jennifer, I mean, Thuy's back from Yale for spring break, Jacob."

Thuy's our neighbor and an old classmate of mine from high school. We had been friends since we were children. One day when she was eleven, she had randomly decided her new American name would be Jennifer. I argued for something like Thea that would be at least close to Thuy, but she stuck with Jennifer and in time only her family and I were left using her original name. My mom sometimes accommodated me.

"That's cool," I replied as I stuck my hand in the Frito bag.

"When's the last time you saw her?"

"Uhh... I guess last summer. The Nguyens all went on that skiing trip over Christmas, so she wasn't here then."

"That's a long time for you two."

"Yah. But we message each other some during the semester, so I know what's up."

My ears turned pink. Had she said what I think she did?

She tossed an onion on the counter and then suddenly fixed me with an I-cant-believe-you-actually-are-acting-like-this look. "I just don't get you two."

"Who? Me and Thuy?"

She sighed exasperated. "For a kid as smart as you, you're awfully clueless sometimes. Yes, of course!"

I didn't really like where this conversation was headed. What had gotten into my mom? "What's not to get?"

"For two people who fit together like you do... it's just a waste is all. Are you scared? 'Cause I understand that, Jacob."

"Mom, we've talked about this before. There's nothing like that between us. We're friends. She dates. I date. We talk about our dates to each other."

"Must be a one-sided conversation 'cause I haven't seen you go out on a date in some time."

I was grabbing a ball in the hallway on the way out when my mother called after me. "Bouncing a ball really loud to get someone's attention is a lot more manly than knocking on a girl's door!"

I slammed the door behind me. What had gotten into her? Besides, I was really in the mood to shoot some hoops. What? She thought I was going to run around in circles trying to make a lot of noise to get Thuy's attention? I was 20, not 12. She must think I was a peacock or something. Maybe one of those lizards with the big fans on their neck. I imagined my lizard fans sticking out while I paraded in the driveway, scratching the dirt, then threw the ball up at the goal, rattling it good. What'd she know?

I caught the ball as it came down, ran to the corner, and sent it back up, swishing it in cleanly.

The ball came down through the net, so I ran threw it, down the baseline, and then did a quick pivot and shoot. In again.

We were a funny pair, Thuy and I. My family had been in Arkansas at least four generations that we knew of, while Thuy and family arrived in the house next to us when I was six, all the way from Vietnam, via a year in Minnesota. In fact, they lived on the last lot we had sold off from the family farm. It was suburbia now with one white wooden house and screen porch, mine, and a row of nice little brick ranches, hers.

I did a couple quick free throws as the ball came out. Both went in cleanly.

I turned to Thuy with a big grin. She stood not three feet from me in low jeans and a white top, with her trademark hair that cascaded to the middle of her back. The corner of her mouth was turned up in that little smile she had been showing me since she was six.

"Hey, you," I replied. "20 out of 20 would have been better."