Если я останусь
10:12 A.M.
Nottheelectricguitarheplayedinhisband.Justacousticmelodies.
Irolledmyeyes."Everyone’sheardofYo-YoMa."
Adamgrinned.Inoticedforthefirsttimethathissmilewaslopsided,hismouthslopingupononeside.Hehookedhisringedthumbouttowardthequad."Idon’tthinkyou’llfindfivepeopleouttherewho’veheardofYo-YoMa.Andbytheway,whatkindofnameisthat?Isitghettoorsomething?YoMama?"
"It’sChinese."
Adamshookhisheadandlaughed."IknowplentyofChinesepeople.TheyhavenameslikeWeiChin.OrLeesomething.NotYo-YoMa."
"Youcannotbeblasphemingthemaster,"Isaid.ButthenIlaughedinspiteofmyself.IthadtakenmeafewmonthstobelievethatAdamwasn’ttakingthepissoutofme,andafterthatwe’dstartedhavingtheselittleconversationsinthecorridor.
Still,hisattentionbaffledme.Itwasn’tthatAdamwassuchapopularguy.Hewasn’tajockoramost-likely-to-succeedsort.Buthewascool.Coolinthatheplayedinabandwithpeoplewhowenttothecollegeintown.Coolinthathehadhisownrockerystyle,procuredfromthriftstoresandgaragesales,notfromUrbanOutfittersknock-offs.Coolinthatheseemedtotallyhappytositinthelunchroomabsorbedinabook,notjustpretendingtoreadbecausehedidn’thaveanywheretositoranyonetositwith.Thatwasn’tthecaseatall.Hehadasmallgroupoffriendsandalargegroupofadmirers.
Anditwasn’tlikeIwasadork,either.Ihadfriendsandabestfriendtositwithatlunch.
