I hadn't realized that I had been waiting desperately for a text from Tony until I fell asleep one night and dreamed that I lost my phone.  In the dream, my phone was vibrating in a far dark corner of a locker at the rec center.  It was crying out like a lost and forgotten child.  I woke up sweating.  After minutes of blind probing, I uncovered my phone in the dark.  It lit up the room like a spaceship when I checked it.  There were no unread messages.
    Days past.  I had stubbornly refused to initiate anything. When we finally met up again, I was starting to wonder if he wasn't interested in me.
    "Who are you dressed up for, the president?" He already had a half empty cup of coffee in front of an open book.  I wondered if he had been waiting a while.
    "What are you reading?" I asked, squeezing into the seat across from him.
    "You know this isn't an interview, right?"  He was laughing to himself. 
    "Laundry day: all my scrubby clothes are dirty."
    "Barth."  He flipped the cover of the book so I could see it.  "Do you read?"
    "Like it's my job,"  I said.  "And I hate John Barth."
     His body froze, and for a second I was worried he was going to lunge at me.  Then he ran his fingers through his hair and pulled himself back into his chair.  "How dare you," he said, smiling.