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receiver for the third time, he got into his car and drove off. Cancelling the date didn’t seem right either, especially since it would have to involve making up a phony excuse. He resolved to go through with it.
    On Saturday, Lee coated his stomach with Pepto-Bismol before he said goodbye to his mother, who believed him to be meeting with some other students for a study group, and drove to the nearest gas station to change into the clothes he had stashed in the trunk of his car earlier. As he was changing in the tight quarters of the bathroom stall, he worried that Catherine might think him dorky in a sports jacket and tie. Too late now—that’s all he had with him.
    Catherine lived in Des Plaines in a neighborhood comprised mostly of small bungalows on tiny lots. He located her address, loosened his tie a bit to look more casual, and walked to her front door.
    Before he could ring the bell, Catherine flung open the door to greet him. She wore a short red skirt and what Lee thought may have been a t-shirt at one time—an outfit much less conservative than she typically wore to school. He was glad he had at least loosened his tie.
    “You didn’t say to dress up. Sorry.”
    “No problem,” he told her. “You look nice. Ready to go?”
    “Sure.”
    On the way to the restaurant, he asked her how long her family had lived in Des Plaines.
    “They don’t. Well, not anymore, anyway. My dad bought me that house after he divorced my mom. Guilt trip I think.”
    “Guilt trip?”
    “Yeah, long story.”
    “So where do they live now?”
    “My mother moved to Miami, as far away from him as she could get. He lives in downtown Chicago with the girl who used to be my best friend.”
    “Ouch. That must have been hard to accept.”
    “That’s where the house story comes in. Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”
    “No, go right ahead.”
    The radio had been tuned to WFMT, a classical music station. As soon as the music came on, she laughed.
    “Tell me you don’t listen to that.”
    “Well, actually, I do.”
    She twirled the tuner until she found a station to her liking. What emanated from the car’s dashboard sounded more like noise than music.
    “I love Def Leppard,” she told him.
    “Is that right? Look, I made reservations at Bluewater Grill, but if you’d like to go somewhere else...”
    “No. That’s fine. Sounds fancy.”
    “Good. We’re here.”
    He opened the restaurant door for her and followed her inside, hoping he hadn’t made a big mistake by not cancelling the date, but fearing he had.
    Dinner conversation was difficult. Lee had come prepared with an arsenal of questions to keep the conversation flowing, but all he got from Catherine were one-word answers.
    “So, did you grow up in Des Plaines?”
    “Yes.”
    “Nice place to grow up?”
    “So-so.”
    “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
    “No.”
    “What did you think about Whittiker’s ‘sermon’ last week on the threatened seed diversity in third world countries? I thought at one point the man was going to break down in tears.”
    “He had some good points.”
    “He went a little overboard, don’t you think?”
    “Mmm...maybe.”
    “And Osborne talking about the Dutch scientists who added the firefly enzyme to tobacco plants and made them glow. Pretty amazing stuff.”
    “Mm-hm.
    By the time the main course was served, Catherine had said very few words but managed to slurp down two alcohol-laced Long Island iced teas and was looking around for the waiter.
    “Another iced tea?” he asked her.
    “Is that okay?”
    “I didn’t think to ask you if you were twenty-one.”
    “Just turned.” She twisted around in her chair in order to see behind her. “Waiter!”
    Lee ate faster than he usually did, wanting the date to end as soon as possible. Catherine was clearly not his type, and he suspected she felt the same way about him. He drank two cups of coffee while she ate a generous portion of chocolate cake and polished off