““How old are you?” “Seventeen.” Suddenly I feel insecure, like he’ll think I’m too young to bother with now. I shake the thought away and rescue another bite of gelato from the heat. “You seem older than that,” he says, somehow finished with his monster cup. He wads his napkin into a ball before plopping it in. I smile and watch as the melted remains saturate the entire napkin. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before, actually.” Mom says it’s the way I handle myself, especially around adults and strangers. I’ve been forced into more than my share of social situations where I was often the only child, so I learned to fit in to my surroundings. “How old are you?” I ask. “Eighteen. Just turned.” “Really, you seem…younger than that.” I did not just flirt with him.””
