Ever since my dad yelled at Gabe, he hasn’t bothered me again. He hasn’t asked me out on a date. He hasn’t even breathed on me.

Unfortunately, now there’s Hunter.

Three times a week, we have a class called Library. It’s one of my favorite classes, because you go to the school library, pick out a book, and you get to spend the whole period reading. I don’t even understand why that’s a class, because to me it just seems like fun. But a lot of kids in my class groan about it.

Today, I have picked a book from Louis Sachar. Aside from Lois Duncan, he is my absolute favorite. I have read everything he has written, and now I am rereading everything he has written, because sometimes it’s more fun the second time. Like, you notice things you didn’t notice the first time. Especially in his Wayside School series. That might be my favorite series of all time, even more than Harry Potter. The first and the second one are so good. The third one is good too, but not my favorite. The third in a series usually isn’t that great, so it’s not his fault.

Today I am reading Someday Angeline, which I love, even though it makes me cry. But a lot of books make me cry. I’m only halfway through when Hunter sits down at the table across from me.

“Hi, Ada,” he says.

I don’t look up from my book, but I do say hi. “Adaaaaa,” he says, “will you go out on a date with me?”

Some of his friends at the next table are listening, and they are snickering at our conversation. I don’t know what is so funny about it. “No, thank you.”

“How come?”

“I don’t want to go out on a date.”

“If you never go out on a date,” he says, “then what are you going to do? Marry one of your books?”

The boys at the next table seem to find this hilarious.

Every time we have Library from then on, Hunter comes over to the table and asks me out on a date. I don’t think he really wants to go out on a date—he is just making fun of me. Or maybe it’s a little bit of both. Nobody at my old school ever talked about dating, but it seems to be a thing here.

“Can you please let me read my book?” I beg him.

“That’s all you like to do,” Hunter notes. “Read books. You know, if you keep reading all the time, you’re not going to be able to see anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true. If you read too many books, your eyeballs will fall out.”

That is so not true. My mom likes to read, and her eyeballs have not fallen out. Although, to be fair, she doesn’t read as much as I do—most people don’t. Sometimes I think that’s all I want to do with my time. And I wish Hunter would leave me alone to do it.

I think of the pocketknife that my dad gave me. It’s in my backpack right now. It’s all the way at the bottom, where nobody will find it. If any of the teachers knew I had it, I would be in big trouble. It would be smart to just leave it in my desk drawer at home. But Dad told me to carry it around all the time, and the truth is I like to have it.

But I’ll never use it. I can’t even imagine it.

Although at this moment, I would kind of like to. I bet if I took out that knife, Hunter would go away real quick.

“Ada,” Hunter says, “would you marry me?”

The other boys are laughing again. I am sick of this. So I grab my bag and go to the bathroom, where I hide for the rest of the period, reading my book on the toilet.