Monica’s car was parked in very nearly the farthest possible spot from the main entrance. “It doesn’t hurt me none to walk,” she explained, “and it saves the closer spots for other people.”

Since my house was only four blocks or so from the school, I walked every day, so I just nodded. I hadn’t needed to take a bus -- except on field trips -- since elementary school.

Her car was a small, little hatchback that looked waaaay retro even though it was the latest model when she got it for her sixteenth birthday. Contrary to expectations, it wasn’t blue-and-gold for school colors but a deep pine green that really made the chrome accents pop.

“Her name is Cedar Sprite,” Monica said as she popped open the hatchback for our bags. With a wink and a teasing tone, she continued. “If you’re good, I’ll let you drive her on the way back.”

Then she popped around to the passenger side and held open the door for me. “In you go.”

Once she was in and the car running with the quiet hum of electrical models, I had to answer her. “Actually, I don’t have a license yet. Just my permit. It hasn’t been a priority.”

“Oh, yeah, you live just down the street, don’t you?”

I nodded. “And Jenna and Naomi have theirs, so if the group is doing something, we’re covered.”

“Reasonable. So, where’d your mom suggest we eat?”

“Depends. Do you want to eat this side of the river, or over in Oregon?”

“Anywhere across the river is mostly on our way. Anyplace good here is out of the way, isn’t it?”

“Well, she mentioned Harbourview if we were in the mood for burgers …? But, yeah, how’s The Brass Rail across the river sound?” The place was a step or two above where we normally ate if we ate out, closer to fine dining than family dining, but I’ve heard nothing but good about it.

“Oh! I’ve never been there. They’re supposed to be really good. Yeah! Let’s do that.” She plugged her phone in and classical music started playing as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“I hope you don’t mind the music,” she said, “but I almost always start big trips with The Ride of the Valkyries. It’s just got good get up and go vibes for all that it’s super ancient. Anyway, you and Coach Carole seemed to be talking a lot after practice?”

“Yeah. She was taking your ‘honorary member of the squad’ and Beth and Liv’s ‘aide de cheer’ assistant thing quite seriously.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I told her I’d think about it. I’m not sure I’m ready to give up that much free time to an extracurricular, yet.”

“Diehard member of the go-home club, hmm?”

“Ah, not exactly, it’s just ….” I shook my head. If there was a time and place to say I’m uncertain about spending so much time away from my friends this most decidedly was not it. “It’s just too big of a decision to make spur-of-the-moment like that, based on whimsy and a joke, right? If I say ‘yeah, I’ll help out,’ and then change my mind a week or so later, that would just be … you know, a bad situation for everyone, right?”

“But you are considering it?”

“Well … yeah.” At her surprised glance my way, I continued. “I probably should start thinking about what I can put on college applications besides just ‘good grades and plays video games,’ right? Maybe DVI will matter for something like that in two years from now, but ….” I shrugged. “I always play a healer, Monica. Supporting a group is natural for me.”

“Hmmm ….” Her tone was doubtful but her smile was even bigger. And the silence after the topic was companionable rather than awkward. After a bit, the topic was changed, and we chatted about school.

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Once out of town, and around the bend, the road ran immediately beside the river, the shoulder barely wide enough for a bicyclist or pedestrian between the white line and the knee-high rocky barrier that minimized the amount of waves that would splash up in a storm.

“You know,” I said, switching the topic after commiserations over a tough history assignment had run its course, “looking out over the river, I have to wonder what it will be like in DVI. It seems a little wrong to picture monsters out here … or at the beach. I wonder if there will be a lighthouse still at Cape D? I want to fly up to the top of it ….”

“I got to say, I was a little surprised when I saw you last night, James. Or, I mean, when I figured out that you were you. Can I ask … what’s it like?”

“The flying? Or ….”

“Yeah. Both. I mean, my orc is different but not that different, you know? Taller, buffer, greener. But you …?” She glanced my way briefly.

“Ah … first of all, flying is amazing. I know that’s not what you’re really asking, but trust me on that. Knowing then what I know now, if character creation was by choice, I’d be a fairy all over again in order to fly. Of course, I might not need to, there’s others who can fly. Wait ’til you see Mika. But ….”

“Mm-hmm. Go on?”

“It’s just a game, you know. My priority going in was ‘I want a good healer class.’ Kinda like you and your ‘I want to be a cheerleader,’ I guess?”

“Yeah. I certainly wouldn’t have chosen to be a buff, butch orc, but I guess I have no real complaints,” Monica said.

“Same here. And I have a really good healer class. If I have to be a girl to heal and support my friends, so be it. It’s just a game, you know. Okay, yeah, DVI is more than ‘just a game’ with whatever economic mumbo-jumbo is going on above our heads, but still, you know, we log out in the morning and everything is back to normal.”

“It doesn’t bother you to be a girl?”

“Not really. I mean, it’s not what I would have chosen, right? I didn’t walk the Path of Identity, you know. But, well ….” I shrugged. It was a bit hard to put into words, but maybe it was important to do so, not just to answer her question, but to firm things up in my own mind.

“My identity is up here.” I tapped my head, “It’s not defined by my body, right? I mean, yeah, I’m a little brother, big brother, son, and all that, but those are the relationship words. Just as easily, I could be little sibling, older sibling, child, right? Who I am is … who I’m connected to, and how. Friends.”

Then I laughed lightly, “Plus if there’s any guy least likely to say ‘a boy is better than a girl at blank,’ that’s me. My whole life, all my best friends have been girls. Mika and Jenna are athletic, Susie and Naomi are academic -- and Jojo could easily surpass them in a couple years. Me? I’m average, like Goldilocks.”

I flashed Monica a smile. “And if we widen the circle a little, there’s you and now your squad, right? I watched the practice; I wasn’t just sitting there flipping through my phone or even reading the book Anna loaned me. I already knew you all were athletes, but after today, I’d bet on any one of the girls in a one-on-one vs any other sports player at school.”

Monica shook her head a little, not in negation and not in disbelief, but more like she was trying to dislodge the words she needed for her reply. “I think …,” then she paused and turned down the pop music that had since replaced the initial classical music track. “Sorry, but ‘90s Brittney really doesn’t match the mood right now.”

She sighed. “You might not see it in yourself, James. But even if you see yourself as just Goldilocks in brain and brawn compared to your little circle, you’re anything but average. You’re the … the heart, the spirit, the glue that binds your group together. And you showed that today, at practice, when you brought water and snacks for the girls. And in gym class when you brought Chelsea into the group. And so many other little things.”

The “heart” and “spirit,” huh? That almost sounds like a priest … or priestess. High Priestess, perhaps?

“Your mom was probably joking or teasing you a little when she called this a ‘date,’ Monica said in an apparent non-sequitur. “But, well, um …,” Monica was uncharacteristically tongue-tied. “Ahhh …! Sorry I’m so awkward with this! I’ve never done anything like this before and nothing I’ve read in Anna’s books is helping!” She whooshed out a deep breath and came to a stop at the light before the turn onto the bridge.

“Sorry this isn’t poetic like movies and songs and stories, but …,” she took a deep breath and then finished in a rush, “James, I’ve admired you for a long time and really do want to get to know you better. Can we call this a date? Will you go out with me?”

Her cheeks were flaming red by the end of the question, and judging by the heat I felt, I had to assume mine were as well.

“You’ll have to forgive my awkwardness, too,” I said. “I’ve hung out with girls my whole life, but I haven’t dated anyone before, either. But … yeah … let’s do call it a date, Monica. I’d be honored to go out with you.”

The bridge over the Columbia felt like driving into a new chapter of our lives and not just going for dinner and shopping across the river.