My mom is the only one more nervous about my social interactions than I am. It gets annoying sometimes, but I have to admit, she has good reason.

My mom was molested by her dad for years before she was placed in foster care. That's why she always tells me to be careful around men. Though, ironically, she doesn't seem to be too careful herself. Maybe that's why she dated "the Ex." He was awful. Though, sometimes I envy her ability to choose anyone she wants. Not that I want to date someone like "the Ex;" I don't think anyone intends to date anyone like that. I just want to date someone.

I believe I'll never be able to connect with anyone romantically at this point. I've never been on a single date. The thought is nerve-wracking, kind of like the first day of high school.

There are a billion new faces, everyone staring at everyone else. No routines, no familiar teachers, just unfamiliar room numbers, locker numbers and subjects. Lunch doesn't even come at the same time in this new building that on top of being wider than my old middle school, is also taller. I stare at the stairs as people bustle around me to get up or down.

I know what I'm supposed to do, as I stand stock still as though frozen, eyes glued to the painted black railing. I'm supposed to act like I'm a junior or at least a sophomore and not a freshman. It seems to be a competition, in fact, to be so familiar with the new schedule that you don't need to look at anything at all when heading to class. To be so adept at memorizing th school map handed out at orientation, that it's as though you've gone to school in this building all your years. But I've never been good at that kind of thing.

I look down at my schedule again to make sure I read it right, as though hoping the numbers on it might have changed in the short amount of time I looked away.

2203 is what the homeroom number is. If it said 1203, I wouldn't have to climb the stairs. But it doesn't.

I grasp the railing as I begin the ascent. The painted metal is warm from all the sweaty hands that have touched it and it bothers me so I pull my hand away and continue to climb.

Someone bumps into me as they rush down and this also bothers me, but not as much as when someone bumps me from behind. At least I know they're coming when they're in front of me.

First days are the worst because they involve so much skin touching. Before you think I'm weird, let me explain.

First of all, teachers feel they have to hand out about a billion papers the first day of school, explaining their expectations, their classroom fees, papers for parents to read, reading lists, textbook rentals, all stuff they could just as easily tell you themselves. And they do. It's hard to listen and pass papers at the same time.

What's even harder is anticipating when the papers will be near your row so you can quickly snatch the papers from the person in front of, behind, or next to you before they feel the need to obnoxiously tap you on the arm, shoulder, or worse, the hand.

Do you have any idea how many nerve endings are in the hand? I suppose to most people it doesn't really matter, but to me, it matters a lot.

I used to get very angry when family members or classmates, even my mom, touched me without permission. It's not because of some personal bubble I have, it's because there's some connection in my brain between sensory shock and emotion. Now I'm better at hiding it, but it doesn't make the feeling any less unpleasant.

There's some kind of intimacy with skin to skin contact that most other people don't seem to feel on the level that I do. The amount of sensory neurons that go haywire with a simple brush of the fingers when passing a sheet of paper or a textbook is enough to drive a person insane, or at least, enough to trigger an automatic anger response in me and make me tense up. I try to hide it, though, because this reaction offends other people.

By the time I finally get home, I'm so worn out from sensory overload that I almost forget what tomorrow is.

There's a birthday cake waiting for me when I get downstairs the next morning.

"Mom, you didn't have to," I persist. "I'm old enough to be happy with just a card, maybe some spending money..."

But she won't hear it, and I come home with a brand new smart phone. Also, I don't have to go to my second day of school.

The third day goes smoother than the first. I don't dare pull my new phone out during school hours for fear of getting it confiscated, but as soon as the final bell rings, I see a text from Beth, who shares Honors English class with me and insisted I give her my new number (and the complete list of all my classes.)

It consists of three words: "time to celebrate."

"What the..." I say to myself, and then I'm bombarded. I quickly quell the anger response in myself when I see that it's Beth, Annabelle, and Izzy who attack my backside. It's easier to quell because at least they didn't touch my skin.

I have no idea what I'm in for. I hate surprises as much as the next person, but this birthday outing is turning out to be much more than that. It's a hostile takeover.

Beth turns the radio on high once they've dragged me to her Volkswagen. I relate to my mom that I won't be taking the bus home today via text--that instead I'll be out with friends.

There's nothing like your first car-ride with friends under the age of eighteen. Especially when it's illegal.

"You realize you're supposed to have an adult in the passenger seat until you get your license," I point out.

Beth has just gotten her driver's permit, and her first car: a blue beetle that she calls "the Meowmobile." There's even a sticker of a cat on the rear window.

The others ignore me as their voices collude together, resurrecting the radio singer's recorded performance in the form of a duet, and then a trio, and, as I give in, a loud quartet. Our obnoxious imitation continues song after song until we arrive at our destination, (which I have been actively trying not to think about as the other three are determined not to ruin the surprise.)

The choice destination is a restaurant and my throat tightens. Enclosed space, numerous menu choices, and the mingling of diverse voices was no treat. I enter wearily with the others, however, hoping to God they aren't planning on making the servers sing to me. People stare when that happens.

The space is brightly lit, with large empty booths save one here and there. I relax a bit. Making a choice on what to eat isn't hard, either, as Beth already has something in mind.

I'm surprised as the server walks up to our table.

Nolan bows deeply. "And how might I serve you today, dashing young ladies?"

"The pancake platter, please?" Beth asks, smiling.

Nolan looks up from the bow. "Right away, m'ladies."

Beth giggles.

"I hope you're in the mood for breakfast food," Izzy clarifies, brown orbs studying me from across the booth.

I force a smile despite my hesitation. "That's fine."

Anna bounces excitedly next to me. "Don't forget the powdered sugar."

Birthdays aren't so bad, I suppose. Nolan even refrains from singing when he comes back with an impossibly giant stack of pancakes and four plates, which is good.

Beth flirtatiously eyes the four plates. "Aren't you going to join us?" she asks.

"I don't get off for another forty minutes."

Beth waves this off. "We can wait," she insists.

I wonder when she started liking Nolan in that way as he bustles off ruefully to get powdered sugar at Anna's request.

The pancakes are good. Izzy and Beth seem to agree as they wander off to touch up their makeup in the bathroom. Anna gets up next to see what is taking them so long.

Nolan returns in the direction of the table to bring me the rice cake he promised just as the other three bustle past him and out the door. Beth says something as they pass to which Nolan is left to stand, looking out the glass doors for a minute forlornly, cake in hand. He turns back to my booth hesitantly, looking apologetic as he stands uncertainly next to the table.

"I could give you a ride," he offers.

I don't respond, but I don't object, either, as he finally sits down across the booth and eyes me carefully.

"I saw the others leaving as I came over. They drove off," he confirms. He then offers me the rice cake as though a consolation gift.

I sigh. It is possible to ward off anxiety with self-assurances, and I assure myself that if I wait in this booth long enough, they'll come back eventually. If not, I have my cell phone ready to call my mom (if only as a last resort.)

I don't want to be banned from ever seeing my friends again. That's definitely something my mom would do.

"Aren't you still on shift?" I ask.

He looks down at a plastic watch he has around his wrist and shrugs. "Ten more minutes."

I clam up as I realize I misinterpreted Beth's enthusiasm as meant for herself, and not for me. I eye Nolan reluctantly, wondering how best to turn him down and neutralize this unexpected situation.

He's looking at me like no boy has ever looked at me before. He seems genuinely interested in my comfort level as he waits quietly for me to take a bite of the rice cake.

I sigh again, and take a bite. "They can be very spontaneous," I offer.

He smiles encouragingly. "I think they mean well."

At the moment, I disagree.

"You don't have a car?" I ask reluctantly.

He shakes his head.

"But, Beth mentioned you have a moped?"

He nods.

I must be too irresolute, as I realize it only took ten minutes to convince myself out of my resolve to stay sitting in the booth indefinitely.

I swallow the lump in my throat, knowing my mom would NOT approve of this. A moped would be akin to a motorcycle in her mind. Dangerous. But I weigh my options silently before finally saying, "okay."

He nods solemnly, an odd expression on his normally animated face. "I'll take you straight home, I promise," and I know he's serious.

"Well, maybe..." I stop myself, feeling my pulse in my fingertips and toes.

"It is your birthday," he acquiesces. "I wouldn't want it to be completely ruined because of me."

There's something about the genuineness in his eyes that makes me trust him, if just for the moment. It makes me want to get to know him a little bit more.

"Is there a park, maybe?" I can't believe the suggestion, but, as I make it, I resolve to it over the option of staying here. I was willing to get a ride from him, after all, why not to there instead of to the latter? "We can walk around, maybe... until Beth decides to pick me up."

He picks up immediately on what I'm getting at. "Your mom wouldn't like me dropping you off." It wasn't a question.

I feel like it's adequate to add that I also enjoy walking in addition to staying on my mom's good side.

Something lights up his face, if only a little. "I know just the park." He stands up, suddenly back to his enthusiastic self. "Let me clock off real quick.

As he leaves, I battle with myself on whether this is a good idea. I decide it probably isn't, but I'm doing it anyway. Part of me thinks my mom is right to be cautious, and the other part doesn't care if she would approve of what I'm about to do: jump on the back of a motorized vehicle with a boy I like. A motorized vehicle with two wheels.