I wonder if I'm truly a harlot now that I held hands with a guy after only one date.

I feel I must surely have broken some kind of dating commandment and that Nolan will surely never show any interest in me again.

In my defense, it had felt as though he was there with me on a level no conversation could reach as we stared at the clouds together. Like he had truly been engaged with me in more than just words. And it had been nice. But I was sure that was the end of it after Beth finally dropped me off at home hours later.

It certainly wasn't. I receive a text message from Beth just before midnight. It says, "look outside."

Heartrate slightly elevated, I text back, "what?"

I don't dare look out my bedroom window, from which I have a full view of the front lawn of the condo me and my mom now live in.

"Front porch. From: Nolan," she texts back.

Of course. Nolan would have told the others all about what happened after they ditched me. He and Beth were friends, after all. I tiptoe down the stairs nervously, afraid she's left an angry note or spray painted the door or even littered the entire lawn in toilet paper as revenge for me holding Nolan's hand after only one date. Maybe she's written in chalk on the sidewalk: "EX-friends."

A million possibilities run through my mind as I try to get to the front door without waking my mom. I open the door slowly so it won't make a creaking sound. Instead of any of the awful things I was thinking, there's a birthday cake on the front porch with a folded card protruding from the frosting.

I read this before accepting the cake. It says, "more than just words" in sloppy handwriting that could only be Nolan's. Underneath is written a cell number.

I bring the cake up to my room, trembling from head to foot and quickly text Beth back.

"What am I supposed to do with this?! Is this Nolan's number?!"

All she texts back is a winky face followed by: "see you in Honors English tomorrow."

I sigh.

"So? Are you going to text him?" she asks as soon as I enter the classroom next day.

I frown. "What would I say?"

She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh, Michigan. You're impossible."

As it happens, life rarely leaves you without something to say for long. It's just whether you choose to say it.

When I get the e-mail notification that night, I'm sure it must be another text from Beth insisting I give Nolan a chance. But it's from my dad.

By biological dad left when I was ten. Well, that or my mom asked him to leave. It was never quite clear which.

His e-mail leaves me confused in ways I haven't been for a long time. Especially since I know my mom is not someone I can talk to about this for the same reason I can't tell her about Nolan. She wouldn't approve.

Something overcomes me as I sit on my bed in a really low mood writing message after message only to delete them. I find myself typing Nolan's number into the dialer instead of the message outbox.

I half consider hanging up after he answers but that would be childish. Instead, I say: "I didn't expect you to answer."

"Michigan?" he asks.

"It's late," I acknowledge.

He pauses. "I expected you to text."

"I think I felt like talking," I admonish.

He pauses again. "What's wrong?"

I find myself spilling my guts like some drunk wanna-be girlfriend dumping all her problems on someone who barely cares. Or at least, that's I feel.

When I finally pause for breath, Nolan asks: "not that I'm not flattered, but why did you choose to talk to me about this instead of Beth or Izzy or Annabelle?" Which makes me feel even worse.

"Well," I pause. "You're right. I shouldn't be burdening you with this. It's not your problem."

"No, no, no, Michigan," he says quickly, "that's not what I meant. I just mean, I'm sure they'd want to help."

I consider this. "It's just... I don't think they'd know what to say. I've never even mentioned my dad before. To any of them."

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who's unbaised," he acknowledges.

"Yeah," I agree. "And maybe I wanted to talk to you for another reason."

"Yeah?" he presses.

"I like you."

Nolan is outside the building next day after school. Beth and Izzy giggle and Annabelle pushes me toward his moped pointedly. I can feel their eyes on my back.

He holds out a phone to me.

"What's this?" I ask.

He eyes me meaningfully. "Call your dad."

My dad isn't what I expect. Or at least, not what I remembered.

He's a tall, blonde muscular forty something year old with short whiskers on his face and a brand new family of three. He's gotten remarried, has a ten year old daughter by marriage, and two more on the way.

I ask if he knows much about my two older half-siblings, the ones from his marriage before my mom. He admonishes that he doesn't. He tried to reach out to them like with me, but they didn't agree to meet with him like I did.

I accept this information with reserve, sitting outside the little bakery where he decides to meet. Outside is better than inside. And we agree that maybe I can meet my step-sister next time. I would like that.

Nolan is waiting for me across the parking lot, sipping a coffee outside a starbucks next to his moped.

"Thanks for this," I say.

"Anytime." He shakes his coffee as if weighing words on his tongue. "You know, you don't need an excuse to call me, or ask for my help. Just call, anytime."

I try to explain to him how it feels accepting his help, and I can't. "This isn't like me, you know," are the words I settle on.

He raises an eyebrow at me. "Asking for help? I can tell. And from a guy you've only been on one date with, no less."

I can tell he's mocking me but I take his words seriously. "I'm not very good at following the rules of dating." I realize this means he can very easily take advantage of my ignorance, but he responds jokingly.

"Well, first of all, you're supposed to play hard to get. Definitely not supposed to call after only one day of receiving a number. Oh, and definitely not supposed to jump on the back of a moped with a guy before determining whether or not they're a closeted egomaniac or a psycho or anything like that."

This time I smirk. "I'll keep that in mind next time."

He hands me his helmet pointedly. "Shall I take you home now?"

I nod, feeling foolish for using him as a mode of transportation to avoid asking my mom. Or my friends.

Before I go inside he opens his arms as though expecting an embrace. His face shows a brief insecurity at my hesitancy and I finally give him a quick hug around the waist, feeling small because of the distance between the top of my head and his shoulder.

When he lets go, I can tell I did that wrong. I rush up my porch hurriedly as he stares after me.

My mom is waiting just inside.

"Where were you?" she asks.

"With that boy you were watching from the window," I answer coyly.

My mom folds her arms, very serious. I sigh.

"He's a friend," I extrapolate. "He was at Beth's birthday party."

"So, you were out with that boy and your friends? Is that it? Did you go to school at all today?"

"Don't make this about them," I warn. "I asked him to take me home today."

"Why?"

"Because he offered."

My mom's lips purse. "Where did you go?"

I suppose I could lie, but I was never very good at that, so I tell the truth. "Why didn't you tell me dad has been trying to get in touch with me?"

When she doesn't answer, whether out of shock or anger, I continue.

"What, he didn't get along with you so you don't think I should have any kind of relationship with my father? You don't have any luck with men, so you don't think I should have any male friends, either?"

"So manipulative," she hisses, "just like your father."

I think about regretting my words, but her response makes me glad I said them. I storm upstairs because she has nothing more to say, and nothing she could say would change my mind. "Manipulative," is her go-to insult when it comes to me. I suppose I can be. I don't try to be manipulative, I just don't tend to let things rest until I've made my point of it. I'm not ashamed of it, now, in the privacy of my room, because I know it's just because I'm willing to tell it like it is.

There's a text from Nolan on my phone. It says, "by the way, I like you, too."

That weekend I agree to go on a second date with him. My mom can't stop me. I walk right past her to go out the door.

"I don't give you permission to--"

"Oh, call the cops!" I shoot back. I know she can, because it happened to a boy at my school when he ran away from home to be with his friends. I suppose this isn't the best way to treat my mom, who has cared for me single-handedly all these years, and is only trying to protect me the best way she knows how. But I slam the door behind me just the same.

I accept Nolan's helmet and he smiles dashingly at me.

"Back to the park?" I ask, as this was the only dating destination I would agree to.

"Cross my heart," he promises, animatedly crossing his fingers over his chest.

He really is a decent guy. A gentleman. But that doesn't make me any less weary at his suggestion that we rent a canoe.

I reluctantly agree after he assures me there won't be any swimming involved. He pays ten dollars to the vendor, a teenage boy who carefully pulls a sturdy looking vessel from a unit at the edge of the dock. He holds it steady while Nolan beckons to me. I try not to pause long enough to rethink my decision and take his hand for the second time, his palm so much warmer than mine.

As we venture out past the dock, Nolan working the oars, I stare out at the water as it moves beneath us, clear and shallow. Okay if the boat tips for some reason.

He raises a brow at me. "Not so bad, huh?"

"I suppose."

This makes him laugh. His laugh trickles from his mouth like the small waves under the oars. The day is overcast but warm and the breeze is nice on my skin as we glide closer to a bridge which passes over us.

This time, it's his turn to tell me about his life.

His parents are wildly religious and even more overbearing than my mom. But he misses being home. He hates paying bills, he works overtime every week, and he has nothing to do with his free-time. But there's something about the freedom in his ability to choose the path his life will take that I envy and admire.

My mom definitely wouldn't approve.

He talks until the sun begins to set, and I enjoy listening to him talk. We watch the clouds above the nearest mountain turn pink with the sunset and return to the dock with minutes to spare before close.

We hug outside my front door hours later. He was insistent he had seen a shooting star at the park and we had to stargaze just a bit longer.

This time, I wait for him to come to me, as Beth instructed me earlier. He leans down and I wrap my fingers around his neck.

He laughs after letting me go. "You're a strange girl, Michigan."

"You're a strange boy," I reply.

He shrugs, accepting it, and grins childishly. "I'll see you again soon, m'lady."