He waited.
Ethan looked at him curiously.
Jonathan nodded toward the abandoned cake.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I vote for removing the word real before anyone eats it.”
Ethan considered this.
“Technically, frosting removal has a low success rate.”
Jonathan smiled.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Dr. Feldman appeared beside us.
“There’s a conference room behind the faculty lounge,” she said to me. “It has a door that closes.”
I had never loved another adult so quickly.
“Thank you.”
She turned to Ethan.
“And you, Mr. Valedictorian, are supposed to attend a reception.”
“I’d rather not.”
“You are the reason half the donors came.”
“That sounds like their problem.”
Dr. Feldman hid a smile.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Ten.”
“Fifteen.”
Ethan sighed.
“Fine.”
She pointed down the hallway.
“There are miniature cheesecakes.”
He brightened.
“Why didn’t you mention that first?”
And just like that, for a moment, he was ten again.
