Love-shy Read Online Free

had been completed, I would classify each boy into one of three groups and highlight their picture in my yearbook: Non-shy (pink highlighter), Possibly Love-shy (yellow highlighter), Likely Love-shy (green highlighter). This would give me an instant visual code, so I could tell at a glance how many boys I had spoken to, the ratios of shyness to non-shyness, and how far I had to go before I could safely predict which boy might be PEZZ imist.
    It was an excellent plan, neat and methodical. It couldn’t fail.

3
    I SPENT THE MORNING PREPARING MYSELF to start my interviews. I was going to speak to the first boy at recess, but after Media Studies, Ms Tidy kept me back to discuss an article she’d read in the newspaper that morning about the way young people were using technology to experiment with language. I agreed that it was a very interesting article, and informed Ms Tidy that it had originally been published in the Guardian , and that our paper had clearly just bought it. I then told her my opinions on the financing and structure of newspapers, and how the notion of a ‘free’ press had been totally compromised by the fact that all our news outlets were owned by the same handful of media conglomerates. Ms Tidy seemed interested at first, but after a while she started checking at her watch and peering over my shoulder at the classroom door.
    Anyway, by the time I’d finished there, it was practically time for third period. I had to give a speech about my favourite animal in Italian, so I didn’t have time to interview anyone until lunch, when I also had band rehearsal.
    Of course, now that I’d properly met Rin, I saw her everywhere. We didn’t have any classes together, but I passed her in the corridors and the canteen, and she was in the orchestra as well, in the string section. I’d just never noticed her before. The Asian kids all hung out together and didn’t really associate with the non-Asians. They mostly had the same hair and eye colour, and similar-shaped faces. I supposed that made me seem horribly racist, but everyone else was such a riot of different hair and eyes and freckles and stuff that it was easier to tell them apart.
    As I sat down in the wind section and opened the snaps on my oboe case, Rin gave me a little wave from behind her viola. I waved back and assembled my oboe. Now was my chance. It was time to put my plan into action. Subject Number One.
    I turned to Jamal, the other oboe player, careful to make eye contact.
    JAMAL ZAYD
    Eye contact: Yes.
Overt signs of shyness: No.
    ME: Hi, Jamal.
    JAMAL: Hey. Wait, why are you pointing your phone at me?
    ME: It’s a Dictaphone app. So. What do you think of this Tchaikovsky piece?
    JAMAL: Um. It’s okay. A bit tricky with the key-changes. Why are you pointing that at me?
    ME: Do you have a girlfriend?
    (SUBJECT SHOWS SIGNS OF DISCOMFORT)
    JAMAL: Um. Why do you ask?
    ME: Just making conversation. You seem like a nice guy.
    JAMAL: Oh, Ms Darling is here. We’d better pay attention.
    ME: So I’m taking that as a no . Why? Do you struggle talking to girls?
    JAMAL: She’s banging her baton on her stand. I think she wants us to start.
    ME: Have you ever kissed a girl, Jamal?
    JAMAL: Look, do you think we could talk about this later? We’re supposed to be tuning.
    ME: Am I making you uncomfortable? Does talking to me make you feel anxious?
    JAMAL: Well, now that you mention it, you’re being a bit—
    MS DARLING: When you’re quite done there, Jamal.
    JAMAL: Sorry, Ms Darling.
    Verdict: Not love-shy.
    In the breaks between pieces I also interviewed the bassoonist, and two of the male clarinettists. No joy there. The bassoonist assumed I was doing an article for the paper, and droned on and on about how the bassoon was such an overlooked instrument, yet essential to the overall tone and timbre of an orchestra. The two clarinettists had nothing of interest to say, but they didn’t seem