"Wow, a high school degree and a real job? You're really moving up in the world," Chrissy says, warmly teasing. There's a small part of her — not too preoccupying, just there in the back of her head — that wants to be careful joking about such things, not wanting to seem like she's disparaging him for his background. She genuinely doesn't care that he lived in a trailer park or repeated senior year three times, and if it weren't for his having dealt drugs to make money before, they might never have started hanging out.

Whatever brought it about, she's really glad they did, even if she has to try to ignore the dual instinctive response of being pleasantly flustered that he offers to pay and uneasy at the idea of eating around someone else. The former doesn't mean anything; the latter is hardly new. She can deal with it.

"Alright, food it is. Have anywhere in mind?"