Loudmouth chapter 3 (book)

An object starts to vibrate loudly on the table and after a few seconds, it stops.
Who could possibly send me a text message? Surprised I stand up and walk to my middle-aged Nokia. I open the message and my mouth falls open of astonishment of what I just read.
"Hey. Could we talk? Greetings, Evan." it says. How did he get my number for God's sake?
I think for a moment. Should I answer it? Can it do any harm if I do? He only wants to talk and I know that most problems can be solved with talking, but I barely know him! In that case I don't owe him a conversation. But Siope asked me if I could give him a chance. But she didn't even know what happened Friday!
I sigh and open a new text message. "Yes, sure, but how did you get my number?" I write quickly. Almost immediately an answer returns. "Long story. At two o'clock at the lake?"
The lake. I think he means the same spot as where I met him. "Okay.  See you then." I text back.
Two o'clock, that's in one hour. Ah well, it's Sunday and the good part of having my school at home, is that I always finish the " make" part of my homework in the lessons.
The teacher isn't very good. She actually lets me work by myself and doesn't explain anything. I have English lessons as language, but of course only writing and reading. I get a bit of history and physics, but a lot of math and biology. And Latin. A bunch of Latin. I chose this. All of it. These are the subjects I want to learn. Although, Latin is just interesting.
It keeps spinning in my head, the question who gave Evan my number. There aren't many possibilities, because only a handful of friends have my number; my parents, my psych, my teacher and Siope. My parents couldn't have done it, because they don't know him. Same story for my psych and teacher. So, the only option is Siope. I'll mail her. I would prefer to call her, but you know, this little something about not talking.
Silently I go upstairs and enter the computer room. Luckily my dad didn't turn it off. That's some time I've won.
While the computer opens my mail exasperatingly slowly, I doodle a little on a piece of paper. It looks kind of like an elephant.
Finally I can type a new mail.

"Hi Siope.

Listen, there's something about Evan I want to ask you. Today, he texted me, but I never gave him my number. Could it have happened that you gave it to him?

Greetings,
May"

Well, that should do it. I hit the "send" button and turn off the computer.
'Honey, you don't have to turn it off.' my father says from his room on the other side of the corridor. Well, that's bad luck for him.
I should practice my dance jumps. I still have my sweatpants on; it shouldn't be a problem to dance in it for fifteen minutes. I knock on the wall three times and I hear a affirmative sound from the room of my father.
I walk down the staircase and take the stairs to the basement. We rebuilt it to a dance room. The floor is made of wood, one of the walls is covered with a huge mirror and there is a barre attached to it. Next to the stereo in the corner, there is a shelf full of CD's, of which half of it, maybe even more, is downloaded. For free. Illegally.
I walk towards it and put a CD on with the title "warming-up music". A very vague title, if you ask me…
Quickly, but exhaustively, I start my warming-up and then I start with the jumps, still on the warming-up music. After a few simple jumps, I rest a little. I surely don't want to fall, just because I am too exhausted to go on. And the jump I would like to do next is made up by my dance instructor. I start on my haunches, jump, make a backflip and finish with a split. It isn't even that difficult, but it is heavy. The hardest part is to start the backflip, because I first have to get my body up and then immediately throw myself backwards.
This jump might not be very modern, the dance style I learn, but the choreography fits perfectly with it.
I take a sneak peak at the clock and startle when I see that it is already a quarter to two. I stand up quickly and run upstairs to change my clothes. I snatch a green shirt with three quarter sleeves and a pair of jeans. For the finishing touch I grab a green-blue scarf and black sneakers. I walk towards my father, who now moved from his room to the computer. 'I'm going outside.' I sign. 'Okay. Just make sure you are home before dinner.' he answers, also in signs. I nod and run back down the stairs. Without taking my coat from the coat rack or grabbing my keys, I run outside, into the free air. I take a deep breath and look around.
The streets are empty. And that's quite logic. My house borders a small piazza, far away from everything else, with only two other houses, where older couples live. They never do something interesting on Sundays.
I take a step towards the unpaved path that goes to the lake, but suddenly I get some doubts. Do I really want this? Do I really want to know what he wants to talk about? I take one deep breath to calm down my heart that's running wild and then start walking. I can handle this.