“A Quarter-pounder and a strawberry milkshake.”  A female’s voice came through the external mike.  

    “Fries?”

    “Nope.

    “Alright.  Pull up to the window.”

    A few seconds later a yellow Volkswagon bug stopped beside me, the driver’s window barely even with the shelf.  A slender arm reached out with a $10-bill.

    “Order’s not quite ready . . . uh . . . $5.47.”

    It took awhile making change.  Had to break a roll of pennies.  I reached out to give it to her

    “You don’t recognize me, do you?”  She laughed.

    I peered  through her open window, but could see only the dark  hair and brown eyes of a girl wearing a white mask like mine.

    “No, I—I don’t.”

    “Oh, you would if I got out . . . Andy.”

    “Huh?”  A kitchen worker placed the order in her hands before I could utter another word.  A moment later she left.

    Between orders, I kept asking myself who she was.  A classmate likely.  But which class?  

    Corona had shut down all the schools throughout the state, meaning I’d likely not see her full face again this spring.

    But the very next day she returned, wearing a blue mask.

    “You like McDonald’s,” I said.

    “Not really,” she replied.  “Guess who I am yet?”

    “No, your disguise is too good.  Give me a hint.”

    Her order was ready way too soon.

    “American Lit!” she yelped, then sped off.

    An elective I’d taken last semester with lots of girls, mostly brunettes.   I’m not really shy, but I was too busy catching up on the reading or taking notes to look them over.   

    I didn’t see her again for three days.  This time she came with a  friend.  Both wore pink masks.  Because we were busy, their order took longer.  I enjoyed the view.

    “Recognize me yet?”

    “Wish I did.”

    “What about my friend?”

    “Nope.  But she’s cute, too.”

    When I heard giggles, I was glad I wore a mask.   My cheeks were burning.  

    The order was suddenly before me.  I told her the amount and she gave me a twenty.  And a piece of paper.

    “My phone number,” she said.  Her fingers touched mine as she took her change.  “Call me . . . when you can.”

    Then she and her friend were gone.

    I glanced at the note as the next car drove up.

    Just a phone number.  The game would continue.

*.    *.    *

     i wasn’t sure I wanted to play any longer as I’m no good on the phone even when I know who I’m talking to.  But if I didn’t call, would she return to the drive-through?

    Curiosity made me call.

    “Hello?”

    “Um . . . this is—“

    “Andy.”  A soft giggle followed.

    “And you are?”

    “Ahhh . . . I’m hurt you haven’t guessed.”  Another giggle.  “Want another hint?”

    “Sure.”

    “I sat right behind you all semester.”

    “Me—Melissa Arnett?”

    “She sat beside you.”  No giggles.  “I’m Michelle Parisi.”

    “Oh.”  

    “Didn’t make much of an impression, did I?”

    “Oh, yeah!  All this week.”

    “Great!  Let’s talk.”

    Our romance has continued nightly—on Facebook—without masks!