I wonder what that would feel like, if his arm were around me.
Will's brow furrowed slightly, as if he were distracted. Then a grin broke out on his face and, when he looked back at me, there was a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Yup; he heard that. I didn't know how I knew, but I did. I could feel myself blushing.
"Nice to see you, Cassie," said the pretty girl, smiling at me. ("See," not "meet"? Hmm. Just like her brother.) "Will’s taking me to get something to eat. Would you like to come? Will's treat. Right?" she added, turning to him.
"Sure," he responded, also smiling at me.
This time I noticed: I could sense Melinda's playful goodwill, her fun-loving personality. And the rest of the world was still there, crowding in on me even more after the long, tiring day. (Though, come to think of it, I wasn't feeling quite so weary any more.) But Will . . . .
He seemed like he really wanted me to come with them, but I couldn't be entirely certain―yet. I'd figure it out, though. If he could get inside my head, I could get inside his. Couldn't I?
"Yes, I'd like that." Boy, would I. "Thank you." Hopefully, we wouldn't go to any of the regular after school hangouts. Too tumultuous. But, I decided then and there, wherever he asked me to go, I was going to go. I wasn't going to miss out on any time I could have with him.
"My car's over there, the blue one," he instructed, pointing to a late model Toyota Prius. "Let me get that for you." He walked around to the passenger side, unlocked and opened the door, then closed it after I got in. He then helped Melinda into the back seat (she had waited for him to open the door), and took his place behind the wheel. Riding in a car wasn't one of my favorite things, either. But, again, I felt inexplicably at ease with Will driving. "Where would you like to go?" he asked Melinda.
"I'd like to try that place out by our house. You know, the fifties-looking diner with the red and white awning? I'll bet they have some good food. Do they, Cassie?" she innocently inquired.
"I haven't actually been there. But I've heard it's good," I responded.
"I'm fine with that, but it's a bit of a drive from here. Do you have time, Cassie? Or do you have somewhere else you need to be?" queried Will.
Who, me? I only ever went from home to school to home again. "Just home before it gets too late."
"What time is not too late?" he asked, smoothly maneuvering his way through the crowded parking lot and out into the street.
"Oh, probably about six o'clock." Gina rarely got home before five o'clock, and Mark was often later. They had never set a curfew for me. No need. But they would probably expect me home for dinner around six o'clock. Will was sure to want to drop me off earlier, though. I just couldn't see myself as very good company.
"Then I'll have you home by six." He turned to smile at me, then looked back at the road. He went on to ask Melinda about her day at school, glancing at her occasionally in the rear view mirror. "What about you, Cassie? What classes are you taking?"
Who, me? "I'm taking mostly AP courses for college credit this semester. I finished nearly all of my required courses last year, and am getting a head start on college now. You know. Calculus, physics, English lit and comp, U.S. and world history." That was a lot to say all at once―for me, anyway. He seemed to be drawing it out of me. Oh, how I hoped I wasn't making a fool of myself somehow!
He appeared to be sincerely interested. "Do you have the option of graduating early―I mean, in December―and going to college in January?"
"Yes. That's what I'm planning to do." In fact, I had already been accepted by several schools―Mark and Gina had insisted that I give myself more than one option. However, I didn't really want to move anywhere. Home was the safest haven I believed I would ever find. I wasn't ready to move on yet, and sometimes wondered if I ever would be. Gina and Mark had made it clear that I would always have a home with them. So, until recently―the last couple of days, to be specific―I had thought that would be my future. But now . . . ?
Don't even. Bad idea.
"What do you want to major in?" Will continued.
"I've been considering computers. Maybe software engineering. I enjoy creating things, but I am kind of a loner. So that seems like a good fit." I glanced sideways at him, to see how he was reacting. His expression was smooth and pleasant. "I've already taken all the computer classes offered at the high school."
"You know, I'm attending the University. I'm sure I noticed degrees in computer science when I was checking it out. If you aren't set on going away to school, you could always go there." For some reason, it sounded to me as if that was what he wanted me to do. Not good―I was becoming delusional. How could it possibly matter to him?
"Yes. I've considered that. In fact, I've been offered a scholarship there. And they've got an agreement with our high school guaranteeing acceptance of all AP credits, so I would start out as almost a sophomore." It was uncomfortable to talk about me so much. A change of subject was in order. "So, what are you majoring in?"
"Well, I finished high school early, too, with AP credits and all. When I was sixteen, actually. Then I worked maintaining computers for the college while I completed my bachelor's degree in neuroscience, with a minor in psychology. My dad's a psychiatrist, and I've always been interested in the workings of the human nervous system―particularly the brain," he said casually. "Now, I'm in the master's program in neuroscience at the University. I'm also working as a research and teaching assistant for the division chair, Dr. Kellogg." Already had a bachelor's and was working on his master's? And his father was a psychiatrist? How much farther out of reach could he possibly be! But I had known that before. Hadn't I?
I was so deep in self-deprecating thought that I didn't realize no one had spoken for a few minutes until I noticed that Will had opened my door and was waiting for me to get out. He must not have been waiting long, because he didn't say anything. He completed his routine of closing my door, then helping Melinda out. And he held the restaurant door open for us as we went in.
"How many? Three?" asked the hostess.
"Yes. A booth, please," he added. Then, "You don't mind, do you?" looking at me.
"No, no. Not at all." I had to get my brain back in gear. This might be the only time I would ever see him again. I may as well try to relax and enjoy it. As quiet and empty as this place was―not unusual, I supposed, for three in the afternoon since it was far enough away from any schools that it apparently wasn’t an student hangout―it shouldn't be too hard to at least focus.
Melinda followed the hostess, and Will waited for me to go before him. As we reached the booth, Melinda sat on the farther side. Uh-oh. Where should I sit? Such a simple thing to feel so awkward about. Well, inexperience will do that to you. I was trying to figure it out quickly, when I felt Will's hand on my back and noticed he was guiding me onto the bench opposite Melinda. (It was the first time he had actually touched me, and the sensation was intense―almost electric.)
"Oh, Will―sit over there with Cassie, would you? I want some room to move," she said, lifting her arms up and spreading them across the back of her seat. "The desks at school feel so cramped," she added, turning slightly and bending one leg up on the seat. "You don't mind if Will sits there, do you?" she said, addressing me this time. "He doesn't bite or anything―most of the time." And she made a very sisterly face at him.
He chuckled, and leaned toward me confidentially. "Don't pay any attention to her. She's been cooped up too long today," he advised, smiling benignly. She stuck her tongue out at him.
Our server arrived, asking what we would like to drink and if we were ready to order. Will and Melinda wanted ice water and lemon to start with, so I asked for the same. Then Will told him we would need a few minutes before ordering, thanked him, and picked up a menu. I did the same, but found that it was difficult to focus after all. On anything but him, that is. I was starting to feel conspicuous but it was hard not to study his face. The agreeable features, the peaceful expression. Those very blue eyes. The menu, Cassi
e, I scolded myself. He suddenly looked up at me, questioningly. After a few seconds, he smiled and went back to his menu.
Interesting. This appeared to confirm my hypothesis: He could hear me when I spoke to myself. At least when my inner speech was clear and forceful, as it had just been when I was scolding myself.
"Well, I think I'll just have a milkshake and onion rings. I don't want to ruin my girlish figure," Melinda offered, pursing her lips, then softly laughing at herself.
"Uh-huh," Will responded knowingly, as if he were used to hearing it. "That does sound good, although Mom won't be happy about us not being hungry for dinner. Are you ready to order?" he asked me.
No, not really. "Yes. I'll . . . have a milkshake, too." I quickly looked at the menu to locate the flavors, but couldn't find them. "A chocolate one." There must always be chocolate ones, right?
By this time, our server had returned and Will saved me the turmoil of ordering for myself by ordering for all of us. Whew! Even that small thing felt relieving to me. I had never been out like this with anyone before and was definitely feeling more of a strain than I had hoped there would be. Was it worth it?
That would be a definite “yes.”
And the rest of the time turned out to be easier.
At some point, I was feeling too warm and started to shrug out of my jacket. Will promptly took hold of it to help me, then reached behind me to put it on the seat on the other side of me. His arm remained there until we got up to leave. Hmm.
Melinda seemed to enjoy regaling us with tales of her first day at school, and didn't mind if we responded minimally. I'm afraid it was rather rude of me, but I wasn't paying a lot of attention to what she was saying. I was too absorbed in―or by―the person sitting next to me, doing my best to pick up on something, anything, from him.
The only thing I could get―other than the extraordinary sense of well-being to which I had already become overly attached―was the feel of some kind of barrier between us. But it wasn't hard and absolute; it was . . . filtering. Permeable enough to allow my clearest and most energetic thoughts through, apparently. But that was all. As I reached this conclusion, something clicked and I knew it was right. I just knew. And, as surely as I now understood that much, I was certain that I could learn to discipline my thoughts enough to control what he did and didn't hear from me.
That would come in very handy if I wanted to make sure he didn't find out about my oddities. Well, at least for a while. Not before we had a chance, anyway. A chance for what, exactly? I didn't know. I only knew I wanted to be with him. That was enough . . . for now. It had to be. Trying to look farther was pointless at best. There might not even be a tomorrow, let alone beyond.
"Do you mind if I take Melinda home before you?" Will was asking me as he helped me on with my jacket. "She says she wants to start on her homework right away."
"No." Of course not.
So he did, and we found ourselves alone together. By rights, I should have been nervous, I suppose. But there had been no indication that he would treat me badly, or take advantage of me in any way. Not even make fun of me. Why bother to fight the warm, calming feelings that came with him? May as well continue with my strategy of “relax and enjoy” for as long as it might last.
Driving to my house, he kept up an easy flow of conversation offering general information about himself and asking for the same from me. It struck me as odd that he didn't ask additional questions after I mentioned the first missing years of my life, but it was welcome. A difficult and, to my mind, pointless subject.
When he parked in front of the house, he didn't move to get out or indicate that I should. He just continued talking with me―books, music, movies, TV shows; favorite color, class, season of the year. Anything and everything. It was almost as if he didn't want to leave. And he did seem genuinely interested. I certainly was in him.
It had started to get dark when Gina pulled into the driveway. Will came around to help me out of the car, and walked with me toward her. Her mouth wasn't gaping open, but she still looked utterly shocked.
"Mrs. Campbell?" asked Will, holding out his hand.
"Yes." That was all she could manage for the moment, except for shaking his hand.
"I'm Will Stuart, a friend of Cassie's."
"Oh." She seemed to be pulling herself together. "Please call me Gina."
"Okay. Thank you." He turned to me. "I'd better get going. I'm sure we'll be running into each other again soon." (My heart did a little flip-flop. Could he really mean what he just said?) To Gina, "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you," she returned, watching him get in his car and drive away. We actually both stood there in silence for a moment, as if a significant event had just taken place. Which it had. At least in my life.
Gina looked at me. She didn't say a word, she just looked at me.
"Were you planning anything particular for dinner?" I asked.
"Not really. Do you have something in mind?" she responded, looking as if nothing could surprise her more than something already had. I understood. I was pretty amazed myself.
"Well, I was wondering if . . . uh . . . we could do a little clothes shopping?" Would this be too much for her in one day?
Gina took it quite calmly. She smiled at me thoughtfully. Or maybe suspiciously? I sensed both. "Sure. Do you want to grab the notebook or wing it?"
"Wing it." I think. Maybe. Oh, I didn't know. I just knew I wanted to look more attractive right away. And did it really matter if it had something to do with Will Stuart?
"Hop in. Let's go." And we did. After a brief discussion, she drove us to the nearest discount department store, where nothing would cost very much in case this whole thing turned out to be a fiasco and I didn't go through with it. (My reasoning. Not hers. Gina had decided to go along with pretty much whatever I wanted. She was just pleased with my newfound desire to . . . well, do anything.) Fortunately, there weren't a whole lot of people with the same idea and the store was relatively empty.
It was a good thing Gina was willing and able to help me, because I was baffled by the mazes of racks and walls full of this, that, and the other. She―knowing me rather well, after all―suggested just looking at some blouses and sweaters that would go with the pants I already had. (Said pants were not particularly feminine, but they were in good condition and fit my shape pretty well as I didn't go in for the oversized, "droopy drawers" look popular with some. Although most of them were the standard blue denim, some were also black, tan, and other assorted colors and fabrics Gina had bought for me in an attempt to broaden my clothing horizons.)
Gina again instructed me not to think―just go with my first impression. So we got a cart and browsed. Whenever I paused to look at something for more than about five seconds, she guided me to determine which color or pattern or whatever I liked best in that style, selected the appropriate size and put it in the cart without further discussion. It seemed to me that she had picked up quite a few items, but, when we arrived at the fitting rooms, there were only seven in the cart.
As I tried on each article of clothing and showed the result to Gina, she pointed out the features of each and how to discern if something did, indeed, look good on me. She also mentioned that she was glad I had picked the colors I had―I seemed to have good instincts for ones that were flattering for me.
As it turned out, all the items "we" had picked looked good on me. (I figured that was, in reality, more Gina's doing than mine. Had she influenced me more than had occurred to me at first? Quite likely, I concluded.) They ranged from a tailored poly/cotton blouse with a pointed collar and three quarter sleeves with turned up cuffs in pale blue, to a mauve V-neck sweater with a pretty weave along the neck line and around the wrists. But no T-shirts, flannel shirts, or sweatshirts. And no oversized, bulky sweaters. This was going to be unfamiliar, but probably okay. I could almost see myself wearing these things to school. Maybe.
"May I make one suggestion?" Gina queried as we were preparing to leave t
he fitting rooms.
"Sure." Uh-oh.
"You have beautiful green eyes. And you have nice long eyelashes, but they're rather light. Would you consider trying some mascara?"
Oh, was that all? Well, in for a penny . . . . (I had heard that somewhere.) "Sure." We made our way to the health and beauty section, where I simply agreed with Gina that a waterproof, smudge proof mascara in dark brown would be a good choice. I was relieved she wasn't trying to persuade me into trying anything else I saw there―especially the eyelash curlers. They looked almost like medieval instruments of torture.
We checked out and headed home. She asked if I was hungry, and I wasn't, so she decided to just grab something when we got to the house. It hadn't taken quite her whole evening, but almost. As usual, she had been willing to set aside whatever she might have wanted to do for me.
"Gina?"
"Yup?"
"Thank you," I said. She heard how heartfelt it was.
We were just pulling into the driveway next to Mark’s pickup. She put the car in park and turned to me with a gentle smile on her face. She put her hand on my forearm and said, "There's nothing I would rather have done. You actually saved me from a drab evening of fixing dinner and TV." She took the keys out of the ignition and chuckled. "Let's show Mark what we've been up to. He won't believe it."
I knew what she meant. When we came in the front door with me actually carrying a shopping bag, Mark's eyes grew rather large. He had scrounged his own sandwich and chips dinner, and was on the sofa watching some sports show on television. He observed quietly and patiently as Gina had me display our purchases, but almost lost it when it came to the mascara. He looked at me, then Gina, then me again. But he only commented, "That's nice, Kiddo," and, after shaking his head slightly, went back to watching his show.
They were both great.
Gina stepped in my bathroom for a few minutes to share with me the finer points of mascara application, and watch me practice and remove my handiwork. Then I put my new clothes away, deciding on the mauve sweater and blue jeans for school the next day.
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