Finally, some alone time to contemplate the day.
After a depressing beginning, it had turned out better than I would have dreamed. (Ironically, the exact opposite of yesterday.) I could still feel Will's voice inside me and his hand on my back. But now the stress and excitement were wearing off and I was ready for some sleep. I wondered if I would have another night like Saturday―no bad dreams. I again focused on his face as I dozed off. Only this time I could visualize it much more clearly because I knew it so much better. I hadn't been studying it for nothing.
Chapter Four
As it turned out, I did have another good night's sleep, and it felt wonderful! But, I cautioned myself, there was absolutely no reason to hope that I would see him today. Why not? I argued with myself. Stranger things have happened.
Or have they?
Well, if I did see him, I was going to try an experiment. As much as I liked the feel of Will Stuart's voice inside me, I wanted to control what it was responding to. In other words, I didn't want him to hear anything I didn't want him to hear.
After further consideration, I again concluded that he couldn't pick up on everything in my mind. It appeared to only happen when my thoughts had formed into actual words in a coherent, sentence-like form. Essentially, when I was talking to myself. So, if I refrained from progressing to the point where feelings and ideas were clear and complete―keeping them nebulous and unfinished―I should be able to prevent unwanted communication with him.
I liked that word, nebulous. It conjured up images of the Crab Nebula and other astronomical wonders in my mind―beautiful in an ethereal kind of way, regardless of their tentative state. Maybe I would use it as a mantra to aid in rendering my thinking undetectable. If there was ever another opportunity.
Working through this felt good, but what I really wanted was a chance to check it out. Meaning, I wanted to see Will Stuart again. Soon. Very soon. So I'd better get moving, because that wasn't going to happen at home.
I allowed a little extra time to put on the mascara. Gina must have given me some good tips, because it went on pretty well. I made a mental note to have her check it for me before I left, and took one last look in the mirror. This time, I decided, I was wearing the clothes; they weren't wearing me. This might not be so bad after all.
After I received Gina's enthusiastic approval of not only my mascara, but my entire appearance, I went on my way to another day of school. Would anyone notice anything different?
It didn't take long to find out. When Sam saw me before school, she was almost beside herself. She didn't even think to tell me how she had fared on her trig test. "So you finally listened to me, huh?" was the gist of my hurried conversation with her in the hall before first period. She looked me over from head to toe, in spite of the fact that the change only took in about half that territory. "You look really good." Then she raised one eyebrow and asked, "Are you ready to fight off all the guys?"
"Oh, stop it!" I replied, embarrassed and blushing.
"Nice blush, too." She commented, laughing quietly at me―she knew how angry I would be if she drew unnecessary attention our way. And it was almost time for the bell. "I'll call you tonight, okay?"
"Okay." If I make it until then, I added mentally. At that moment, I wasn't quite sure if I would. I could already sense the added attention even these small changes had brought on. Most who even noticed didn't really care, thank goodness. But some were admiring while others were―well, overly so. (Hormone-riddled adolescent males, I reminded myself.) And some were downright hostile. (Hormone-riddled adolescent females.) Didn't anticipate that.
And thus I discovered that my previous persona non grata status had encompassed more advantages than I had been aware of. Even what there was of increased attention, particularly the more potent varieties, made it harder to bear the class by class experience that day, let alone concentrate on my school work. And passing periods. Granted, I had occasionally wondered what it would be like to have more people acknowledge me in the halls. Well, I found out. And it quickly become oppressive. I was sure there couldn't have been that many people who would have noticed. It probably just seemed like a lot to me. In any case, it was more than enough.
By the time last period was over, I fairly ran to my locker, then out of the building. I ducked my head and took off across the parking lot. Could I learn to deal with this? How could it possibly be worth it?
"Cassie!" a voice called. But it wasn't Will this time. It was Melinda. I stopped. Melinda trotted up to me, slightly out of breath. "Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?" she asked.
"Not really. Just home." And away from here. I needed some serious recuperation time.
"I don't want to be a pest or anything, but . . . . Well, with our move and changing schools and all, I'm a little behind in my math class here―geometry. Since you seem to like math and are all the way to calculus, would you help me get caught up? If you come to our house now for a little while, Will can drive you home when we're finished."
And I had always thought my affinity for math would be the kiss of death to any relationship I might someday want. "I'd be happy to help, but Will probably knows more than I do." Did I really have to say that?
"He says it would be better to ask somebody who used the same book I've got now. Did you use this one?" she asked, pulling it out of her backpack for me to see.
"Yup, that's the same one." I remembered it well. "Are you sure Will won't mind having to take me home later?"
"Oh, no," she replied. "In fact, he suggested the idea." She leaned closer to me, confidentially, and almost whispered, "I think he likes you. But don't let on that I said anything, okay?"
"Okay." That was a shocker. And not because it surprised me, but because I had suspected as much―which was even harder to believe. Could she possibly be right?
"He's here," she stated, waving to make sure he could see where she was. He drove toward us. "Is now alright? I'm sure Mom's got something good to eat if you're hungry."
There were too many butterflies in my stomach for it to feel empty right then. "Now is fine."
"Yes! Hey, Will! Cassie's coming!" she called to him as he pulled up and she opened the front passenger door. I hesitated. "Go ahead, Cassie. I like it in back―that chauffeured feeling, you know?" So I got in and closed the door while she got in back.
It was while I was putting on my seatbelt that I seemed to feel Will looking at me. I checked to see, and he was not only looking at me, he was smiling warmly at me. "Thank you for sparing me the world of geometry," was all his voice said, but his eyes seemed to express more.
"You're welcome," was all I could come up with. I would have to be very careful with my thoughts now or I was surely going to embarrass myself beyond recovery. I tore my eyes away from his face. "Thank you for providing transportation."
"My pleasure," he said. That was not an uncommon phrase, but it sounded like he truly meant it. I'd better not take it too seriously, though. That, or the look that was on his face. Or the way he was now reaching over to gently put some stray hairs behind my ear. His touch was warm as his fingers brushed my skin and paused in my hair. "Do you know you have beautiful eyes?"
What in the world could I say to that? Yes, I do? No, I don't? "I guess not," blushing furiously as I dared to glance at his face once more. Oops. That look was still there. And this time, I couldn't seem to look away. Your eyes are beautiful, too.
"Thank you."
Oh, well. I'd try my experiment later. Our eyes held, and I smiled in spite of myself.
"Ahem! Excuse me. Are we going? Today, maybe?" Spoken like a true sibling―from what I had gathered, since I didn't have one of my own.
Will didn't say a word. His eyes lingered on me a few seconds longer, then he put the car in gear and drove to his house. Unlike yesterday, this drive was very quiet. Melinda was busy sorting through the contents of her bag in the back seat. Will occasionally looked at me and smiled, but didn't speak. That was good enough for me, so I didn'
t even try to start a conversation.
The Stuarts' brownish brick home was lovely. And big. No so big as to be ostentatious, just very roomy looking. It stood on a large lot just outside of town. There were lots of trees and shrubs surrounding the spacious lawn. I imagined there would be lots of flowers in the spring. Maybe there would be hanging baskets along the covered front porch, which already had a bench swing and some chairs on it.
A broad drive curved around in front of the house, with a straight driveway branching off toward the back of the house and the garage. That is where Will drove us, using a remote to open the garage door, then close it behind us. He opened the car door for me, but not for Melinda as she had already gotten out and was heading into the house. I followed, with Will close behind.
"Hi, Mom! I'm home!" called Melinda, as we entered the kitchen. Some unopened and half empty packing boxes made it clear they had recently moved in. "You can put your stuff down most anywhere, Cassie." As I looked around to find an "anywhere" for my backpack―all of them were otherwise in use so I held onto it―I noticed that Will had disappeared.
A smiling woman―slender, and a little bit taller than I―came into the kitchen through what looked like the door into the dining room. I immediately noted the resemblance to Will in coloring and features. But her eyes were sort of a hazel or brown instead of blue like his. She walked over to Melinda and gave her a hug. "How was school today?"
"Fine. But I'm behind in math, so Cassie agreed to help me for a while. She's a genius at math." I frowned to myself at the "genius" label.
Mrs. Stuart (I presumed) turned to me. "It's nice to see you, Cassie," she said with unnecessary warmth. ("See" again? Must be a family thing.) "Thank you for being willing to help. Are you two hungry?"
"I am," piped up Melinda. "What is there to eat?"
"Anything you can find. We're not fully stocked yet, but I went to the store this morning and you should be able to find something. What about you, Cassie?"
"Maybe later," I responded. This was still too new and unsettling for my stomach. "Thank you, though."
"You're welcome," she replied, looking at me thoughtfully. "Well, I'll leave you to your studying," she commented as she walked out of the room.
"Let's go in here," Melinda said, leading me into the dining room with her backpack over one shoulder and an apple in her hand. There were signs of moving in there, as well, but the furniture and some decorative items were in place. With her free hand, Melinda slid the centerpiece and runner carefully to one end of the table, then settled herself into the middle chair on one side. "You want to sit here by me? Probably easiest," she commented.
"Sure," was my succinct answer. “So what exactly do you need help with?" I asked. Once we began, I was grateful to find out that she knew exactly what she needed to cover and was eager to get through it thoroughly, yet as efficiently as possible. She was two chapters behind, so we decided to cover the first one that day, then the next chapter the following day. We'd go to that point and see.
She mentioned that Will's college classes were earlier in the day, and he had already agreed to provide transportation for as many days as necessary. "He actually volunteered," she added, looking at me significantly. Fortunately, she went back to work without expecting a response. Or maybe my face had already responded on its own. I considered asking where Will was now, but determined it would be better to leave that alone.
Well, one more day of tutoring for Melinda and contact with Will Stuart was certain. After that . . . who knew? I didn't. My heart sank. Nonsensically so, I told myself. It shouldn't bother me so much that I couldn't be sure to see him every day ad infinitum. I really had to get this under control, or . . . I didn't know exactly what, but I knew it would be bad. A subject for serious thought and some decisions when I got home. But not now.
A while later Melinda sat back, stretched, and asked, "That's enough for today, isn't it?"
"Yes. You seem to understand it all."
"It's really pretty easy. Would have taken a lot longer if you hadn't been here to explain, though. Thanks again," she said, gathering her belongings back into her bag. "We'll do the other chapter tomorrow, then? Are you sure that's okay?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Well, it's after five, so I guess we'd better find Will to get you home. You have to be home by six, right?"
"That would be good." In some ways.
"Let's go find him. He's probably in his room. You can leave your stuff here."
I followed her silently, feeling rather awkward at roaming through their house in search of Will who was probably in his bedroom. But Melinda seemed to consider it a perfectly routine activity, so I tried not to worry about it.
She went out the opposite side of the dining room from the kitchen and through an elegant, yet simply furnished living room to stairs which were wider and slightly curved at the bottom, then narrowed and went straight up to the second floor. We went up the stairs, turning right at the top, and going all the way to the end of the hall. The door there was open a few inches.
When we were still a few feet back from it, Melinda turned to me and put her finger to her lips, indicating we should be very quiet. She then proceeded on exaggerated tiptoe and looked in. After pausing briefly, she stepped in farther to look around the door to another part of the room. Opening the door even further, she motioned for me to come, then whispered, "He's asleep. He was up a lot last night. He pushes himself too hard. Just a minute."
She opened the door the rest of the way as she walked over to the bed, where he was lying on his stomach, across the bed, with his stocking feet toward the door. At first I thought she was going to jump on the bed―or maybe him―to startle him awake. But I was relieved―and touched―to see that she walked around the bed to stand by his head, then leaned over him. She started rubbing his upper back, and whispered, "Will. Will, wake up."
"Do I have to?" was the groggy but good-natured response.
Melinda chuckled. "Afraid so. We're finished and Cassie needs to go home."
He appeared to wake up in an instant, raising himself on one elbow and rolling onto his side. "Where is she?"
On impulse (very unlike me), I checked out one part of my theory. That's easy. I'm right here, I thought as clearly and forcefully as I could. Would he hear me? How would he respond to the exact words he had put inside me yesterday?
His head whipped around to where I was standing. He eyed me intently for a few seconds. Then he smiled. "So you are." I smiled back, and had to work to keep from giggling. This was fun! And it really wasn't hard at all.
How were we doing this?
He looked so adorable with his sleep rumpled clothes and tousled hair. The urge to go smooth his hair and put my arms around him was strong (what was wrong with me?), but my fear of vulnerability and embarrassment was stronger. I now had to absolutely avoid sending any of my thoughts his way. Especially the ones now forming in my brain about someday waking him up myself . . . . Nebulous. This part was going to be harder. Nebulous.
"Hello, Cassie."
"Hi, Will." Definitely harder. Nebulous, nebulous. How many times in a row could I say that quickly? "Did you have a good nap?" Nebulous.
"Yes." He stretched and looked at Melinda "Thanks for waking me up, 'Pea."
"Any time, 'Bud," she responded, sitting on the bed next to him and rubbing his stomach while he completed his stretch. Once finished, he quickly reached over and tickled her sides, then slid off the other side of the bed before she could reach him to return the favor. He sped past me toward what appeared to be his bathroom door as Melinda took after him. "I'll be ready in a minute, Cassie," he said quickly, closing and locking the door as Melinda bore down on him.
"Stinker!" she called through the closed door.
"Yup!" he called back.
"That's not fair!"
"You're right!"
"Oooo!" she huffed, playfully stomping her foot. "You could at least argue with me instead of being so darn agreeable!"<
br />
"Right again!"
"I give up," she concluded as she went back to sit on the middle of his bed. "Come sit down, Cassie," she instructed, patting a spot near her. "He won't be long." So I was now sitting on his bed. Definitely much harder. Nebulous, nebulous. Focus on something else. I decided to examine his room. Nebulous.
It was a large room, reaching across the whole end of the house. From where I was sitting on his queen-size bed―nebulous, nebulous, nebulous―the door to the hall was partway down the wall on the right. There were windows behind us on either side of the headboard, with a nightstand under each one. There was another larger window to the left across from the door. Then the bathroom door was on the far wall somewhat left of center. I guessed there must be a closet off the bathroom.
The walls were a light muted blue, with the carpet a couple of shades darker. The ceiling was white. The woodwork was finished in a dark brown with gold highlights, similar to the furniture in the room. I found it difficult to describe the style of the furniture to myself. It was masculine, but not angular or heavy. It was decorative, but simply so. I liked it. The headboard and nightstands matched the bookcase on the right wall beyond the door, the armoire opposite the bed on the far wall to the right of the bathroom door, and the computer desk with chair on the left beyond the window. There was a small overstuffed sofa in front of the large window. There were no moving boxes here, and it already looked lived in. But there was little clutter except, perhaps, on the desk which was obviously in use a great deal.
The drapes, bedding and sofa were varying shades of the blue theme for the room―lighter than the carpet and walls, with complimentary colors subtly integrated into the patterned weave of the fabrics. Sheers on the windows softened the light coming through the open drapes.
On one nightstand were a lamp, individual framed pictures of Melinda, his mother, and a man who was probably his father, along with a picture of all three of them together with him.
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