by Marks, V. R.
"Lighten up, little sister," he said, putting an elbow into her ribs.
"I'm older by two minutes, you doofus." Austin glared up at him and shifted away.
"But I'm taller." He shrugged. "Hey, you're looking a little blue." She moved to stomp his foot, but he caught her. "Relax. It doesn't show to anyone but me."
Well, what a big relief. She sighed and watched one of the clarinet players from marching band perform some impressive karaoke on the area designated as the stage. "It's just stuffy in here. I think I'll go for a walk."
Andrew's brows shot up. "It's like fifty below out there."
"Not even. That's what coats are for anyway."
"Why don't you let me introduce you to someone?"
"Ugh. All the 'someones' you know are defective." It wasn't close to true, but looking so blue that your brother wanted to cheer you up with an introduction was too mortifying to contemplate. "I just need some air."
He grabbed her elbow. "Don't even think about jumping."
She jerked free. "I'll think about whatever I like."
His eyebrows went up again. She ignored them now, just as she had for most of her life. Oh, as brothers went, he was one of the better sorts, and she loved him and all that. But he couldn't fix her or her nasty mood. And he certainly couldn't put her with the right guy by midnight.
"This isn't like you," he called after her.
She didn't bother replying, knowing he was right. Mood or not, she had a lot of thinking to do, more analysis, more theories to develop. She'd conducted her own personal social experiment, and she was the only real casualty. Probably fair, since she'd never want someone else to get hurt, but still…she wanted to meet someone who made her heart leap and skid to a stop at the same time.
She walked toward the sliding glass doors of Brie's walkout basement and saw the snow coming down heavy once more. Her brother was right; she shouldn't go traipsing through Hobbitville in this weather, but she couldn't stand the idea of being inside with all this romantic happiness bubbling around her.
Well, it was the time for resolutions. From this point on, she would change her focus from keeping the details on every above-average guy in town. In the coming year, she'd put that energy into her classes and other endeavors that would promote her future. She couldn't always just be the go-to girl for hot guy info. It was time to shift her attention away from her little social experiment.
Former social experiment.
She turned back to the party, looking for some distraction, any distraction, hoping to alleviate her desperation as the countdown drew closer. Brie's mom, Mom Fairchild to every child who met her, was unwrapping sparkling cider at the bar.
"Oh, let me help," Austin offered, rounding the counter. She started filling plastic champagne flutes, trying to ignore the looming countdown and inevitable "Happy New Year" cheer.
But both milestones came and went. The voices died, and music swelled as the traditional kisses were exchanged. It was like the worst-ever twist on a happily-ever-after scene. And didn't she just have to get over herself. Soon.
She cleared her throat and bravely raised her glass to Mom Fairchild. "Happy New Year."
Mom Fairchild smiled, gently tapping her glass to Austin's. "Happy New Year, honey. Here's to keeping your resolutions."
As usual, Mom Fairchild had a valid point. The party conversations swirled around her, much like the snow swirled outside the glass doors, and Austin made some more decisions about the coming year.
Having resolved to give up this whole "Hot Guy Info Data Base" thing, she thought about other options. While the database served a purpose for the girls at school, it only confirmed Austin's theory that "hot" was a very fluid concept. It wasn't like the info had miraculously appeared in her head. She'd invested a lot of effort gathering and memorizing and effortlessly regurgitating the information on demand. It had been enjoyable but thoroughly consuming as hobbies went. Now, she was resolved to be a better Austin, with more than one obvious skill.
The party wrapped up, friends headed home, and before it could be just the four of them–well, seven, counting the guys–she made herself available to drive home a couple other girls. Skyler was a freshman from Lana's euphonium section, and Reese was the clarinet player with karaoke skills.
"Thanks for the ride, Austin," Skyler said, sliding into the back of the VW Beetle. "It was good to see Neil again tonight."
"Uh-huh."
"Didn't Lana know him in middle school or something?"
"Uh-huh," Austin repeated. She was trying to remember the addresses the girls had given her. More proof she'd been too focused on the guy database for too long. She could remember anything about a cute guy but not much else. Enough. This was a new year. She turned her wipers on high to brush away the snow and chanted the addresses in her head like a mantra. A mantra that signified her new start.
Reese twisted in the passenger seat. "What do you know about Paul?"
"Rodriguez or Sanderson?" Skyler asked.
"Rodriguez."
"He's vice president of the robotics team and mentors the team at the junior high. He's–" Austin caught herself breaking her resolution before the year was even two hours old. "He's a nice enough guy," she finished, leaving out all the parts about his intent to graduate next winter rather than in the spring with the rest of their class. "Has he asked you out?" She hoped it sounded conversational.
"Not yet, but a girl can dream." Reese yawned. "He tries to give off the bad boy vibe when he's social. Like I haven't seen him doing the Mr. Responsible routine all through marching season." She laughed a little. "Who knew I'd find that combo appealing?"
From the back, Skyler wiggled her fingers. "That would be me. You lost your place more than once when Paul came around."
Reese stuck her tongue out at Skyler. "Maybe. Can you tell me anything else, Austin?"
"Not tonight. That's your house, right?"
"Oh. Yeah." Reese pouted for a second, then thanked Austin before darting from the car and up her porch steps.
"You remember my address?"
Austin tried not to glare at Skyler in the back seat. It was her own fault no one gave her brain much credit for real life retention.
"It was nice to see Lana and Neil together," Skyler mused.
"Yup."
"Where does he go to school?"
"He graduated early and went straight to Tech," Austin hedged. Neil's real situation was one topic the Pixie Chicks tried to avoid.
"Oh. Cool. It's the next right," Skyler said, pointing.
"Thanks." She wasn't a total loser, but she could hardly prove it with her rep for short-term memory failure. Taking the turn, she found the house and pulled into the drive.
"Thanks again," Skyler said, hesitating with her hand on the door latch. "Happy New Year."
"To you, too," Austin replied. Still Skyler didn't move. Totally unexpected, since her nickname around the band was Shy-ler "Are you okay? Did you forget your key or something?"
"No. I've got the key. I just–" she stopped, took a breath. "I just wondered how you do it."
"Do what?" She was pretty sure she knew what Skyler was asking, but she figured they should both be uncomfortable.
"How can you be so easy–I mean relaxed–around guys. See? I get all tongue tied just thinking about it."
Austin outlined the steering wheel with her gloved fingertips while she thought about the question. "Who do you want to be relaxed around?" Better to turn the tables than admit how having all the details kept her calm and ready for nearly any conversation.
"No one in particular." Skyler shifted. "Really. I don't have a major crush on anyone. How can I? I don't know any of them well enough."
"My advice?"
"Please."
"First, know yourself. Cheesy but true. Then, remember guys are just as nervous around girls. The male IQ actually drops when a pretty girl is close. Did you know that?"
Skyler shook her head and snorted.
"Proven
fact. Though why they needed a study…" Austin shrugged a shoulder. "So I say have a little pity and show some interest in what they're interested in. A guy who's worth it will respond and take more interest in you."
"Got it." Skyler's big sigh filled the small car. "It was easier during marching season because there was a reason to talk to anyone in the band."
Austin understood that all too well. "So make a resolution to find more reasons to talk during concert season."
Skyler laughed. "Good idea. Now, if I can just not pass out in the process."
"One step at a time," Austin encouraged.
"Thanks again." Skyler got out of the car, and Austin waited until she was safely inside her house before backing out of the driveway and heading home.
She took the long way, passing Hobbitville, the band's secret hangout, and parked for just a minute. It would be easy to sneak into the garden's side gate and use the magic of the statuary to make the first jump of the new year. Except her brother asked her not to. While that wasn't much of a deterrent, the freezing weather was worth a second thought.
She sat there, staring in the direction of the gate, hands tracing the steering wheel again. All of her friends had found their guys in that garden. Whether the guys were local or not, Austin believed the garden held more magic than just the bizarre transportation value of the statuary.
She wasn't about to advertise her new theory any more than her new resolution, but still. It counted.
Her own guy might be waiting in there right now. He sure wouldn't be waiting for her on the other end of her touchstone–the statue she used to jump out of Hobbitville into other places. So far, months and months worth of so far, she'd only been able to use one statue–a small cupid–to get to one place, an old, private family cemetery across town.
Austin distracted herself from that depressing thought with another resolution: this year, she would accomplish a jump to somewhere not a cemetery. Well, no time like the present.
In moments she was out of the car, through the gate, and in front of her touchstone, a small cupid on a pedestal set into a curve of boxwood. She thought back to her first jump, when she'd discovered the magic of the modest sculpture, and felt it click with the romantic bent inside her. It didn't take more than a couple jumps to the cemetery to get over that delusion.
Tonight, the small cupid, lightly frosted with snow, seemed to invite her to try again. She reached out, felt the wind swirl as soon as she made contact, and opened her eyes the moment the wind died down.
Llewellyn Cemetery. Again. Austin didn't have to look to know the small prayer chapel was a few yards behind her, and the angel sculpture placed to overlook the family plot would be gazing down at her with that permanently serene expression.
She sighed. No point in staying and emphasizing the loneliness, so she jumped right back to Hobbitville.
Walking back to her car, she admitted she'd probably have to consult with Claire and Shane to keep her jumping resolution. They were so good at using the touchstones, Director Warren had asked them to map the gardens and jump points around the world a few months ago.
But thoughts of Shane turned Austin's mind to yet another theory. Her special guy had to be a local. Brie's Troy was local. Claire's Shane most definitely was not. Lana's Neil wasn't local–not really. So Austin's special someone would be local. Austin appreciated balance, and
that would balance things nicely.
Except she knew all the local guys from her experiment, and none of them showed an interest in her, the epitome of girl-next-door. It shouldn't be a surprise, considering she was the girl next door who knew all their pertinent details.
Hmm. She'd definitely benched herself with her stupid data base project. An unintentional and unforeseen complication, but clearly, her resolution to drop it was just the thing.
She wanted a little romance. She deserved some time with a special guy. She–yawned. Tomorrow, well today really, after she slept off this odd mood, she could come back and make some headway on both her resolutions.
-Two-
"Daniel Llewellyn Oosterhouse, get out of bed this instant."
Recognizing his mother's exasperated tone, Daniel didn't think it was prudent to point out that he wasn't in bed–just in his room. He pulled open the door. "Yes, ma'am. I'm awake."
She was at the bottom of the stairs, but he could feel the intensity of her gaze boring into him. "You were awake." She climbed two steps, scowling at him. "You've even showered already."
He hadn't slept well, so he'd decided to be productive. "Yes, ma'am."
"And yet you have not come downstairs." Daniel stifled a sigh. He didn't see the sense in confirming the obvious. He waited in his doorway, trying not to smile as she took another step up.
"Daniel Llewellyn Oosterhouse."
First the bellow, now the hiss. Not a good start to the brand new year. He tried not to roll his eyes before he gave her another "yes, ma'am." He had yet to figure out how he'd annoyed her so much in utero that she cursed him with that name for life. It was like he'd never had an option aside from utter nerd-hood.
"Oh. You're wearing your contacts," she said. "That's wonderful."
Sure it was. They were comfortable, but new. He wasn't sure his nose felt right without the glasses he'd worn as long as he could remember. Beats being blind. She'd taken his old glasses and refused to give him anything but the new, Potter-esque wire frames that "showed off his eyes."
He couldn't think about it, or he'd gag. Instead, he tried to divert her. "Is there any French toast left?" She considered it her specialty and appreciated it when he and his dad asked for it. It was no hardship.
"Yes." She looked hopeful. "It's still in the warming oven."
He nodded. Resisting the urge to turn around and cover up the current project, he simply closed the door and followed her down the stairs.
Before the first melting combination of syrup, butter, and battered bread hit his tongue, he recognized the tactical error. He was on her turf, and her eyes, behind stylish frameless glasses, were sparking with a battle plan. Crap. Nothing to do but brave it out.
"'Sgood, mom. Thanks."
She filled a mug with coffee and took the seat across the table. He loaded up his fork and stuffed his mouth too full to speak.
"The best thanks is watching you enjoy. It's a new year, Daniel. Have you given any more thought to our discussion?"
He was wearing the contacts, wasn't he? Had used the updated wardrobe she dumped on him for Christmas, even during the school break. Didn't have much choice since she'd thrown out most of his other, familiar button-down shirts and khaki slacks, but still. What more did he have to think about?
"How was the party last night?"
"Good," he said, then filled his mouth again.
"I'm glad. You were out late."
"Made curfew," he contradicted. His plate was empty. He chewed slower.
"Of course you did. I appreciate that you obey our rules, Daniel, and that you can discuss things rationally."
He watched her, wondering if he could refill his plate yet. It seemed risky.
"Daniel. Danny."
Oh. No. She was about to talk girls. If he rolled his eyes like he wanted, his contacts would probably get stuck behind his eyeballs and cause some horrible infection in his brain. No matter that he knew it was impossible, the idea kept his eyes steady.
"Did you meet anyone?"
"Well, yeah." He cleared his throat. His mother probably wouldn't count the illusion he thought he'd seen in the cemetery before he came home. Especially since he hadn't spoken to said illusion. So how to tell her something without lying? "I caught up with Andrew–"
"That is not what I meant."
He let her see a bit of his exasperation.
"Pardon me. Please continue."
"And I talked with him about what we talked about."
"So he introduced you to someone?"
Why was she so focused on his love life? It wasn't like he wa
s some middle-aged loser living in the basement. He was only a brilliant teenaged loser. Which he supposed was her point. "We talked about a few girls."
She sipped her coffee, the invitation to elaborate clear enough.
"This is really uncomfortable, Mom. And ridiculous." He slammed his chair back from the table and went to pile his plate with more French toast. He skipped the fruit and opted for butter, peanut butter, and the rest of the syrup, just to aggravate her.
If he was lucky, she'd get the hint and drop the subject. But she was still at the table, the model of serenity. God save him from Concerned Mothers.
Just to see how far he could push, he stood at the counter to eat. Her patient smile didn't even waver. He was in serious trouble here. "Mom. Really."
"It's January second. You promised me."
He patted his pockets like he was looking for a watch, did the whole glancing around for dramatic effect. "The second? Already? OMG, Mom. Where has the year gone?"
"Daniel, don't be a smart ass. We agreed."
He gritted his teeth. Took a breath. Then shoveled in more French toast. "You agreed," he said with his mouth full. "Your resolution." He tugged on his shirt, some ridiculous color he'd rather not name. "You resolved to make me over. I resolved to keep an open mind. Just that. Just an open mind."
"But honey you need to have a life outside of the classroom. Think about the scholarships."
Scholarships couldn't possibly hinge on his high school socializing record. There was the church band, and Monday night tutoring, but she didn't count that because it wasn't time with his "peers." Even in his head the word had air quotes around it.
She'd have a fit if she saw the project in his room–the book he'd been writing. Oh, she'd be proud enough of the story–eventually. It was the fact that it was one more individual effort rather than a social endeavor that would send her smile slipping away.
"It's the second, Mom. It'll be easier to comply with your demands when I'm back in school."