by Pam Tribble
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Lyra eventually became aware that she’d had too much tea during dinner. She didn’t want to break the spell, but after a while, it became necessary.
She sat up. “Um, Jonah, could I use the restroom?”
“Yeah, there’s one down here. They got up and he led her to the far side of the basement. The blacked-out door with stars strewn across it was completely invisible. He opened the door and flipped a switch. The sudden light blinded her and she scrunched up her eyes against the glare.
Jonah chuckled. “It gets me every time too. I need to change the bulb in here to one with fewer watts.”
Lyra closed the door behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust. The bathroom was pale blue with navy towels and rug. A white wicker laundry hamper stood in the corner. The oval mirror and fixtures were pewter.
While she was in the restroom Jonah had turned on lights in the cavernous basement. When she came out of the bathroom, Lyra noticed shelves had been installed down here too, though not as many. One held CDs, another books. High up along the outside wall were three windows at ground level. Another door which had also been painted blue-black to led outside. In the far right corner were a large flat-screen television and a towering stereo system with speakers of all sizes placed around it. A few DVD and CD cases littered the floor in front of it. A worn leather sofa and ottoman faced the TV and a multi-colored afghan had been tossed haphazardly across the arm and trailed the floor. The Koontz book he’d been reading lay on the ottoman and a soda can was perched on top of it. Here was the clutter she’d been looking for.
Jonah was in the corner adjacent to the stairs where a desk, comprised of an unvarnished pine door and four sturdy tree stumps, held his computer. He was straightening up, shuffling papers into one pile and stacking magazines into another. As she walked toward him, he tossed several items into the round metal trash can beneath the desk.
He turned as she approached and ran his fingers through his overlong hair. “Sorry. It’s pretty messy down here.”
“That’s okay. My room isn’t spotless either.” She picked up a magazine off the top of the pile entitled MENSA. A middle-aged man in a white coat leaned against the counter of what appeared to be a laboratory of some sort. “What’s Mensa?”
Jonah looked slightly embarrassed. He took the magazine and tossed it back onto the desk. “Oh, just some group Jet signed me up for—bunch of stuffed-shirt know-it-alls.
“What sort of group is it?” Lyra asked, reaching for the magazine again. She flipped open the first page and read:
MENSA Mission Statement: To identify and foster human intelligence for the benefit of humanity, to encourage research into the nature, characteristics and uses of intelligence, and to promote stimulating and social opportunities for its members.
Jonah pulled the journal from her hands again and guided her over toward the sofa.
“Gotta be pretty smart to be a member?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“How smart?”
“Does it matter?”
They had reached the far end of the room. Lyra turned to him and shrugged, “I’m just curious.” Getting any kind of information out of him was like trying to grab a snake by its tail.
“Oh, all right.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s a society for people with high IQs…people whose IQ is in the top two percent of the population.”
Lyra’s eyes bulged. “And you are…in the top two percent?”
Jonah nodded.
“Wow. So you’re like a genius.” Extraordinary strength, extraordinary intelligence—who was this person standing in front of her?
He was watching her anxiously. She decided she’d better not make too much of it. She stepped around him. “Great. Now I know who to call when I’m stumped in Algebra.” She smiled casually and tossed the magazine down. She turned away from him, walked over, and sat down on the sofa. The stereo system in front of her lit up and music blared from the speakers causing them to both jump about a foot.
Lyra leapt to her feet and whirled around—she’d sat on the stereo remote. Then, recognition registered. She stopped dead and turned to stare at him in disbelief—the music blaring from the dozen or so speakers was the unmistakable dissonant chords of the introduction to the Overture to Phantom of the Opera.
His face registered shock too. He lunged for the remote, but his fingers were clumsy and it took several seconds to turn it off.
The ringing silence was as deafening as the music had been. Lyra stared at him. He looked everywhere but at her. His earlier embarrassment was nothing compared to now. His cheeks flushed scarlet.
A huge grin split Lyra’s face. She couldn’t help it—a giggle escaped. Bristling, Jonah’s head snapped up and he glared at her. It only made her laugh harder. She knew it was terrible, but it was also hilarious. She fell back on the couch and held her stomach, cackling. Without a word, Jonah stomped across the room and disappeared up the stairs.
Lyra continued to snigger a few minutes more, but sobered eventually. She must have really ticked him off. She was halfway across the room to go find him when he returned. His face was void of all expression and he carried two water bottles. He handed her one. They watched each other warily. Lyra unscrewed the cap and sipped the water.
She struggled to keep a straight face. “I’m sorry, Jonah.” She choked down a bubble of laughter, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward uncontrollably. “It’s just I don’t know too many—actually, I don’t know any—guys who like Phantom of the Opera.” He puffed up and she hurried on, “But there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. I personally love it. It was just…the look on your face…” Lyra snickered. She saw Jonah’s jaw clench and smothered her mirth. “I’m sorry, really.”
His looked down at her haughtily. “I only have that CD because of you.”
That took Lyra by surprise. “What?”
Instead of answering, Jonah strode back over to the couch and sat down, propping his feet up. Lyra followed him. She racked her brain, but she could not recall the subject ever coming up between them. Yes, she secretly compared him to the Phantom, but had never voiced her ridiculous romantic fantasy to anyone. She sat down close beside him and took another sip of water.
Jonah had the remote in his hand again. He pressed a button and the stereo lit up once more. He punched a couple more buttons and Music of the Night began to play. Jonah’s hand dropped to his lap and he laid his head against the back of the couch closing his eyes. They listened to the song play in its entirety. When it was done Jonah lifted his head, stopped the CD, and turned to look at her.
“You heard me play that?”
He nodded.
“And you liked the song?”
Again, he nodded. “The first time was the night we met in the woods. I didn’t like the idea of you walking home alone in the dark. I waited for you and followed you home to make sure you were safe. When you went in, the house was completely dark. I knew your parents weren’t home so I just hung around for a while outside. When I saw your bedroom light come on, I decided to leave. But then I heard you begin that song. It was very different from the other music you usually played; it grabbed my attention. I returned and stood under your window. It was as though you were dragging your bow across my heart. The melody was heartbreaking, the lyrics mesmerizing. When you finished, I wanted to knock on your door and beg you to play it again. I went back every night to hear you play it again.”
He had stood outside in the dark and cold, night after night, to listen to her play. “Oh, Jonah.”
He cleared his throat, chanced a quick glance up at her and continued, “Once I figured out what the song was, I was curious to hear the whole soundtrack…so I bought it.”
He paused, sipped his water. “I prefer to hear you play it though. In fact, I’d really rather watch you, but your window’s too high. You don�
�t know how tempted I’ve been to climb a tree.” He laughed.
Lyra’s gaze turned suspicious.
“I haven’t, though, I promise.”
Lyra breathed in, relieved. She twirled her water bottle debating whether she should tell him that he was the inspiration for her performance. “Since you told me one of your secrets, I’ll tell you one of mine. I assume you’ve seen the movie version by now?”
“Yes,” he admitted with a sour look. “I think I would have felt less conspicuous buying ladies’ underwear than I did checking it out at the movie rental store.”
Lyra laughed imagining him doing just that. “Well, you sort of remind me of him—the Phantom, I mean.”
Jonah raised his eyebrows, amused.
“Well, you show up at school—this tall, dark, brooding stranger. You won’t talk to anyone; you don’t want to make friends; you don’t want to get involved. It was like you had turned your back on the world. Yet, I felt this secret yearning in you, a buried pain, a desperate loneliness. You were my own personal phantom—an enigma. And I couldn’t just leave you alone, even when you made it crystal clear you wished I would.”
Her expression became derisive thinking she must have seemed like a pathetic love-sick puppy—she probably still did. But what could she do about it? Absolutely nothing. She’d jumped off the cliff and now it was either sink or swim.
“I’m glad you didn’t give up. It’s a mistake for us to be together. I don’t deserve someone as good as you, but I can’t leave you alone either, even when it’s crystal clear to me that I should.”
“Why do you say things like that? Why can’t you see that you are as good as anybody else, better even than most? Whoever told you that you weren’t told you a lie.”
Jonah didn’t argue. He looked at her as if wanting to believe her words, but not quite managing it.