Heart on a String

by Susan Soares

  I followed my mother’s example. For me, history was what happened while we ordinary folks lived our lives. I guess the only problem came when history affected our lives — like with the war in Vietnam.

  ****

  Our house is little more than a bungalow with a small front room, kitchen, two bedrooms and an attic, but it's very homey, and best of all it's close to the ocean. On quiet nights, I imagine I can hear the sea, although Mom says we're really too far away. Yet I believe the rhythm of the sea puts me to sleep.

  In my dreams that night, I saw a tall, handsome blond boy with dazzling blue eyes smiling at me. I heard him call my name and I reached for him. There was a beautiful golden halo around his head.

  “Are you an angel?” I asked him, awed by his incandescence.

  “Yes, I’m your angel,” he said.

  Then I was being kissed by Gar Hansen. I woke up feeling foolish. Gar Hansen, an angel? How could I have dreamt such a thing? That stuck-up snob was never going to notice me. And who wanted him to anyway? Me, that’s who! I had to tell the truth to myself. I mean, who was I kidding? Of course, I wanted him to notice me. Still, I knew how foolish it was and unrealistic besides.

  I started to tell Joyce about my weird dream the next day in the library, but thought better of it. I figured she’d probably laugh in my face. I didn’t want my friend to think less of me.

  Joyce and I generally took our study hall in the library because it was quiet and we could really work there. I was concentrating on my geometry and praying that I'd be given a tutor soon when I felt someone's eyes on me. At first, I thought it was my imagination. But no, there was a boy across the room just sitting there staring at me. I didn't dare to look at him. I tried hard to ignore him and concentrate on my work, but I couldn't. Every time I looked up, there he was staring at me still. Joyce didn't notice; she was too caught up in her book.

  I figured he was playing some dumb game at my expense. Finally, becoming angry, I stared back. Then I really looked at him and truly saw him. His wavy, black hair caught the light and his eyes were dark as coal. He smiled at me, bold and cocky. I blushed and turned away. Then I elbowed Joyce who mumbled something derogatory and continued her reading.

  "There's some guy at that table over there staring at me," I whispered.

  "What?" She surfaced from her book like a diver with the bends.

  "Is there anything weirder than usual about my appearance? Do I have poppy seeds caught between my front teeth from my roll at lunch?"

  "You look fine." She was clearly annoyed.

  "Don't be obvious," I whispered. "He's two tables away and he keeps looking at me. I don’t recognize him, do you? Just check him out, okay?"

  She discreetly looked around. "You're right," Joyce said, eyes widening behind her thick glasses. "There's a good-looking, dark-haired guy staring in our direction. I’ve never seen him before. I’m certain of it. Are you sure you don’t know him from somewhere?"

  "No, never saw him before either. I would have remembered. It's kind of weird."

  "Just ignore him," Joyce suggested. "He'll get the message. Obviously, he has nothing better to do, so he's decided to be a pain."

  I forced myself to read my book, although I really couldn't absorb a word of it. Once more, I glanced up to find him looking directly at me. He smiled again and I couldn't help thinking he had the whitest teeth I'd ever seen. Jarred by the bell ringing at the end of the period, I gathered my things together. He seemed to be coming toward me. It struck me then: for the first time in my life, a boy was attempting to flirt with me, and a gorgeous one at that.