Sundial

by C. F. Fruzzetti

  “Besides, these are my favorite kind,” I huffed in mock annoyance.

  “What if Rold Gold pretzels are also my favorite?” Reid asked as he tried to snatch the bag from me again.

  “Congratulations. You have good taste in pretzels. Your current sparring partner isn’t too shabby either,” I answered smugly as I once again artfully twisted away from him.

  “Sparring partner, huh? I knew you would want to take me on sooner or later. Well, now you have really piqued my interest,” he teased. His eyes blazed with deeper meaning. His direct flirtation was harder for me to manipulate. “I don’t think I can leave you alone…until you give me at least one pretzel to sample.”

  “That isn’t much of a choice. You have become such a pest,” I zinged. I sidestepped him. His crestfallen face almost made me laugh but I looked him over and pretended not to speak his body language. He exhaled in frustration.

  Our mental fencing match was incredibly enticing but I didn’t do it for the rush. It was an excuse so I could see what he would do next and how he would think. It was the fastest way I could extract the information and quiet the nagging alarm bells in my head about him.

  I had to know ahead of time what I would say if he asked me out. I wouldn’t say yes unless I actually liked him. I couldn’t believe that thought went through my head. I hadn’t even admitted to Blair that I was even considering going on a date with Reid Wallace.

  I was almost to the girls’ locker room door. Reid was out of time. In a startling and entertaining move, he opened his mouth like a seal waiting for a fish, barked, and clapped his hands together. I could not help but laugh. His beg of desperation was funny and possibly clever. It charmed me. I saw a twinkle in his eye as I grinned with delight.

  “You look like an idiot,” I said. “For that act of bravery, I might give you the whole bag.”

  “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes,” he said as he amped up the level of intensity. He grabbed the bag from me at last and tossed a pretzel into his mouth. He licked his lips. I thought for a fleeting second that if I were his girlfriend, I would get to kiss him goodbye. Thank goodness the thick wooden door to the girls’ locker room was right in front of me.

  “Fine. Take it,” I managed to say coherently. “This is my stop.” I leaned my body weight into the heavy wooden door of the locker room. It was harder to push open than usual. I felt lightheaded as I crossed the threshold and the last of my willpower evaporated.

  I was sluggish and distracted through practice. I kept drinking water, thinking I was dehydrated. I knew something was wrong when the vision of me in Reid’s arms went through my head as I staggered through my final lap of the day around the soccer field. Despite sweating, I felt chilled to the bone. I usually didn’t see glimpses of myself in the future. Was this a warning or just a premonition?

  The next morning, I woke up and couldn’t stop shaking. I pulled the thermometer out of my mouth. I was burning up. Tylenol. I needed Tylenol. No wonder I wasn’t thinking clearly yesterday. I called Blair to let her know I didn’t need a ride to school and crawled back under my comforter. A few hours later, the phone by my bed rang.

  I picked it up to stop the noise. I heard Blair’s urgent voice on the other end. She didn’t bother saying hello. “Are you ready for this?” Blair asked rhetorically. I felt myself trying to wake up. Blair wouldn’t be calling me from school with idle gossip. There was a good reason.

  My nose was congested. “Hut?” I croaked. My eyelids felt like bricks were on top of them, and my legs and arms felt like wet noodles. I didn’t think I could make them do anything.

  “Reid came up to me after Spanish to ask me where you were,” she excitedly whispered. The reception was crackly and I pictured her standing at one of the public pay phones outside the high school cafeteria. I could almost smell the melted cheese of the nachos and I felt queasy.

  “E did?” I said through my head cold. “Why?”

  “Because he noticed you weren’t here, you goof!” said Blair, exasperated. “Would you wake up? You have to get moving! I think he is stopping by your house.”

  “Why do you think that?” I asked. What Blair was saying was starting to register, and panic was working like ice water had just been splashed on my face. The bricks on my eyes became irrelevant rubble as they flew open wide in shock.

  “Because he asked me if you lived in Washington Manor, that’s why. I told him your house was the brick one with all the blue spruce trees and the red door. Now go get in the shower and I will call you as soon as I get home!” She hung up the phone. Blair was always direct but she was not an alarmist. If she thought he was coming to my house there was a good chance he was, even if I personally doubted it.

  I walked into my bathroom and turned on the shower. It hurt my skin to have water pounding on it. As I washed my hair, I tried to fathom why Reid wanted to know where I lived. I got out and wrapped myself in my blue and red plaid robe. The weight of the thin robe felt heavy on my unstable legs. I spun my hair up into a towel and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The bright blue and red plaid in my robe made my fair skin look even paler. Then I heard my dog going ballistic. Sure enough, the doorbell rang.

  The sound of the bell was like the start of a race. I started moving faster than I thought possible. The fatigue and body aches were gone and replaced with adrenalin. I quickly shook out my hair and ran a brush through it. I swiped a finger through the Vaseline jar to throw some gloss onto my lips and pinched my already red cheeks. It was the best I could do in thirty seconds. I walked to the front door and opened it.

  Reid was holding a bag of Rold Gold pretzels and a Gatorade. I had to concede it was suave and thoughtful. I allowed myself to be impressed and smiled.

  I leaned against the doorframe. The exertion of the past couple of minutes had caught up to me. My knees were wobbly. I saw concern dart across his face as I unsteadily propped myself against the entryway. He had left his car running in the driveway.

  “Hey,” I said with a bewildered smile. “What are you doing here?”

  “Blair told me you weren’t feeling well. I thought I would bring you over a care package so I picked up a replacement bag of pretzels,” he said, holding up the bag with his adorable smirk. “I thought it might help.”

  I took the bag from him. “Thanks, I will give it a try. I hate being sick. I’d invite you in, but the house is quarantined. I have DPD. You know, Deficient Pretzel Disease, but now I can make it ’til my dad gets back from the grocery store with my next Rold Gold fix.”

  “DPD, huh? Unlucky. I knew something was different about you,” Reid said, and raised his eyebrows. I laughed and he locked onto my eyes for a second too long. He seemed to be searching for a clue I had left in my mind. I blinked to shut him out. “Feel better. I’m having trouble finding a reason to go to school without you there.”

  My heart flipped. He turned and walked down the brick steps that were flanked by our dense hedges of prickly holly. The blushed soles of his suede Buck shoes hardly made a sound. His jeans hung off him like a Calvin Klein model. I found myself watching his descending figure with regret. My fever must have been coming back. I felt my temperature rising.

  “Thanks for the delivery service,” I called down to him before he got into his car. My neighborhood of brick houses and tree-lined streets was quiet. I could hear a sprinkler ticking away in the distance.

  “I’ll take a rain check on the tip. I seem to remember you stiffed me last time. You are officially running a tab with me,” he said wryly. I had to laugh.

  The way he mentioned he thought I was different stuck in my mind. I wondered what prompted him to say it. I was probably being paranoid. There was no way he could know about me. The Clarion Program and all its agents were classified. My brain wasn’t thinking clearly.

  I wanted to crawl back under my down comforter. I needed sleep. I drank some more NyQuil, hoping to remember more images of Reid as I faded into the haze of medicated sleep.

&n
bsp; Blair would really freak out if she knew I was entertaining myself by replaying memories of Reid like this, I thought. I never lost my head over a guy. But then, I had never been so knocked over by someone like Reid. It reminded me again of how often I bumped into him. Literally.

  Last week, I smacked into him as I walked out the door of my Latin class. After I caught my breath, I asked if he was lost. He had never been on that hall before.

  “I think remedial math is on the first floor. DOWNSTAIRS,” I said loudly. I had heard a rumor Reid’s PSAT math score was perfect. I liked that my joke was especially ridiculous.

  He held onto my arm a second as he answered, “Thanks, was that your last class?”

  The sparkle in his eye and his witty retort made me laugh. “Touché,” I acknowledged with a smile as I turned and walked away. The hall was crowded but I could feel his eyes on me as I left.

  Reid seemed to know I was still trying to make up my mind about him. I guessed that was why he had not asked me out, I rationalized. I yawned and pulled the comforter over my head. I smiled to myself in contentment as I drifted off to sleep. Little did I know, he was about to extend me an invitation he wouldn’t let me refuse.

  Chapter Two: Turning Point

  Fortunately, no RSVP to Reid’s invitation was expected. Otherwise, he would have known I was not coming. I didn’t feel too bad as it was not a personal invitation. And that was part of the problem. I wasn’t sure he understood me…personally.

  It was obvious Reid was physically attracted to me. I was not dense but attraction was not enough. My choice was for him to leave early or to stay with a deeper purpose. For me to know his flirtation was more than skin deep, he was going to have to prove it.

  This was a risky game. I knew it was unlikely he would remain a contestant. Most high school guys didn’t want to work too hard. They had trouble with sincerity, depth, and commitment. Girls made it worse by often bargaining for a boyfriend at the expense of their own self-respect. I never wanted to shortchange myself. That’s why the “I have a boyfriend” status didn’t mean much to me. I was already happy with my life. Reid had to fit into it without becoming it.

  I didn’t blame Reid for not quite getting why I was keeping him at arm’s length. Our mutual attraction was undeniable and other people were noticing. To his credit, he was making an effort to figure me out even though he was busy with problems of his own: Reid had hurt himself in practice. As a result of the medical splint on his finger, he was fighting his way through crowds of Florence Nightingale impersonators everywhere he went.

  The Florence flock did not relent even when he cut through our soccer practice. Blair and I watched it like a bad car accident. It was too hard to look away, even though I tried. Evidently, white tape was an open invitation for overdramatic concern and grandiose offers of support from the Gramercy girl population.

  “What happened?” Liz asked. She bounced up to Reid as if she was running in slow motion. “Are you OK?” She latched onto his hand to get a better look. She must have held it too tight. I watched Reid grimace as he gingerly removed his hand from Liz’s only to have it snatched up like a fumble by Karen Eubanks. She immediately offered to give him a ride home since it was his right hand.

  “It’s only one finger, not my arm,” he laughed. I couldn’t blame these girls for using his injury as a pretense to put themselves in his path. They were doing exactly what I would expect—angling, jockeying, and waiting. This wouldn’t go away if I dated Reid and it would probably bother me more, I admitted to myself.

  Being the actual source of the bottleneck, Reid was finding it difficult to extract himself. He tossed me a look that asked for help. I gave him a jovial wave and a wide smile as I walked out onto the field. I was enjoying my freedom.

  “What? No sympathy from you, Whitney?” he called. Liz moved in front of his line of vision, blocking me out.

  “Guess I forgot my Hallmark card,” I answered lightly. “Besides, it takes a lot more than a tiny bandage to get my attention.”

  He moved through the crowd and I saw the gleam in his eye at my response. I continued to the field and tried to suppress my racing heartbeat as I heard him following me. Confounding him was too mentally interesting for me to resist.

  “Really? And what does get your attention?” His coffee-colored eyes had a spark of gold that flickered with interest as he caught up to me. He easily caught my arm to slow my pace and I turned to look at him. He acted as if we were the only two people on the field even though I could feel the entire team staring at us. Liz’s dagger eyes were unsheathed, and they carved into my back. This was not a good time to have a serious conversation.

  “Oh, don’t concern yourself with that. I wouldn’t want you to injure yourself further by trying to think too hard,” I retorted. Everything around me seemed superficial. I wanted something real. It was competence and intelligence that impressed me.

  “Injure myself further? You haven’t even taken a look at my finger. What’s the matter? Too squeamish?” he challenged as he held out his hand for me to see. I accepted. I gently touched his fingertip to look at the splint.

  “Whew. Looks like you will live to fight another day,” I said, looking at the bruised finger inside the medical tape. Every nerve ending on my fingertip tingled with an electric vibration. It was not enough, I reminded myself. There had to be more than chemistry for me to risk my emotions.

  “For he who lives to fight another day, chooses the time and the place and the winning way,” Reid finished. My eyes widened with interest into his waiting gaze. He looked pleased with himself. It was not often I heard this phrase said without a Chinese accent. My martial arts instructor, Mr. Parks, drilled me in strategy and I recognized the phrase.

  “Sorry to break this up, but I need my partner,” Blair interrupted. She rolled her eyes at me. Blair hated public displays of any kind. This must have seemed too touchy-feely for her. The rest of the team and our coach were coming on to the field.

  Reid had not stopped looking at me but said, “Thanks, Whitney. My finger is feeling much better now. You have a magic touch.” Reid moved as if he was going to kiss me on the soccer field. I was unable to budge. His eyes mesmerized me. Blair grabbed my arm and pulled me away, disconnecting us.

  We definitely had chemistry. My intuition told me this was more than a surface attraction. I wondered if he was different—I wondered if he was different like me. But that would be impossible, I argued with myself. I would know, wouldn’t I? Of course I would. I had always recognized precognitives in the past. Mr. Parks always said situational awareness was one of my strengths.

  After practice was over, Reid invited the entire girls’ soccer team to a barbeque at his house that weekend with the lacrosse team. Liz’s face lit up like a light bulb.

  “I can’t believe Reid Wallace just invited me over to his estate!” Liz heaved to some of her friends on the team. Oh brother. One step closer to fulfilling her dream, I thought to myself. If she was crowned homecoming queen she could die happy.

  “Estate?” I queried quietly to Blair. “And did I miss something or didn’t he just invite all of us?”

  “You know Reid’s very wealthy, right?” Blair responded. She respectfully left off the “you dummy” from her answer and only implied it in her tone. “But yes, we all got a universal invite.”

  “Hmph,” I said. I didn’t relish the idea of joining a large crowd on Reid’s home turf. I had enough trouble keeping a clear head in his car; I was afraid that being in his house might turn me into an imbecile. I had made a split second judgment call that I would be too vulnerable there. I couldn’t go. “I hope Liz enjoys herself. I’m not going to that.”

  “Because…that would be too easy?” Blair asked. I could see her brow knit with curiosity. I knew what she was thinking. This would be a prime opportunity for me to get a deeper sense of who Reid was—why would I want to pass it up?

  I was afraid I would sound too paranoid if I told her my suspicion that
Reid was defining the ground—one of Sun Tzu’s strategies for winning without conflict. It would be an enormous advantage for him and I was apprised that curiosity killed the cat.

  “Isn’t that reason enough?” I said, casting my eyes toward Liz and her friends. They were jumping up and down with excitement over the barbeque like four-year-olds. “I am not going to surround myself with that for a night.” I heard another one of Liz’s squeals. I didn’t fault her for her personality. I simply accepted the fact it was best for me to stay away from her, and the squealing affirmed it.

  Blair considered the trite scene to our left for a few seconds and nodded in agreement. “Bold move. Stand out by not joining the herd? I see what you mean. Feels a little like a forced meat market.”

  “What can I say? I’m a fox, not a lamb,” I said with a laugh. Blair didn’t push my decision. She knew I had played out my options and selected the best one.

  “You meant to say panther, right?” Blair said with a sly grin. She was referring to the Shaolin animal style Mr. Parks had trained us both in. Blair and I had been practicing kung fu together for years. Our style was epitomized by the phrase to “always expect the unexpected from a panther” and the belief that every choice was part of a long-term strategy. In many ways, it was how I thought about everything.

  Since we weren’t going to the barbeque, Blair came over to my house to hang out that Saturday afternoon. She decided my closet could use some spring-cleaning. Blair meticulously removed each article of clothing and held it up to me. I felt like a living mannequin as she sorted through it all. Clothing was not my strong suit. Outfit coordination was Blair’s forte. I was relieved Blair enjoyed it and I was happy to oblige her.

  “As a general rule, we’re keeping anything argyle, corduroy, seersucker, Izod, and Lilly. God, I love eighties fashion! These are destined to be classics.” Blair held up a pair of madras shorts and threw them back into my closet.