4

We packed our things, and I broke up the modular tiles I’d used to map out the dungeon on the table. We returned those, and everything else we’d used, to its place.

There was a steakhouse nearby, and that’s where we usually ate lunch on Saturdays. The food was excellent, the portions generous and the help was polite. Mostly college kids, rather than high school brats. Thinking of my calling them ‘kids’, at my venerable age of sixteen, brought a brief smile to my face.

Everyone noticed how quiet I was. They were chattering away at each other, the usual catching up, in which I normally participated. Chris was also quiet, and I noticed her stealing glances at me. It was sweet, really.

But I wasn’t brooding over Chris. I was thinking of what she’d said. She might have been just fifteen, but I was the last person to look down upon mere youth. That redhead was certainly perceptive. I’d noticed it over the year and something since her father brought her into the group. She didn’t miss much. Unlike me… if she really had a crush on me, I’d been completely clueless. That was a very bad sign, but it wouldn’t surprise me. I was generally clueless where anything female was concerned.

It wasn’t that lack of perception that had me thinking so hard. It was what she’d said – ‘You never just ask something. There’s always a purpose.’

Was it true? Did Chris have it right? I knew I was selfish. Hell, in many cases I made deliberately selfish choices. Essentially, it was mostly true. I did not like small talk. I didn’t… perhaps I was misconstruing her intent.

I went through the meal like an automaton.

“Mr. Reeves,” someone said. “Logan!” I looked up. Everyone was laughing, and even Chris was grinning widely.

“Hey! Nobody calls me mister outside of class,” I said, and felt even sillier.

“Do you have an extra helmet?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” I replied, puzzled, “always”.

“Good,” he smiled suddenly, “you and Chris need to talk. Bring her home later. And drive carefully. Go on you two,” he waved, “shoo. A good thing I know you’re not the suicidal type,” he added, which translated as ‘don’t you even think about harming a hair on her head’.

Chris, mortified and very red, kicked him in the shin and ran off. I nodded and ran after her.

She didn’t run very far. She just stood in front of a clothing store’s display staring into the glass, hugging herself.

I touched her lightly on the shoulder and said, “Ice cream?”

She swiveled, stared at me wild eyed and grunted, “Huh?”

“Hindeed. Ice cream. My treat,” I pointed at the counter, five meters away. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Oh,” she breathed out sharply, doing interesting things to her chest. “I like cherry,” she licked her lips suggestively. Or maybe I was imagining things. Her face had regained its liveliness, and she was smiling. So whatever she was so angry or conflicted about, it probably had little or nothing to do with me.

“I favor lemon, myself,” I took her by the arm and led her over to the counter, and we picked our cones. I left a twenty, waving away the change.

“You know,” she giggled suddenly, “who’s going to pay for the meal over there?” she pointed at the steakhouse, “it always goes on your credit card. They’ll end up bickering for hours, each one trying to pick up the tab,” she laughed, and I joined her. I tried not to laugh out loud too much. I usually sounded like a braying donkey, and Lee for one never failed to remark on it. I’d actually practiced laughing in private. Now that was really pathetic, though it did work – when I remembered to do it right.

But she was right, and the thought was amusing. I’d never had to be cheap about the little things, and since I had my own money now, and lots of it, it was probably even more pronounced. When I was present, I usually picked up the tab.

We sat and ate our ice cream, nibbled, licked and bit, in comfortable silence, exchanging looks.

“You were thinking,” she broke the ice. “We could all see the cogs turning and twisting. I could almost hear them spinning. Care to talk about it?” she asked carefully.

“Yes. In fact, that’s what I wanted to do, talk about it with you. It’s about what you said, remember?” I asked.

She blinked in confusion, “What I said? What do you mean?”

“You never just ask something. There’s always a purpose,” I repeated, trying to mimic her voice and failing miserably. “What did you mean by that?”

“I… uh,” she bit her lip and stopped to think for a moment. “I meant exactly what I said, literally. It’s like… you exude purpose. Everything you do is so… so precise. Not machine-like, that’s not what I mean, but, well, I think you could call it ‘sharp’. There’s an edge, and it never goes away. People notice. You’re always on, well, unless you’re thinking deep thoughts,” she giggled nervously. “You’re so perfectly proper, it’s like you ingested the ‘guide to polite society’. The way you talk, it’s like something out of a book. You use words nobody else does. I mean, did you hear what you said to that poor guy at the counter when you asked for ice cream? ‘I’d like to purchase a pair of cones,’ for god’s sake. I mean, really Logan, who the fuck uses the word ‘purchase’?”

She stared at me for a moment. “The guy looked lost for a moment. He just didn’t understand you. You’re like a sixty year old sometimes, not sixteen. It’s frightening. You’re almost alien.”

“Do I frighten you?” I asked, with the same measure of care she had earlier, when she’d questioned me about my ‘deep thoughts’.

“No, not really. I mean, not unless I was standing between you and something you really wanted,” she laughed nervously and reddened. “I mean, look, I’ve known you for more than a year. You’re always the supreme hero. Your characters, I’m not sure if you noticed, have nothing evil or really negative about them, and they’re always willing to stand up for their convictions, kill and die for them. You’re like, so upright,” she raised an eyebrow, asking if I got it.

She was right, but it wasn’t something that came about accidentally. It was a conscious choice.

I returned a nod. “Yes, I see what you mean. But what about you, what do you think and feel about this? I mean, I asked you out because I was thinking of girls, and I noticed all of a sudden that there was a pretty girl I could talk to about something other than the weather right there, someone I liked. With me, decision and action go hand in hand. If you’re not interested in an alien… you know the old saying?”

“What’s that?” she jumped on the question, “what old saying?”

“A woman marries a man and expects to change him, a man marries a woman and expects her to never change. I don’t think I’ll be changing any time soon, not in any way you’d consider ‘normal’. Do you see?” I said softly.

“See? What are you trying to say? Marriage?” she seemed confused.

“I’m giving you an opportunity to bow out,” I explained. “I’m interested in you, and if you don’t feel the same, you really don’t have to waste Monday evening. I understand that with everyone there, you were under a lot of pressure.”

Boy, but was I smooth. At least I didn’t mention that the pressure was all her fault… which it probably wasn’t.

“No! That’s not what I meant,” she stumbled over the words, “you’re not weird in any sort of bad way. The guys at school are like…, well, you know. Assholes. Do you have any idea what sort of compliment is an ‘I like you’ from you? That you think I’m smart? Even dad looks at you as something special. I mean, he works for your dad, and I’ve heard more out of him about you than about Alex. Asking me out, you’ve just made his bloody year!” she exclaimed.

“And that is exactly what I meant when I said pressure. I’m not trying to date your father,” I smiled, “and you forgot the beautiful part.”

“Yeah, right,” she frowned, “beautiful. I’m fatter than Miss Piggy,” she spat out.

“More like a cow,” I deadpanned, looked very deliberately at her tits, “I mean, you’d give Bill some serious competition in the weight department.”

Her eyes went really wide and her mouth opened yet wider. “Why you…”

I ducked aside, dodging the remnants of the cone. I was splattered with a few droplets of cherry juice, but I’d survive. The shirt might not.

“Just kidding! Mercy!” I clasped my arms around my head to protect it, “Just trying to be agreeable! Less alien, more asshole…” I peeked from between my arms, and while she hadn’t tried to hit me or throw anything else, she was frowning quite darkly. Obviously, jokes about her weight were not welcome. I really should have figured that out on my own. I’d managed to mess things up, as usual.

I let my arms down, and looked at her. “I’d like to apologize, and I promise that I’ll never joke about your weight again. I do, however, wish to offer you a bet – and please believe, I’m perfectly serious. Will you listen and think about it, seriously?”

Her frown deepened. I enjoy betting, and I always bet on sure things. I’m pretty sure she’d noticed that I never lost a bet.

“I’ll listen,” she pursed her lips and leaned back, obviously distancing herself.

“What would you consider your ideal weight? What do you want to weigh?”

I couldn’t believe the number she gave me. Did she want to die? What bitch was digging sharpened heels into her back, tormenting her about her weight? She wasn’t anywhere near fat.

“Impossible,” I spat out. “If you were a meter thirty tall, that would make you thin. For… how tall are you, exactly?”

She started at the ferocity of my response, and replied without thinking, “One sixty four. So tell me, oh learned one, what is my ideal weight?”

I pulled out the laptop, and checked for a connection. Goodness praise, there was a net to connect to. She was laughing, low rippling sounds of amusement, which was ever so much better. Even if she was laughing at me.

The first five sites I found were all in inches, lbs. and feet, so I went to onlineconversion.com, and we had to measure the elbow breadth to learn that she was medium frame. She was ticklish, so it left her giggling. All the better.

The ideal number we finally came up with left her stunned. I made sure to avoid mentioning that ‘ideal’ was a misnomer, conveniently tacked on to a table that dealt with mortality rates and originated with life insurance companies… so they really weren’t relevant for teens.

“So, you’re three pounds overweight. Woe is me,” I mock-commiserated. “You poor thing, destined to drown in rolls of fat. Oh, sorry. Here I am, already breaking my promise,” she elbowed me, and I grunted softly.

“Seriously, just tell me who the bitch who has been driving you nuts about imaginary fat is, and I’ll off her,” I looked into her eyes.

She was obviously nervous, probably because she realized that I was mostly serious. She looked away, hemmed and hawed, and wouldn’t say.

“My dear Christine, you are not in any wise overweight. You are curvy, soft,” I drew a finger over her collarbone, and she sighed in response, “and magnificently well endowed. The bitch is flat, isn’t she?”

She was obviously surprised.

“Sweet, please rewrite history. She, or they, are simply jealous. That is all there is to it. Not to mention pure mean. Are you halfway convinced?”

“I don’t know,” she quirked a lip. “What did you want to bet? What was that all about?”

“Ah, never mind,” it was my turn to look away.

“Sex, huh?” she was really smiling now, so happy that I couldn’t help but smile back and concede.

“Yep. I wanted to have my way with you. I may be alien, but I’m still male. And that’s absolutely all I’m going to say about it.”

She tried to tease it out of me for another five minutes, but eventually realized that I just wasn’t going to tell her.

“You never did answer my question,” I said to fill in a moment of awkward silence.

“Question? What question?”

“I’m not interested in dating your father, remember. Now that there isn’t an audience smiling and whispering around us…” I raised my brows.

“Idiot, what do you think this is, if not a date?” she tried to kick me in the shin, but I was so used to people trying that kind of thing that I automatically dodged. Reading that sort of body language came naturally after years of practice, and she wasn’t very good about not telegraphing her moves.

“Ah uh, no violence. I don’t know, really. You tell me?”

She moued and shook her head, probably at my intractable stupidity. “Think of it as a pre-date simulation, ok? And yes, I wanted to go out with you. I was just so, well, astonished. I mean, it’s like I was off your radar screen or something. I wouldn’t have said yes if it was just my dad, you know. It’s just, you could have anyone, I mean you’re so confident. Is it just a façade?”

“No, not really Chris. I am confident. I don’t know about the ‘could have anyone’, but with enough effort, I’m sure I could get somewhere with most anyone. Female, that is, of breeding age,” I ignored the LOOK that earned me, “my problem was always that I didn’t have anyone I was interested in. I mean, you look at guys? On the street?”

“Well,” she lowered her eyes, “I suppose so. Sometimes,” she shrugged.

“And do you crave heart to heart talks and wild sex with all the studly ones?”

“No!” her head flew up, and she gave me that look you direct at a particularly colourful toad.

“Same thing here. I mean, compared to other guys, I’m walking around half blind. When I walk around with friends, they’re constantly whistling, talking about that great looking babe, and ‘wouldn’t mind doing her’, you know,” I smiled weakly.

“Right,” she gave that word her best schoolmarmish impression.

“Well, I don’t notice. It’s like something’s missing there. Oh, girls I see constantly, I do notice. But it’s still a distant regard, like appreciating things in a museum? I have all the normal urges, but I feel so distant. I can’t really explain.”

“And I’m different,” she stated/asked.

“Yes. Which I only noticed today, or I’d have asked you out last year, I’m sure.”

“I remember everyone teasing you about lacking a girlfriend, and you always said you just didn’t have the time for one,” she seemed skeptical.

“Oh, sometimes that was true, but you know, for the important things you can always make time. Mostly, there just wasn’t anyone I wanted to spend time with. I can do the social dance, but it’s an effort and I don’t particularly enjoy it. Do you see?”

“Em, not really. I mean,” Chris tilted her head, “I actually like talking with people, especially my girlfriends. I suppose you’ll say that’s typical of a girl?”

“Well, I’m sure there are females who would rather not talk, but they’re a rare breed indeed,” I raised my hands to hold off another attack. “I could never understand talk for the sake of talk.”

“That’s that focused part of you, you’re always after something and working on it,” she snorted, “so terribly intense. But there is something different about you today, you know. It’s like some pressure has gone off. But you seem even more focused. Is something up?”

I couldn’t help but start in surprise. Damn, but she must have been watching me very closely for the last year. Or she was a wizard herself.

“Well, yes, you can say that. I’ll tell you all about it,” I said, not quite sure if I was telling her the truth, “but not now. You know, you’re awfully perceptive.”

“No really,” she demurred, “you’re just not very good about lying, unless you’re concentrating on it. I don’t think it comes naturally to you. Which, I suppose, is a good thing.”

“Does it show? I mean, when I’m concentrating on a lie?” I asked, suddenly worried. I was generally truthful, as telling the truth was the easiest way to lie, but when I did resort to outright deception I tried very hard to make it impenetrable – unless I wanted someone to see through it.

“No, no,” she reassured me, “you always concentrate on what you say, so it’s impossible to distinguish. I really liked the way you made Veronica to change glass frames. Though convincing her that she looked myopic that way wasn’t very nice. At least the frames you picked were stylish. What was that bet all about, anyway?”

“Oh, Jon was going on about how difficult it is to deceive the psychos, how perceptive they are, how kind and nice… it was nauseating. Mom’s birthday was coming up, so I thought I’d shut him up and pick her a nice present, something sparkly from Glitter.”

“You know, that’s disgusting,” she was trying to give me a hard look, but couldn’t quite manage it. “So I’ll be getting lots of sparklies?” she batted her lashes, trying the seductress look on. It really didn’t suit her… she looked liked an innocent schoolgirl that she probably was, screwing her face in a silly manner.

“So, I should have known. You’re more interested in my pocket.”

She looked stricken. “No, I… I just…”

“Hey relax,” I caught her right hand in both of mine, cradling and massaging it.

I started to play with her fingers, which was oddly… nice.

“I can smell a gold-digger a mile off, and I know you’re not one. Remember, I asked you… without any prompting. Though if you were interested, you really should have given me a kick a few months ago…” I looked at her in question.

She blushed, and looked away. “I just couldn’t. And don’t start on me with societal norms and bullshit. Remember, whenever we met my dad was there? Always?”

So that answered that question. Whoo, some subtlety at last. So she’s had a crush on me for quite some time. I was careful, however, not to relax further. Chris NOTICED things, and that could get awkward.

I may have only started paying attention today, or as she said, she’d just come up on my radar screen, but I was in desperate need of allies of another sort. I really needed the basic wizard sight spell, to see who I might be able to recruit. Chris would be perfect.

A secret of that sort has a terrible weight. People are built as gossip machines. Without someone to talk to about things, the pressure builds. As far as it went, I mostly trusted her, or rather, just couldn’t see a reason for her to betray me, if she was another student wizard. She’d be in exactly the same boat. Now just pray… no, hope, that she had the potential.

“Hey,” she touched a finger to my head, “you’re thinking again. What’s up?”

“Part of that thing I’ll tell you about later,” I answered, and this time I believed and hoped that I was telling the truth, “it will be a major surprise, I promise. Now, why don’t we start walking around, windowshopping? This place is getting a mite crowded.”

It wasn’t really, but a woman with three noisy kids was two tables away, and there was a couple sitting close enough to overhear whatever we did not whisper to each other.

Chris proved amenable, and we spent half an hour walking about, hand in hand, commenting about the merchandise we saw in the nasty, sarcastic manner teenagers have. I laughed more than I had the entire week. Possibly month.

We even managed to buy stuff. I got her a nifty pair of sunglasses and a hat, and she insisted that I looked ever so cute with a bandanna on, so naturally I had to purchase it.

The bike ride over to her place was interesting. The only one I’d ever had ride behind me was Lee, and she’d been something of a stiff about it. Chris put her hands around me, perhaps applying a bit more pressure than she needed to. It might well have been the first time she’d ever climbed a bike. She was very closely pressed against me, and her tits made for an interesting feel.

Matt, Christine and the other Felvers live in an apartment tower much closer to the business heart of the city, a drive of nearly forty minutes, even with little traffic. Which means that I had a lot of time to think of things, if little incentive to do so.

I wished her luck and kissed her on the tip of her nose, and we determined that I’d pick her up Monday 19:00. I watched the door swing closed behind her, and drove back home.