by Kristie Cook
“Ya did? What do ya need me to do?” he asks.
“Just turn it on and make sure it’s plugged into the Internet,” I reply. “You can check your vitals by tonight.”
Russell’s forehead wrinkles. “What am I checkin’?” Russell asks.
I give him a funny look, then explain, “Your vitals—your email and all of the websites you think you need to sweep,” I say, smiling at his anti-geek question.
“Ya know, yer really cute when yer explainin’ yer mouse potato stuff to me,” he says, grinning.
Just then, Freddie shows up and sits down with us. “Freddie!” I smile in greeting.
“Sup, Evie? I heard you fainted at the Seven-Eleven last night. How’re you feeling?” he asks with concern in his voice.
“You heard what?” Russell and I ask in unison. Russell stops chewing his pancakes and looks from Freddie to me accusingly.
Avoiding Russell’s eyes, I ask lamely, “Where did you hear that, Freddie?” I had hoped that I wouldn’t have to tell Russell about anything that transpired last night, but I can see by the look on his face that I have some explaining to do.
“These two guys named JT and Pete live in my dorm. I think they’re sophomores. They said they saw you at the Seven-Eleven and helped you when you passed out. They said you might be anorexic or something because you hardly ate anything and that’s why you fainted,” he explains between bites. “I wanted to call you, but I don’t have your cell number.”
“I’ll give you my number so you can give me the four one one on all the dirt blowing up about me. I wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark,” I reply in exasperation.
I program my number in Freddie’s cell, and then giving it back to him, I look at Russell. “I was going to tell you,” I lie to Russell.
“Red, never play poker. Ya can’t bluff to save yer life,” Russell says flatly, finishing his breakfast in silence.
“I just wanted something normal … just to sit with you and have a normal conversation, eat a normal meal, talk about normal things, just you and me … chill,” I say softly. “Please don’t be bitter.”
“I should be the first person ya tell. Don’t make me the last to know. It doesn’t sit well with me,” he says, and his brown eyes snap at me. “Are ya okay?”
So much for chill.
“I’m fine, and you’re right, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you,” I say as contritely as possible. “I didn’t eat much yesterday, but I’m not anorexic!” I add, turning to glare at Freddie.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” he says, holding up both of his hands in surrender.
“Hmm …” Russell says appraisingly, looking me over, “ya don’t look anorexic to me.” I smile at him in relief that he isn’t going to stay angry. “Ya should eat that oatmeal, though.”
I take a huge bite of oatmeal and chew it demonstratively, “Mmmm … oatmeal … my favorite.”
“Evie, are you going to do that portrait for your professor?” Freddie asks, finishing off his eggs while Russell’s brows draw together again in a frown.
“Freddie, you want to stop throwing me under the bus here?” I ask him sarcastically.
“Wut? I just wanted to let you know that I’m still available to babysit,” he says, grinning.
Make that my evil twin brother, I think.
Seeing that they’re both interested in my answer, I sigh and say, “Yes, I’m going to do it. I talked to Buns, and she said that Mr. MacKinnon is extremely good at what he does and it’s an honor to have been asked.” Russell’s jaw tightens, so I immediately relent and say, “But, just to be safe, I’d like one of you two big, strong men to come with me, you know, for protection. I have to run to class now. I’ll see you guys at lunch.”
Standing, my chair moves as Russell pulls it out for me. “Thanks,” I say, looking into his warm brown eyes.
“I’ll see ya at lunch. Try to stay out of trouble … please,” Russell says warily as he brushes his fingers over my cheek.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply and leave for class.
Hurrying to my first Latin class, I discover it’s very similar to the high school curriculum I’ve already taken. Immediately following Latin, I go to the science building for my nine o’clock physics class. While walking down the science hallway to the lecture hall, I experience the distinct butterfly fluttering that can only mean that Reed is nearby. I see him as I walk into the classroom; he is seated at a desk taking attendance for the professor.
As I sign in, I say, “You didn’t mention that you were Dr. Farrow’s TA.”
“I know,” he replies evenly. “How did you sleep last night?” he asks me with his eyes searching mine.
“Umm, okay,” I lie, my pulse picking up a little. I’d woken up a couple of times the previous night damp with sweat from reliving the nightmare … premonition.
He frowns at my answer as if he knows that I’m lying, but he doesn’t mention that as he says, “There is something that I failed to think of when I was with you last night. I need to discuss it with you.”
“Okay,” I reply, stepping aside so that other students could sign in. “Can you give me a hint?” I ask, because I want as much warning as possible when Reed is involved in the conversation.
Reed watches my eyes as he says, “I want to go with you to the Seven-Eleven and see if anything else transpires while you are in there.”
Instantly, I feel ill. “You want to see if I have another premonition?” I ask warily. I had secretly hoped to avoid ever going back there. I was thinking that if I avoided all convenience stores for at least a decade, maybe longer, I should be okay.
Reed’s expression is one of concern. “That is one reason for going back,” Reed says gently.
“Another would be to hang around and see if something happens to fulfill the first one?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“That would be the second reason. I don’t want you going there without me, ever … do you understand what I am saying?” he asks me, searching my face, probably looking for any sign of dissention.
“Let me get this straight, what if I got a craving for … I don’t know … Twinkies in the wee hours of the morning and all that was open was the Seven-Eleven. You’re saying I should wake you up, even if you’re crashed out, just so that you can go with me on a treat run?” I ask skeptically, trying to gauge his level of commitment to this course of action.
“Genevieve, Twinkies are really bad for you, but if you had to have one, then yes, that’s what I’m saying,” he smiles at my scenario. “Do you really like those things?”
“I’m not going to tell you if you’re going to tease me, but I will say that it’s suspiciously inhuman not to enjoy a Hostess snack from time to time,” I reply coyly. “I’ll buy you one. You’ll love it, I promise.”
And I’ll be doing the world a favor at the same time, I think, remembering him without his shirt on.
“When can you go?” he asks me with a sweet smile on his face.
It takes me several breaths to answer him because I have never seen him smile like that—it’s intoxicating, especially because I never thought he would smile like that at me.
“Umm … after practice. I’m supposed to have a meeting for this thing I’m doing with Brownie and Buns. I can say I’m picking up treats and will meet them back at our dorm afterward.” I explain, looking down at the desk so that I can keep my mind on track and not be distracted by him. “We have to be careful not to let them tag along. I don’t want them anywhere near that place if what might happen actually does happen.”
He nods, and then asks, “What thing—what are you doing with them later?”
“Oh, just making some mischief … plotting mayhem, the usual. I better take a seat, class is going to start,” I say, trying not to explain what I’ll be up to with the girls. That’s between us, covert. “I’ll see you after practice.”
Then we’ll see if something is coming for me, I think with a shiver.
&nb
sp; I’m in big trouble in physics class if Reed is going to be there everyday. I can hardly focus on anything but him: the way he looks, the way he moves like a predator, the way his green eyes sparkle when he catches me watching him. When the class is finally over, I all but run from the room because I need to get away from Reed before I do something ghastly, like throw myself into his arms.
***
The day speeds by quickly, and I walk to hockey practice with the girls after having dinner with Freddie. Practice goes really well. My speed gives me an advantage over some of the other girls, and I quickly move into the position of attacker. We do some drills, going over some of the rules and situational plays. We also work on formations for insertion plays. When practice is over, I explain to Brownie and Buns that I’ll meet them back at the dorm.
“I made a bet with Reed the day he helped me with my knee—I said it was broken; he said it was bruised. He won, so now I have to pay up,” I say, being less than honest.
“What did you bet?” Buns asks interestedly.
“A Twinkie—we’re going to the Seven-Eleven to get one. Do you guys want anything? I’ll bring it back for our meeting,” I say, hoping they won’t want to come with us.
“Yeah, I want a Twinkie!” Brownie says with enthusiasm.
“Me too, sweetie. Are you going to be all right with Reed?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “I mean, he’s not going to bore you to death is he?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in a little bit,” I say, hoping that I’m correct.
Apprehension steals into my consciousness when I turn and see Reed waiting for me at the end of the field. Suddenly, this is not sounding like a banner idea. I swing my stick back and forth along the grass as I walk to him, trying to dispel the feeling of doom that descends on me. When I come abreast of Reed, he falls in step next to me, his lacrosse stick resting on his shoulder as we walk in companionable silence until we get to his car.
He opens the passenger door for me, holding it while I slip into the seat. I have a death grip on my stick, and when he tries to take it from me to put it in the trunk, I won’t relinquish it. He squats down by my side so that we’re eye to eye.
“Genevieve, what’s wrong?” he asks with a look of bewilderment. “You’re not still afraid of me, are you?”
“I need my stick,” I say.
“Why?” he asks me as his eyes search my face.
I don’t look at him, but hold the stick tighter. “Because I need it,” I reply evasively.
Reed frowns and asks, “What do you intend to do with it?”
“Whatever I have to,” I say in a near whisper, feeling my heart race as adrenaline floods me.
Reed’s forehead wrinkles. “You mean if something happens at the Seven-Eleven, you’ll need your stick to defend yourself? Is that it?” he asks, gently probing for the reason that has me holding on to the stick.
“Yes, I need it,” I state, chewing my lower lip.
“I see,” he says, standing up.
Closing my door securely, he opens the trunk to put his gear in it. He walks around to the driver’s side and slips in and starts the engine. Reed lets the engine idle for a moment before turning it off. I look at him in surprise to see that he appears torn.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t consider that this might be hard for you. You’re afraid of going there, aren’t you?”
I grip the stick in my hands tighter. “Reed, the last time I was there, I ended up unconscious on the ground. I’ve had nightmares about it. If that’s going to happen, then yeah, I’m scared … I’m terrified.”
“But I’ll be there with you, you see? So you have nothing to fear,” he says arrogantly.
“Oh, so you can stop the premonitions from coming? That’s fantastic. How are you going to do that? I’m interested in how this all works,” I ask him with sarcasm dripping from my every word.
He frowns, “Your stick isn’t going to be much help against the visions,” he says pointedly. “Genevieve, I can’t stop what’s coming, but I’ll be there. Nothing will touch you; I won’t allow it.”
“Oh, you won’t allow it. Do you always get what you want, Reed?” I ask because he sounds so sure of himself and his strength.
“Yes,” he replies frankly.
“It seems to me that I don’t have a whole lot of choice in what’s coming.” I say, challenging his assurance in this matter. “What is it that you want? Because I’m not sure why you’re bothering with this—with me. What would it matter to you if something did happen to me?”
It’s probably nothing to him if I get hurt. I mean, why would he care?
His face darkens, like the thought of something happening to me is repulsive. “We’ll figure out what this is all about, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll protect you,” he says with resolve.
“Why? Why would you protect me? Reed, the last time I checked, I was barely tolerable to you. Don’t tell me I’ve grown on you?” I say mockingly, not believing it for a second. I’m just a pawn in this, and I had better remember that if I want to survive whatever is coming.
Starting the engine, Reed would’ve shifted the car into gear if I hadn’t put my hand on his. Seeing his tense jaw, I know I’ve said something wrong. I’ve upset him, I think. He studies my hand covering his for a moment, and when his eyes lift to mine, I see something in his eyes: a longing—a need.
“Genevieve, what if I told you that you’re not the only one who feels the fluttering, weightless feeling in here,” he says, indicating his abdomen, “when we’re together?” My heart leaps in my chest as I search his face for signs that he’s teasing me, but he appears absolutely serious. Looking grim, he adds, “That day at orientation, I felt you before I ever saw you, and then I saw you, and I knew that you are … and I wanted to … you don’t want to hear this.”
“No, this is exactly what I need to hear from you,” I say anxiously.
His eyes narrow, “I wanted to destroy you,” he says, and a shiver goes through me, “and I wanted to take you in my arms and love you, and I wanted to tear you apart, and I wanted to crush anything that would harm you, all at the same time.”
He puts the car in gear, speeding out of the parking lot with the engine of the car racing. He won’t look at me. He is trying to get a grip on his emotions. Taking a turn too fast, my body slams up against his shoulder; my hand shoots out reflexively to rest against his chest as I try to brace myself from sliding all the way onto his lap.
I look up. His face is very near mine, and the contact of my hand on his chest burns. Down shifting the car, he slows it, and I push myself off of him to sit back in the seat. His jaw is tense, and he seems angry or maybe something else … like the admission of being attracted to me cost him something.
“Have you felt this way before—this pull toward someone else?” I wonder aloud, not completely understanding what he has told me.
“Never,” Reed says forcefully.
“Never?” I ask, and he growls in response.
I sit back in the seat in confusion over what he just said. He feels me too, like we’re connected in some way, I think, looking over at him.
Emotions that I have never felt so intensely before begin to rise to the surface. I feel elated and smug to be the only person who has ever made him feel this way. I try to suppress the giggles that bubble up in me as a result of the elation. I put my hand to my mouth, turning toward the window to hide my face from his gaze, but it is no use. I never can contain my emotions. When the first giggle escapes me, I try not to look at Reed because I am afraid of his reaction to what he must believe is callousness on my part.
“You’re laughing at me,” he says sullenly.
“No.” I reply, trying not to let another giggle escape.
“Yes, you are,” he replies in irritation.
“Not at you, near you,” I reason, still struggling for control.
“This is funny to you?” he asks me, gritting his teeth.
“Funny? No, i
t’s just, I thought you hated me,” I reply pointedly.
“Hate is a strong word. It was more that I didn’t know what to do, given the range of emotions I felt. It was extreme frustration,” he reasons.
“Are you sure it wasn’t loathing?” I ask.
“Not loathing,” he responds.
“Let me get this straight. You have Evie radar?” I ask him, and he is puzzled for a second until I explain “Reed Radar” to him.
“Yes,” he affirms sourly.
“It’s annoying, huh?” I ask him knowingly, having been living with it, too.
“That’s one facet of it,” he says and pulls into the parking lot of the 7-Eleven.
I sober immediately while gazing at the red, white, and green-lighted sign through the windshield. I would never have considered this establishment to be menacing, but right now, it’s like peering into the gateway to one of the levels of Hell in Dante’s Divine Comedy.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, my mouth going dry as I stare at the establishment.
“We go in and we see if something happens,” he replies.
“That’s it; that’s your plan?” I glance at him mockingly.
“Yes,” he says, not taking his eyes off the storefront.
“Can I go on record and say that I think that plan sucks?” I ask.
“Why is it a bad plan?” he asks.
“Because, don’t you think we should do some recon, get a layout of the place, locate all the exits, stockpile some weapons, and wear some body armor?” I ask, appraising the storefront.
“You have your stick, right?” he asks ironically.
He’s teasing me!
“Reed, what if someone comes in with a gun or something? What am I going to do with this stick then?” I ask.
“Genevieve, I can handle that, remember? I can be very persuasive,” he smiles.
“What if your persuasion doesn’t work? What’s plan B?” I urge him.
“It will work,” he says.
“It doesn’t work on me,” I point out.
