November 7, 2010

• nanowrimo, day seven.

  i made it through the first week!
  (...i wonder if anyone but my sister tiffany is reading this...)

  haha. 

  

  In my head, I half-smile at his transparency and say, “Now, wouldn’t you like to know?”

  In reality, it comes out like this: “Definitely not. He and my best friend sort of have something going on between them, and there’s no way I’d get in the middle of that. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Lucas raises his dark eyebrows and smiles slightly. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or taken aback by my honesty, but either way, it doesn’t affect the outcome.

  “Are you always so honest?”

  I look up to the ceiling, blowing up my bangs as I exhale upward. “It’s a curse. You ask me a direct question, you get an honest answer. Period. It’s not something I enjoy, but I can’t exactly help it.”

  What I can only interpret as amusement lights his big hazel eyes. “What happens if you try to lie? Does your nose grow?”

  “I am not Pinocchio,” I say, deadpan.

  “I know,” he smiles. “But everybody can lie. It’s human nature.”

  I make a frustrated sound in my throat. “I wish I were able to perform any sort of deceit, even just the slightest blurring of the truth to keep my dignity intact. However, I physically cannot lie. A lie, even if it forms in my head, will never come out of my mouth. It’s been that way since I was born. The words will literally not come out. Okay?”

  “Okay.” His smile is still in place as I turn around. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Please don’t,” I discourage him as I am walking away.

  His quiet chuckle behind me tugs gently on a thread from the protective sweater I’ve knitted around the outside of my heart.

   

  “Jonathan,” I call out, and he looks up quickly from the dough he is kneading to catch my gaze.

  “Yes, mon ami,” he responds, dropping his eyes back to his work, though I know he is listening.

  I sit down at a stool at the huge kitchen island where he is creating edible art, and put my dirty dish on the granite in front of me. “I brought you my plate.”

  Jonathan looks up at me quickly. “You did not come in this kitchen just for that.”

  “No,” I sigh. “I didn’t.”

  He smiles and drops his eyes again. “So tell me what it is you came to tell me. Is it about Zahari?”

  The way he says her name makes me smile. “No, Jonathan. It’s about me. Try not to sound disappointed.”

  Jonathan chuckles, but it does nothing to my stomach. “Georgia, I adore you. You are a treasure of a friend to me, and I care about what you have to say. But that woman, she makes me… crazy.”

  “I know. She’s beautiful, right?” I coax him.

  He looks up and cocks an eyebrow. “You think so?”

  “Yes, but not like that,” I burst out laughing. “I am definitely heterosexual, sweetheart. That’s what I came to talk to you about.”

  “You came in here to discuss your sexual orientation with me?” he teases.

  “Absolutely not,” I shake my head. “More like… the object of said orientation.”

  “Ah,” he smiles. “Why don’t you talk to your sister about this?”

  “Because, she probably already knows how he feels. And that just takes the fun out of it for me, you know?” I frown.

  “You women are so complicated,” he shakes his head, laughing. “You say you wish you could know what we are thinking, but when you have a direct link to our thoughts, you shy away because you realize that you really do not want to know.”

   “Basically,” I smile ruefully, resting my chin in my hands.

  Jonathan is gentle with his words now. “I understand, though. I would hate to be in other people’s heads all the time. I’m grateful to be a counselor instead.”

  “What does your gift entail? Are you just this good at talking to everyone?” I ask, looking at him quizzically.

  “Yes, but I also can figure out the underlying cause beneath anger or sadness,” he explains. “A trauma in your childhood, a broken relationship: these sorts of things are all easily revealed to me.”

  “Isn’t that kind of like being in people’s heads?” I scrunch up my face, confused.

  “Not quite,” he smiles. “It is more like empathy, or an understanding. And it is very vague. I will not know the exact event or the details of the problem until I ask you. But usually that knowing helps me to ask the right questions to get to the issue at hand.”

  “That’s very helpful, I think,” I smile back at him. “You should be a psychologist when you leave here. You’d be so rich and famous, and I’d be able to say, ‘I knew him when he was at freak school, making beignets to woo his gorgeous wife’.”

  Jonathan’s eyes wrinkle at my insinuation. “Wife, hm?”

  “I can totally see it,” I tell him. “You two are perfect for each other.”

  He hesitates, and I know he is trying to respect the details of my gift – or curse, whatever you want to call it – by not asking a direct question.

  “Just ask me,” I sigh.

  “Do you think… she can see it, too?” he asks, and his voice is the most unsure I’ve ever heard.

  “Yes,” I smile broadly as I hop down from the stool. “I do think so.”

  “Really?” he grins.

  “Really truly,” I assure him.

  “Hmm,” he says, and I know I am losing him to thoughts of her.

  “You could ask Nadia to be sure, and if I’m wrong, you’ll just have to marry me,” I plant a tiny kiss on his milk chocolate cheek and skip out of the kitchen.

  “Don’t tempt me like that,” he calls after me, and my laugh echoes down the hall.

   

  Nadia, I think to myself. Where the heck are you?

  “In here,” she says as I am passing the door to the library.

  I smile and remind myself that sometimes, having a telepathic sister is not really all that bad.

  “Why am I not surprised to find you in here?” I say as I plop into the giant old leather chair next to hers.

  “Because both of our noses live in books,” Nadia shrugs.

  “You’d think we’d enjoy our bizarre version of reality,” I muse, “instead, we love to escape it just like anyone else.”

  Nadia smiles. “Sometimes, I’d kill for boring normalcy… like, a house on a hill and a big hairy dog, and no one’s thoughts but my own.”

  “You know, if you had all that, you’d just want something crazy like telepathy or the ability to fly,” I point out.

  She laughs. “You’re probably right.”

  “Nadia, I know I’ve asked you this before, but what does it feel like to hear all those thoughts at once? Like, describe it for me.”

  “Well…” Nadia stretches her legs out in front of her and closes her eyes. “I imagine it’s what life for a football team would be like if all of their fans’ simultaneous screams could rush through the TV’s airwaves and hit their ears. If they weren’t used to it, they’d lose the game. But as they practiced sorting the slew of voices, they could learn to pick out the encouraging words from fans who love them and want them to succeed, and could shut out all the rest.”

  “That’s a freaking awesome take on it,” I declare. “I can picture a certain quarterback taking my words of love and support very seriously… maybe responding with a marriage proposal right there on the spot.” I lift my shoulders upward, squeezing them toward my face.

  Nadia laughs. “Trust me; there are a lot of encouraging words that I get that I wish I’d never heard.”

  “I don’t know how I’d handle that,” I admit.

  She shrugs again. “You get used to it. But I don’t know how I’d feel about having the truth pouring out of me at every turn. I mean, not that I’m a compulsive liar or anything, I just keep some things to myself.”

  “It’d be nice to have that option, I think,” I tell her. “But like you said, you get used to it.”

  “I could get used to those gorgeous eyes of yours,” Nadia smiles at me. “They’re currently hazel. Is there any particular reason for that?”

  She plays dumb, which would make me mad if I didn’t already want to tell her. I know she’s trying to give me privacy inside of my head, even though I want her to know.

  “It’s probably because I was thinking about my conversation Lucas,” I shrug.

  “And?” she nudges.

  I frown. “And, he’s very attractive. So what?”

  Nadia gives me a ‘duh, stupid’ look. “So, he asked you out on a date during your first conversation.”

  “He did not,” I argue.

  Nadia beams. “Yes, he did. He wants to take you to see Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

  “Oh, please, Nadia. People say crap like that all the time when they find out they have something in common. It doesn’t mean he actually wants to go anywhere with me. Besides, he doesn’t even know me,” I swat a dismissive hand at her.

  “Maybe not, but he wants to,” Nadia says coyly.

  I give her a look. “Is that a fact, or speculation?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “What do you think?”

  There is no possible way that attractive man wants me in any way, shape or form. So, I really don’t want to know if it was a date or not – better to not get my hopes up and oh my God please tell me it was a date please, please, please--

  She takes a deep breath, deciding. “I think you want to know.”

  I open my mouth to argue, and can’t.

  “He has been watching you since he first got here, since you two first locked eyes.”

  “We only ‘locked eyes’” —I make quotation marks with my fingers, mocking her—“for like, two seconds when Lydia introduced us, which was only because Zahari and I were walking by when they came into the lobby from outside.”

  “Wasn’t there something completely magical in those two frozen seconds?” Nadia prods unfairly.

  I choke on my choice of words, before the realest ones come out. “I thought about his face for hours when I tried to go to sleep. It was very cliché, and very stupid, and I don’t want to harp on it anymore.”

  “Okay,” Nadia holds her hands up, like a white flag. “I won’t nag you about it. But we both know that Louise will, so keep your guard up around her.”

  “I always do,” I promise.

  “Then how did she see you naked this morning?” Nadia raises her eyebrows.

  “I picture awkward things on purpose.” I grin. “That’s the fun of having friends who read minds.”

  “You’re evil,” Nadia laughs.

  I’m about to make a really good sarcastic comment when Charlotte dances stylishly into the door, cutting me off right away.

  “Georgiaaa,” Charlotte sings, grabbing both of my hands and pulling me out of my chair. “We have a formal dance to plaaan.”

  “How did I get roped into this?” I laugh as I stand on my own two feet.

  Charlotte is still dancing as she stands in front of us. “Because, you’re my roomie, which means you have to go along with my craziness.”

  “In that case, I think you need to move,” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Don’t be mean,” Charlotte frowns, still swinging her hips. “You know I make you play along because you’re the closest thing to a sister I have. If you reject me, I’m going to have to ask Zahari, and you know we’re just gonna fight the whole time.”

  I sigh, accepting defeat. “Is Lydia still playing rap music upstairs?”

  “It’s Black Eyed Peas now,” Charlotte nods to a beat in her head, to the affirmative. “She has such good taste.”

  “Indeed she does,” I agree. “Now let’s go plan a party.”

  “Did somebody say ‘party’?” a voice from the nearby bookshelves interjects.

  All three of us turn our heads, startled.

  A boy about my height walks out with a thick graphic novel clutched in his hands. “What kind of party are we talking about? Because, I’m ready to get down with my bad self.” He snorts a laugh, and his hand twitches at his side as if he’s getting ready for a high five.

  Lenny.

  Leonard Clifton (the Third) is the sweetest boy you will ever meet, but I just get the feeling that he has pulled a Helga Pataki and made a full size statue of my body out of my used gum.

  Yeah, I chew a lot of gum. And this kid has got a lot of crazy.

  I swallow hard, trying to make my honesty monster behave itself.

  “A formal dance,” Charlotte speaks up for me. “Nothing is official yet, so keep it on the down low, if you please, Leonardo.”

  Lenny pushes his thin silver glasses frames further up on the bridge of his nose, and chuckles nervously. “Sometimes when you talk, you sound like a rap song, Charlotte.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” Charlotte beams a saccharine smile his way, twisting and pushing me out of the door in one sinuous motion. “See you around, Lenny.”

  “See you,” he says, and his tone is wistful.

  “Oh my goodness, you and your lyrical voice, Charlotte,” I am laughing as she pushes me up the stairs toward our room.  “He is so in love with you.”

  “You’re in denial, gorgeous,” Charlotte snorts. “You’re the one he’s made a shrine to in his bedroom closet.”

  “That is just a nasty rumor that Louise started, and you know it,” I wave a finger at her.

  “I started that one.” She laughs out loud. “You go ahead and keep on telling yourself that, Georgia.”

  “I will keep telling myself that, Charlotte Reese Braxton,” I say, “otherwise I will jump into the shower after each time he looks in my general direction from feeling so creeped out.”

  “Thank God you don’t say this stuff in front of him,” Charlotte laughs. “He would never ask a girl out as long as he lives.”

  I sigh and scratch my arm. “Maybe I’d be doing the female gender a gigantic favor.”

  • 10:54 pm
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