yesterday was...

fighting with my sister over the white cheddar cheez-its (because they're just that good), 

grilled ham and cheese & batman: the animated series with my brother and sister at one in the morning,

playing dance central with my sister and my dad (and kicking ass),

my brother's foot not being full of gangrene or tetanus thanks to him stepping on a rusty nail (and my dad handling taking him to the hospital), 

reading so much shortpacked! that i had dreams about the characters, 

being a couch potato and not showering until afternoon just because i could.

 

today is...

a bright red tongue from a mountain dew-and-cherry slushie from turkey hill that my future sister-in-law bought for me,

sore limbs and sweaty hair from feeding my newfound dance central addiction,

a glorious sunset mixed with usher songs and the smell of french fries in my car,

the ravens beating the freaking bengals down,

feeling 90% less sick,

finally getting completely caught up on the shortpacked! archives

and actually getting some laundry done.

 

I met my goal of 50,000 words, everyone (all two of you).

Now I don't have a distraction from this.
I'm glad I'm going back to work tomorrow.

My chest aches.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“How much longer?”

“An hour,” Lucas informs me, unfazed by my annoying, childish questions.

“Still?” I whine. “I forgot how freakin’ long this drive feels.”

“I just did it about two weeks ago,” he says, his eyes on the last crowded highway before we are to reach our destination. “I definitely remember it being this long. Especially since I was alone.”

I made a sad face. “I would shoot my own brains out, having to make this long of a drive all by myself. That’s like torture.”

He smiles at my ever-present melodrama. “The first few hours weren’t so bad, but about halfway in I was getting pretty stir-crazy.”

“I can only imagine,” I shake my head. “That was a pretty brave endeavor, home skillet.”

“Some things are just worth it,” he says, and I see his smiling profile. “But I just drove for 8 hours, that doesn’t exactly make me a superhero.”

“It does to me,” I sigh. “I am an OCD control freak, and driving to places I am not familiar with makes me very, very anxious.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“So, what kind of stuff does your family do for fun?” I ask.

“My dad, Heath and I love fixing cars. My uncle Mark is – I believe – a mechanic-savant, and he owns and runs a very successful body shop. Dad buys old cars and us Browning men all get together in Uncle Mark’s garage and fix ‘em up on the weekends.”

“Why do you think your uncle is a savant?” My curiosity is piqued.

Lucas emphasizes his words with his hand. “He can listen to the engine for like, ten seconds, and know what’s wrong with the car. I’ve never seen anything else like it.”

“That’s an awesome skill to have,” I smile. “Are either of your parents Gifted?”

“Well, before I met you, I always just assumed my dad was a really honorable, honest guy… but I’m beginning to wonder if maybe you two have the whole truth-teller thing in common,” Lucas shrugs.

“That would be cool,” I smile. “I’ve always wondered if I am the only person in the world who is not even allowed to lie.”

We fall into comfortable silence, with Charlotte and Nadia sleeping soundly in the backseat and the music turned down low. The sun is almost finished setting, its pink-orange radiance is filling the sky and making magnificent masterpieces of the bare trees. The other cars around us are moving at a decent speed – like us, they are probably full of people who are ready for a lovely holiday at home. But, chances are, many of them are dreading the fake smiles and forced courtesies that being with extended (or sometimes even immediate) family brings. Maybe some of them are going to have a lonely Thanksgiving, at a bar getting drunk, or sitting in front of the TV. Maybe more still are spending the holidays alone by choice – desiring the peace and quiet that comes from the rest of the world fading away for a while, lost in their own traditions.

“Your thoughts aren’t always so eloquent, are they?” Lucas interrupts my musing.

“I’m sorry?” I turn to him.

“You, narrating the lives of those around you… are you always such a writer?”

“Not always,” I assure him. “But sometimes, it’s also in a British accent.”

He laughs. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

I grin at him. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard me narrating my life before. I do it all the time; it just comes naturally to me. I can’t even help it.”

“Weirdo,” Lucas teases.

“Oh, this from the man who packed up and moved South just because he saw some girl in his dreams,” I shoot back. “That’s totally normal and sane.”

“Touché,” he grins.

“Exactly,” I smirk, victorious. “Though, I for one appreciate said moment of insanity… so long as you don’t get bored with being with me, and suddenly ‘see’ yourself with some bleached-blonde tramp out in the ghetto of California. That would be your last vision, I think.”

“Is that a threat?” Lucas is amused by my violence.

“No, I’d say that’s a promise,” I correct him with a sure-of-myself smirk.

“That’s very Batman of you. But, I promise you that there will be no tramp in California for me…” he smiles, still looking out at all the traffic.

“I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

I purse my lips, thoughtful.

“Would it totally throw a wrench in your pre-seen plans if I flat-out said I didn’t want you that way?” I ask, keeping my voice as even as possible.

He looks over at me and raises one eyebrow. “I’d say so, yeah.”

“Oh-ho-ho, such words from Mr. Confidence… ‘I see the future, not all possible futures. My gift is very specific,’” I try to mimic his deep voice, but I can’t reach his octave accurately. “So, if it’s so specific, you would know for sure that I wouldn’t turn you down, and therefore it couldn’t really throw a wrench in plans that are already going to happen…”

“Please stop there,” he holds his hand a few inches above the steering wheel, as if he doesn’t know whether to reach out and smack me, or just keep driving.

“I can’t! This is good stuff, baby, try and keep up.” I let countless nights of listening to Louise’s gorgeous Southern accent creep into my fast-talking Northerner dialogue. “And furthermore, really, by you telling me that we end up together being old prunes with the sweet tea and all that, could you possibly have negated the original definition of reality? I mean, how finite is this whole thing? Are there loop holes?”

“Georgia,” Lucas chooses option three: to run his hand through his hair. “It’s dark out. All I see are lights.  A good percentage of these people – probably the ones you muse are spending lonely, drunken holidays with no company but their alcohol – have probably already started their Thanksgiving drinking. I’m tired, and starving. And you really want to make now the time you talk to me philosophically about shit like vision loopholes and whether or not my telling you things negates them?”

I blink twice and stare at him. “All you see are lights? What the hell are you smoking, anyway?”

“AUGH.”

I sink down in my seat, chagrined. “I’m sorry, Charlie Brown. I promise I won’t pick up the football this time.”

“I’m kind of… I don’t know what the word is when I’m driving, and have been for hours,” he sighs.

“Bitchy?” I offer.

“Yeah, I guess that fits. And I really don’t know if my telling you negates the vision. I really don’t think so. But I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

I look over at him and give him a tiny smile. “So, by telling me, you put some of the guessing back into life, which is the fun part, right?”

He turns his head and the passing lights flicker in his eyes as he smiles back.

 

“Georgia, wake up,” I hear a female voice demand.

When I do not oblige, I feel a palm strike my cheek. My eyes dart open.

“What the hell?” I groan.

“We’re like, ten minutes away.” Charlotte is way too close to my face.

“Charlotte, back up. I adore you, but you smell like road trip,” I push her back.

Nadia is yawning and stretching. “Thank God for the navigation system in this thing,” she says mid-yawn. “It allowed me to sleep instead of playing map-reader.”

“Yes, and thank God our father is a tech geek,” I sigh. “I’m so glad he’s always been into GPS.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to rely on you for directions,” Lucas looks right at me and says. “Your mind is like a map drawn by a four-year-old that still chews on their crayons.”

“Hey, hey,” I hold up one index finger. “I know the area around which I live. That’s about it. Hence the anxiety when I’m in uncharted territory.”

“Uncharted by you,” Lucas argues. “That is what a GPS is for, sweetheart.”

“Don’t Han Solo me, nerf herder,” I scoff. “I have my hang-ups. Deal with it.”

“Han Solo wasn’t good with directions either,” Lucas points out. “I mean, he ‘made the kessel run in less than twelve parsecs’?”

“Yeah, but parsecs are a unit of distance,” I roll my eyes. “What a d-bag.”

“I will never understand the crap that George Lucas makes canon. Like, The Phantom Menace, for instance. If I wiped that entire movie from my brain, it still wouldn’t be enough.”

“I think it should be wiped from existence.” I agree.

“You two were made for each other,” Charlotte rolls her eyes.

“Thank you,” we say in unison, and then laugh.

“FIVE MINUTES!” Nadia squeals, pointing to the little screen on our navigation system.

“I can’t wait to smell our house’s smell again,” I sigh happily.

“God, you’re weird,” Charlotte laughs.

“He knows, He made me that way,” I toss back.

“True,” Charlotte holds out her hand for a high-five.

I give it to her; only because I know I’m going to be throwing open the door to my parents’ house in less than 300 seconds.

 

“You had better take good care of my girls, Lucas Browning,” Lydia is scolding him as he is piling our bags into the huge toolbox he has emptied for the occasion.

I take a look at the giant, shiny red monster of a truck that this boy owns, and it has never been more appropriate for ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)’ by Big & Rich to be blaring in my head via just my left in-ear headphone. If I could have let out a whistle, now would be the perfect time.

Lucas gives her a stiff military salute. “I swear on my life, I will do my absolute best to keep them safe from all harm,”

“I’ll hold you to that, boy,” she crosses her arms. “I mean it. I get your life if anything happens to them… or you. I do love you too; I just haven’t known you as long as I’ve known my girls.” She reaches out and ruffles his hair, laughing.

“I understand,” he smiles. “We’ll see you next Monday, all in one piece.”

Lydia holds her arms out, and he bends to give her a hug, laughing.

We all take turns embracing her, and I linger in her arms as Nadia turns the key in the ignition.

“Whatever happens… let it happen,” Lydia instructs me, kissing my cheek as she pulls away.

“I will,” I smile at her, glad for her blessing.

“Have a wonderful trip!” She yells.

Nadia honks the horn and Charlotte waves out the window of the front passenger’s seat.

“We will,” Lucas and I say in unison, and laugh awkwardly because we didn’t mean to.

Lydia looks back and forth between us for a second before nodding once.

I don’t know what that means, but I guess I’ll take it.

I try climbing up into the massive truck bed myself, but of course I am nowhere near coordinated enough.  Just before I can heave a frustrated sigh, it comes out as a squeak as Lucas puts his hands on either side of my waist and hoists me up onto the tailgate with absolutely no effort whatsoever.

“Thanks,” I say, half-sarcastic.

“Welcome,” he grins, climbing up swiftly and easily to join me.

He slams the tailgate shut and pops his head in the open back window. “We’re ready whenever you are,” he tells Nadia and Charlotte.

“I was born ready, bitch,” Charlotte says, pulling on these ridiculously huge black sunglasses.

“In other words: hold on, because we’re leaving right now,” Nadia laughs, honking the horn loudly as she starts down the massive driveway.

Lucas and I are sitting across from each other, our legs stretched out in front of us, parallel to the others’. I smile at him as the wind starts to pull at my high ponytail. He smiles back, linking his hands behind his head, like he’s already ready for a nap.

I push my other headphone in my ear, knowing we probably won’t be talking for a little while, and enjoy the low timbre of Trace Adkins’ singing voice, mixed with his beautifully redneck lyrics – it seems so exceptionally fitting as we race down the back roads made of gravel and red clay. I inhale deeply, and it hits me how much I love my warm Southern home, and how much I just can’t wait to bound in the front door of my Northern house.

I am just about to fall into a comfortable, lazy half sleep when I feel something hit my left foot. My eyes pop open, and I realize that Lucas is kicking me. I pull my headphones out and give him a what the heck do you want? face.

“We’re back here by ourselves,” he hollers over the roar of the truck engine and the rush of wind between us. “I want to talk to you.”

“I can’t move once I’m back here, and I sure as heck ain’t yelling back and forth like this!” I tell him.

“What do you mean you can’t move?” he scrunches up his face, amused.

“I mean, once my spot is chosen, and the vehicle is moving, I go nowhere. I’m as safe as they come – get used to it!” I cross my arms.

He grins and scramble-rolls recklessly over to where I am sitting, so that he nearly knocks me over. “Is this better?” he says, just loudly enough for me to hear him.

“Please don’t do that again,” I hold a hand to my heart. “You are going to make me have a stroke.”

“I really don’t want to do that,” he laughs. “So I guess I can obey, even though I’m not going to hurt myself. I’m a bit smarter than that.”

“Whatever you say,” I shrug.

“So, what should we talk about?” he asks loudly.

“What? I thought you were the one who wanted to talk to me,” I laugh.

“Oh, that’s right. Really, I just wanted to sit beside you,” he grins unapologetically.

“That’s fine,” I smile back at him. “I like sitting by you… So I’ll get the ball rolling, then. What’s your favorite Skynyrd song?”

“Well, ‘Free Bird’ is number one, of course,” he says, “but I like ‘Simple Man’, and ‘Ballad of Curtis Loew’ a lot.”

“Mm,” I nod. “I think ‘Down South Jukin’’, ‘Whiskey Rock-a-Roller’, ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ and ‘Gimme Three Steps’ are pretty amazing, in addition to ‘Free Bird’. Truth is, I think if I didn’t like that song, I’d be shunned from my family or something.”

“I can imagine. So, what other kind of music do you like?” he asks.

“That, my friend, is a loaded question,” I laugh. “I like a bit of everything. My collection is very eclectic.”

“That makes two of us,” he smiles. “My friends find me extremely weird because I get into Imogen Heap as much as I do Jay-Z.”

“I’m not with you on the second half,” I shake my head, “But Imogen is a genius. Her voice is beyond incredible.”

“It’s haunting,” he nods. “What’s your favorite food?”

“French fries,” I tell him. “Anytime, anywhere. Can’t get enough of them. I am also very obsessed with chicken. And I like it fried, grilled, rotisserie style – but only white meat, which is why most chicken lovers think I’m weird.”

“That is weird,” he admits. “The dark meat is really good.”

“Yeah, I know,” I shove him. “And, I make the greatest grilled cheese of all time. I don’t know why it’s so amazing, I just know that it’s perfect. I have everyone I know addicted.”

“You’ll have to introduce me to this famous grilled cheese at some point,” he challenges. “My sister will probably argue that hers is better, though. It’s not really fair to beat her, though… it’s the only thing she knows how to cook.”

“I know how that goes,” I laugh. “Although, I’m pretty damn good at making breakfast. Pancakes, French toast, bagels loaded with cheese, bacon and eggs…”

“Oh, please stop,” he groans. “I am so hungry. Are we going to get breakfast on the road or what?”

“If Nadia values her life, we are,” I joke.

“What’s your favorite drive-thru to hit?” he asks, like it matters.

“Probably McDonald’s,” I laugh. “I saw ‘Supersize Me’ but it didn’t scare me enough to swear it off… though it should have.”

Lucas makes a face. “That movie was sick. Speaking of which… what’s your favorite movie?”

“That list is pretty long…” I scratch my head, trying to pick my top three from my jumbled mental list.

“Ah, Star Wars; my dad was obsessed. He passed the love on to my brother and I. Come to think of it, I still have the bed sheets.”

“Wait until you see my room,” I grin ruefully. “I love the newest version of Pride and Prejudice – Keira Knightley made an amazing Elizabeth Bennet. And you already know about my Disney movie addiction… how about you?”

“Episode IV is my favorite, but I really like Back to the Future, and Ferris Bueller’s Day off. I’m very much into eighties movies. I think John Hughes was pretty brilliant, for his time. More recently speaking, though, I really like Christopher Nolan’s version of the Batman films. Then there’s the X-Men trilogy – plus Origins. And of course, Lord of the Rings. I’m obsessed with this obscure, really underrated movie The Fall which practically no one has heard of—“

I reach out and grab his forearm. “You mean like, the crazy amazing Lee Pace as Roy Walker The Fall?”

His eyes light up at my recognition. “Yes… It’s absolutely incredible.”

“I know, right? I mean, just the way it was filmed was brilliant. But the colors, the costumes, the storyline… I love it all.”

“It’s definitely in my top ten.”

I place my hand back in my lap. “What’s your favorite holiday?”

“I love the winter holidays, no doubt; Christmastime at my house is amazing. But we all get really into the fourth of July. We make a week of it at my mom’s parents’ house in Tennessee – tons of food, loud music, real fireworks…”

“That sounds incredible.”

Lucas smiles, pleased. “It’s the best.”

“Yeah, Independence Day doesn’t get much attention at our house. All of our love gets poured into Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Poor, neglected July 4^th,” Lucas shakes his head. “What a shame.”

“Such a tragedy,” I sigh dramatically.

He chuckles at my melodrama. “Listen, I know these are really basic questions, but I want to get to know you and how your mind works.”

“I kind of figured,” I say. “My favorite colors are red, green and pink, before you ask. What is… or are… yours?”

“Green,” he grins. “And before you ask – it really is green. It always has been. I promise I didn’t steal that from you so I could look good.”

“I believe you.” I smile.

“So, what was your first car?”

“I still have it. It’s my little Beetle. I’m in love with it. It’s the only car I’ve ever seen myself in. And my parents made it happen.” I grin, thinking about how they surprised Nadia and I with cars for our seventeenth birthday.

“Really? Lucky woman,” he laughs.

I purse my lips. “What was your first car, son-of-a-lawyer?”

“I inherited the family Camry,” he grins.

“Really? Wow, I’d have assumed out of the two of us, you’d be the spoiled child,” I smirk.

“No, really, the spoiling came on my twenty-first birthday when my father looked me in the eyes and said, ‘you can either make an ass of yourself with your friends and hate yourself the next morning… or I can buy you a brand new car, since the Toyota is starting to give out on you. It’s your choice – you’re a man now, son. I know you’ll make the right one.’” Lucas imitates his father’s supposedly lower timbre.

“I take it you chose the big, shiny red monster over a killer hangover?” I guess.

“You would be correct,” he smiles. “I’d been drunk before and didn’t want to be again, but a bunch of my friends were trying to convince me to let them throw me a huge party – an excuse for them to buy booze and get wasted. I was only tempted for a split second – and then my dad offered me my big, beautiful Ford, and there was just no contest.”

“Did you name her?” I ask, teasing.

“My best friend back home, Ben, wanted to call her Bertha. And his older brother, Jake, said we should name her Ol’ Red…”

“…like the Blake Shelton song?” I muse.

“Exactly like the Blake Shelton song,” he grins. “But I just ended up calling her ‘baby’ all the time. It’s not too original, but it’s stuck in my head that way now.”

“Like… ‘whoa, baby!’ and ‘slow down, baby’ and ‘baby, I’ll love you forever’?” I make fun of him.

He grins ruefully. “I guess so,” he shrugs. “I don’t really know why I call my truck that. It just happened.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Charlotte’s head appears at the back window, which means she’s climbed into the spacious backseat. “You guys hungry for breakfast yet?”

“YES,” we both say emphatically at the same time.

“Good, because the first fast food sign we see is getting attacked,” Charlotte informs us.

“Awesome,” Lucas nods.

“Seriously. I can’t wait.” My stomach growls like a beast living far back inside a cave, adding dramatic comedy to my point.

 

“I love breakfast!” I yell as we walk back out to the truck with grease-laden brown paper bags in our hands. Two men in flannel shirts turn their heads to give me a weird look before chuckling as they open the door to go inside.

We all climb into the truck bed, opening our presents like a salty, fattening version of Christmas morning.

“Here, here,” Charlotte hollers, holding her croissant sandwich out to touch to mine – her gross version of ‘cheers’.

“I’ve been dreaming about this for an hour,” Nadia sighs, taking a bite out of her little cinnamon roll.

“I know just what you mean,” Lucas agrees, his mouth full of hash browns.

“You know what I’m dreaming about? Thanksgiving dinner,” Charlotte sighs like she’s talking about eternity in heaven. “I can’t wait to eat until I pass out at the table.”

“And the best part is, that’s our goal. To be lazy, and stuff ourselves full of carbs... God, this is such an American holiday,” I laugh.

“I guess the Pilgrims were the original fatties,” Nadia grins.

“I think stuffing yourself with carbs is healthy,” Lucas declares. “I mean, you only live once. As long as you don’t kill yourself with it, I say, eat the damn mashed potatoes.”

“AMEN,” Charlotte yells, holding one of her hash browns out for another greasy ‘cheers’. I will never understand it.

Lucas obliges, nodding his head proudly like he just made the ‘I have a dream…’ speech. I laugh at them, and hold out my piece of fried potato to join them.

“So, how is this gonna work anyway? I know you guys live like, a half-hour apart and all, but whose house are we going to first?” Charlotte asks, her mouth full – as usual.

“We?” Lucas laughs. “We are going to Nadia and Georgia’s house, and when the Freebirds’ dinner is over, I am going to my house.”

Disappointment mixed with relief rolls across my stomach, but I try and keep it to myself.

Of course, I don’t do a very good job.

“Unless, Georgia, you want to come with me…” Lucas asks, his voice calm and nonchalant, but I can feel the hopeful expectation behind his serenity.

“If your family doesn’t mind an extra guest, I can come with you,” I shrug, trying not to panic. “I really don’t want to be a surprise, either. I like my presence announced.”

“Like a princess,” Charlotte says in a really bad fairy-tale narrator voice.

“Yes, exactly. Like royalty, or the first lady. Roll out the red carpet and all of that mess,” I wave my hand like a pageant queen.

“I promise I will call my father and sister and let them know that I am bringing a very important guest to dinner,” Lucas agrees. “I mean, I don’t know what will happen if your presence is not made known. The world may literally implode, and I just can’t take that risk.”

“As well you should not, being the noble gentleman that you are,” I affect a British accent, before ruining the prim and proper sound with a barking laugh. I take a sip of my Dr Pepper so that I don’t choke.

“What about Black Friday? Please tell me you guys aren’t those friggin’ insane people who get up at two in the morning and leave by three to go shopping…” Charlotte visibly shudders. “Because, my mom was a few years back, and it was torture.”

“No, Charlotte, we decorate for Christmas on Black Friday,” Nadia explains. “We sleep in, play Christmas music, bake cookies, and make our place look like the inside of a gingerbread house.”

“Man, that sounds perfect,” Charlotte sighs. “The most we ever did was put up this little two-foot tree.”

“What a sad childhood you must have had,” I frown. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ll make up for it this year. You’ve waited eighteen years, so your nineteenth should be the best ever.”

“HERE, HERE!” Charlotte yells, holding up her cup.

This time we all chime in our agreement.

 

“How many hours left?” I whine in Lucas’ ear.

This time we are sitting with our backs to the truck cab, where the huge toolbox full of all our stuff rests.

“Six,” he answers, just like he had ten minutes ago when I asked. “It’s still six hours to go, Georgia.”

I growl as loud as I can. “Will you please distract me, so that I can concentrate on something other than the fact that the sky looks the same as it has all morning, only brighter now?”

“What would you like me to distract you with?” he asks innocently, but I hear the mischief in his hopelessly sexy voice.

“Nothing you wouldn’t want Charlotte to see,” I give him a look. “Because you know as well as I do that she’s going to check on us every time she gets bored.”

“I won’t be doing anything with you I wouldn’t let Charlotte see, unless you had my ring on your finger, and Charlotte was nowhere around,” Lucas promises. “You have my word on that.”

I decide that, despite the downward loop of gravity loss the roller coaster in my stomach has just taken, comedy is the best response. “Yeah, it would be pretty awkward to have Charlotte with me on my honeymoon.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Lucas laughs once.

“Wanna find cloud shapes?” I ask him.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Haven’t you done that before?”

“Yes, but it’s been a very long time. I was probably… six.”

“So, once every eighteen years won’t kill you,” I smile, leaning back and staring at the vast blue sky.

“Your eyes are hazel,” he says, and I realize he is staring at me instead of the puffy white cumulus clouds above us.

“It means I’m happy,” I explain. “It’s always been that way.”

He gives me the gift of my favorite smile. “Interesting.”

“Why?” I ask, turning to face him.

He searches my face. “It’s just that… when you’re happy, we match. It’s interesting.”

“Maybe that’s just how God intended it,” I shrug. “It seems pretty appropriate, if you think about it.”

“Oh, it does?” his smile tells me he’s caught me admitting more than I wanted to.

I flip the pressure right back on him. “What did you see in your dream that made you come to Autumn Creek?”

His eyes widen, and I know I have him, now. He takes a deep breath and turns back to face the sky.

“It was at the most tumultuous point in our household. My sister was threatening to go move in with my grandparents if my dad pulled the plug, my brother was telling him not to make mom suffer because she’s a vegetable and that isn’t the person we know and love… I didn’t know what to think, so I hid in my room and went to bed in the middle of the screaming match.

“I tossed and turned for a few hours, but when I fell asleep, I fell really hard. I had a series of dreams that I knew didn’t mean anything; they were black and white and felt like fog on a highway in my head. But this one stuck out because the colors were vivid, and everything was crisp and clear. I saw the Autumn Creek sign, and the boarding house, and all of the trees with their leaves colored. I saw Lydia shaking my hand, and laughing as she realized that was silly because she hugs everyone.”

He hesitates, now.

“What else?” I push, feeling like the next part is very important.

 He runs a hand through his impossibly gorgeous hair, and sighs again.

In his eyes there is a perfect miniature reflection of the endless blue-and-white above us. “I saw you walk by, and our eyes meet, and I saw everything else completely fade into the background. I’m not making this up; it really was like a bad chick flick. And then after that, more dreams followed, even more vivid than my moving into Autumn Creek.”

“Vivid… how?” I ask, although I’m kind of scared to know the answer.

Good thing I hate surprises.

Lucas cringes, and I can tell whatever he has seen must be pretty intense. “Are you sure you want me to tell you anything else? I mean, it’s kind of intimidating to me, and I’m the one who saw it.”

“Do you see my death?” I ask bluntly.

“Absolutely not,” he scowls.

“Then I want to know.” I shrug, like anything else couldn’t be that bad.

“You’re going to think that I am huge creep.”

“It depends on what you tell me,” I tease, trying to calm my raging heartbeat.

“Thanks for the reassurance,” he frowns and smiles simultaneously.

“Truth-teller, remember?” I point to myself.

“Yes, I remember,” he assures me. “Well. To put it in the plainest way, I saw us. Like, us being together.”

I sit there, looking down at my hands, and for once, they do not shake.

“Oh. That’s all?” I ask, prodding.

“I mean together,” he emphasizes the word again.

I make a face as the word settles in my brain, and turn slowly to give him a horrified look.

“Oh God, you perve,” I shove him away from me.

“No! Not like that,” he growls. “I mean, together. Not just like two people who are standing in the same place at the same time. I mean, like two people who were created for the sole purpose of being in the other’s life, forever, getting old and senile and drinking tea on rocking chairs on the back porch watching their grandkids play. That kind of together.”

We are both quiet as that idea sinks in… I wonder if it’s already a solid foundation in his mind and heart, or if he’s just as blown away by that idea as I am.

“I think it’s a mixture of both,” he says, quiet, but loud enough for me to hear over the noise of riding in the truck bed.

“So, you had a dream that told you that you have to come to Autumn Creek because I live there, and I’m your soul mate,” I ask, trying to comprehend what he told me. “And you couldn’t have accomplished this bumping into me on one of my many trips to Westminster? You had to move to North Carolina?”

“It happened exactly the way I saw it happen days before,” he explains. “I don’t know that we would’ve met – at least this soon – if I hadn’t listened to my gut and drove like a bat out of hell to backwoods North Carolina.”

I puff out my cheeks and blow out my breath slowly, composing my inner scramble.

“So, you saw us meet. You got to see it happen before it did. And I walked by you and didn’t realize how significant it was.”

“Yes, you did. I saw my face in your head several times before we had any real conversation.”

“Maybe,” I purse my lips, “But what if I just thought you were nice to look at?”

“Because you don’t think of people who are just ‘hot’ that often after an encounter. It may cross your mind once or twice, but they don’t get stuck there.”

“Was I stuck in your head?” I smile, turning to search his hazel eyes for what he is feeling right now.

He looks at me, directly back into my gaze. “Before I even saw your face, before I ever saw you in person, you were all I could think about.”

“That’s… heavy,” I say, pulling on a strand of my hair.

“I know.” Luke coughs a laugh and I can tell he’s trying to clear the tightness that’s in both of our stomachs.

Silence falls over both of us, and I take the opportunity to stare at the gorgeous landscape passing us by – the autumn trees are finally starting to lose all of their leaves, and the naked branches are breathtaking in contrast with the gloriously blue sky.

“It isn’t fair,” I finally say.

“What isn’t?” he frowns.

“That you have all this knowledge, and I just have to trust you,” I frown back. “I want prophesies to be confirmed! I want to be able to read your mind!”

“You wanna know what’s on my mind, right now?” he asks, and his voice is low – it makes me realize how close he is to me. His crooked smile draws my attention to his lips, and sends my heart into a frantic rampage.

Lucas twists his torso, so that his left hand is holding the right side of my face. I keep my hands in my lap and take a deep, slow breath, desperate to slow my frenzied pulse. He leans in and I can smell his distinct scent again – the one that takes my mind to places it shouldn’t go – and feel his breath on my face. He tilts his head just a bit to the side, and gently presses his lips to mine.

My heart seizes, and completely stops beating. If he were a paramedic, I’d be pronounced dead on the scene. Deep, slow breathing is completely forgotten as I sharply inhale. I reach up and grab my favorite shirt of his up near the collar, and push my chin forward, trying to get closer to him but not sure of what to do. He breaks the seal our lips have made and laughs against my mouth.

“Damn,” he breathes, and I realize his chest is heaving as hard as mine.

“Damn,” I nod my agreement.

“I don’t even…” his voice is low and rough, he shakes his head, and his hand is resting on the side my neck.

“I don’t, either,” I breathe, willing my stubborn fingers to loosen their grip on the fabric of his plaid button-down shirt.

“Why don’t we just…?”

“Okay,” I nod, closing my eyes and initiating another kiss.

He laughs on my lips again, and gently grips my shoulders, pushing me back as carefully as possible.

“I meant to say, why don’t we just catch our breath?”

“Breath? Who needs breath? Chris Brown and Jordin Sparks lived without it for an entire four-minute song. I think we can do it for a little while. We’re cooler than they are,” I try to convince him.

“Slow down, killer,” Lucas grins.

I frown.

It’s not really fair that you give me something I’ve waited for all my life, and I find out it’s completely awesome, and then you tell me I can’t have any more.

That’s just… mean.

“You can have as much as you want,” his grin is deeper and I can tell he is beyond pleased. “I just recall you saying something about how you don’t want Charlotte spying on us…” he jabs his index finger upward several times in succession.

My eyes get huge. I crane my neck, and there she is at the back window, smiling a Spongebob-creeper-smile and waving slowly.

“Oh, my lord. Mind your own business!” I yell at her, shaking my fist.

“You are my business,” she says in her best mom-voice.

“Since when?” I scowl.

“Since we became roommates, and I’ve had to put up with all of your ridiculous crap,” she says, wagging her head.

“My ridiculous crap?” My jaw drops.

“Oh, yeah, like I suck and you’re perfection. Don’t kid yourself, sweetheart, you are not the easiest person to live with. That’s a warning for you, pretty-boy. You’ve got your hands full right here. Wait, maybe I should word that differently…”

I reach up and shove her face back from where it came, and she is laughing like her jokes are the greatest in creation.

 

I wake up lying down in the truck bed with my face pressed to Lucas’ chest, the sun high overhead, the clouds thicker and grayer than they were before.

A shiver rushes through my body, and Lucas’ arm tightens around me. I sigh, holding him like I would my pillow, warmer beside him than I’ve ever been in my life.

“Hey,” I whisper, pulling on his shirt.

“Mmm?” is all I get out of him.

“Hey. Lucas. Luke. Lucas Samson Browning,” I say in scratch whispers, tugging at the plaid fabric until he yawns loudly and blinks once.

“What is it?” he asks, stretching.

“I have a question,” I stage-whisper.

“So, ask it,” he growls.

“You’re grouchy when you wake up,” I tease.

“When I am awakened, yes,” he rolls his head to give me a dirty look.

“Don’t be such a baby. This question is vital,” I squeeze him.

“If you weren’t so freaking adorable, I think I may have punched you already,” he frowns. “What is your vital, life-altering question that you had to wake me up from a very nice sleep for?”

“Um…” I grin shamefacedly. “How many hours ‘til we’re home?”

“Are you serious?” he whines.

“Dead serious,” I pout. “I need to know.”

He looks at his black watch and growls. “Three hours.”

“Yes! That’s less than I thought!” I squeeze his waist tightly and he laughs.

“You’re such a child,” he teases, hugging me back.

“You can go back to sleep now.”

“Why thank you, darling, for your permission,” Lucas rolls his eyes.

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart,” I smile with all of my teeth at him.

He closes his eyes and when he feels me staring at him, he growls again – I hear it rumble in his chest, right at my ear.

“What?”

“I’m not tired now.”

Lucas rolls his eyes and closes them again. “Oh well. Go back to sleep. It makes time go by faster.”

“But I can’t sleep if I’m not tired,” I whine.

“Yes, you can,” he nods. “Besides, you aaare sleepy.”

“No I’m not. I’m warm, but I’m not sleepy.”

“Well, stay there. Because I’m tired, and you’re keeping me warm, and I’m the one you woke up. I answered your life-changing question, I think you owe me some body heat.”

I waggle my eyebrows and he chuckles, low in his throat.

“That is not what I meant.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” I grin, snuggling into him again.

I am very comfortable, and trying to clear my mind to get tired again, and just about to fade into at least a good, old-fashioned, road trip hazy-half-sleep, when I feel something wet and cold hit me.

“What the heck?” I gasp.

“What is it now?” Lucas whines, covering his eyes with his forearm.

“I don’t know, something just—“ I gasp again as another tiny, cold stab hits my skin.

“Please tell me it isn’t going to rain,” Lucas removes his arm from his face and looks up at the sky.

“Maybe that’s why we slept so well,” I joke. “It’s getting awfully dark.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” he frowns.

“I hope so—“ The cold drops become more frequent, and the inevitable becomes reality.

“No freakin’ way,” he growls, and is going to pull out his phone and call Nadia when we see she is already pulling over.

“Get in,” Charlotte says, swinging open the door to the backseat. We scramble in, trying to beat the expected downpour.

“You guys ready for a stop? I’m thinking we should find the nearest diner,” Nadia asks, turning the windshield wipers on as the rain falls harder.

“Oh, my gosh, that sounds like the sweetest perfection,” I tell her, patting her on the shoulder. “I always knew you were my sister.”

“Same womb, same day,” Nadia laughs and shakes her head.

“OHHHH, SNAP, I LOVE THIS SONG!” Charlotte yells, reaching over to turn “How You Like Me Now” by The Heavy up louder than humans should ever listen to it.

Pretty soon we are badass head-bobbing to the beat, which leads to ridiculous car dancing. The rain slows, suddenly, as if it’s parting the curtains on stage so that the world around us can see our crazy head and arm motions. They get wilder as the song progresses, until it chills out at the bridge, and we start interpretive dancing like we’re all on some serious drugs. When the song ends, we are breathless and laughing at ourselves.

“Did you see the guy in the Prius? I thought he was going to swerve off the road,” Charlotte laughs, holding her hand up for a high-five.

Lucas obliges her. “The grandma in the minivan laughed at least. She was probably like, ‘those crazy whipper-snappers’.”

“WHIP, SNAP!” Nadia and I both say at the same time.

“What?” Charlotte raises her eyebrows.

“It’s an inside joke, from these YouTube videos we love… didn’t we ever show you Balloonshop?” I ask her.

“Apparently not,” she shrugs.

“I’ve heard of them,” Lucas smiles. “My sister showed them to me. She loves the grilled cheese one.”

“HEY, DUDE. WHATCHA DOIN?” Nadia calls.

“EY, DUDE. MAKIN A GRILLED CHEESE, YOU WANT ONE?” I holler back.

“YEAH DUDE! THROW ME ONE!” she bro-calls.

Simultaneously, we slap our own cheeks and scream bloody murder.

“Lucas, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Charlotte shakes her head.

“I’m getting a really good idea from this,” he raises his eyebrows.

I just grin at him.

 

 

Lucas’ face is blank.

“Yeah. My point exactly. You already know what it’s like to get glimpses of your future, and it’s something I’m not too keen on. When my mother tells me things, I take them seriously. But sometimes it just freaks me out.” I frown.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lucas shakes off the awkward pause. “And, we’re taking my car.”

I frown. “We’re going to my parents’ house. What makes you think you’re driving?”

He tilts his chin downward and looks mockingly into my eyes. “The fact that you just thought, oh, man, I hope he loves driving because I can’t stand it.”

“It’s true, I can’t stand it. But Nadia loves it. You’ll have to fight with her.”

“It’s like, nine hours. She and I can take turns. And if Charlotte wants to have a go, she’s more than welcome. I’m not that protective of my car, even though it is nice, and great on gas.”

I sigh heavily.

His brow creases in concern. “Georgia, do you really not want me to come home with you? Because, I really don’t have to if you don’t.”

“Yes, I want you to come home with me,” I blurt, and close my eyes as the inevitable blush paints the apples of my cheeks pink. “I’m just afraid it will be weird. All of the expectations attached to bringing a boy home are definitely going to be present with my family.”

“I’m not worried,” he smiles. “I like expectations.”

“You always have that look. I’m not surprised.”

“What look?” He raises one eyebrow.

“That I-know-something-you-don’t-know look. It’s kind of disconcerting.”

“Well, I do know things you don’t know,” he grins mischievously. “But that’s because I’m a seer, and a reader. I’ve got advantages in the knowledge department.”

“I know that, Lucas. I just mean, I think you know things I don’t know about us – about you and me.”

Lucas frowns slightly. “What makes you say that?”

I take note that there is no denial. “Like I said, you have that look about you sometimes. I’m afraid that you saw some possibility of being with me, so now you are trying to make it happen or whatever. And if that’s the case, I really don’t want you to waste the effort. Visions aren’t always one hundred percent accurate, and I don’t want you missing out on someone who is more worthy of you, while you’re wasting time on me.”

His frown deepens. “First of all, I see the future, not all possible futures. My gift is very specific – it takes all of the fun out of guessing and wondering like a normal human being, but it is dangerously close to one hundred percent accuracy – in my life, I’ve rarely even gotten minor details incorrect. Second of all, no time I have spent or will spend on you could ever be considered wasted. You aren’t being noble right now, Georgia. You’re afraid. Your insecurities are running rampant because this is new for you. And I get it.”

“How do you know?” My stubborn frown lines crease farther than his.

“Because my fears are like a circus inside of me all of a sudden. And I mean, I’ve had a couple girlfriends before, but it was nothing serious. I’ve never felt like this about another girl in my life.”

“That is so standard,” I scoff.

“Are you kidding me?” his voice raises in pitch and frustration radiates from his pores. “You of all people should recognize honesty when you see it, Georgia.”

“You’d be surprised!” I snap back. “It actually makes me kind of naïve at times, which also makes me feel suspicious. It takes a lot for me to trust people.”

“You are acting schizophrenic with me all of a sudden, Georgia.” My name on his tongue is like a favorite song in my ears, and I try to ignore that sensation wanting to take over the terror I feel. “I wouldn’t be around you if I felt there was any harm in it, for either of us. I like you. I like talking to you, and learning about you, and looking at you…”

“See, that’s where I think you must be blind or something, because I am a whole lot of woman, and men like little waifs that they can just toss in the air on a whim—oh, my goodness,” I gasp as he throws my significant weight up over his shoulder without so much as a grunt or sigh.

“See. Not a problem for me,” he says, his voice completely even. He reaches over with his left hand and slaps my butt loudly before setting me down on my feet again. “Next?”

“You failed to mention you’re a mover,” I accuse, breathless.

“Lifter,” he corrects. “I have natural physical strength. Movers use their mind, not their muscles.”

“So, you’re like… Superman,” I tease.

“More like Batman,” he grins. “I have weakness – like Bruce, if someone shot me in the right spot, I would die – but it isn’t a fictional stone from a fictional planet.”

“Except, Bats has to train to be and stay strong, and exerts himself. That seemed like very little effort on your part, Mr. Browning.” I purse my lips curiously.

“It’s very easy for me,” he shrugs. “All the more reason to love your curves.” His grin is wicked.

“You can’t fly can you?” I squint my eyes at him.

“Not unless I’m in an airplane,” he verifies.

“Good. Because, that’d be just too weird.”

“Yeah, that would be freaky.”

We get quiet, realizing that we’re in the middle of the hallway – it seems to be our spot for intense conversations.

“So, you like me – like me?” I say, feeling like an episode of Hey Arnold! come to life.

“You could say that,” he smiles. “Though, that’s putting it pretty mildly… Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you like me – like me?” We both grin at how silly the elementary school phrase sounds coming out of the mouth of a grown man. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, and I wonder if he’s nervous about my answer.

Silly boy.

“I’d be lying if I said no,” I say. “And we both know I can’t do that.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Lucas acts nonchalant, but the spark in his chest reaches mine, and my heart seizes.

“Like you didn’t already,” I shrug.

“I like hearing your voice, though,” Lucas says softly.

“Likewise,” I give him a half-smile before lowering my eyes, embarrassed. “But I know you knew that already.”

“You did mention something similar before, mentally, yes,” he smiles. “It’s just different now that you know I can hear you, and you still don’t mind.”

“I’m used to having people in my head, Luke,” I laugh gently.

“That’s my favorite,” he steps a bit closer, and I clench and unclench my fingers to ward off any trembling.

“What is?” I ask, working very hard to keep my voice clear.

“Hearing you say my name,” he says, keeping his voice low so no one else can hear. “It drives me crazy.”

I swallow hard. “Again… likewise.”

Please stand back. We are in a crowded hallway and I don’t want to do anything stupid. And, you smell really good, so I can’t make any promises that I won’t.

“Good.” His crooked grin, up this close, steals my breath.

“Will you please continue to be an honorable gentleman and give me some space?” I laugh even as I scold him.

He’s too adorable for description.

“Are you sure? Because, you smell very nice too, and your skin is very soft, and I think I’d like to stay right here,” his grin expands as he moves so that his left foot is between both of mine, and his right is on the outside of my right, so that our bodies are touching.

I can’t help but laugh as I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze. He repeats the gesture, and I rub my cheek against the soft, warm fabric of his sweatshirt. He inhales deeply, and I hear the air rush into his lungs as they expand. The feeling in the pit of my stomach is awkward and unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.

“I… really need to eat lunch,” I say, insisting on breaking the spell.

“Me too,” he agrees, pulling back and releasing me.

I sigh and let him go, too.

He smiles at my reluctance and takes my hand.

 

I turn to Lucas as we make our way through the loud dining hall with our plates and glasses. “We have to find Nadia and Charlotte, and see if they are okay with—“

“I told youuu!” Charlotte sings from our usual table, at the top of her deceivingly small lungs.

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” I shake my head as I sit down across from my sister and our roommate. “Nadia, do you—“

“Mom called and told me. It’s completely fine with me, Georgia. Lucas is the one who’s going to feel outnumbered.”

“Seriously, bro. It’s gonna be like, once, twice, three times the estrogen.” Charlotte holds up three fingers and shakes her head. “You are one brave dude.”

“Honestly, I’m not scared,” he shrugs. “I have a teenage sister and I’ve driven her and her obnoxious, Taylor Swift-belting friends around plenty of times. I definitely feel strong enough to handle this. Besides, we’re taking my truck. There is plenty of room for all of our loudness in there.”

“That’s what she said,” Charlotte snickers.

“Yeah, you set yourself up for that,” I point out to Lucas.

He is unfazed. “And I’m sure I will set myself up many more times during our road trip.”

“Good, you know how to take it like a man,” Charlotte holds up her cheese-slathered nacho for a gross version of ‘cheers’. “I like that in a driver.”

Lucas touches his chip to hers and shakes his head. “You, I’m a little bit afraid of.”

“Good thing,” she grins. “You’d be stupid not to be, I think.”

“I’m actually pretty excited about this,” Nadia adds some positivity to the conversation. “It’s been a while since we’ve brought friends home to Mom and Dad, and I think this is going to make for some pretty sweet memories.”

“I’m already planning the mix I’m going to make,” I smile, scooping up some of the runaway cheese on my plate with one of my round tortilla chips.

“You know, we aren’t really the healthiest lunch table I’ve ever seen,” Nadia sighs.

“At least you tried,” I point to the apple slices that are in a bowl beside her huge plate of nachos. “That’s more than I can say for myself.”

“Or for me,” Lucas’ mountain of nachos, complete with jalapeños and bacon bits, puts all of our smaller portions to shame.

“Your poor children,” Charlotte shakes her head in mock disgust. “They’re gonna have such severe diabetes.”

I stop smashing the chip between my teeth and glare at her.

“I actually have really good genes,” Lucas grins, going along with it. “Both of my parents were always extremely healthy people, and my mother is Southern to the core. She puts at least one entire stick of butter in everything.”

“Were?” Charlotte asks, not really thinking.

“They’re both alive,” Lucas says quietly, “but my mom has been in a coma for a little while now.”

“I’m sorry, Lucas,” Charlotte says, her voice gentle and remorseful. “I wouldn’t have asked.”

Lucas smiles at her; his warm hazel eyes forgiving, as always. “Don’t be. She was perfectly healthy. But a car accident stole her from me.”

I feel a huge spike of sadness exploding from Charlotte’s direction. It makes me feel like someone just took a sledgehammer to my ribcage.

“That’s beyond horrible,” Charlotte’s voice is even quieter now. “I lost the love of my life in a car accident. He didn’t make it.”

A hush falls over the four of us, and Lucas is about to speak up and – most likely – apologize for something that isn’t his fault, when Zahari sits down beside me and slaps her hands down on the table.

“I don’t know why you all look depressed, but cut the crap. I have important news and I need someone to talk me out of it.”

“No,” we all reply automatically.

“You don’t even know what it is.” She rolls her eyes.

Nadia holds two fingers to her temple, like she’s doing a magic trick. “You’re going home with Jonathan for Thanksgiving because you found out he actually lives really close to you.”

“Stay out of my head!” Zahari frowns, crossing her arms.

“Well, then, stop being so transparent,” Nadia counters, unrepentant.

“Both of you cut it out,” I smack my hand down on the table in between them, rattling silverware and plastic glasses. “Zahari, you like Jonathan, and you have for months now. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That is putting way too much of a damper on it, honey,” Zahari laughs. “How about… nothing you wouldn’t do before marriage? Unless kissing is on that list…”

Nadia sticks up for me right away. “Zahari, no one likes a smartass.”

“No one likes a snoop, either, but that doesn’t stop you, does it, sweetheart?” Zahari’s voice is a lot more defensive than it should be.

“Relax, Z,” I elbow her. “You two love each other, remember?”

“Sometimes,” they both say in unison, and then laugh.

“Exactly,” I eat another nacho.

Lucas changes the subject, swiftly and skillfully. “So, how are we doing this? Are we going to leave Tuesday or Wednesday morning?”

“If we leave Tuesday, we’ll have more time at home,” I say with mouth full of chewed-up nachos – so attractive.

“We also might have a better chance at beating traffic that way,” Nadia adds, nodding her approval.

“I don’t care when we leave, as long as I have time to pack beforehand,” Charlotte shrugs.

“Who is interested in driving? Because, I can drive the whole way if no one else wants to,” Lucas offers.

“I definitely want to,” Nadia smiles. “I love the drive home.”

“I have zero interest in being behind the wheel,” Charlotte shakes her head. “So, count me out for this one.”

“I hate driving on highways,” I shudder. “Count me out, too, if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” Nadia and Lucas both assure me.

“Well, good.” I laugh. “You all would be terrified of me driving somewhere I’m unfamiliar with anyway.”

“I am so stoked for this trip,” Charlotte bobs her head, as if she can hear the music playing through Lucas’ truck speakers already.

“And don’t forget,” Lucas grins, “y’all are allowed to ride in the truck bed ‘round these parts.”

“Oh, my goshhhh, I had totally forgotten about that!” My eyes get huge, like a little kid who just got told they were allowed to have cookies for dinner. “That’s seriously one of my favorite pastimes.”

“Mine too,” Lucas’ grin doesn’t fade. “I might entrust Nadia to take the wheel first, just so I can enjoy the back roads of North Carolina.”

“I’m sure it’ll be warm enough,” I shrug. “It’ll be colder at home.”

“Home,” Nadia sighs. “It’s such a beautiful word, isn’t it?”

“It really is,” I smile. “Though, I feel like this is my home now, too. Does that sound weird?”

“No,” Charlotte shakes her head. “I agree. This feels more like home to me than my house ever did.”

“Okay, I know I’ve been quiet, but am I missing something here? I thought you and Nadia were flying home on Wednesday, girl,” Zahari interrupts, looking at me.

“Plans changed,” I explain. “Charlotte’s parents are going on a cruise, so she’s coming home with us. And Mom insisted that we bring Lucas because she didn’t want three girls traveling alone.”

“Yeah right,” Zahari laughs. “Your mama just wants to make sure you haven’t become a lesbian while you’re in the back woods of America with limited supervision.”

“And Georgia is also being nice,” Charlotte interjects. “I invited myself to their house.”

“That doesn’t matter, I’ve done it before,” Zahari grins. “I came home with them for their twenty-first birthday. It was goooood tiiiiimes. Their family is amazing.”

“See, I knew I had nothing to worry about,” Lucas punches me lightly in the arm.

“Oh, honey, of course you do,” Zahari sneers. “I’m Georgia’s best friend. I’m not a man. I didn’t get no shotgun glares from her Daddy while I was there.”

“I’m prepared for shotgun glares and propriety speeches,” Lucas smiles. “In fact, I hope her dad loves her enough to protect her from men he doesn’t know. That says something about a man’s character. If he didn’t want to kick my ass, I’d worry for her.”

“Wow, Georgia,” Zahari elbows me. “You have yourself a noble gentleman right here, right now.”

“Yeah, I know,” I agree with her, grinning sheepishly.

“Well, baby, if you’re not afraid of her huge, gun-toting, Bible-believing daddy, this should actually be a fun trip.” Zahari reaches behind and around me, and pats Lucas on the shoulder.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Lucas smiles, but he isn’t looking at beyond-gorgeous Zahari.

He’s only looking at me.

 

guess who passed the 40K mark today? that'd be me.

“How long have you been creeping back there, Nadia?” I ask, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.

“I just caught the last part, and thought I’d butt in,” she smiles, shrugging her shoulders as she sits on a nearby ottoman. “What were you two discussing, anyway?”

I look directly into her eyes. We’ll talk about it later.

“Secret conversations with Regina Ward,” Lucas speaks up, giving me a curious look.

“Oh really? Since when do you two have any secrets? I thought that was kind of impossible,” Nadia smirks.

“Yeah, kind of,” I roll my eyes. “I do have some self-control when it comes to my thoughts, Nadia.”

“Not since I’ve known you,” she counters. “But I guess you’ve developed some skills I am unaware of. Fair enough.”

“That’s right. And don’t you forget it,” I nod once.

“Charlotte is looking for you,” Nadia informs me. “In fact, she came in our room and said, and I quote, ‘Where the hell is Georgia Lynn?’ And I said, ‘I’m not sure.’ And she said ‘well, why don’t you help me find her?’ So, that’s what I was doing, before I got sidetracked by the smell of old books.”

“I think we’re the same person,” I laugh. “God just kind of put us in two different bodies.”

“He’s capable of anything,” Nadia shrugs, smiling.

“You should probably go find Charlotte, before she finds you,” Lucas warns. “She’s… kind of intense.”

“Kind of?” I snort. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I’m sure,” Lucas allows.

“Okay, you’re definitely right. Why do you have to be such a nice guy?”

“It’s a curse,” he sighs. “I get that from my dad, too.”

“Well, aren’t you just his little mini-me,” I tease, pausing to ruffle his hair as I get up and walk past him.

 

Back out in the foyer, I mosey to the vast staircase leading to the girls’ bedrooms in the east wing of the gigantic house. I am halfway up the steps when Charlotte’s fierce golden-brown eyes bore into mine.

“THERE you are,” she hollers, looking relieved. “I thought you’d been abducted or something. So, I heard Regina Ward is here. Is it true?”

“Yes,” I roll my eyes, unable to keep it a secret. “She’s… interesting.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows try to reach her hairline. “You met her? Oh my gosh, jealous! I am dying to.”

“I’m sure you’ll get to while she’s here,” I shrug.

“Yeah right,” Charlotte argues. “So anyway, that isn’t what I wanted you for.”

“It isn’t?” I smile.

“No,” Charlotte pulls on my arm so that I will follow her up the stairs. “I’ve been thinking about our party, and about Thanksgiving break next week…”

We reach our room and she closes the door behind us.

“And?” I prompt, flopping into one of the massive bean bag chairs that take up various places in our rooms.

“And, we have to find some really good music equipment to rent – or even a DJ to go with it,” Charlotte says.

“I thought Lydia was going to handle the music?” I frown.

“Yeah, about that…”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to tamper Charlotte’s impossible-to-curb enthusiasm. “Lottie. We really don’t need a gigantic hoopla happening here. We just want to have a big, loud party. Right? That’s all. It doesn’t need to be expensive. I mean, who’s going to pay for it? You and I don’t have that kind of money.”

“I know, but, I figured Lydia might be willing to…”

“Lydia feeds us. She lets us use her car and her gas when we make mini road trips. She lets us live in this huge, gorgeous house while we pay absolutely no rent. Do you really want to take advantage of her like that?”

“Not take advantage of her… just see if she’d be willing to help us,” Charlotte frowns.

I give her a look. “She’s already helping us. She’s giving us the venue. We’ll have it in the lounge, or the den, or both. They already have really great surround sound, and all we’d need is mixed CD’s, or people to bring their iPods – or if we let Lydia be in charge of the music, which she’s very good at, by the way, she could use her giant stash of music and play DJ. You know she’d love it, Charlotte. Why do you want to take that away from her?”

“I don’t want to take anything away from her,” her brow furrows deeper. “I just want it to be like a real prom, not like something we threw together on a whim. It’s two months away still.”

“I know that,” I sigh, trying to be sensitive and understanding, despite my bold pragmatism. “And I understand why you want things to be a certain way. But it’s going to be a lot of fun, and totally beautiful. We have more than enough friends who are good at different things to help us make this night happen.”

“Okay,” she sighs. “So, about Thanksgiving break.”

“What about it?” I ask, twisting a lock of my hair.

“My parents are going on a cruise.”

“What?” I frown.

“Yeah, they’re not really big into family holidays. None of my biological grandparents are alive anymore, and my dad’s stepdad was a huge jerk who disappeared after my Aunt Hannah was born, so, my mom and dad both kind of hate Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“That… really sucks,” I put my hands in my lap. “What are you going to do? Stay here? Doesn’t Lydia always do a big feast for the kids who don’t have family or don’t want to go home?”

“Lydia is still doing her big feast, yes.”

“Okay?”

“But I was kind of hoping that you’d invite me to come home with you,” Charlotte sighs. She looks down at the holes in the knees of her jeans, and I feel embarrassment from her.

“Oh!” The thought hasn’t occurred to me – I assumed everyone wanted to go home to their relatives for these amazing days of the year. “Of course you can come home with Nadia and I. I’ll call my mom and let her know, but I’m sure you’ll be welcome.”

“Are you sure, Georgia? I really don’t want to be a burden to your parents, or intrude on any traditions you guys have. I just get really lonely during this time of year, and you made your house sound like it’s heaven for the holidays.” Charlotte looks up, and I see years of unshed grief shining in the depths of her eyes.

“You could never be a burden to me, Charlotte,” I assure her. “You are one of my best friends – practically my sister. I’d love to have you join us for Thanksgiving.”

Charlotte sighs. “Are you sure it won’t bother Lucas?”

“What?” I give her a look like there is an alien bursting from her guts.

“You’re not planning on bringing Lucas home with you, to meet your parents?” Charlotte asks, looking at me like I’ve lost all brain function.

“No,” I balk. “I’ve known this kid for a week. Why would I be taking him home to meet Mama and Daddy?”

“Because you’re in love with him already.”

I laugh. “Charlotte, don’t be silly.”

Charlotte frowns. “I’m not being silly at all. And don’t be condescending, I’m only two years younger than you are. I’m not a stupid child. I can see when people belong together, Georgia, and you and Lucas are like puzzle pieces.”

“I think you’re looking into it too much,” I pull on an invisible thread along the seam of my pants leg.

“Georgia, look at me.”

I look up slowly, stubbornly.

“Tell me that you don’t think of him that way at all.”

I frown. “I do think of him that way.”

“Yeah, and he thinks of you that way, too, doesn’t he?”

“He flirts with me a lot. But that doesn’t mean he wants to marry me, Charlotte. That means he’s a guy and he thinks I’m cute. Whatever. That’s not a basis for a relationship. I’ve had guys lead me on for years, and then they run off and get married and cut me out of their lives completely.”

“Lucas is different,” Charlotte shakes her head, and I feel her getting angry at my obstinacy.

“How do you know that?” I scoff.

“I just do,” she shrugs. “I don’t know how I know it. But I do.”

“Are you sure you know? Or is it that you think we would make a cute couple, so you want to play dolls with us in real life?” I give her a look.

“Again with the child references,” Charlotte makes a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Ask Nadia what she thinks. Or better yet, ask Lucas.”

“Asking Nadia is unfair – she can see inside of his head. She’s the one who asked him to sit with us at breakfast.”

“I know. And, do you know why she did that?” Charlotte prods.

“Yes,” I frown. “She told me that she saw my face inside of his head, so she brought him to me.”

Charlotte snorts a laugh, like I’m a fool.

“What? What didn’t she tell me?” I reach out and smack her on her bare knee.

“Like I said,” Charlotte smacks my hand. “Ask her.”

I put my face in my hands. “I don’t know if I want to ask her. That feels like cheating.”

Charlotte shakes her head. “It isn’t cheating, Georgie. It’s having some reassurance that most people wouldn’t ever get. Take advantage of what we are, if only to put your obsessive mind at ease.”

 

I walk down to lunch by myself, wrapped in a fog of brooding thoughts and disbelief, curiosity and dilemma.

Why did Nadia see my face in his mind? What was I doing there? He only saw me once – why would he be thinking about me when he didn’t know my name?

Suddenly I feel grateful that Thanksgiving dinner is mere days away, and that I will be flying home very soon.

Right on cue, my cell phone rings in my pocket, and I recognize the ring tone as my house number. My heart seizes in my chest as I pull the little cellular device out and up to my ear, pressing the answer button.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Hi, baby,” my mama’s voice makes my heart stop and fill with nostalgia and excitement for the days that are coming.

“Hi, Mama!” I say happily, despite the tightness in my throat. “What’s new?”

“I’m just reminding you that your flight time is 7:30 on Wednesday morning, and that your father and I will pick you up from BWI that afternoon, okay?”

It dawns on me that we are flying. And that I have invited Charlotte to come home with us. Uh-oh…

“Mom, can you guys possibly get your money back if you change the flight plans?” I cringe, waiting for the onslaught of questions.

“What? Why are you asking me that? Is something wrong?” her voice is just as I expected – worried.

“Nothing is wrong,” I sigh. “But we were thinking about making a road trip out of it, and bringing Charlotte home with us. Her parents are going on a cruise next weekend instead of being home so they can visit with her.”

“That is unacceptable. What kind of parents are they? Who freaking does that to their only child on one of the greatest days of the year?” Mama is fuming.

“I know, that’s what I said. That’s why I told her I’d ask you if she could come home with us. We can take my car, I’m sure all of our stuff will fit since it’s just us three girls,” I explain.

“That would work, but I know I’d feel more comfortable if you had a more reliable car… plus, I hate you girls driving that far on your own. Are there any nice boys who could join you for the trip? You know I never mind extra company, as long as I’m told ahead of time…” Now her tone is prodding, because it’s far too nonchalant.

“What are you getting at exactly, Ma?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Is it like, inevitable that Lucas is going to be at my house for Thanksgiving?

Her ‘concerned mother’ tone replaces the ‘teasing best friend’ voice from before. “I’d just feel more comfortable if there was a young man along, honey. You’d be safer that way, I think. Your dad won’t like it, especially if he doesn’t know the boy, but I’ll talk him into it…”

My voice is too loud as I emphasize, “I never said there was a guy that would come home with us, Ma!”

I feel my face getting red as two boys I don’t really know that well brush past me, giving me a strange look and snicker as they walk away. I rest a hand on the side of my head, feeling more and more impatient.

“Well, is there?” she prods, knowing I am the ‘good’ child, who cannot lie to her.

“Yes,” I growl through clenched teeth, wishing I didn’t have to tell her everything.

“Really! Oh, thank God. I’ve been praying since the day you left that you’d be with someone by New Year’s – that was my vision, you know.”

Did I not mention my mother is a seer?

“Yes, I know. He’s tall and has dark hair and I’m with him on New Year’s Eve, instead of at home with you and dad,” I roll my eyes.

“Is he tall?”

Another growl escapes my throat. “He’s like, six-three, Ma.”

“Oh, yes. And he has the Patrick Dempsey hair, doesn’t he?” Her voice is way more excited than it should be.

“It’s more like, milk chocolate brown, but yeah, it’s got that texture…” my tone is totally forced, and she knows but does not care.

“Oh, baby, please, do your mother a huge favor and bring him home so that I can meet him! I want to see if it’s him… though, I’m sure it is. God always lets me in on these things. I don’t doubt that this is just the fulfillment.”

“He probably has his own family to go home with, Ma,” I heave a huge sigh. “Besides, I only met him like a week ago. It would be so weird to bring him home. I mean, we’re just friends, you know?”

Mom scoffs on the other end. “Then what’s weird about it? You’re bringing Charlotte home, and I assume you did not become a lesbian since you left home, correct?”

“NO, Mother. I am not a lesbian,” I groan.

One of the Baxter boys runs his hand through his red hair as he walks past me, and gives me a huge grin. I flip him off quickly, before anyone else can see. He puts a graphic picture of Charlotte and I kissing in my head, and I mouth, I know where you sleep. I will kill you.

He laughs and just keeps heading for the dining hall.

“Exactly,” Mom confirms. “So, you’re just going to bring two of your friends home, there is nothing awkward about that. It’ll be so much fun! Oh, and if Nadia wants to bring anyone home, tell her she is more than welcome. You’ll just have to get everyone to pitch in for gas.”

“Are you serious? What if Lucas ends up being a rapist or something? And you want to send him in a car for eight or nine hours with three supposedly helpless young girls?” I plead with her to change her mind.

“Who are you talking to?” Lucas asks, his brow creased and his eyes curious.

My mother, I mouth.

“Did you just tell your mother I’m a rapist?”

No!

Lucas gives me a look. “It sounded like you said, ‘What if Lucas ends up being a rapist or something?’ which is basically calling me a rapist.”

“Lucas, be quiet,” I growl.

“Is that him?” Mama asks, too much hope and glee in her voice.

“Yes, Mom. Lucas is standing right here. And he is very offended that I called him a rapist, even though I didn’t call him one,” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Ask him if he wants to come home with you girls for Thanksgiving at our house!”

“I am not asking Lucas if he wants to come home with us for Thanksgiving,” I mutter. “Stop pushing this.”

“Why aren’t you going to ask me, exactly?” he says loudly enough for my mother to pick up on it.

“Yes, Georgia Lynn, why aren’t you asking him?” she prods again.

I hate you, I glare at him.

“Because, I’m from Maryland, so I guarantee you it’s not a far drive to my house from yours.” His voice is even louder this time.

“Ooh, ask him what part of Maryland!” Mom laughs.

“Do you just want me to give him the phone?” I give him a triumphant look as she agrees.

He gives me a cocky grin and takes the cell phone from my hand.

“Why, hello there, Mrs. Freebird, how are you today?” he is looking directly at me as he talks to her.

She’s wonderful, he mouths.

“I’m from Westminster, actually,” he informs her.

Piss.

“I know, that isn’t far at all.” Pause. “Well, I would love to, but I’ll make sure it’s alright with Georgia first.”

“She says she doesn’t care what you say,” he covers the receiver with his hand, “that if I want to come for Thanksgiving, I should.”

“If you want to come spend your Thanksgiving weekend with my crazy-ass family, be my guest,” I sigh, defeated. “But it’s your funeral.”

“I will definitely be there,” he tells my mother, all of the charm he is capable of in his already-gorgeous voice. “And I appreciate the invitation very much. I can’t wait to meet you and Mr. Freebird.”

Oh my lord, Lucas, give it a rest!

He turns to me and his crooked grin is in place. “You, too. Here’s Georgia back.”

When he holds the phone out to me, his expression is pure victory.

“Well? Is he a rapist? Because, if he is, I’m going to feel really bad that I just went over your head inviting him like that,” Mom sighs dramatically.

“No you won’t,” I chuckle.

Mom’s voice is amused. “You’re right, I don’t feel bad; because, you’re just too scared for your own good sometimes, and you need a push. That’s what mama birds do – they push their babies.”

“Out of the nest, Ma – not bringing baby boy birds back to their crib,” I sigh.

Lucas gives me another curious face. I hold one index finger up near his nose.

“I love you, Georgia. I need to call your sister now,” Mom’s voice is gentle now. “I will see you…Wednesday?”

“Maybe Tuesday night, I have to discuss that part with my road trip buddies now,” I roll my eyes again. I hear my grandmother’s words, ‘they’ll get stuck’, and it makes me laugh.

“Okay, honey. See you soon!” Her alto voice is bright and cheery.

“See you soon,” I promise, and smile despite myself.

When she hangs up, I turn to face Lucas’ triumphant smirk.

“See, you think you won some great prize by getting my mom to side with you, but really, she’s just trying to marry us off.” I tell him, my expression cocky.

“Don’t all mothers do that?” he asks, nonchalant.

I search his face. “I guess so.”

Lucas shrugs. “Well, okay then. Your mom sounds totally normal.”

“Yeah, except for one little thing, smartass.”

He grins at my caustic tone. “And what might that be?”

“My mother is a seer.”

Lucas’ face is blank.

 

Weekend days are makeup days.

“You are so lucky I’ve had my morning coffee already, Eleanor Noreen Norton!” I holler in her direction.

Eleanor’s nose is in a stupid fashion magazine, and she lifts her eyes condescendingly to look over at me.

“I beg your pardon?” Her perfectly-waxed brows are furrowed.

“You heard me,” I snap back, feeling my dad’s angry blood in my veins.

“Whatever nonsense you’re accusing me of, it isn’t true. I’ve been reading the latest issue of Vogue, and I really don’t appreciate distractions.” Her red-painted upper lip curls up into a sneer.

Just as I lift my arm, hands balled into fists, Luke catches my elbow. I know I have a comic-book angry face on, because he grins when he’s trying to be serious.

I’m not that fierce. I try to be, but I know I’m not really that terrifying.

“Thanks for the save, but I could’ve stopped her arm pretty easily from over here,” Eleanor laughs.

The sound of her haughty, breathy laughter creates a dizzying rotation of images, each more violent than the last, of ways I could make the sound stop.

I personally enjoy the baseball bat.

Or the frying pan.

“You are scarier than you think you are,” Luke murmurs toward me.

“Thank you,” I growl.

Luke cringes a little, “I’m not really sure that was a compliment…”

“It was to me,” I shrug.

Eleanor looks up from her glossy magazine that is clutched in her glossy, manicured claws once more. “Listen, could you two take this conversation elsewhere? I really am trying to concentrate.”

“Sure, Eleanor. We’d be glad to oblige,” I say, keeping my voice even and full of saccharine.

“Thanks,” she draws the word out. “You’re a peach.”

“Oh, that’s cute. Because my name is Georgia,” I fake a laugh.

“Oh. I didn’t even put that together. Huh. Well, anyway… Back to the study of Kate Moss and her exciting life,” Eleanor shrugs.

I walk past her, and Luke is beside me, or I probably would have pushed the magazine into her little snotty pug nose.

“She isn’t worth the trouble, Georgia,” Luke rolls his eyes. “She’s shallow, and self-important.”

“Which is why I want very much to do her physical harm. Is that so wrong?” I shrug innocently.

“Yes,” he laughs. “It won’t do you any good. People like her will never change.”

“You don’t think it would make me feel better to take scissors to her perfectly smooth ponytail?” I ask.

“Maybe for a couple of seconds… but then you’d just feel stupid.”

“You’re probably right…” I pout, “It’s such a nice thought, though.”

“I’m sure it is,” he chuckles. “But don’t carry it out. You will just regret it.”

“Yes, sir,” I tease.

We are just crossing from the dining room to the hallway via the huge old wooden archway, when Louise stops me, looking frazzled.

“Georgia, Lydia needs you in her office,” Louise says.

“Okay – but what’s up?” I ask, frowning in concern.

“Regina Ward is here early, and Lydia wants you to meet with her like – now,” Louise explains.

“Um. Alright. I’m on my way.” I start power-walking to the room where I’m needed, Lucas trailing behind me.

“Do you want me to come with, or should I just let you go do your thing?” he asks.

I give him a confused look. “I don’t mind if you come along, but you don’t have to if you have other things to do.”

“Okay,” he shrugs, and there is a moment of awkward silence, as I am not used to male company in general.

We reach Lydia’s office, and for only the second time since I’ve lived at Autumn Creek – I knock on her door.

“Come in,” Lydia calls, in her rarely-used ‘business voice’.

I turn the knob and slowly pull the door open.

“No readers,” I hear a sharp voice insist.

I give Lucas a look, and he shrugs and starts back the way we came, looking bewildered.

“Have a seat, Ms. Freebird,” the razor-sharp voice instructs.

I close the door quietly behind me, walking further into the office and taking the chair in front of the desk.

“You are a chronicler, as well as a feeler, yes?” the harsh voice asks me curtly.

“If by chronicler, you mean I have a perfect memory, and by feeler, you mean I empathize physically with certain people, then the answers are both ‘yes’,” I answer respectfully.

“Ah. Also a truth-teller. Extraordinary. Come here, child. Let me see your eyes.” A slight Russian accent is evident in certain sounds and inflections of her voice.

I don’t love being called a kid, but her tone changes so quickly from cold steel to warm matron that I feel obliged to obey.

“Lydia, look at this.” Regina instructs, and Lydia smiles encouragingly at me. “Look at these irises. They are like a neon sign, screaming it out to the world.”

I am scared to blink, but nature makes the allowance that my conscientious nature does not. “I don’t want to be rude, or seem ignorant, but what do my weird mood-ring eyes scream exactly?”

“Well, darling, it is not just your eyes, though they are quite the magnificent beacon. Your mixture of gifts makes it very clear to me.” She pauses, searching my face with her big, round eyes. I realize that they are brown, not gray like I remember from my first encounter with her. It dawns on me that I couldn’t just remember incorrectly – either she has contacts, or they have changed.

“You are an elder,” Regina gestures broadly with her hand like she is opening a folded, decorative fan.

“Um. What?” I scrunch up my face, confused. “But I’m only twenty-one.”

“No, darling. You are not an elder in the devoid sense of the word. To our people, it means you are already an Elite-class Outsider, despite your youth. Your gifts will develop as you age, just as wisdom should with older people. You have more now than when you got here, yes?”

“Yes, the feeler thing is only seven months old.” I admit. “But I thought it was a weird coincidence. Or that Wyatt Livingston caused it somehow.”

Regina frowns. “Wyatt Livingston? He is a strong feeler, yes, nearly an Empathetic Elite, despite his age – certainly impressive. But no one person can create those things in you. They are already there, waiting to reveal themselves at the proper time. And your belief makes them real. Events change everyone – from the seemingly mundane, to the obviously significant. For us, life events affect our gifts as well.”

“This is… I don’t know what to think,” I sigh, and I know my eyes are shifting to dark gray because Regina Ward smiles. Her pleasure at this shared gifting allows her eyes to shift, too. They are a buttery golden-brown: happiness, mixed with pride.

When we were younger, Nadia and I were bored during homeschooling and started making a list of what colors equal what moods – I remember it, of course, as Regina Ward’s eyes shift back to a warm, muted brown.

“Understandable,” Regina shrugs. “I felt the same way when my dear Francis – Mister Ward – revealed to me what my gifting added up to. I do not know what I would have done had he not come along. Such a gifted reader… They are perfect soul mates for us, darling, because elders can never be readers, you see.”

I feel a wave of disappointment rush down my skin.

“I know you are disappointed. I was, as well. But that is why readers are our natural mates,” she says, as if we’re the subject of a documentary on Discovery Channel. “They compliment us in ways that others cannot.”

“You make it sound like these others are beneath us.” I appraise her expression.

Regina shrugs. “Not beneath. Just not equal to us. We are elders, they are not. It is that simple. We are not better – just more powerful. Nothing more, nothing less. We are simply chosen for something they are not equipped for.”

“And what is that?” I ask, feeling irritation stabbing at my throat.

“Leadership,” she says the word as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

I give her a blank look. “You’re serious?”

“Completely serious,” she frowns as if I am missing some screws.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mrs. Ward – um, Regina – I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we aren’t our own country or race. There is nothing to lead. We don’t hold any political power and we certainly don’t need told what to do. We’ve got rights just like any other Americans.”

“Darling, power does not just lie in the hands of weak-minded men who are led by the almighty dollar like a dog is lead by the needs of his stomach. Outsiders need strong figures to look up to, to mentor them, to lead and guide them. Hence, Lydia’s place in the world – she has donated this family heirloom for the use of our people, and runs it without the luxury of a salary. She is a leader. And I am informing you that someday, you will be as well. Sooner, rather than later, you will be trained to be in a place of power in our community. It is nothing to fear, Ms. Freebird – Georgia. It is actually a great honor, and if you choose to see it as such, anxiety will not cripple you the way it is threatening to at this very moment.”

I go to open my mouth, and she just half-smiles.

“You will be hearing from me very soon. For now, however, you are dismissed.” Regina waves her beautifully-manicured hand.

I sigh and stand up from my seat, but as I reach for the doorknob, Regina speaks again: “Remember what I said about readers, dear. I don’t know why that is significant in your life specifically right now, but I feel that it is. So, take it however it is to be taken.”

I push the door open and walk slowly out into the hall. Waiting across from Lydia’s office in the library is Lucas, sitting in one of the big leather library chairs – his nose in a book about the history of guitars. I enter the hushed warmth of the room full of books – the most comforting place in the entire building, to my heart – and I take the huge, high-backed chair beside him, separated only by a small coffee table.

I am mentally guarded, and Lucas looks up from the pages he is staring blankly at to search my face.

“Is everything alright?” he asks in a whisper.

“I think so,” I whisper back. “Just… intimidating.”

“Your eyes are this really crazy gray right now,” Lucas says, leaning closer to my face.

“Thinking too much,” I sigh. “Wait. Is it light gray or dark?”

“Both,” he inspects from a better angle. “They’re dark on the outside and get lighter as they go in. They’re kind of incredible to look at.”

“Kind of?” I smirk, trying to make light.

“Okay, they’re more than incredible to look at,” he admits, smiling. “But I hate making you feel uncomfortable. I don’t want to sound like some crazy stalker who’s only known you for a week but finds all of your features glorious.”

“You’re not a crazy stalker, Lucas,” I shake my head. “Really though? Glorious?”

“Absolutely,” his smile widens. “Extraordinary.”

“Huh,” I say, pursing my lips, considering this.

Lucas looks back and forth between my left and right eye rapidly, taking in the bizarre color scheme. “I’m serious, though, if anyone saw a picture of your eyes like this, they would swear you edited them. They’re mesmerizing.”

“They’re stormy,” I shrug. “It happens when I’m concerned, or angsty.”

“Are you angsty right now?” Lucas raises an eyebrow. “Your thoughts are much better encrypted than your eyes at the moment, so I’m in the dark.”

“That’s how it should be,” I tease. “But I’m not really brooding­-angsty. More like… deep in thought and considering some things that Regina told me.”

“What did she tell you?” Lucas asks, and I know he is trying to hear it from deep within my gray matter.

“A lot of things I have to consider and make sense of before you’ll be able to pull them out of my brain, sweetheart,” I ward him off.

He smiles. “I’ll get it out of you sooner than you think.”

“That’s what she said,” Nadia’s voice interrupts from a nearby bookshelf.

I choke on my own saliva, laughing.

double-oh-seven, oh hell, you were heaven to me.

Long after we’ve cleared our plates and moved away from the dining room, Henry and Charlotte are in deep discussion. You know, the kind where the whole rest of the world doesn’t exist, and it’s just the person across from you, both of your opinions and reactions flowing freely, and nothing else matters?

Neither of them has to worry about someone reading their mind, or blurting out the truth even though it’s embarrassing.

Must be nice!

My brow furrows into a deep, dark frown.

“That’s a new face,” Luke pipes up as we walk through the dining room to get to the stairs to the den.

“New to you, maybe,” I don’t lighten up. “My face looks this way a lot, so you’d better get used to it.”

“What must be nice?” he asks carefully.

I stop in my tracks, and twist my body around to stare at him.

“What?”

“You know what.”

Luke tilts his chin down, lowering his eyes to mine. “No, I don’t. Hence, my question.”

“It must be nice to be able to say only what you want heard,” I cross my arms. “Charlotte and Henry can have a conversation like two normal people, and I’m jealous.”

“Normal people?” Luke scoffs. “Charlotte and Henry spent forty minutes debating the best fictional material for Batman’s fictional superhero suit.”

“Batman is legit,” I hold up one finger, stopping any mockery he may be conceptualizing beneath his perfect hair.

“Batman is my favorite,” he claims, “but I just don’t geek out over which texture would chafe less, or be less flammable.”

“Flame-retardant,” my lips twitch into a grin.

“Whatever it is, I leave that to the comic book creators and only stick to subjects we mere mortals should focus on,” Luke grins back.

I fall silent for a second, looking down at our very-different-sized black Converses. “You know what song always makes me want to watch The Powerpuff Girls?”

“That was…no segue whatsoever,” Luke stutters a laugh. “But please, do tell me.”

“That Tears for Fears one, you know, ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’?”

“Yes, I do know that song,” he gives me a look. “I’m a huge classic rock fan. But I don’t really get the correlation.”

“You would if you watched it,” I roll my eyes at him. “Mojo Jojo sings it in one of the newer episodes.”

Luke stops and thinks for a few heartbeats. “The crazy monkey that wears a striped bucket on his head?”

“Oh my lord, you watch it!” I jump forward and throw my arms around him, squeezing his waist tightly.

He laughs and I hear it in his chest.

“It’s one of Kylie’s favorite shows of all time,” he informs me, squeezing me back.

“Mine, too!” I lean my head back to beam up at him. “I have the entire series on DVD.”

“I think I see where this is going…” Luke is already starting to whine.

“Ha, well, you would, given the fact that you’re a seer, ‘n all,” I make fun of him, tugging on the soft fabric of his gray hooded sweatshirt.

“Do we have to?” he pleads, giving me what I assume is his best puppy dog face.

“Well, you do have a choice,” I shrug, feigning nonchalance.

His eyes brighten, but then his face becomes suspicious.

“What’s the catch,” he asks me warily.

I roll my eyes to the ceiling like it doesn’t matter to me. “It’s either that, or I make you watch The Princess and the Frog until you know every line to every song, like I do.”

“You do not know every line,” he argues.

“What did I tell you about my gifts?”

“Yeah, but you can’t possibly…”

I throw my head back and begin to belt out the first lines to the film’s opening song, “IN THE SOUTHLAND, THERE’S A CITY, WAY DOWWWWN ON THE RIVUHHH…” in my best Cajun twang.

Luke gives me a dubious glare. “How do I even know if that’s---“

“…WHERE THE WOMEN ARE VERY PRETTY, AND ALL THE MEN DELIIIVUH,” I continue belting out, and people walking by are starting to give me dirty looks.

“Okay, okay. I believe you.” He pushes my face into his chest, to muffle my obnoxious version of the Disney song.

The giddy, carefree, playful feeling in my chest is replaced by something much more intense, as his heartbeat is crashing in my ear and the smell of him – a mixture of a cologne I don’t recognize, the collective Autumn Creek fabric softener (some Downy stuff that is supposed to smell like a summer sky or some other bull), and soap – floods my girlish brain. I bite my lip, very hard, a fruitless attempt at distraction, and find myself chewing on my chapped bottom one much longer than necessary.

Luke’s fingers are tangled in my thick, messy hair, and I can’t say the desire to step backward is anywhere in my consciousness. I can feel his breath on the top of my head, and I’ve never been so intrigued by the rush of someone’s carbon dioxide before.

When I gather up enough courage to do so, I lean back against his other arm, the one that is still supporting my back. He looks at me with just the barest hint of my favorite smile pulling at his impossibly beautiful lips. I know what the question written across his pupils is, and I search inside myself for the answer.

I’m scared.

Luke drags his hand slowly from cradling my skull, to holding the side of my face, resting along my jaw. He reaches over with his thumb and brushes it lightly along my bottom lip. My breath seizes.

I mean, really scared. You don’t even understand.

The cocky half-smile climbs to wrinkle the skin around his low-lidded eyes, and he traces the small arch of my top lip. I exhale unsteadily, trying to force my hands—which are still hidden behind his back—not to shake.

He won’t look into my eyes, he is too busy watching as I bite my trembling lower lip, trying not to look like a total idiot. He smiles at my sad attempt at a cover up, and finally meets my gaze.

“What are you afraid of?” he asks, his voice deeper and lower than I’d ever heard it, rough around the edges.

You.

ME? He mouths, then frowns like it’s impossible.

Yes, you. I don’t know how to do… this.

“I’ll teach you,” he grins mischievously.

I open my mouth to object, and he ducks his head so close that his nose brushes mine. My heart stops cold and I grip his sweatshirt like it’s the lap bar on a roller coaster car and I’m about to race over the edge of a huge drop. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the lack of tangible gravity.

“Kissing already?! Daaamn, you guys move fast.” Zahari’s voice cuts through the tension with her snarky wit.

This is not the first time I have wanted to punch her right in the face, and I guarantee it won’t be the last.

I take an exaggerated step backward, dropping my arms, and hear Lucas release a gust of disappointed breath.

My thoughts exactly.

“Seriously, though, Lucas – you might want to pick a more romantic spot for my girl’s first kiss than the middle of the hallway. She’s waited twenty-one years for it. She deserves for it to be special.” Zahari pokes him in the arm.

“Thank you, Zahari,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Just lookin’ out for you like always, baby,” Zahari smiles, patting me on the cheek.

“She’s probably right,” Luke shrugs. “It’d be a lot more incredible if it wasn’t in the hallway.”

“But this is where we met,” I point out. “What’s more incredible than that?”

“Actually, it was technically the lobby,” Luke grins, tapping his head. “Is your gift slipping?”

“No,” I roll my eyes. “Unfortunately, it is not. I’d really like to forget this particular moment in time – not naming any names as to why, though.”

“Aw, come on, girl! It’s something to tell the grandkids,” Zahari laughs and smacks my butt as she walks away.

“There is something very wrong with her.” I observe.

“How much do you want to bet that she and Jonathan have kissed already?” He smirks.

“I’d say the odds are pretty—hey. That isn’t fair.”

“What’s not fair?” he plays dumb.

“You know the answer already!”

“You can’t be sure of that,” he argues.

“Oh, yes I can.”

“How?” he challenges.

“Men don’t part with their money on a stupid bet, unless they are billionaires or gambling addicts--”

“Or sports fans,” he shrugs, interjecting.

“—unless they know the outcome of said bet. So, I refuse to play. Sorry.” I cross my arms.

“You’re a stubborn little thing,” he shakes his head.

“Like I’ve never heard that before,” I laugh.

“Well, how about we go see what our friends are up to,” Luke steers me back toward the dining room, where Zahari was headed.

I widen my eyes at his boldness. “Oh, they’re our friends now? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he grins. “You don’t go clubbing with people you don’t trust. Otherwise the pictures show up on the internet.”

“And they tag you in them to humiliate you in front of your real friends,” I point out, holding up a finger despite my crossed arms.

“Exactly,” he nods.

I start walking toward the lounge, which is directly behind the dining room, where the huge windows show you the entirety of the gorgeous backyard.

“So, you really don’t want to know if they’ve kissed or not?” Lucas asks, falling into step beside me.

I snort. “No, Lucas Samson, I do not want to know from my telepathic…whatever-the-term-would-be…if my best friend has kissed her man-crush yet. That’s the kind of thing I’d like to hear from her, even if she is a royal pain in my ass.”

“Whatever-the-term-would-be, for me?” he prompts.

“You caught that, huh?” I say sarcastically.

“I was thinking… man-friend.” Luke holds up his hands like a director would, his fingers straight and his thumbs out, like two fat L’s.

I choke a laugh. “Are you serious?”

“No,” he grins. “If I was, I’d be your ex-boyfriend.”

“You mean… a mime?”

“No, the other distinct adjective,” he deadpans.

“Ohhhhh,” I grin. “That one.”

I decide on the overstuffed, brown leather loveseat that my friends and I have occupied too many times to count since I moved in here, and sink my emotionally-overwrought self into the comforting piece of furniture.

I lift my hand to pat the seat next to me, but Lucas is all pretension and no fear, dropping into the empty space, nearly sitting on top of me.

“Did you play football in high school?” I ask, shoving him over.

“Why yes,” he says with a faux Southern twang. “Yes, I did.”

“I bet you made all the girls swoon,” I say in my best Scarlett O’Hara voice, clasping my hands together and batting my eyelashes.

He makes a self-satisfied sound as he exhales. “Eh, just the head cheerleader, you know how it goes.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” My face drops.

“I’m absolutely kidding,” he grins. “Her head was so empty. I swear, each thought was like a dusty little tumbleweed with nowhere to go.”

I burst out laughing at top volume, and suddenly a throw pillow comes flying out of nowhere and smacks me in the face.

I gasp as it falls and hits the floor, turning to accuse Luke.

He shakes his head, trying to stop laughing, and points elsewhere.

My eyes land on my attacker.

A vicious smile curls my lips.

Oh, it’s on, now.

 

...I added what was going to be the beginning of tomorrow's chapter,
since I love you (and I'm kind of on a roll, here). ♥ ENJOY! 

The sun is hitting my face. There is a definite crick in my neck. My shoulder blades feel like they’ve been twisted into triple-knots. The side of my face is really hot, and my hair is a sweaty mess.

I’m pretty sure I told Charlotte I wasn’t going to do any shots…

“You didn’t,” says a luxuriant voice, rumbling just beneath my ear.

I jump up, screaming, and hitting my head on something very hard. I fall over something solid, and land on my back with my feet in the air.

“Georgia, relax, what the hell--?” The raspy baritone registers in my brain as Lucas Browning.

“What the hell, what the hell?” I blink several times. “Oh my God, I’m half blind!”

“No you’re not, your contact probably just moved,” Charlotte says groggily from nearby.

“What the hell?” My mind is going down a very disturbing path.

“Oh my… Georgia!” Nadia reaches over and smacks my head. “You really need to relax with the weird fantasies when readers are present.”

“WHAT THE HELL?” I repeat, as no one has explained anything to me yet.

“Georgia,” Lucas yawns, “We all fell asleep in the car last night.”

He is surprisingly undisturbed by the sick turn my thoughts have taken.

“You didn’t even have a drink, stupid,” Charlotte rolls her eyes, trying to pat down her wild blonde mane.

“Thank God,” I sigh, and look around. “Why am I in the trunk?”

“You just fell back there, loser. Geez, Lucas, did you slip something in her water bottle or what?” Charlotte snorts.

I pop my head up from behind the backseat; my eyes are huge and wild.

“No,” Lucas says toward me, holding up his hand that is twice the size of mine, his index finger upward. “I did not. Would not. Ever.”

“You aren’t usually this incredibly paranoid when you first wake up, Georgia Lynn,” Charlotte shakes her head.

“I don’t usually wake up on top of a man, Charlotte Reese,” I say with screeching sarcasm in my voice.

“I would hope not,” Zahari snickers from the front passenger seat.

I realize then that Lenny, Louise and Wyatt must’ve awakened and left before any of us noticed it was morning.

“Lord,” Lucas mutters under his breath, covering his face. “Georgia, you make it sound so dirty.”

I ignore him. “May I ask why we all decided to sleep in the car instead of walking up to the house and going into our own rooms?”

“Because we were all too lazy,” Jonathan stretches his arms. “And my gift is not Superman’s strength, so I wasn’t carrying all of you up there with me.”

“I already texted Lydia before I passed out,” Zahari assures me with a slight grin. “She was calling all of us thinking something horrible had happened. Now she just thinks we were all too drunk to walk up the stairs.”

“Oh, well, drunk is better than dead,” Charlotte ponders aloud.

I give her a look, surprised at her callous words. She shrugs.

“And, Georgia, you were not on top of me,” Lucas growls, obviously unable to let that go. “You fell asleep on my shoulder and I move in my sleep. End of story.”

“Riiight,” Charlotte mocks. “That’s what they all say.”

“Shut up, Charlotte,” Nadia shoves her. “Georgia has enough of a complex about this whole thing.”

“Hey!” I object.

“It’s the whole KV thing,” Charlotte purses her lips like a psychotherapist.

“Hey!” I object louder, hoping they will stop.

“Kiss virgin?” Zahari pipes up from the front. “I knew that would really mess with her psyche when a man came into the picture.”

“Oh gee, Zahari, like he can’t already read minds. Let’s make it audible,” I slap my forehead, and sink back down into the trunk.

“I’m really hungry,” Jonathan says loudly. “Anybody else?”

“I am,” Nadia agrees, looking over her shoulder at me with I’m sorry in her eyes.

I roll mine.

“What are you making?” Zahari grins, opening her door to follow his lead.

“I’m hoping it’s beignets,” Charlotte hollers as she runs after them, “because those ones on Wednesday looked hardcore good.”

“I second that,” Nadia says, closing the door behind her.

That, of course, left Lucas and me alone.

He is sitting up now, his arms resting on the seat between the headrests.

“Kiss virgin?” he quirks his eyebrow.

“Yes,” I say from my place a few feet from him, eyes covered by my arms. “It’s humiliating. I’m in my twenties and I’ve never been kissed.”

“I can’t imagine someone not trying, or at least wanting, to kiss you,” he says.

I smile, keeping my eyes covered.

“It was by choice, actually. When I was seventeen, and had my first serious boyfriend, I—“

“Your first serious boyfriend was when you were seventeen?”

I sit up, to look at him while I explain. “Shut up. Long story short, I decided that kissing just lead to other sexual temptation I didn’t want to be a part of. So, I swore it off. My boyfriend agreed with me, and when we broke up we still had never kissed.”

“He agreed with you?” Both of his eyebrows are raised now.

“Yes,” I shrug. “He was very supportive.”

Lucas’s lips tilt into a mischievous grin. “He is also gay.”

“What?” I screw up my face. “No, he isn’t. Or, at least, he wasn’t.”

“Yes, he is,” Lucas shakes his head. “Any man who is with a gorgeous woman, and abstains from even kissing her, likes the boys.”

I lean in close, my eyes glistening conspiratorially. “Come to think of it, I do think he joined a troupe of traveling mimes a short while back.”

“There you go,” Lucas grins. “You were helping him play the role of a straight man. Good for you. That’s like, the trapped-in-a-box gag, but strictly for gay guys.”

“That makes me feel better about my strong convictions being upheld by whom I thought was a respectable gentleman. Thank you for crushing my dreams,” I deadpan.

“Sweetheart, I’m a respectable gentleman, and my eyes have dropped to your lips six times during this very short conversation.”

I want to say something witty, and caustic, but the flattered feeling that fills me up seals my throat and just won’t let me.

“And you can keep your strong convictions without being overly cautious,” Lucas tells me, his voice gentle. “I, for one, would be glad to respect whatever physical boundaries you set. In fact, I will even set some really good ones for myself…”

His intense hazel eyes are flecked with gold amusement as they search my blushing face. “…but I am going to kiss you, a lot, if you’ll let me.”

We stare at each other for a long minute, and my eyes drop to his mouth before meeting his gaze again. His lips twist into a grin, knowing that he caught me.

Lucas Browning, you are a terrible flirt.

“Luke,” he corrects softly.

My eyebrows are a question mark.

He reaches out slowly and tucks a tangled tuft of hair behind my ear. “I would really love it if you’d call me Luke.” His fingers linger on my face; he traces my jaw with his fingertips. “Like we’re friends.”

The word friends sounds so absurd coming out of his perfectly-formed mouth.

I close my eyes, and my stomach twists itself into a huge mess.

I know what’s coming next.

So, I wait.

…and wait.

…and wait.

What are you waiting for?

I open one eye, and Lucas—excuse me, Luke—is staring at me, his expression quizzical and amused.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks out loud.

“I thought you were going to…” My face gets very hot as I realize I’m very wrong.

“Ohhh, you thought I was going to give away a kiss, just like that?” Luke looks shocked, then cocky. “How easy do you think I am?”

My jaw drops, and I don’t know whether to be insulted, or just laugh.

He chooses the second option, chuckling as he leans in and brushes his lips ever-so-lightly against my flaming cheek.

“Come on, let’s go get some breakfast,” he coaxes, right next to my ear. I feel his breath on the skin of my earlobe, and shiver.

I just nod obediently, and he moves away from me slowly. I feel his eyes on my face, but I can’t bring myself to open my eyes with him that close.

I’m scared of what I might do.

I hear him chuckle, deep in his throat, and open the back door of the car, getting out. It’s when I hear the crash of the door closing that I open my eyes and realize I am still in the trunk. “Luke, wait, I need you to—“

The trunk opens, and Luke is waiting for me to get out, grinning.

“Don’t worry, I’m not joining you back here,” he reassures me, putting his other hand behind his back.

I give him an I-am-not-amused face before scrambling out of the trunk and back into the real world.

“I have convictions too, you know,” he teases, leaning away from me as my feet hit the pavement and I stretch as far as my few-inches-over-five-feet frame allows.

“Sure you do,” I roll my eyes, pulling my arms behind my head.

“I do,” he assures, “and you are not helping with them right now.”

I slump back to my normal, awkward posture, and scrunch up my nose in disbelief. “I’m causing you to stumble just by stretching?”

“You would not believe the onslaught of images,” he shrugs, closing the trunk.

“You are lying,” I shake my head, walking away from him, heading for the house.

“I’m not, actually,” he growls, and before I can argue with him again, I’m swept up off my feet and being spun around like a rag doll.

Laughing breathlessly, I hold onto his arms that surround me, terrified of falling.

He sets me down on my feet, but still won’t release me. He leans down and says right in my ear, “And I would appreciate it if you remember that for the future.”

“Yes, sir,” I laugh.

He laughs with me, and kisses me roughly on the cheek, growling playfully.

The butterflies morph into thunderclouds, sending lightning through my limbs.

I lean back and look up at his face, taking in the line of his jaw before he looks down at me and grins.

“I feel like you’ve always been in my life,” I tell him, and feel his strong heartbeat against my temple.

His cheeky grin slips into a warm smile, and he squeezes me a bit. “I can honestly say I have never felt as comfortable with another human being in my life as I do with you.”

“We’re freaks,” I decide, with a firm nod.

“Yes, that must be it.” He laughs and lets me go.

We fall into step together at a relaxed pace, and I slowly and carefully reach for his hand. My soft fingertips brush the rough calluses he’s collected from years of dedicated guitar practice – and I didn’t know what else, what other work he’d done.

He slides his fingers between mine, and I see him smile at the small gesture from the corner of my eye. We slip into a comfortable silence, and all I hear is our breath and the rustling of dying grass and crisp leaves beneath our Converses.

“You know, I really do hope Jonathan made his beignets,” I say, shattering the peace. “Those things are the bomb, for real.”

Luke’s stomach growls and he squeezes my hand. “No kidding.”

 

“What, didja slip in a quickie while we were in here, or what?” Charlotte bombards me with teasing accusations the second Luke and I sit down at the long, wooden table across from our friends.

“Oh yes, Charlotte,” I assure her, reaching for her glass of water and taking a sip. “It was some seriously passionate trunk time. You should be jealous.”

“Don’t worry, I am,” she laughs, taking a bite of the huge, golden waffles on the plate in front of her.

“IS HENRY COOKING TODAY?” I ask her breathlessly, my eyes wide with indescribable desire.

She nods the affirmative as she chews.

“HOT DAMN!” I yell, slapping my hands on the table and shoving my chair back out with the backs of my legs.

What’s the significance of Henry cooking?” Luke asks me, but I’m already out of my seat and headed for the kitchen.

He repeats the question for Charlotte, and I yell over my shoulder, “HE PUTS CHOCOLATE CHIPS IN MY WAFFLES.”

“That’s what she said!” one of the Baxter twins – Josh, or maybe it was Eric? – yells in my direction.

“Don’t worry, honey! He puts laxatives in yours!” I yell back cheerfully.

They both laugh, and high-five each other.

Only fifteen-year-old boys can appreciate my sense of humor sometimes. It’s kind of sad, really.

“Oh, Henryyyyy,” I call out in my best and most cheerful singing voice.

“Oh, Georgiaaaa,” he sings back.

I stroll into his workspace without fear of being stabbed with something or getting burnt, because I know Henry Lee enjoys my company immensely. “Do you have something just for meeee?” I bat my eyelashes. “Or do I have to start singing ‘Secret Asian Man’ for you again?”

“See, now, if only my dear mother could see that I have gorgeous women hitting on me all the time here, even if it is only for my gift for adding chocolate chips to things that are already fattening, maybe she would stop giving me all these numbers from her friends’ daughters,” Henry shakes his head as he holds out a heaping plate of chocolate chip waffles, dripping with butter.

“Oh, Henry Stan Lee, you’re trying to fatten me up so that you’re the only man in the world who would want to marry me because of your chubby white girl fetish,” I sigh with delight.

He hands me a fork, a satisfied grin on his face. “Baby, if that were the case, I’d have put whipped cream on the top, too. And don’t kid yourself, beautiful. You know you want to marry me anyway. That’s why you give me such flattering middle names.”

“Oh, you and your Marvel comics,” I swat a hand at him. “You know DC will kick your ass from now til kingdom come.”

Henry stabs his index finger at me. “And that is why you will never bear my children.”

“Are you sure? And here I thought it was because your mother wants you to marry one or all of her Asian friends’ daughters?” I stab my clean fork back at him.

“Well, now you should know it’s because you’re heartless. And because Wolverine would kill Batman in a fight: you and I both know this.”

“See, I have to agree with you there,” I stick the fork in my beautiful homemade waffles. “Bruce may be the sexiest and richest man in comics, but I don’t think his huge muscles would do him any good against claws made of Adamantium.”

“Actually, sweet cakes, Tony has your little Bruce beat in the riches department,” Henry argues. “And also, if you must know, he has the upper hand in the sexy department.”

I reach out and touch his hand theatrically. “Oh, honey, I knew you were gay. Thank you for finally telling me. I feel much better finding out now, instead of fifty years from now when I’m still pining after you and my barren womb is longing for your half-Asian babies.”

“Don’t mock the Forbes Fictional 15,” Henry ignores the jab. “It knows all.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” I grin.

“I will,” he grins back, and I turn to leave, but change my mind.

“By the way,” I lean in close to him, my lips nearly brushing his ear, “your waffles are burning.”

“DAMN YOU AND YOUR FEMININE WILES!” he yells after me as I sneak quickly out of the kitchen with my waffles before he can throw things in a fit of rage.

 

“Why is Henry sending you to hell this time?” Zahari asks, raising her dark eyebrows in curiosity.

Henry is seated at our table, having passed on his waffle-making skills to his younger, naïve breakfast protégé, Roger.

I sit down between Zahari and Luke, ignoring Henry’s disgusted look. “I got him into a heated debate about whether Batman or Iron Man’s alter ego is richer. He burnt his batch of waffles.”

“You geeks and your comic books,” Zahari shakes her head.

“It’s Iron Man,” Charlotte speaks up, twirling her last bite of waffles in the maple syrup left on her plate. “I mean, if Forbes Fictional Fifteen said it, I believe them. They know their shit.”

Henry looks up from his glaring at me, and it’s as if he’s seeing Charlotte for the first time.

Oh, no.

“That’s what I told her!” Henry throws his hands up in the air. “She doesn’t believe me!”

“It’s legit, Georgia,” Charlotte mumbles, her mouth full.

“Oh, I believe you guys, and I knew Tony was richer.” I shrug. “I just enjoy pissing Henry off.”

“After all I do for you!” Henry complains. “Do you realize how hard it is to hide chocolate chip-filled anything in a house full of Gifteds?”

“Last weekend, the Baxter boys had him convinced that he misplaced them,” I grin, lifting another bite of sweet success to my lips.

“Their last name is so accurate,” Henry growls.

“Except you should slip and say Bastard boys instead, am I right?” Charlotte nods her agreement.

“Exactly,” Henry nods, a peculiar smile creeping its way across his face.

I give Luke a questioning look, wondering if he can see what’s inevitably coming as easily as I can.

His grin is a resounding yes.

it's many hundred miles and it won't be long.

Laughing and covered in sweat, the nine of us pile back into Lydia’s beautiful vehicle, chatting excitedly about the night we have just had.

“What did I tell you? Good music, good memories.” Jonathan hails, drumming on the steering wheel as we head back to our collective home.

“You were definitely right about this, Jonathan,” Charlotte pipes up. “I think I just had the time of my life back there.”

“I have to agree, that was pretty much amazing,” I exclaim, lifting my shoulders to stretch.

“It was completely amazing,” Lucas concurs from his seat beside me.

“I am really glad you had this idea, Jonathan,” Zahari tells him from the passenger’s seat. (I see a tradition forming.)

Louise is asleep in Wyatt’s lap, Lenny is sitting quietly beside them, and Charlotte and Nadia are beside Lucas and I again.

Charlotte is wide awake. “I still can’t believe you held in that shot of whiskey, Lenny,” she beams at him from her seat behind his.

“And that you had such incredible moves,” Zahari points out drowsily. “That robot you did was spot on.”

“Well, thank you, Zahari. Thank you, Charlotte. I appreciate your accolades. However, I never would have climbed up on that table if I had realized I was just going to fall off of it. It is a good thing that crowd of dancers cheering me on caught me – alcohol truly messes with my ability to make proper calculations,” Lenny sighs.

“It makes you much more entertaining, if that’s any consolation,” Charlotte grins.

“I suppose it is,” Lenny’s brow puckers. “Is anyone else ready for a good night’s rest?”

“I am,” Zahari, Nadia, Jonathan and I all agree out loud.

“Jon, you aren’t allowed to be tired. You need to get us all home safely,” Charlotte bosses him.

“I will, Charlotte. Don’t you worry,” Jonathan assures her. “I’m tired, not inebriated.”

“In a lot of cases, you may as well be,” Charlotte informs. “I heard on the news that driving drowsy is just as dangerous as driving drunk.”

“I promise you that if I feel more than just a little sleepy, I will pull this SUV over and take a nap,” Jonathan says patiently. I can tell he is legitimately trying to alleviate her nerves.

“Thank you,” Charlotte says quietly.

I squeeze her hand, knowing very well why she would fret about anyone’s driving.

Charlotte seems to relax with his promise, squishing her face against Nadia’s shoulder and falling asleep quickly. Nadia is out, too, as well as Lenny – who is already snoring with his head back on the seat. Jonathan turns up a good song on the radio, as Zahari keeps him awake with conversation.

I take this peaceful opportunity to look over and up at Lucas Browning. When I do, I catch him already looking at me, and we both smile.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he tells me, his deep voice low and hushed.

“So did I,” I tell him, stifling a yawn with my stamped right hand. “You are an incredible dancer.”

“You think so?” he asks, his eyes glittering with amusement.

“Definitely,” I nod. “You put Adam Let’s-Go-Back-To-My-Place to shame, for sure.”

He leans his head back and shakes with quiet laughter, holding his stomach. His hand wrinkles the black and white plaid shirt he’s wearing; the one I like very much.

“And you have more rhythm than you give yourself credit for,” he encourages. “I get the impression you don’t let go like that very often.”

“Guilty,” I look down at my hands resting in my lap. “Z doesn’t call me her straight-laced sister for nothing.”

“Well, I liked seeing you like this. You looked very… free,” Lucas smiles warmly.

“Thank you?” I snicker. “Do I normally look contained?”

“You’re wound a little tight, yeah,” Lucas says, then cringes.

I hold a hand up. “Um, I thought I was the honest one around these parts?”

Lucas shrugs. “I’m sorry; I just assumed you’d appreciate honesty in return for honesty. I mean, it’s not exactly fair that you can’t hide anything from me. So, I figure, it’s wisest for me to give you the truth right back – since you can’t read my mind.”

“It is kind of disconcerting, really. It makes me feel kind of—“

Lucas covers my mouth with his hand.

“Don’t say naked.”

I pull his hand away from my mouth.

“Exposed?”

“That’s better, I guess.” He laughs.

He still has not let go of my hand.

“Boys.” I shake my head, trying not to be completely distracted by the casual touch.

Lucas’ lips twitch into a mischievous grin. “What? You have to be fair to us, Georgia. Can you imagine how hard it is to be a man in the world today? Everywhere we go, it’s just like, being blinded by sex.”

“This is not a conversation I want to have with you in the backseat of Lydia’s car, when I’m exhausted from freak dancing with you and my friends all night,” I deadpan.

“I’m not included in your friends?” his smile morphs into a mixture of disappointment and hope. I don’t know how he pulls it off.

“I was sort of hoping you’d become something more, actually,” I say, and then cringe, closing my eyes. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Lucas…whatever-your-middle-name-is Browning! That was not supposed to come out. You aren’t supposed to ask me direct questions like that, unless you want the real answer!

“I do want the real answer,” he says, his voice low.

I open one eye, and a soft version of the crooked, face-creasing grin is in place, replacing my fear of rejection with a whole new stomach knot.

“And, my middle name is Samson.” Lucas links our fingers, not bothering to ask my permission. The roller coaster in my gut hits another violent drop, and my mouth goes dry. I can’t see his face in the dark, as the full moon is being hidden by a patch of thick woods, but I hope he is at least a little bit as affected by my skin as I am by his warm, scratchy calluses brushing my hand. I am reminded in that moment of the time I touched a tiny, live wire, against my father’s careful warnings – my hand feels electric, and numb, at the same time.

The off-white orb hanging in the vast darkness breaks free from its tree-screen, and I can see the faintest flush along his cheekbones, and the pearly, straight white of his very-near-perfect teeth. The cars on the track take a sharp curve, and I feel as though I might fall off the side and into oblivion.

This boy sitting next to me…? He’s beyond beautiful, and I can’t comprehend why he wants to fill the spaces between my fingers, but now that he has, it feels as if he belonged there from the very beginning. I know it’s stupid and cliché to think things like that, but I cannot help it, though I try. My heartbeat is reckless and uneven, and my cheeks are pink, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It is a natural high I cannot compare anything to, and have not felt in a very long time. Butterflies skate across my abdomen like little birds skimming the top of a body of restless water. I can’t imagine how gross I look, having sweated off most of my makeup while dancing, and my hair was probably a mess. I also don’t want to know what I smell like, or if I’m even partially attractive. But if Lucas Samson Browning wants to sit next to me and hold my hand, I must be doing something right.

“You are incredibly attractive,” Lucas murmurs. “And you hold me in way too high esteem. It’s ridiculous. I’m not a mythological creature, Georgia. My heart beats just like yours.”

He picks up the hand of mine he has captive, and presses it to the left side of his chest. My throat tightens up as the palm of my hand measures his speedy pulse.

“See?” his tone is low and conspiratorial. “Just like yours.”

I can’t speak; his voice is like the needle and thread for all the wounds my huge heart has sustained from the first time I could feel. I want to tell him, I want to express to him how deeply I am already in this, but as I try to make the feeling into something eloquent, Zahari whips her head around.

“What are you two doing back there?” Z asks accusingly.

“Talking,” Lucas says, just loudly enough for her to hear, his voice steady.

Steadier than mine would’ve been right then.

He winks at me.

I feel every emotion that has been too-often expressed by those who have come before me; right then it is especially cliché, but so appropriate – as if I have been drowning and he has pulled me up, forcing air back into my waterlogged lungs and removing that which was choking me to death.

I can hear his breath, slowly entering and leaving his body as his chest rises and falls, and the sound is a symphony.

“Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Zahari snickers.

“Yes, Mama,” I tease, though she and I both know, sadly, that isn’t putting much of a limit on it.

As much as I don’t want to remove my palm from his heart, having it back against his big, warm hand is just as good, if not better.

Is it normal to feel this safe with someone you just met a week ago?

“Probably not,” he murmurs, leaning down close to my ear. “But what about our life is normal, anyway?”

The lovely beckoning tug on my eyelids is irresistible, especially with Lucas Samson Browning’s warm blood rushing in his veins just beneath my ear, and his honey-sweet voice humming the notes to the song on the radio. I wrap my other hand around his arm, much like I would clutch my pillow in my bed, and darkness dotted with stars wraps around my consciousness like a fleece blanket. I rest my head on his shoulder as my eyes close, and give a barely noticeable shrug before succumbing to the sleep that’s a siren song, calling my name.