“It’s sorta like a bright olive,” Jack explained. “It’s the color most visible to the human eye because of where it sits in the light spectrum.”
“You’re incredibly random.” We turned into the parking lot of the multiplex, and I realized he had managed to avoid really telling me anything.
When he pulled into park, I looked at him seriously. “So why can’t you tell me things?”
“Why do you think?” Jack asked, not unkindly.
“Witness protection.” It was an idea I had actually considered but quickly crossed off because it didn’t really explain anything. Besides, if he was under cover, then they were doing a very, very bad job since everyone always seemed to be looking at him. And just as I suspected, Jack laughed.
“Okay, that’s not it.” Still smiling and shaking his head, he hopped out of the car, and I quickly followed him.
“Hey, does that mean you’ll actually tell me if I guess right?” The movie had probably already started, so Jack was walking rather fast towards the theater, and I chased after him as swiftly as my short legs would carry me.
“I don’t see why not,” Jack said, and that perplexed me even further.
“If I can guess it then why can’t you just come right out and tell me?” I asked skeptically.
“It’s just the way it is.” He opened the big glass doors of the theater for me, and I walked inside, furrowing my brow.
When he went up to the cashier to buy tickets, I started rummaging in my pockets for my own money, but he just waved me off and paid for my ticket. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied by this new development, I probably would’ve protested further.
“So, are you Rumpelstiltskin?” I asked him, leaning up against the counter as he claimed our tickets.
He laughed loudly, and the cashier blushed at the sound. He was completely oblivious to it, and I hoped that I would hurry up and feel the same way. I hadn’t really staked a claim on him, but it was still irritating to constantly notice girls drooling all over him, especially when I was visibly with him.
“That’s awesome!” He handed me my ticket, and while I did feel overly happy about his very minor compliment, I only let the frustration show on my face. He just chuckled some more and walked to the theater, this time slowing enough so I could keep up with him. “Rumpelstiltskin. That’s really awesome.
I’m gonna tell Ezra that.”
“Why? Are you guys like a family of goblins or something?”
Jack laughed, shaking his head, and then pushed open the door to the movie before I could question him about what exactly was so awesome.
The movie had already started playing but just the very beginning. Lots of people were dressed up in costumes from the movie and throwing popcorn at the screen, so for once nobody noticed us sneaking into the back row.
Rocky Horror Picture Show was a pretty good movie and I did rather enjoy it, but I was starting to think that either Jack had ADD or he had being evasive down to an art form. Deciding to make the best of the situation, I followed suit and watched the movie. Jack was a borderline fanatic. He hadn’t dressed up in a black corset or anything like that, but he stared at the screen intently and shouted right along with all the lines. When “The Time Warp” came on, I thought he might get up and dance, and he probably would’ve had there been enough room in the aisle.
Towards then end of the movie, I had settled back in my seat, and even his enthusiasm had faded a bit. My arm casually brushed against his, and I felt struck by his odd skin temperature again. His skin was soft and warm, but it felt more like touching fabric than it did like touching a person. It was such an odd sensation that I felt like I had to get more of it. I pushed my arm over on the shared arm rest, very deliberately pressing my bare skin against his. The back of his hand felt impossibly soft. He hadn’t pulled his arm away, but I felt his gaze so I looked up at him, finding a very perplexed expression on his face.
“Are you trying to hold my hand?” Jack asked, as if the idea were completely alien.
I was not trying to hold his hand, but I didn’t appreciate the way it seemed so offensive to him. What would be wrong with that? After all, this essentially was a date, whether he called it that or not. So why would it be so unthinkable that we’d hold hands?
“What if I am?” I stuck out my chin, ready to hold my ground and find out what would be so bad about hitting on me. Without hesitation, Jack called my bluff and took my hand in his. It definitely felt like I was holding hands with doll or something other than another person, but then it started to warm up, his skin heating up unnaturally, and I pulled my hand from his. “Okay. That’s just weird.”
In response, he just shrugged, apparently deciding against explaining his abrupt temperature change.
We watched the rest of the movie in silence (or at least I did — he continued shouting lines and singing). By the time it ended, I had started yawning, and I knew that I’d have to call it a night pretty soon. Not that I wanted to. Bizarre handholding and classified information aside, I really enjoyed spending time with Jack and I didn’t want it to stop. Not ever.
The car ride home was mostly filled with Jack’s excited chatter about the movie. He explained all the reasons it was such a masterpiece, and had an endless stream of compliments about Tim Curry. I added things now and again, but it was mostly one-sided. There was something very thrilling about seeing Jack so excited. He became very animated and his eyes almost seemed to glow.
“I hope you had fun tonight,” Jack said when he pulled up in front of my place.
“I did,” I nodded. Only he could make frustration so much fun. “So… we’ll hang out again?”
“Of course,” he smiled, then held out his hand towards me. “Let me see your phone.”
“Why?” I asked, but I was already pulling it out of my pocket and handing it to him.
“One second.” Taking my phone, he started scrolling through it and doing things that I couldn’t see from my angle. A minute later, he handed my phone back to me, looking rather mischievous.
“What’d you do?” I flipped it open and started looking through it, trying to see what he could’ve done.
“You’ll see,” he smiled.
“Oh, you are trouble.” Shaking my head, I shoved my phone back in my pocket, and he laughed.
“You have no idea.”
When I got out of the car, he was still laughing. I watched him speed off, moving impossibly fast, and then dashed upstairs to my house. Being with him was strangely exhilarating, but it also ended up a little tiring. Even when he wasn’t moving, he had so much energy about him, and it seemed to take so much energy just being around him. Not that I didn’t enjoy every minute of it, but it really made me look forward to curling up in my bed.
I’d barely made it inside the apartment when I saw Milo looking sheepishly at me, and I knew there was trouble afoot. It was way past his bedtime, and he was leaning against the kitchen counter all decked out in his pajamas. I was about to ask what was going on when I heard the rather shrill voice of my mother, and looked over to see her sitting in the tattered easy chair in the living room.
“Glad to see you finally made it home,” Mom said icily. Her graying hair looked like a frayed mess spreading out from her bun and her eyes were unusually large, a feature that both Milo and I had inherited, making us all look much younger than we were. Her voice, which could be rather soothing when she wanted it to be, sounded like she had been chain-smoking for forty years, which wasn’t that far from the truth. As it was, she was lighting another cigarette as she cast a cold glance at me.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I asked dumbly.
“They had a bomb threat to the building so they shut it down for the night,” Mom explained harshly. “They’re diverting all the calls to Edina’s station.”
“Oh.” I stood awkwardly in between the kitchen and the living room, waiting for someone to tell me what was going on.
“What were you doing out so late?” Her voice lilted at the end, like she was taunting me.
“I don’t have school, and I don’t have a curfew,” I answered cautiously.
In theory, I might’ve had a curfew, but we’d never even talked about it and she always worked nights. On weeknights, I usually tried to be in by midnight, but that was mostly because Milo would freak out on me and I’d be too tired to get up for school. The only thing Mom really kept track of was whether or not we went to school and were passing all our classes. As long as I did that, everything else seemed fine with her.
