from having run all the way.
The halls are almost empty by the time I arrive. She's sitting at her desk reading papers. She looks up, smiles. “Ryan. Thank you for coming.”
“Not a problem,” I say.
“Good.”
She leans back in the chair and I can't keep my eyes to myself. They just help themselves to a long stare at her perfect body.
“Ryan, do you know a couple of young men who might be willing to help me move furniture?”
I swallow. My mind races over a short list of my friends. “What kind of furniture?”
She laughs and the sound is soft and silky. “Let me better explain. You see, I took this job at McAllister at the last minute and moved down from Chicago quickly. Then I had to be here getting things ready for the new year a week in advance of classes. Then classes started, and, well, I've never really unpacked my stuff. The movers just dumped my furniture in my apartment, and I'm tired of walking around it. Every piece needs placement. I can't move it by myself and I don't know a soul in Atlanta. So I thought maybe I could hire a few of my students to help me move the pieces I want to reposition.”
I nod almost the whole time she's talking. “Sure, sure. I know some guys.”
“I'll pay all of you well.”
I feel giddy. “When did you want to do this?”
“Saturday morning? About ten-thirty?” she asks so sweetly that I almost beg her to start right now.
“Sounds good to me.”
“You're a lifesaver. I'd hate for you to miss out on any other plans you've made, so I promise we'll do this quickly. I already know where I want everything.” She looks at me through long dark lashes. “You sure you don't mind?”
“No problem.”
She smiles brightly. “That's such a relief. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.”
She grabs a legal pad and writes down her address.
I reach for the pad.
“Wait,” she says. “Let me write down my cell number too. If something goes wrong, if you can't come, just let me know.”
I would have shown up even if it meant canceling an audience with the Pope. I take the pad and tear off the paper, fold it and slide it into the pocket of my jeans. “See you Saturday,” I say.
“Yes. And thank you again.”
I leave her and scoot down the empty hall, knowing I have to move fast because the resource cop locks the doors at four. At the bus stop, I remove and unfold the paper from my pocket. I read her address and phone number in her neat handwriting and my palms get sweaty. I don't know where her apartment is in the city, but I'll download a map tonight. I think about who I'll ask to come with me. Joel's the logical choice. Yet something inside me doesn't want him to come. I don't even want him to know. I don't want anyone to know. Me and Lori Settles moving furniture. How lucky can one guy get?
On Saturday I make up some story for Dad about meeting kids from my science class at a coffee shop that's around the corner from Lori Settles' apartment complex. The Internet is helpful for finding all kinds of info—so I know exactly where she lives and what's near her apartment. I drive and Dad rides in the passenger seat. He's been letting me drive since before I got my learner's permit, but he still won't let me take the car on my own. Not until I'm sixteen. I feel like such a kid and make my case again for my own wheels as a Christmas gift.
“I get it, Ryan,” he says once I rehash my reasons. “I get it every time you ask.”
“But you never tell me if it's going to happen.”
“Have you figured a way to pay for insurance and gas? Cars are expensive to keep, you know.”
“I'll get a job. The grocery store always needs baggers.”
“You've got to keep your grades up.”
“I'll do it.”
He sighs, runs his hand through his thinning hair. “Well, stop badgering me. I've got a lot on my mind.”
“Work?”
“Always. Some hotshot from the home office wants to intrude on my sales territory.”
“Can he?”
“I have seniority, but you never know.”
The equipment he sells is state of the art. He only has to sell a few a year for his commission to cover our expenses, but he has to keep customers happy and that's why he travels so much. He handholds and troubleshoots for every piece of equipment he sells. “I'm sure you can take him, Dad.”
That makes Dad laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
I pull up to the curb in front of the coffee shop, grab a paper sack from the backseat and get out of the car.
“Where's your notebook?” he asks.
“Girls take notes. Guys bring lunch.”
He laughs again. “I'll give you a few bucks for lunch.” He hands me a ten, a bonus for the little lie I've told so smoothly. “You have a time frame for me?”
“I don't know how long this is going to take.”
“You can call—”
“I'll hitch a ride with one of the guys,” I say. “That way you can do what needs doing in your life.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” I've already plotted my bus route home, and Dad'll never know how I actually get there.
He drives off and I enter the coffee shop in case he's looking in the rearview mirror. As soon as I think it's safe, I leave the shop, head over to the next block and to the giant complex Lori Settles calls home. My heart is thudding and my mouth is dry. I can't wait to get started.
Ryan
Lori Settles lives in building five on floor five of the Garden Ridge apartments, overlooking Georgia pines, oaks and maple trees. I ring her doorbell. When she opens the door, she's wearing tight jeans, a bodyhugging hot pink T-shirt and a smile. “Ryan, come in.” She crooks her neck to look past me into the empty hallway. “Where are the others?”
I flash my best grin. “Just me. All my buds were covered up.”
“But the furniture's heavy.”
I hold up the paper sack I've brought with me and shake it. “I have other friends.” I reach into the bag and pull out four padded disks with slick surfaces. “These are called ‘moving men.’ You slide them under the feet of the furniture you need moved and push, and presto—instant move, no effort. These babies and two people can move the world.”
She stares at the disks, then returns my smile. “Then let's get started.”
She walks into the living room. Her black hair is tied back with a pink velvet ribbon and she's wearing lip gloss that makes her mouth look slick and pouty. I feel like a slobbery dog as I follow her.
“Well, here it is,” she says, gesturing at stacks of boxes and several large pieces of furniture along the walls.
“This one first,” I say, pointing to a large cabinet that I'm guessing holds dishes; the one at our house does. “Where do you want it?”
“Over there.” She points to a wall near a kitchen pass-through.
“All you have to do is help me tip it,” I say. “I'll do the rest.” I drop to my knees and put the pads directly under the furniture's front legs while she tips the cabinet up. We repeat the process for the back legs. Then I slide the heavy unit effortlessly across the carpet while she guides it.
Lori claps when it's in place. “How easy! You're a genius.”
I beam at the sound of her praise. “What's next?”
