Eternity (v5)

“Can I chalk it up to jet lag? We got back less than a week ago.” I scrambled for an explanation, any explanation.

“Yes, but please promise to keep your cel on. Okay?”

It annoyed Ruth to no end that I routinely failed to turn on my phone. No one ever cal ed me on it except Ruth and, in emergencies, my parents. “I promise.”

“Now, you’re not going to forget our plans to go to the movies tomorrow night, are you?”

I laughed in relief at the mock scolding in Ruth’s voice. “Of course not. Would I miss Audrey Tatou’s latest?” We both adored foreign movies, though for very different reasons, and went nearly every weekend. Ruth loved how different cultures told stories, while I was drawn to the exotic settings. Ruth could never understand why I didn’t get my fil of that over the summers. No amount of explaining on my part could make her understand that farming in rural Kenya or Guatemala bore absolutely no resemblance to the Parisian cafe culture.

“Good. I’l see you at seven at the Odeon.”

Chapter Four

On Monday, I expected to pass Michael in the hal ways and get the cold shoulder, at best. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he told me off for my rudeness; he would’ve been justified. I certainly didn’t anticipate—or deserve—seeing Michael waiting for me with a friendly smile on his face.

But there he was.

Michael stood against the wal near my locker so casual y that, once again, I thought maybe he wasn’t waiting there for me. After al , he could have any number of reasons for being there. But then he waved and smiled at me. A fierce blush spread across my pale cheeks when I realized he was waiting for me. How did he know where my locker was?

Although I shyly returned his smile and wave, I got more anxious as I walked toward him. Michael wore average-looking jeans and a black T-shirt, but he looked different—more mature, maybe—than the average Til ing- hast guy. Plus, I had this business of apologizing to address.

Michael’s warm smile made the apology a lot easier. I bit the bul et and said, “Hey, I feel real y bad about not recognizing you at first on Friday—”

He interrupted me. “Don’t mention it. It’s been three years, and we both look different. You especial y,” he said with an appreciative glance that made me blush. I hated to blush. He seemed to notice my discomfort, and rushed to lighten the mood by teasing me. “I hope I look different than I did three years ago, too. Maybe better?”

I laughed a little, but didn’t know what to say next. I never knew what to say to guys, unless it was about class work or organic farming. Obviously neither topic lent itself to casual banter, although normal y I didn’t mind. And anyway, I stil had this weird amnesia when it came to Michael and Guatemala, and I didn’t know how to avoid that topic in a conversation since it was our main common ground.

We stood in what seemed, to me, like an eternal awkward silence. To fil the void, I started walking down the hal , and he quickly fol owed. But the quiet final y got to me, and I blurted out, “So, your parents want to save the world, too?” I figured that he could relate if his parents dragged him on far-flung missions to Guatemala, like mine did.

“Something like that,” he said pleasantly enough. Maybe I had passed the first conversational hurdle. “We’ve traveled al over for their work, that’s for sure.”

“Did your family move here so your parents could teach at the university, M—?” I almost said his name, and then I stopped myself. Technical y, we hadn’t introduced ourselves, and I definitely didn’t want to admit that I’d discussed him with my parents, and got his name that way.

“We moved to Til inghast over the summer so my parents could work on a special project.”

“So it’s just a temporary move?” Even though I barely knew this guy, I felt disappointed that he might not be in town for long.

“We’re here until the project meets its goal, I guess.”

Before I could ask any other number of polite, conversational questions, he turned to me with a broad smile and asked, “So where are we headed?”

“English.”

“What are you reading?”

“Pride and Prejudice.”

“I had to read that for English last year. I thought my teacher would never stop talking about it. I think she’s stil looking for her Mr. Darcy.”

I had to laugh. I had heard the same thing about my English teacher, Miss Taunton.

We started talking about Pride and Prejudice, which I’d read on the long, hot Kenyan nights when there wasn’t much else to do. In fact, I had finished the assigned Pride and Prejudice and worked my way through al of Jane Austen over the summer. He asked me what I’d thought of the novel. I loved it, and he admitted that he’d found it slower than molasses and about as interesting. But he said it with the kind of smile that made me forgive him for having such a negative view on a book that I loved. I’d never had this kind of conversation with any other guy before. With anyone other than Ruth, actual y. My parents and their col eagues stuck to practical scientific texts and world issues, and my other friendships were of the superficial variety. And even though we didn’t agree, it was such a rush to find a guy that I could talk to—after so long pretending to myself and everyone else that I didn’t much care that I couldn’t speak the language of guys my own age.

Too soon, we stood near the entrance to my English class. I paused near the door. I felt awkward about how to break off. Would it be real y 1950s of me to thank him for walking me to class?

“Wel , it was real y nice seeing you again. . . .” I let the sentence drift off as I faced the uncertain business of whether I should say his name or not. I hoped he didn’t notice.

He did, of course.