Continuum (25 page)

I examine the picture closely.  A hard expression on a face I don't recognize, every line filled with hatred.  Cold eyes staring out from underneath dark furrowed brows, nostrils flaring on a nose that's been broken at least twice, thin lips snarling in disgust.  Staring at the page trying to place where I remembered this man from, it takes me a minute to realize the doorbell is ringing.

I close the sketchbook and spring up from the bed.  I sprint to the door, yanking it open.  A smile forms on my lips as soon as I see Ethan.  I step aside so he can come inside.  His bag lands with a clunk as he tosses it next to the front door closet.  He pulls me into an embrace, his arms wrapping securely around my waist.  “Are you okay?  I was knocking for a while.”

“I'm sorry, I feel asleep,” I admit sheepishly.

He kisses me briefly on the forehead before pulling away.  A mischievous smile spreads across his lips as he stands by the door looking at me.

“What?”  I smooth my hair with both hands, trying to make myself look more presentable.

“No, no.  It's nothing.  I just didn't notice the penguins on your pajamas.”  I feel my face flood with heat as Ethan continues teasingly,  “Come on, now don't be like that.  They're cute.”

Groaning, I reply, “Wait for me in the kitchen.  I just need a minute to brush my teeth and change.”  I turn back to look at Ethan before heading to my room and say as sternly as someone wearing penguin pajamas can say, “Start studying without me.”

As soon as the bedroom door shuts, I am in a flurry of movement.  I throw open the door to my closet and start sifting through clothes.  I examine my collection of dresses, mostly flowery prints or varying shades of pink-- purchased pre-adolescence.  I rummage through a pile of sweaters, pausing to contemplate a pink sweater I haven't worn in ages.  I throw it in the reject pile.  My style was usually more utilitarian and I didn't know what would be considered an appropriate “studious but still cute” outfit.

I try to tell myself not to over think it, to just throw on whatever.  Which is easier said than done and I spend another couple minutes holding top and skirt combos against my body.  Eventually, my clothing options are exhausted.  I decide to go low key rather than try and wow Ethan with some random dress that hasn't seen the light of day since middle school.  Quickly, I slip off my pajamas and put on a white v-neck t-shirt and an emerald green sweater that compliments my eyes.  Grabbing my favorite faded, worn in jeans from the reject pile, I pull them.  

Inside the adjoining bathroom, I quickly wash my face.  I yank a comb through my long hair which is unruly from sleep.  Then I brush my teeth vigorously and gurgle mouthwash for a full minute.  Finally, I apply an extra coating of deodorant before exiting.  I check my reflection before exiting and my usually pale face is rosy from exertion.  My skin glowing from my inner joy.  I hardly recognize myself.

When I come into the kitchen, Ethan is definition of the model student.  He is wearing an expression of deep concentration.  His European History book, a couple of ancient looking leather bound books from the library, and his notebook are all carefully spread out on the table.  

Pulling up a chair next to him, I lean over to see what part of the book he's in.  “French Revolution?”

“Yup.  My favorite.  Who doesn't like a good beheading?”

“And don't forget about pants.  The clothes of the working class.”

Ethan leans over and wiggles his eyebrows at me.  “Actually, I could have done without the whole pants revolution.”

Tapping the open book with my hand, I nudge him playfully to get his attention.  “Study time.  You need to concentrate.”

We spend the next couple hours pouring over our notes, going over the timeline of the war.  After reviewing the storming of the Bastille, Ethan snaps the book shut abruptly.  Stretching his arms up, he declares, “I cannot possibly go on.  I am bored and hungry.  Positively ravenous.  Please, Fallon, let's grab some pizza before my body eats my brain for fuel.”

“Alright, I concede.  Let them eat pie!  Pizza pie!”

“Great, let's go to Fat Tony’s.”

Standing swiftly, Ethan pulls me up from my chair.  I grab my leather jacket and boots from the hallway closet and stuff my keys into the pocket of my jeans.  Ethan is already waiting for me outside, leaning against his motorcycle.  He unclips a shiny red helmet from the side of the bike and holds it out to me.  

I stare at the small unassuming orb without making a move to take it from his hand.  “Err, I'm not so sure about this.  Fat Tony's really isn't that far away.  And geez it's really nice out for November.  Don't you want to walk?” 

“Fat Tony's is like three and a half miles away.”

The diversion tactics continue.  “Oh, three miles?  I don't remember it being that far away.  But that's okay, I could really use the exercise.  Especially if we're eating copious amounts of refined carbohydrates.”  

Ethan artfully raises one eyebrow and shakes his head, pressing the helmet into my hands.  “Not going to be that easy.  Put it on. ”  He places his own black helmet as if to demonstrate the expected behavior.  Cautiously, I place the foreign object on and fiddle with the chin strap until it feels secure on my head.  I flip down the tinted visor and the night grows darker.  My heart is palpitating and I start sweating, grateful that I thought to put on extra deodorant.  

Ethan casually mounts the bike while I eye the distance from the ground to the bike.  He senses my hesitation.  He pats the seat behind him, “Come on, Fallon.  Hop on.  I promise not to kill us.  You can hold onto me as tight as you like.” 

I half jump, half kick my leg onto the bike.  It takes me two tries before I get my leg over.  Once, I'm securely on, I lean against Ethan's back and wrap my arms tightly around his waist.  “Please go slow.  I'd like to make it to my next birthday.”

He laughs as he kicks the bike into gear.  Squeezing my eyes shut, I send a silent prayer to the highway gods.  He eases the bike from my driveway and onto the street.  I risk a glance once we are on the highway.  The speedometer reads 55MPH but the wind whipping past us makes it feel like we are flying on the pavement.  The sky is covered by clouds and I can only make out the stretch of road illuminated by the single headlight.  As we go around a bend, the headlight flashes on the neat rows of trees lining the side of the highway, shadowy soldiers of the night.

The wind is howling past us, blowing back my hair that’s sticking out from under the helmet.  Suddenly I flash on a memory of standing in a field, my hair whipping around me.  Fear clenches in the pit of my stomach but I shake it off, concentrating on the present.  When my vision adjusts, I see the exit for Fat Tonys's up ahead.

Ethan pulls smoothly into a parking spot in front of the restaurant.  We made it in one piece, all limbs securely intact.  I half stumble, half climb off the back of the motorcycle.  My thighs are tingling from gripping the bike so tightly.  Ethan easily hops off and removes his helmet, shaking his hair back into place.  Stiffly, I pull my helmet off and hang it on the back of the bike.

Ethan reaches over and puts his hand against the small of my back as we walk toward the restaurant.  “That wasn't completely horrible was it?”

I run my fingers through my half-smashed by a helmet, half-wind blown hair and give him my best brave smile, “Not completely horrible.”

It's extremely crowded and loud inside since it's Saturday night.  Everest Heights isn't exactly a hotbed for nighttime activities.  It seems like a third of the Everest High School population is crammed into Fat Tony’s tonight.  The door jingles as we enter the restaurant.  People glance up and soon everyone is turning around and watching us walk in, the volume reducing by half with each step we take.  

Ethan pulls my hand into his as we scan the restaurant for an empty table.  As we walk to the only open booth in the furthest corner of the dining area, I can feel the burning eyes of every person present.  A bomb could go off in the opposite corner and people would not have stopped gaping.

He releases my hand and I scurry into the booth.  Ethan slings his jacket over the back of the booth before sitting down and carefully inspecting the menu.  I leave my jacket on, ready to leave at the smallest provocation.  I pull my menu up over my face, shrinking into my seat.  As soon as we are seated, the murmuring starts up.  The sound building until the buzzing is overwhelming.

After a few minutes, I risk a peek over my top of my menu and see every table is turned toward us, openly staring and whispering.  We might as well be in the center of the room with a spotlight pointed on us.  I spot Mackenzie three tables away giving me the evil eye so I slide my menu back up.

“Personally, I enjoy the thin crust sausage and mushroom,” I lean over and whisper, still hiding behind the menu.

“Oh, I was thinking we'd get the anchovies and onion,” Ethan replies in a loud, clear voice that seems to ring throughout the whole room.

I laugh nervously, shutting my menu and setting it on the table in front of me.  “Okay that's fine, I'm not picky.”

“Gross, I was kidding.  Though I do enjoy anchovies in a good Caesar salad, I think I'll stick to more traditional pizza toppings.”

Our waitress tonight is Megan Fischer.  Her electric orange hair clashes loudly with the green polos and red aprons the waitstaff wear.  I notice her latest addition to her collection of facial piercings-- a shiny silver hoop through her septum.  

“Hey, Meg,” Ethan greets her warmly.  He puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me against his body.  “Do you know Fallon Pierce?”  

“Hey, Ethan.  Hey, Fallon.  Yes, Fallon and I have known each other since middle school.”  I knew Megan before the orange hair and piercings.  Her mom passed away when she was very young and her dad remarried around the time she started dying her hair and putting rings in her face. 

I smile and give a small wave in greeting.  “Hi, Megan.  How's Frankenstein?”  Frankenstein is Megan's ancient and beloved bulldog.

“Frankenstein's doing good.  We put him on diet doggy chow and he lost some weight, so the arthritis isn't bothering him so much anymore.”

We sit in a moment of awkward silence before Ethan cuts in, “Hey, did you get through those Calc problems Bojovic assigned?  Absolutely brutal.”

“Oh, I haven't gotten around to them yet.  Tomorrow's my day off so I'll slave away then,” Megan replies, tapping her pen against her order pad.  “Uhm, so are you guys ready to order?  Anything to drink?”

Ethan turns to me and Megan's eyes follow.  Megan is the kind of person that is not shocked by anything but I can tell even she's surprised to see me here with Ethan.  “Fallon, would you like something to drink?”

“I’ll have a Coke.”

“Make it two.  And we're ready to order now-- an extra large thin crust sausage and mushroom.  And the mozzarella sticks as a starter.  Thanks, Meg,” Ethan says as he hands the menus to her.  When she returns with his Coke, he gives her an appreciative smile.  Ethan never stops surprising me.

Nervously, I begin rearranging the fork and knife on the table, “Extra large?  And mozzarella sticks?  Unless you're hiding someone under the table, I can't eat that much.”

“It's for me, I've got an insatiable appetite,” his blue eyes flash and a wicked smile forms on his lips.  Ethan reaches over and places his hand over my fidgeting one.  “Are you feeling okay?”

Reflexively, I start jiggling my leg as my eyes dart around the room, “Fine, I guess.  I just don't do crowds well.”

“It's okay.  Just focus on me instead of them.”  He places his hand under my chin and turns my head to face him.  A smile still on his lips and his hand still under my chin, he leans forward and kisses me softly.  When he pulls back, I don't need to look around to know the entire tri-county area is staring at us.

“So, uhm, what's your favorite kind of pizza?” I ask lamely, feeling the crowd's eyes boring into my skull.

 “I'm a traditionalist, I like the Neapolitan pizza.  Paper thin crust baked in a brick over with some fresh mozzarella, tomatoes and basil.  I do like the giant slices of New York pizza.  Especially with white sauce.  Though we did live in Chicago for year and I got my fill of deep dish and stuffed crust.  Gotta pack on the pounds for the brutally cold winters.”  His stomach growls in agreement.

I grin, “Besides the limited food options, how does Everest Heights compare to the other places you’ve lived?”

“It’s a big change of pace from living in big cities, but not unpleasant.”

“Why did you choose Everest Heights over London?”

“London is... London.  Dreary rainy weather.  I would have to take the Underground everywhere.  Everyone laughs when I call ‘football‘ soccer.  Decent fish and chips though.  I prefer quiet and quaint.”

“Antiquated is more like it.  I've lived here my whole life and it never feels like anything changes.  I admit it is odd to think about leaving this place one day.”

Megan interrupts us to drop off fresh Cokes and mozzarella sticks.  Ethan starts digging in with great relish, dipping the mozzarella sticks into the marina sauce and eating them in two efficient bites.  I pull apart the gooey mozzarella stick to let the steam vent and dip it in some ranch dressing, chewing slowly as Ethan inhales another.

He finishes two more before continuing.  “We moved around a lot.  Living with my mom was a chance to settle into a place for a longer stretch.  At least for a little while.  It's hard to find where you fit in when you're always leaving.”

Snorting, I reply, “Really.  You had a hard time fitting in?  Ethan Hayes, the outsider?”

He nudges me with his shoulder.  “Be nice, Fallon.  Not all of us are so charming and easygoing like yourself.  But honestly, people treat me like I’m some shiny new toy.  No matter where I lived, I was a novelty.  The new kid.  Your brush-offs were breath of fresh air.  My grandmother always says nothing worth getting comes easily.”

“I can’t blame the normals for being attracted to your shininess.  You are like honey for girl bees.  They can’t resist...  In fact, I can hear them all buzzing now.”