Rolling Dice (19 page)

And then someone yells down the corridor to Bryce that Coach needs to speak to him ASAP, so he kisses me quickly and I make my way to homeroom.

I drag myself to Art class; after a while I manage to wake up enough to talk to Carter
properly.

“How’s the project going?” he asks. “For Physics?”

I shrug. “Okay, I guess. We’ve barely started. It isn’t as terrible as I expected.”

Carter raises his one and a half eyebrows at me. “The project isn’t that bad, or hanging out with Dwight isn’t that bad?”

I laugh. “Dwight’s great. I was talking about the project, though.”

“Ah.”

“What’s that supposed to be?” I ask, pointing with my green-tipped paintbrush at his canvas, where there is a distorted blue-black blot.

“A blueberry,” he informs me matter-of-factly. “Use your artistic imagination—jeez.”

I can’t tell if he’s serious and it
is
a blueberry, or if he’s just being sarcastic. I’m never sure with Carter. But either way, I laugh and shake my head, and return to my easel.

“And how’d you lose half of your eyebrow?”

“We were playing truth or dare. It was either run naked down the beach or shave my eyebrows off. And there were a lot of people on the beach that evening. We were interrupted before I could finish.”

I laugh. It’s about the seventh tale I’ve heard. I don’t know if he’s actually told me the truth yet or not, but it always amuses me to hear what he comes up with.

The rest of the day blurs past. Monday runs into Tuesday runs into Wednesday runs into Thursday …

The week’s over before I know it.

And somehow, I’ve managed to sign myself up to the track team. They practice every Thursday lunchtime, Coach tells me, which is totally fine with me. The girls still say I should’ve gone for cheerleading instead. Tiffany sighs, “But you’d have had so much fun on the squad! The track team girls are
so
boring.”

Saturday afternoon, I check the time on my cell phone and say, “I’m going to go get ready,” and haul myself up from the couch, where I’ve been doing some History homework.

“Are you going out with Bryce?” Mom asks.

I shake my head. “He’s got something planned with all the boys. Remember, I told you. Dwight said I can go over to his house and we’ll work on the project some more.”

“That’s good.” She smiles broadly. “Do you need a ride over there?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Go change and get your stuff, and we’ll head off.”

So I change into my favorite skinny jeans, these bright blue ones, and throw on a plain white tank top. I don’t go to much trouble—but I don’t want to show up at Dwight’s in sweatpants and an old shirt that’s got paint stains on it from when I decorated my bedroom. I throw my laptop and books into a backpack, and at the last second grab my iPod too, because even though I know I won’t need it around Dwight, I still can’t leave without it.

Dwight’s house isn’t all that hard to find—two lefts, a right, and then it’s at the end of a road. I tell Mom that I’ll be able to find my own way home.

“Okay,” she says. “But if it’s after ten, I want you to call me, and your dad or I will pick you up. I don’t want you walking home in the dark.”

“Sure, Mom.” She gives me a look, so I roll my eyes and say, “I swear, I’ll call after ten.” Then I shut the car door and yell a goodbye over my shoulder as I make my way up to Dwight’s house.

It’s a bit bigger than mine, but even from the outside it looks cozy. The windows of the room that juts out beside the porch are open, and the soft blue curtains billow in the breeze. The front lawn has a worn look, like someone actually uses it. There’s a red ball lying there, and a frayed blue rope that looks like a dog’s toy. I check the rusting brass number on the wall beside the front door: 16. It’s his house, all right.

I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m so nervous all of a sudden. I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder. My hand fidgets with the earphone that’s dangling out of my front pocket. But I eventually raise my hand and ring the doorbell. I hear the sound resonate through the house, accompanied by a loud bark. After a couple of seconds of scuffling, the door is yanked open. Dwight’s there, panting a little, mostly hidden by the door.

“Come on in,” he says breathlessly. There’s another woof and he disappears behind the door. I guess he’s trying to restrain the dog.

I slip in and push the door closed.

As I turn back to Dwight, he shouts, “Gellman!” and then something very large, very heavy, and very fluffy pins me to the wall. I let out a little shriek of surprise.

“Sorry,” Dwight apologizes hastily.

“No, it’s fine,” I say. I try to twist my face away from the giant pink tongue lolling my way, but I fail, and when the dog licks my jaw I laugh. But Dwight moves forward, grabbing the dog’s collar and hauling it away from me.

That’s when I get a good look at it. It’s some sort of Labrador cross-breed, though what exactly it’s crossed with I don’t know. But the dog is a mass of silky soft, shaggy blond
hair, with big dark eyes and a lolling tongue. I lower my bag to the floor and crouch in front of it; its eyes are level with mine, it’s that huge. Or maybe I’m just that small.

I stroke its head, and scratch behind its ears. It barks again, happy at the attention.

“Who’s this beast?” I ask, grinning.

“Gellman. Well. Gellman-Zweig. After Murray Gell-Mann and George Zweig.”

I just give him a look that clearly conveys I have no idea who those people are.

“They’re scientists,” he explains. “Basically, they both discovered the existence of quarks.”

“Of what?”

“Quarks. Tiny particles that make up hadrons. Hadrons being protons and neutrons.”

“Um. Okay.”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Nope.” I pop the “p,” and we both laugh.

“You can tell I’ve always been a physics nerd,” Dwight laughs, and rubs the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed about it. “We got Gellman when I was eleven. Cynthia—that’s my sister—she wanted to call him Fluffy.
Fluffy
. Of all the names out there, she chose
Fluffy
.” He shook his head. “I told her if she wanted to call a pet that, she could get a hamster. Anyway—you ready to make some progress on this project?”

“Not really,” I admit cheerfully. Gellman woofs gruffly at me again, asking for attention. Then he licks my fingers.

“I’m gonna put him in the backyard for a while,” Dwight says. “He’s not usually this excitable. Sorry. I guess it’s just because he hasn’t met you.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him honestly. “I like dogs.”

Nonetheless, he drags Gellman off down the hallway. I slide my shoes off and place them neatly by the door, and then I pick up my bag again.

When Dwight returns he says, “Do you want anything to drink? Eat?”

I’m about to say no, just out of politeness, but think better of it. I’m thirsty, so to heck with it. “A glass of water would be great?” It comes out like a question.

“No problem. You sure you don’t want a soda or anything, though? A latte? I know you’re rather partial to them.”

I laugh. “Water’s fine.”

He shrugs and shoots me his wonderfully infectious smile. “Okay. Well, make yourself at home …” He gestures to a room behind a half-open door, and then disappears toward the kitchen.

The lounge is long and rectangular. At one end is the open window with its blue curtains billowing in the breeze. There’s a large TV against the wall opposite me, and I notice there’s an Xbox connected to it; a long brown, worn leather couch sits directly in front of it, with a matching armchair, a futon and a smaller couch organized strategically around the TV.

At the end of the room near the window there’s a desk with a computer, and a bookshelf stuffed with all kinds of books. I wander over. There are physics books galore (which doesn’t surprise me), and chick lit and romances, and Jane Austen and other classics, and a very well-thumbed collection of the Harry Potter series. I smile, admiring the books. Some look like they’ve been kept well, and others look so loved—like they’ve been read and cherished over and over and over again.

I turn to the couches again. There’s a coffee table in the middle, with Dwight’s textbooks, notebook, and a laptop. I take a seat, perching on the largest couch, and start to empty my bag out slowly, methodically.

Dwight comes in through a door at the far end of the room and sets down a can of soda, a glass of water, and a giant bag of chips.

“How’s your weekend been?” I ask conversationally as my laptop boots up.

He shrugs, but he’s smiling. “Okay. I went surfing earlier, after I finished my shift.”

“Cool.” Then, without even thinking, I add, “You’ll have to take me out there sometime soon. I’m going to hold you to your promise.”

He chuckles. “I know, I will. I just—I mean, I figured you’re probably busy with Bryce most of the time now …” He clears his throat, and something about it makes me think he’s heard a bunch of rumors about me and Bryce. I know what some people are saying, but everyone I hang out with knows it’s not true.

But if Dwight believed them …

“You should know better than to listen to what the rumor mill is churning out,” I say quietly.

“What? No, I didn’t mean it like—I wasn’t …”

“Oh.”

He smiles softly at me. “I know you’re not that kind of girl, Madison.” It makes Ricky’s words from Monday morning run through my head:
Don’t worry, Madison. Everyone knows you’re the sweet innocent little virgin
.

I guess my reputation precedes me.

But I return the smile and open up my laptop. Dwight clicks his back to life. He’s already got a couple of documents and Web pages open, most of which he closes; some he
just minimizes for later.

It’s quiet while we click and type on our laptops. The ringtone version of “She Had the World” that I downloaded on my cell phone a couple of days ago blares out from my pocket all of a sudden, making me jump out of my skin.

I feel Dwight watching me, and I feel embarrassed as I answer the call. I stand up and turn my back on him for a moment, but I still feel him looking at me.

“Hey, Bryce,” I say quietly.

I can hear the noise of a soccer match in the background. “Mainstream. How’s it going?” He sounds genuinely happy to speak to me.

“Um, okay. I thought you were with the guys?” I state the obvious, my voice questioning, like a prompt for him to explain why he’s calling me.

“Yeah, I am, but it’s halftime and I wanted to speak to you.”

“Oh.”

“So what’s up?”

“Just … studying.”

He laughs. “You’re so studious.”

“Hardly.”

“Studying on a Saturday night?”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.” My tone is light, joking, careless; my heart is in my throat and my palms are clammy. “It’s Physics,” I decide to add, and I shrug despite the fact he can’t see me. “You know how bad I suck. I have to catch up somehow.”

I’m not technically lying. It’s just not the whole truth.

“Yeah,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I guess. Still. Sucks for you.”

“Um, okay.” But I’m not so sure it does, really.

“I wish I could be with you right now,” he says, lowering his voice to an intimate level.

I shift from foot to foot. “I miss you too” is all I manage to reply.

“Tomorrow you’re free, though, right?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Then tomorrow, you’re all mine.”

I expect to feel my cheeks heat up, but instead I just feel awkward. I can’t think what to reply to him. Luckily I’m saved because one of the guys yells in the background, asking Bryce where the heck that darn popcorn is, and he apologizes and says he has to go.

“Sure thing. Have fun.”

“Have fun studying,” he replies.

“I will,” I reply, and I hang up first. Then I put my phone on silent and toss it into my bag. I smile sheepishly at Dwight, but before I can offer up an apology, he shrugs and shoots me a small smile.

“Sure you’ve got time to work on this with me if you’re so busy studying?”

He looks so downtrodden making that joke, we both have to laugh.

Dwight’s mom breezes into the room about an hour into our work on the project, saying, “Dwight I have told you a billion times not to shut Gellman outside—you
know
it upsets him.” She stops short on seeing me with Dwight. “Oh!”

“Hi, Mrs. Butler,” I say timidly, smiling politely to her.

She looks … I don’t know how to describe it exactly. She’s obviously quite young, and her hair is a dark auburn with some graying strands, but her face looks so much older; it’s like she’s worn down. Tired.

She’s slim, and wearing jeans and a pink sweater. Her hair’s tied back in a ponytail and her cheeks are flushed. I heard the front door open and close a minute ago; I guess she’s been out somewhere.

“I didn’t realize we had company,” she says apologetically to me, and shoots Dwight an irritated look. “You must be Madison, right?”

“Right,” I say with a broad smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for being such a bad hostess; Dwight didn’t say you were here. You’re staying for dinner, though, aren’t you?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble … I don’t want to intrude.” I mumble it slightly, but I’m still smiling at her. Like her son, she just radiates friendliness, and an easygoing nature.

“Of course not!” She waves both her hands around dismissively. “How’s the project going?”

“All right,” we answer unanimously. I glance at Dwight, and the corner of his mouth tweaks up at me.

“Good. I’m Teresa, by the way. Right. I’ll leave you kids to get on with it! There are plenty of snacks in the pantry if you want anything, but just try not to spoil your dinner!” She glides back out after giving us another smile.

“Sorry about her,” Dwight mumbles to me as I turn back to my notebook and laptop. “My mom can be a little … scatterbrained, sometimes.”

“She seems really nice!” I reply honestly. “She seems a lot like you.”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “You think?”

“Yeah. You don’t look like her too much,” I admit, “but she seems to act like you do.
Same smile.”