Sage's Eyes (23 page)

“Touché? You don't actually fence, do you? I wouldn't want to end up with a sword in my chest. Do you?” he asked when I was silent too long.

“No. My most dangerous weapons are—”

“Your words. I know. I have nicks and tears all over my ego.”

I couldn't help but laugh again. Despite all I thought about him, even the unexplainable fear I felt in regard to him, I couldn't help liking him. At least, he was interesting and obviously very intelligent in addition to being good-looking. That shouldn't be such an amazing thing to think about a boy, I thought. Everyone always complained about girls having beauty without brains. What about boys? The good-looking, magazine-model types of boys in our school didn't have enough brainpower to lift two different adjectives into the same sentence. Even the insults they heaved at one another were trite. If there was a vaccine against
airheads, more of them would disappear faster than the girls who were so easily labeled as such.

The more I thought about it, the more I had come to believe that boys, males, men, make the rules, rules even girls accepted willy-nilly, especially my new girlfriends. They were all so desperate to have boys like and appreciate them. Look how easily I got Darlene to change her hairstyle and wear red. Why didn't she come back at me with “If he doesn't like me as I am, he's not worth my affections”? She wouldn't have been that wrong. What about him changing
his
hairstyle and wearing what
she
liked?

Was the whole female sex suffering from an inferiority complex ever since caveman days?

“All right. Just this once, I'll blunt the end of my sword,” I said.

“Promise?”

“No.”

Now he was the one who laughed. “I'll have to remain en garde. So, are you going to this party Friday night at Jason Marks's house?”

“Not a definite thing yet,” I said, surprised he had brought it up.

“You're meeting your girlfriends at the Dorey Town Mall first?”

“Is there anything you don't know after just one day?”

“I don't know whether you would go to the party with me instead,” he said.

I paused.

“Still there?”

“Yes.”

“I could come to your house and pick you up, and—”

“No,” I said quickly. “My parents don't know I'm going to a party. They think I'm just meeting the girls at the mall.”

“They won't let you go to a party?”

“It's complicated right now.”

“So then just meet me at the mall? I can take you to Jason's house, or . . . maybe not. Maybe we can do something different without an audience. Better yet, forget the party completely. Why don't we just go out on a proper, regular date? Will your parents let you do that? I can come to meet them first, if you like. I'll put on a jacket and tie and show off my cultured etiquette. I can be Johnny Perfect when I have to be. I'll bring your mother some flowers or a box of candy.”

For a moment, it took my breath away just imagining it. This was really the first time any boy was specific about asking me on a date. It wasn't just something like “I'll see you at the party.” That implied some hesitation on the boy's part. He'd see me but not necessarily spend all his time with me.

Certainly after the way my mother reacted initially to what I had told her about Summer, she wouldn't leap at granting me permission to go out on a date with him so soon, maybe ever, even if he was Johnny Perfect.

“Have you not ever gone on a proper date?” he asked.

“Not really. Just to a party.”

“Oh, so I could make Sage history. I'll bring you a corsage. It will be like going to a prom.”

I had to laugh at that, imagining what it would be like for him when he came to meet my parents. They would have to put him through the third degree, not only because he would be my first date but also because they would be nervous about my going out with a boy who had just arrived on the scene. They'd practically X-ray him.

“Well?” he pursued when I was quiet too long.

“I'll have to think about it,” I said.

“It's not—”

“Yes, I know, rocket science. All I know about you is that you play the piano beautifully, you've traveled a lot and been homeschooled, you're not like anyone else, and you're a little snobby.”

“You know how old I am.”

“And I can probably guess your height and weight reasonably accurately,” I added. “Just enough for a police report.”

“I was right,” he said.

“About what?”

“You. You're definitely the most interesting girl in school.”

“Oh, you've met them all?”

“Just the ones worth my time. Don't even say it. Okay. Give it more thought. I'll see you tomorrow, and maybe, if you're lucky, I'll let you know more about me.”

“I'm holding my breath.”

“Not too long, I hope. If you die, I'll have to transfer to another school.”

“Thanks for giving me a good reason to live,” I said. “Good night.”

“You forgot to say ‘sweet prince.' ”

“Oh, you are so full of yourself.”

He laughed again, even though I really meant it. “So poke a hole in my swollen ego and bring me down to earth,” he said. “Something tells me you're the one capable of doing it in a way I would enjoy. See you tomorrow,” he added quickly, and hung up.

I held the receiver as if I expected him to pick it up on his end because he regretted ending his contact with me. But the dial tone came on.

He was gone.

For now.

My mother stopped by my room before I went to sleep. I had just slipped into bed, knowing I would probably toss and turn for a while thinking about Summer and why he was so difficult for me to understand.

“Who called you? Was that the new boy?” she asked before I could respond.

“Yes,” I replied. It would be fruitless, even stupid, to deny it, even though something in me wished I could. In fact, I toyed with the idea of telling her he had asked me out on an official date.

“Did you give him the phone number, or did he get it on his own initiative?”

“His own initiative. Why is that important?”

“I don't want to see you throw yourself at anyone too quickly—lonely, talented, or whatever.”

“Believe me, I didn't throw myself at him, Mother. The other girls drool over him. They're so obvious. I think he likes me because I'm not.”

She nodded. “That's good.”

Wait on mentioning any possible date
, I told myself.
You have to do this slowly.

She started to turn away.

“What about you?” I said.

“Me?” she asked, turning back. “What do you mean, me?”

“Did you drool over Dad?” I didn't know where I had gotten the courage to challenge her like that. Maybe I was still riding on my testiness with Summer. For a moment, though, I wasn't sure whether she was going to chastise me for being so forward or break out in laughter. I held my breath.

“Hardly,” she said. “If anyone drooled, as you say, it was your father. If you noticed, you'd see he still does,” she added, with the thump in her voice on “does” that indicated this was the last word to be spoken on the subject, and walked out of my room.

I lay back on my pillow, a little amazed. This was the first time I had driven my mother into speechlessness. It also made me think about something and someone other than Summer. What were my parents really like when they first met? They never talked very much about their romance or their wedding.

I tried to imagine them years younger, flirting with each other, going on their first date, liking and finally loving each other more and more. I recalled the pictures in the file drawer that I had seen of them. They did look happier and more carefree. Uncle Wade had certainly given me the impression that they had been.

When did people begin to change in a dramatic way? Was it only after some event, something that hit them like a sharp slap in the face and forced them to become more responsible, so responsible that doing spontaneous fun things like I hoped soon to do was impossible, even a bit frightening? Or did it just come with age when you crossed a line in time, when you woke up and looked at yourself and suddenly realized that you were very different and, in fact, everyone was expecting you to be different? Some were even depending on you to be different.

Maybe that was why my parents had those pictures locked up in a cabinet and not on the shelves. It was too painful to look back and remember and then realize what was gone. I always wondered about movie stars who had to see themselves in films when they had just started out. Those people were so different from the way they looked now that they probably looked at the films as if there was someone else acting in the parts.

And yet when I looked at those old pictures, I didn't see very dramatic physical differences in my parents. They were still as young-looking as they had been. They just behaved differently, as far as I could tell. They'd
had a real glow about them that I didn't see as much now.

It was all so confusing, just like my many inexplicable visions and memories. Despite having what my uncle had called my third eye, I wanted to be far less complicated. I'd trade it in a heartbeat to be as simple and as lackadaisical as my girlfriends. I didn't want to feel more mature. I didn't want to be considered a chaperone. I wanted to be no more and no less than any girl my age. Was that terrible? Did it mean I wanted to be bad and irresponsible, not see the outcomes, and take risks? Did I want the freedom to make mistakes? Was that a stupid thing to want?

Before I fell asleep, I thought more about Summer. Despite what I had said to him, he really was far more difficult to understand than any other boy I had ever met. There wasn't one previously who could prevent me from envisioning just what it would be like to be with him. It was as easy as reading ahead in a novel and realizing the ending.

Should I try to get my parents to let me go out on a date with Summer? Or should I avoid all that, let my father take me to the mall as planned, but then leave the girls and go off with Summer this Friday? That would be something of a risk, wouldn't it?

“Yes,” I whispered to myself, “a wonderful risk.” I could see myself lying some more to my parents. “I'll meet him. I'll take the risk.”

There were no voices coming back at me. No dark shadows in the corners, no whispers floating into my ears.
Something had silenced them all. I had no one to depend on but myself.

And I was happy about it.

Anticipating the morning anxiously, I pressed into sleep and welcomed the dreams just waiting to be born, dreams in which Summer and I were lovers, the kind of lovers who really didn't need anyone else. Friends were like discretionary income. We didn't depend on anyone else. It was almost as if no one else at school existed. With him playing the piano, I did suddenly become the lead singer. His music magically enriched my voice. I was blossoming in ways I couldn't have imagined.

The sunlight through the windows nudged me gently, but the moment I realized it was time to rise, I practically leaped out of bed to get ready for school. Today I would dress better, make sure my hair looked richer, more alluring, and wear my favorite earrings. I spent twice the usual time in front of the mirror, trying to envision Summer's reaction to me, but there was still something that kept him out of my vision, out of my third eye. There was no predicting. He was almost . . . invisible. In fact, right now, I even had trouble remembering his features, except for those eyes. His eyes were familiar in a strange way. For a moment, I thought about them, tried to realize what it was, but finally gave up and went downstairs to have breakfast with my parents.

They were always up ahead of me. Sometimes I wondered if they even slept, even though they never looked tired.

My father sat back, nodded, and smiled.

“What?” I asked.

“You look very pretty today, Sage, not that you don't always. Special day?”

My mother watched me and waited, her eyes full of that familiar suspicion I had learned to live with, to have beside me daily like a second shadow.

“Not really,” I said. I prepared some breakfast for myself and sat across from them.

“Are you sure?”

“Maybe she's trying to impress someone,” my mother said.

“Oh,” my father said. “Could that be it?”

There was something about the way the two of them were speaking that made me believe they had rehearsed.

“I hope I impress everyone,” I said.

“Touché!” my father cried.

I smiled, recalling Summer's reaction to my saying that.

My mother smirked. “We're not in some sort of contest here,” she told him, and he lost his smile quickly. “You get a phone call from this new boy and then dress to make yourself more attractive. Coincidence?”

I couldn't recall ever blushing in front of them, but I knew I was blushing now.

“I can't wait to meet this boy,” my father said.

“Do you want us to meet him?” my mother asked.

I should have leaped at the opportunity, but I hesitated. There was something in her eyes that told me she would do just as I feared, run him through an examination
that would resemble a Homeland Security clearance. He would surely flee, and I would be even more embarrassed in front of my girlfriends once he brought the story to school.

“I've really just met him myself,” I said. “I don't know if that's necessary yet.”

“He called you,” my mother reminded me.

“Maybe he's called other girls, too.”

They looked at each other, my father more pleased with my answer. He smiled. “I remember my first crush.”

“Crush?” my mother said.

“Well, I wouldn't call it much more. I was only five at the time,” he replied, and I laughed. He and my mother laughed, too, and for a few moments, at least, I thought we were finally acting like a normal family.