Avalon High Part 6

Besides, I had a good idea that whatever lecturing there was to do on the subject of Will sitting in the woods listening to medieval music, Lance and Jennifer had already covered that day I saw them in the arboretum with him.

Still, I got the feeling that Will's gloomy expression didn't have a lot to do with having been busted listening to lame music. I mean, I have been known upon occasion to crack out my dad's Bee Gees collection when I was feeling completely nihilistic or whatever. But no amount of teasing on the part of my brother Geoff had ever made me look as...well, hopeless as Will did just then.

Which made me realize: Will shutting down like that wasn't about my having caught him listening to lame music. It was about something much, much worse.

Wondering what it could be-and hoping it wouldn't be something that might end up making it difficult for him to take me to the prom, if he and Jennifer broke up or whatever-I took a deep breath and plunged. "Look. This isn't any of my business. But are you okay?" I asked him.

The shadow had disappeared from his face by then. He seemed surprised by the question.

"Yeah," he said. "Why?"

"Uh. Let me see." I ticked off the points on my fingers. "Senior cla.s.s president. Quarterback of the football team. Valedictorian?"

"Probably." He grinned. My heart lurched again.

"Valedictorian," I added to my list. "Going out with the prettiest, most popular girl in school. Likes to sit by himself in the woods listening to medieval love ballads. You see the whole one-of-these-things-is-not-like-the-other part?"

His grin grew broader.

"You don't beat around the bush much, do you?" he asked, his blue eyes twinkling in a manner that I couldn't help feeling was very bad for my well-being. "Is that a Minnesota thing, or just an Elle Harrison thing?"

I don't know how I replied. I know I must have said something, but I don't have any idea what it might have been. What did it matter, anyway? He'd said it again. Elle. Elle.

I felt rea.s.sured by his flippant response to my question. No, he hadn't really answered it. But if he could joke around, he obviously wasn't thinking about ending it all, or whatever. Maybe that look on his face hadn't meant anything. Maybe he was just a guy who liked sitting alone, listening to medieval music. Maybe he didn't have a pool, and so that's what he had to do to float...you know, mentally.

And here I came along, totally busting in where I wasn't needed. Or wanted.

Feeling stupid, I tried to extract myself as quickly as possible from the situation.

"Okay," I said, starting to get up. "Well, see you around."

But I was stopped by a strong set of fingers that wrapped around my wrist.

"Wait a sec." Will looked up at me curiously. "Where are you going?"

"Um," I said, trying to be casual about the fact that he was touching me. He was touching me. No boy-other than my brother and Tommy Meadows, who asked me to couples-skate during a cla.s.s trip to Western Skateland-had ever touched me before. "Home."

"What's the rush?" he wanted to know.

"Uh," I said. Maybe I hadn't heard him right. Did he actually want me to stick around? "No rush. I just figured you wanted to be alone. And my dad's expecting me to call. For a ride home."

"I'll give you a ride home," Will said, climbing to his feet, and pulling me up with him...so unexpectedly that I sort of started to lose my balance, and wobbled a little on top of the boulder....

Until Will put out his other hand, grabbing me by the waist to steady me.

We stood that way for a heartbeat or two, his hand around my waist, the other holding my wrist, our faces just inches apart.

If someone had seen us, they'd probably thought we were dancing. Two crazy teenagers, dancing on top of a boulder.

I wonder if they'd have suspected that one of the teenagers-namely, me-wanted to stay in this position forever, memorize every line of that face so close to mine, reach out and stroke that soft dark hair, kiss those lips that were hovering just inches above mine. Was Will thinking the same things? I couldn't tell, and I was looking right into those fathomless blue eyes. I thought I felt something-something indescribable-pa.s.s between us.

But I must have been wrong, because a second later, Will was saying, "You all right, there, now?" and letting go of my waist and hand.

"Sure," I said, laughing nervously. "Sorry."

Except that I wasn't sorry. Especially since both places he'd touched me were tingling, like they'd been scorched...only in a good way.

We started to climb from the ravine, Will leading the way, politely holding back brambles and giving me a hand up the steeper parts, which were hard to climb in my running shoes. If he noticed how, every time his fingers met mine, sparks seemed to shoot up my arm, he didn't let on. Instead, he talked about my parents.

Yeah. My parents.

"You three are funny together," was what Will said.

"We are?"

This was news to me. I mean, I know my dad looks funny, with his Dork Strap and all. But he hadn't even been wearing that when Will came over. And my mom's not particularly humorous-looking. She's actually pretty attractive. Until she opens her mouth about broad clear brows and all of that.

"Yeah," Will said. "The way they teased you about keeping the pool filters so clean. And the way you razzed them back about the snake. That was funny. I could never joke around with my dad like that. All he ever wants to talk to me about is where I'm going to go to school next year."

"Oh," I said, relieved we were off the subject of my parents. "That's right. You're graduating in the spring."

"Yeah. And my dad wants me to go to the Academy."

Which was the local shorthand, I'd learned, for the Naval Academy. Only n.o.body ever calls it by its full name around here. It's just "the Academy."

I wondered what it would be like to have a dad who was in the military, and, you know, organized. I bet Will's dad would never make him a sack lunch that included potato salad.

On the other hand, I bet Will's dad wouldn't have just ignored the air hose warning on the inflatable rafts.

"Well," I said, wondering how Will would look in one of those white uniforms I saw the middies wearing around town. Pretty good, I guessed. Really good, actually. "It's an excellent school. One of the hardest to get into in the country, and all."

"I know," Will said, with a shrug, as he held back a particularly th.o.r.n.y branch for me to pa.s.s under. "And I've got the grades and test scores and everything. But I'm not so sure I want to go into the military, you know? Visit new places. Meet new people. And kill them."

"Well," I said, again. "Yeah. I could see how that could suck. Did you, um, mention that? To your dad?"

"Oh yeah."

"And?" I asked, when Will didn't say anything else. "How'd he take it?"

Will gave another shrug. "He pretty much freaked."

"Oh," I said. I thought about my own dad. He and Mom were always telling Geoff and me to become professors because professors get summers off and only have to teach a course or two a semester.

But I would rather eat gla.s.s than have to write academic papers all the time like Mom and Dad do. And I tell them so, regularly.

But they don't freak when I say it.

"Well," I said. "What do you want to do instead?"

"I don't know," Will said. "My dad says Wagner men have always been in the military"-he raised his hands and made quotation marks in the air as he added sarcastically-"making a difference in the world." Then he dropped his hands. "And I want to make a difference in the world. I really do. But I don't want to do it by blowing people up."

I thought about the little scene I'd witnessed in the hallway that day at school, and the way Will had handled Rick. It seemed to me like he was already making a difference in the world.

"I can understand that," I said.

"Sorry," Will said with a sudden laugh, running one of his hands through his dark hair. "I shouldn't complain. My dad wants me to go to one of the best schools in the country, which he's completely willing to pay for and which I shouldn't have any trouble getting into. Everyone should have my problems, right?"

"Well," I said. "It kind of is a problem, if the only school your dad's willing to pay for is the one you don't want to go to.... Especially, you know, if you don't want to be in the military. Because shooting off guns and stuff seems like a big part of being at the Academy. At least judging by all the noise I hear from the gunnery every day."

"Yeah," Will said. We'd reached the footpath by then. A lady walking a Jack Russell terrier hurried past us, clearly freaked by the fact that we had been in the woods, since she refused to look at either of us as she pa.s.sed by in her pink jogging suit.

I glanced at Will to see if he'd noticed, and saw him grinning.

"Probably thinks we were in there making a sacrifice to Satan," he said, when the lady had power-walked out of hearing distance.

"And her dog's our next victim," I agreed.

Will laughed. We emerged from the woods, and headed toward the parking lot and Will's car. After the darkness of the forest, the last rays of the setting sun seemed especially bright. They seemed to be setting the baseball diamond on fire. There was a hint of smoke in the air, from someone's barbecue. Crickets, just getting started on their evening serenade, trilled.

"Listen," Will said, breaking the companionable silence into which we'd fallen. "What are you doing Sat.u.r.day night?"

"Sat.u.r.day?" I blinked at him. It was true those crickets were loud. But I didn't think they were loud enough for me to have mistaken the question.

Because it had sounded...well, it certainly sounded to me as if Will were about to ask me out.

"I'm having a party," he went on.

Or maybe not.

"A party?" I asked stupidly.

"Yeah," he said. "Sat.u.r.day night. After the game." I must have looked blank, since he smiled and added, "The football game? Avalon against Broadneck? You're going, aren't you?"

"Oh," I said. I had never been to a football game in my life. You know that eating gla.s.s thing? Yeah, I'd much rather do that than watch a football game.

Unless, of course, A. William Wagner happened to be playing in it.

"Sure, I'm going," I said, wondering frantically what one wears to a football game.

"Great. Anyway, I'm having a party afterwards," he said. "At my house. A back-to-school thing. Can you come?"

I stared at him. I'd never been invited to a party before. Well, not by a boy, anyway. Nancy used to have parties, but no one ever came to them except our other friends, who were all girls. Sometimes at my old school a guy on the men's track team would have a party and invite everyone on the women's team. But we'd all just end up standing around while the boys ignored us and hit on whatever cheerleaders had shown up.

I wondered if Will's party would be that kind of party, and if so, why he'd bothered singling me out for an invitation.

"Um," I said, trying to think up an excuse why I couldn't go. On the one hand, I desperately wanted to see where Will lived. I wanted to know everything about him.

On the other hand, I had a pretty good feeling Jennifer Gold would be there. And did I really want to watch Will with another girl? Not so much.

Will must have sensed my hesitation-sensed it, and misinterpreted it-since he went, "Don't worry, it won't be wild, or anything. My parents'll be there. Come on, you'll like it. It's a pool party. You can bring your raft."

I couldn't help smiling at that.

Or at the friendly fashion in Will elbowed me in the side as he said it.

Oh yes. I was that far gone that even the guy's elbow seemed hot.

"Okay," I heard myself saying. "I'll be there. Um, without my raft, though. It has a curfew. It has to be home by nine."

He grinned. Then, looking past me, said, "Oh, hey. Want some lemonade?"

I glanced in the direction he was pointing, and saw that some kids-whose small, somewhat rundown house sat on the edge of the park's property-had set up a folding table with a large hand-drawn poster hanging from it that said LEMONAID: 25 CENTS.

"C'mon," Will said. "I'll buy you a lemonade."

"Whoa," I joked. "Big spender."

He was grinning as we approached the table, which someone had gone to great trouble to decorate with a checkered tablecloth and a small, half-blown garden rose in a vase, along with the inevitable plastic pitcher and collection of Dixie cups. The three kids behind the table, the eldest of whom could only have been nine, perked up at the sight of customers.

"Wanna buy some lemonade?" they chorused.

"Is it any good?" Will teased the kids. "I'm not spending a whole quarter on it if it isn't the best lemonade in town."

"It is!" the kids shrieked. "It's the best! We made it ourselves!"

"I don't know," Will said, feigning skepticism. He looked at me. "What do you think?"

I shrugged. "Might as well try it."

"Try it, try it," cried the kids. The oldest one said, a.s.suming authority over the situation, "Look, we'll give you a taste, and if you like it, you can buy a cup."

Will appeared to think about this. Then he said, "Okay, deal."

The oldest kid poured a small amount of lemonade into a cup, then handed it to Will, who made a big deal out of smelling it first, then swishing it around in his mouth the way wine tasters do.

The kids ate it up. They were giggling, loving every minute of the show.

As, I have to admit, was I. Well, how could I not?

"Nice bouquet," Will said, after he'd finally swallowed. "Tangy, and not too sweet. A most excellent year for lemonade, obviously. We'll take two cups."

"Two cups!" the kids cried, scrambling to fill them. "They'll take two cups!"

When the cups were filled, Will took one and presented it to me with a flourish.

"Why, thank you," I said, curtsying back to him.

"My pleasure," he said, and reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, drew out a black leather wallet, from which he pulled a five-dollar bill.