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Rating:
PG13
© 2004 Mythtime.com ~Another
Place ~ “Hey Sara!” Vicky flounced into the chair across from her friend and shoved her lunch tray so hers butted against Sara’s. “Hey, Vicky. How’s it going?” Sara shoveled about of third of a condiment-enhanced hot dog in her mouth in one bite. “How can you eat that?” Vicky grimaced. “Mmmmm.” Came the mumbled mouthful reply. “Do you know what they put in one of those things?” Vicky leaned forward conspiratorially and hissed, “Mystery meat”. “Mmm-hmmm”. Sara
repeated swallowing her mouthful. “That’s why you’re
the president of the science club and I’m just a cheerleader.
You dissect them. I eat them.” Vicky shook her head; short brown curls bouncing like a Hawaiian bobble doll as she attacked the salad and greasy fries hiding under the catsup on her plate. “You asking Jakie to the Sadie Hawkins dance next week?” Vicky’s carefully neutral nonchalance was a transparent scrim. “Nope”. Sara answered in detail. Vicky tried to cover her delight but unfortunately she was a crystalline clear as her glass lab beakers. Vicky drooled over the football team captain. He didn’t know she existed other than as that smart girl in science class. “So, then who are you asking?” Vicky probed like the good budding researcher she was. “I don’t know yet. I may not go.” The thought of wearing a dress all evening and being polite and congenial to boys that were always hitting on her the rest of the semester was not Sara’s idea of fun.
Sara shrugged off any guilt that may have been trying to attach itself to her. “Who are you asking?” Vicky sighed and rested her chin on her hand in a winsome, wistful pose. “I don’t know. I don’t think I may go either. I can’t take the rejection.” She fluttered her eyes and sounded jovial but the undertone was serious. Sara snorted quietly. “No one would turn you down”. Vicky rolled her eyes. Sara was the best but sometimes her grasp of reality was arthritic. “Get real, Sara. I’m head of the science club not a cheerleader. I’m a nerd not a cupie doll”. “You’re not a nerd”. Sara confirmed while ignoring the cupie doll crack for the moment. "You’re smart and cute and fun.” “You’re a girl; you think that stuff is important to a relationship or even a friendship. All the fella's want- especially the seniors is some empty-headed trophy whose bust size is larger than their IQ. I don’t fill out a sweater like that”. “But I do?” Sara demanded in mock indignation. Yeah, she did but she also got straight A’s in all her subjects. “Oh, you know what I mean”. Vicky whined just enough to make Sara sorry she had teased her. “Yeah I know”. “I bet I know someone who would love you to ask him”. She whispered over the trays. “Who?” Sara asked in a normal voice. “Shhhh. Ian”. “Ian who?” Sara started at her blankly. Vicky hissed at her and rolled her eyes in consternation. “Ian. Ian Nottingham. The new kid in our calculus class”. Sara squeezed her eyes shut to picture him; it was an effort but finally an image pushed to the surface. “You don’t mean that tall lanky kid that sits in the back by himself?” She blurted out in incredulity. Vicky nodded with a knowing grin. “Oh, puhlease”. Sara moaned. “Vicky, he’s.... strange”. “No, he’s not!” Her stinging retort implied a solid base of fact. “He’s just new and doesn’t know anyone. Think how tough it must be to be a senior and have to switch schools. When the city closed that other one down and reassigned all those kids they just had to go where they were told. He’s nice”. Sara considered the scenario and shrugged noncommittally. It hadn’t affected her so she really couldn’t relate to that sort of academic disorientation. “How do you know him well enough to classify him as nice?” Sara probed the subject. “He did all the math calculations for the science project we entered in the state contest. He’s like a hunky calculator”. “Hunky? Hmmm”. Sara bit her lip and grinned around it at Vicky. “You won that contest”. “Yeah, the calculations had to be perfect or the whole thing was useless. Why don’t you talk to him. He really likes you”. Sara looked surprised. “Then why doesn’t he say so?” “He thinks you think he’s a freak”. Vicky said suddenly serious. Sara snorted in a highly unladylike manner. “Well?” “I think he's kind of cute. I like those swarthy guys. He's got that look like he can just walk on water. And he has the nicest bum”. Vicky’s voice had a sort of dreamy quality to it that opposed her usual straight forward, just give me the facts attitude. “Vick!” Sara gaped at her. “Oh don’t give me that self righteous crap. You look at the boy’s butts too. Besides you bounce around in front of a stadium full of onlookers half dressed and shrieking junk like ‘Go! Go! Rah!’ What’s that?” Sara grinned wickedly and leaned closer. “Ok, so I look. I’m a connoisseur of the male tooshie. I just never looked at Ian Nottingham’s”. “You’re missing out”. Vicky’s grin widened. “He played a lot of sports at his old school but when they sent him here it was too late for him to get on the teams”. Vicky winked. “He still has the body though. I wouldn’t mind checking him out for an anatomy project!” Sara stunned laugh made the students at the next table glare at her. She quickly stifled it and shook her head. “You are a bad girl, Vicky Po”. “I try. Now, your assignment for the day is to check out Ian’s butt and report back to me”. She doled out her demand like a haughty teacher. “What am I supposed to do- walk up and say, excuse me would you turn around so I can ogle your buns?” Sara was chuckling so hard she could hardly talk. She also was wondering if that plan would work. “I don’t know. But if that works let me know, ok?” “Why don’t you ask him to the dance if you think he’s so cool?” Sara asked. Because he’s not Mr. All-star Jake McCarty, that’s why, she answered herself. Vicky turned thoughtful. “Because I think you are the only one he’d go with. He really likes you”. “He doesn’t even know me”. Sara blurted out. “That’s your fault. I see him smile at you when you pass in the hall. You just look down your nose at him”. “He’s a foot taller than me. I can’t look down anything at him”. Sara pointed out. “Ah-ha! So you have noticed him”. Vicky grinned triumphantly. “I guess. Sort of”. Sara rolled her eyes in defeat. “Ok. I’ll say hi, can I see your backside please but if he thinks I’m making a pass at him it’ll be your fault”. Vicky smiled cheerfully and pushed away from the table as the class bell screeched. “I’ll be waiting for a report. You want me to wait for you to walk home? Or is one of those guys panting around after the head cheerleader riding you home in his car?” She sang it as C-AAAA-R? Sara sighed in resignation. “No. No one’s riding me in his C-AAAA-R. But I have to move my stuff to those lockers in the old building. Of all the banks of lockers to tear out it had to be the one I’ve had for four years”. She grumbled. “I’ll be late so don’t wait for me”. Vicky nodded. “I’ll wave at you in science. Don’t let your lab partner blow anything up today!” She sniggered and hurried off. Sara chuckled to herself. Vicky was one of a kind and a good friend even if she was a wild girl. Sara often wonder if Jake asked Vicky to go all the way if she would. They were almost eighteen – old enough to do what they wanted, in their opinion anyway. She grinned to herself- when she gave it up it was going to be to someone special. The most special man in the world. As soon as she found him. Drat. Vicky was right- she really should go to that dance for appearances sake at least. Who to ask? “You want me to light that?” Sara made the question a thinly veiled command. Danny angled the Bunsen burner a little and glanced at her. “No. I’ve got it. Don’t you trust me?” He grinned. “No father than I can throw you”. She nodded and sucked her cheek in. He had that innocent kitten look- all fluffy and cute and precocious with too many sharp little claws hidden but ready to use. Danny made a face at her and lighted the burner. A towering inferno swooshed forth billowing across their counter and licking the ceiling. Sara grabbed him by the collar and threw herself backwards dragging him with her. Even from where she unceremoniously sat on the floor with Danny in a heap beside her, Sara could hear Po snicker over the whooshing noise of the burner. The teacher, Miss Pinchot- Miss Pinchedface behind her back, stalked over and shut the burner off. She was gaunt and pasty and mean. She was also in her forties and never married- obviously something else major was wrong with her besides the mean part. “Mr. Woo”. She started tersely. “For the remainder of this semester, Miss Pezzini is in charge of all combustibles for your lab assignments. You are not to touch anything that can incinerate, explode or otherwise do irreparable harm in seconds. This is the third time just this year you have scorched the ceiling”. “I think something’s wrong with the burner”. Danny countered with a befuddled and emotionally battered expression. “Humph”. Pinchedface stalked back to her desk and started to make notes. “I think something’s wrong with the burner. Sara mimicked him in a taunting whisper. “Shut up and let’s do it”. He muttered and pointed at their project. Sara chuckled and started to help him set up the test tube racks, vials and solutions. She wouldn’t trade Danny Woo as her lab partner for anyone else even Perfect Po, Queen of technical mumbo jumbo. She stared at the top of Danny’s lowered head as he aligned the beakers in order on the counter. He wasn’t just her lab partner, he was her best friend. She never worried about him hitting on her or wanting more than to share good times- and bad, as friends. Most of the girls didn’t understand that. None of the guys did. There weren’t many Asian students here either but somehow that seemed unimportant to Danny Woo’s character other than the values and some of the mystical beliefs he held. He didn’t talk to many people about those. No one understood that either. He was as All-American apple pie as blond haired blue-eyed Jakie McCarty, captain of the football team and general all around cocky, corn-fed sort of fellow. Vicky Po had a not so secret crush on Jake that was a big as the Empire State building. Jake had the hots for his head cheerleader. “His” cheerleader, he’d say. Sara planned on being somebody’s someday but it sure wouldn’t be Jake’s. Just the idea of the school’s reigning jock hooking up with the lead sis-doom-bah girl was too smarmy for her to swallow. Like burned porridge. She glanced quickly at the soot marks on the ceiling. She hoped Vicky dredged up the nerve to ask Jake to the dance. She had the audacity of a Broadway panhandler with everyone she met- except him. She turned into a shy, mush mouthed doofus then. Ah, true love was grand to watch in action. She had considered asking Danny to the dance. He wouldn’t try to grope her and she wouldn’t have to worry about any horizontal waltzes being added to her dance card. The only thing was, Lee liked Danny a lot. And he liked her. They had gone to a few school activities together over the past year and Sara knew he was hoping she would ask him. She didn’t have too much nerve either. Sara didn’t understand why. It was just a dance, for crying out loud. Not a life sentence. Maybe she could play matchmaker for them. Match... maker. “Don’t touch that burner or I’ll hurt you”. She growled as Danny’s hand edged toward the forbidden flamethrower in disguise. “Please?” He begged and wagged his brows in that ‘would’ch huh? Please? Please?’ look he’d give her when he wanted to rattle her cage. It always worked. Right up until she’d start laughing. She jabbed him in the shoulder and relit their beaker burner so they could get to work. ~ This was going to be a royal pain in the toosh to have to hike over to these lockers. The building was off to the side and it hadn’t been used except for storage for centuries. Okay, made a decade or so but it was almost the same. Some of the established students and most of the transfer ones had been shifted to these lockers when the central core was designated to be torn out to expand the assembly hall. At the moment she was the only one here. It was gloomy and musty and dank in here and the floor stank of new wax. Even the buff and shine didn’t help the atmosphere. She stabbed her key in the locker assigned to her and yanked open the door. “Oh, damn”! Sara looked around to make sure no one had heard her. You could get detention for swearing on campus but whoever had had this locker before her had left all their junk in it. It was crammed full and everything looked ancient, yellowed and jumbled together. Sara looked down the hall and spotted one of the big trash cans on wheels that usually were by the cafeteria. Maybe there was a lot of garbage being found over here. At least she could pull it over her and just pitch this stuff in it easily. It was a really small locker compared to her old one but she bet there was more in it than she’d had in hers in four years. She strode down the hall and reached for the can when a slight noise startled her.
She could only see from the waist down because the rest of him was practically in the confined space of the locker but it was definitely a him. Long very muscular legs were easily discernable under his loose slacks, a narrow waist, a really really tight pert butt that promised to be perfect handfuls- yeah, Po was right she did look when it was worth looking at. This guy was definitely worth the look. She wondered if the top half matched.
She ironed them like her dad had taught her, but when she put them on- the smooth, creases were always replaced with wavy crinkles. This boy in the locker was trying to fit too much stuff in too small an area. His gym bag was giving him sizable grief. Sara grinned as a slight shift of his body revealed he was still not aware she was behind him as well as soft Hershey bar brown hair waving around his ears, partly down his neck and falling in his face. She remembered that hair- she’d once spent hours trying too get hers to wave like that and been unsuccessful. “Hi!” She blurted out cheerfully. He jerked up so fast, so startled that he cracked his head on the bottom of the open door of the locker’s upper compartment. It had a sharp metal edge and he moaned and grabbed his head as he collapsed at her feet on that fine tight butt. “Are you okay?” She hadn’t meant to hurt him or at least cause him to hurt himself anyway. ”Yes. Just dazed”. He murmured in a voice like crushed velvet. The biggest, warmest brown eyes she had ever seen gazed up wretchedly at her through a canopy of thick dark lashes. She could apply falsies and a whole tube of mascara and not have long, lush lashes like the ones that framed those liquid eyes. It was a dark lace against the paler skin surrounding his eyes. Pretty eyes. Very pretty eyes. She realized her mouth was open and she probably had the same stupid dreamy look Po had had earlier. “Sara Pezzini. I’m in your calculus class”. She extended her hand down to where he still sat at her feet staring up at her. He cautiously extended the hand not clutched to the top of his head and clasped hers in a tentative introductory shake. “Ian Nottingham and I know”. Sara frowned as the handshake evolved into a subtle extended and somewhat sensual squeeze before he released her. “You know what?” She demanded. Maybe Vicky and she were both right and he was nice and freaky. Ian blinked at her, confused by both her attitude shift and the question. “I know you’re in my math class. I sit by the door, you pass me when you come in”. “Oh yeah”. Sara felt like a heel and a fool all at once. The poor guy just cracked his head open and she was being snide. “Are you all right?” She could see the crimson blood starting to ooze between his fingers. “I think I just nicked my head on the corner of the door. Its nothing”. He gingerly tried to pull his fingers out of his sticky hair. Sara knelt down beside him- if she stayed upright on her knees she could see the top of his head easily. He did have an ugly looking gash- and scalp wounds always bled like a broken water main. “Let me see”. She reached to move his hand completely out of the way. “It’s ok, really”. “Fine, then you don’t
mind letting me see. I know first aid”. She made that sound akin
to being Florence Nightingale but still she was more than competent
with the basics. You never knew when someone would keel over from something
at one of the games. Her dad was a cop- he had had instilled in her
that it was everyone’s duty to help an injured person to the best
of their ability. Sara was well known by the testosterone challenged
populace of the school for being as independent and resolute- ‘pig-headed’
was Danny’s term for it, as she was scrumptious in the short skirt
and tight sweater of her uniform. “Please, its just a superficssss...” he hissed as she touched the small but deep cut as gently as she could. Obviously it hurt. It was bleeding all over that unbelievable soft hair. Danny was one of the few boys in school that worn his hair longer- down the back of his neck and loose not short and slicked back. She liked that- it was like the new wave of rock and roll musicians especially the British ones. Ian Nottingham apparently was another that preferred that au natural, untamed look. Wait, Nottingham was British- hey, that was a cool connection. She let her fingers snag in the dark mane accidentally on purpose just to felt what it was like. Eider. Silk. Satin. Full and luxurious. Pretty eyes. Nice butt. Enticing hair. Smart. Maybe she should have talked to him before. “I have a towel in my gym bag. Wait and I’ll wet it and see if I can get the bleeding to stop. Okay?” She started to move but a motion of his hand halted her. “There’s one in my bag. There”. His knapsack was crumpled in a big pile against the locker door where if had tumbled out when he... sat down. Sara reached over and dragged it to her. She hoped he didn’t have old socks or ... a jock strap or undies or whatevers in here. She unzipped it and looked at the fluffy Ivory Snow white towel lying on top. Good. She pulled it out and unconsciously scanned the rest of the contents. There was another towel just as pristine as the one she held, a pair of black shorts and a loose tank top like for working out or playing basketball. Also a small book of poetry by William Cullen Bryant snuggled in amongst the terrycloth. Probably for a class, she surmised but giggled at the incongruity of it. She scrambled to her feet with a warning look at her patient to stay still and hurried to the water fountain. Once the rusty brown sludge that always initially came out of the pipes was gone, she soaked the edge of the towel in clean fresh water. He was still sitting there but he’d crossed his legs and was prodding at the cut again with tentative fingertips. His crossed legs rested flat on the floor. Sara knew most of the cheerleaders weren’t limber and agile enough to sit like that. It took concentrated and dedicated exercise to hone your body to that level of suppleness. She felt a rush of admiration and appreciation spark again at this unassuming young man. Maybe there was a lot more to him than she’d realized. She knelt again and carefully dabbed at the wound, working carefully so as not to hurt him more but still soak up the blood and staunch the flow. It was slowing noticeably already. She had most of the blood blotted away while he sat as still as a statue, only his warm eyes following her movements. “You play basketball?” she struck up the conversation as she worked. It was a guess based on his height and the clothes. Those shorts and shirt weren’t really suited for anything else except maybe track. Ian nodded, hissed under his breath as the movement bumped her hand against his scalp and froze again. “Talk, don’t nod”, Sara supplied a helpful tip. “Yes”. “Yes you’ll talk instead of bobbing your head around or yes you play roundball?” She teased . He was more comfortable to be around than most of her male classmates. She glanced down at him and blushed slightly. The way she was kneeling put her boobs almost in his face. She could just imagine- no she actually didn’t have to imagine because she knew from experience, what the majority of the guys who asked her out on a consistent basis would have done in this situation. The big ‘3G’- grab, grope and grandstand. She rolled back on her heels with the pink tinged towel in her hand and looked at him. He just smiled at her. “Ah, your towel is ruined”. She mumbled knowing she was probably the same shade of pink. “That’s ok. I can wash it. Yes, I shoot hoops sometimes on my way home. Thank you for helping me, Sara”. He way he said her name was so warm and inviting and erotic. “Ah, sure”. She phuffted out a breath to cover her momentary embarrassment. “It’s the least I can do since I’m the reason you conked yourself. Sorry”. He started to nod, thought better of it and smiled instead. He had a nice smile too. Add it to the list... “Why don’t you play on the team? Or aren’t you good enough?” She had practiced years to perfect the art of sticking her foot in her mouth. “I didn’t mean it that way.” Ian smiled a little bitterly. “I’m good enough but the season’s in gear. I’m new and a senior. Your teams are well established and there’s no room for an... interloper”. Sara seethed. It was bad enough she’d been callous but obviously the wonderful, team spirited and gracious players hadn’t wanted anything to do with any new talent. The comment sounded so much like the supercilious, smart mouthed things she’d heard some of the jocks say she could just envision it. Arrogant louts. “Did someone actually say that to you?” She asked trying to make amends for all the bozo’s – including herself, that he’d dealt with here. Those big brown eyes looked into hers from less than a hand span away. She noticed now they weren’t really brown brown at all- there was an amber cast swirled all through them like golden threads in cocoa velvet. “They didn’t have to”. Ian’s tone told her the answer was really yes but he didn’t want to offend her. As far as he knew they were her friends. Sara opened her mouth then closed it before reaching out and cautiously touching his hand. Add that to the list too- strong long fingers, smooth firm skin, hands designed to be held. The only male she dared touch casually like this was Danny. He had no designs on her body, only her friendship. Every other boy she knew well enough to talk to one on one would have considered this a come on, an invitation to more. Would Ian? Would it really bother her if he did? “I apologize for them. We’re not team material but Danny Woo and I play a game of pick up a couple times a week. You are welcome to join us”. Sara grinned . “As long as you don’t make us look too bad”. The genuine surprise and gratitude that radiated from him made things in her stomach tighten. The way he looked was making things lower down tighten as well. Why had she done that? Open up her tiny inner circle of real friends to include somebody she didn’t even know? Because he’d been tossed aside like old trash by the star athletes she spent her extracurricular energy motivating by cheering them on and promoting sportsmanship? Did they even understand the meaning? Because she felt guilty for hurting him- even indirectly? Because he had really, really pretty eyes and... she’d like to see him in those little black shorts? Oh, good girls did not think things like that. She looked at him and smiled back.
“Thank you,” he repeated, touching his head cautiously, but withdrawing unstained fingers. “Sure. Do you need help getting up or were you just going to sit on the cold cement awhile longer?” “I can get up”. The way his lips were twitching Sara knew Ian was fighting back laughing at her comments. He was new and not used to her... uhm, personality. Instead he just sat there looking at her- less than six inches away. Face to face. She was blatantly appraising him without realizing it- but he did. He seemed to be enjoying the scrutiny and relished her blush of embarrassment as she connected with his eyes for a moment. He was prime from the waist
down, and it was easy to see the upper half matched. A soft dark blue
shirt of what looked like silk- but who would wear silk anythings to
school? - was buttoned up to the center of his breastbone permitting
a few random soft seal brown wisps of hair to peek out over the top.
It was very masculine and very self-confident but not in the tough guy/stud
look most of the boys tried for. And most of them failed. Whether he
was trying or not Ian Nottingham succeeded. His shoulders were strong
and wide and the plain somewhat fitted shirt accentuated the sculpture
of his chest and the flatness of his belly. High cheekbones and a strong square jaw with just a hint of a dimple made him ruggedly handsome or almost a masculine beauty. If he knew he was a looker, he wasn’t acting like it. Sara stared at the smooth, soft pouty lips and wondered what he’d be like to play with. She didn’t mean basketball this time. “Are you going to the dance? The Sadie Hawkins dance?” She purred it out in a heated rumble that sounded low and sultry and breathy even to her. Ian started to shake his head, considered the repercussions of excess movement right now and verbally replied. “No.” “Why not?” Sara was surprised more that she should have been considering Vicky’s conjecture. He may have been new here but he was major meat to the more aggressive girls. ”I wasn’t asked.” Ian gazed appealing at her with innocence in those big puppy eyes that could easily be her undoing. Sara snorted in her naturally delicate feminine way, though not as vehemently as she would have had he not been bewitching her with his smile as well. “I find that kinda hard to believe, Ian.” “Maybe I should have said I wasn’t asked by the right girl”. The smile became teasing and playful- some friendly banter that covered a serious assertion. “My friend Vicky – from the science club, likes you. She’d ask you but she thinks you’d turn her down. Would you?” Why had she told him that when she was right there in his face? When Ian’s eyes were caressing her face. When he was close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from his body? And to boot, he smelled wonderful- like spice and incense. She tightened again, low and deep inside- a feeling she intuitively recognized without having actually experienced it before. Lust, pure and sweet and all for Ian Nottingham. “I would thank her for the offer” Ian cautiously worded his answer as his eyes held hers in a vise grip without seeming to do so. They were so rich and the gold swirled and eddied into the brown depths...so deep... She was falling... falling... falling into those honeybown wells and drowning in their liquid longing. She reached out to steady herself from tumbling over the emotional precipice and her hand connected with a muscular thigh. Firm hands gripped her shoulders gently in an additional attempt to prevent her toppling over. “Off balance”, she explained, “it was the way I was sitting”. Ian’s mirth at her corny explanation bubbled through and Sara found herself chuckling along with him. She let her hand stay on his thigh- just to balance herself, of course. Did he know he had a hypnotic gaze? Or did it just work on teenage females overloaded with massive spiking hormones? “Would you turn me down if I asked you?” “Are you asking me?” He sounded like a rutting tiger tracking a female in season but his expression combined hope and wariness- not a tiger but more like a puppy approaching a stranger and not sure if it will be petted or slapped. She liked the way he sounded with that growly purr. None of the other guys, even the ones that envisioned themselves the next James Dean sounded that... sexy. “I’m not sure”. She replied honestly. Typically she easily crushed any casual libidinal sensations that threatened to cause her brain to take a back seat to her principles. Or a back seat in any boy’s car. Her defenses weren’t working this time. Of course, she hadn’t met anyone that tempted her like this before either. “Let me know when you decide”. Ian instructed with a winsome smile as he firmly settled her on her knees, her hand forced to reluctantly slide back into her lap. “Ah, okay. I’m...uhm, going to clean out my locker... uhm, so if you hear banging and stuff it’s just me”. She babbled inanely at him. A quick flash of disappointment crossed his countenance then disappeared into a wholly expressionless visage. He carefully nodded in acceptance and understanding then with one easy movement he stood- lithe, strong and elegant to offer her a hand up. She accepted, waiting and
prepared for some sort of proposition- physical, verbal, whatever like
the other guys did, but Ian didn’t seem programmed to deliver
that. He retrieved his bloody towel with just a cautiously minimal thank
you nod. Bright, soul filled eyes looked down at her steadily. She tilted her head back to look at him. She hadn’t realized how tall he was. Tall, lean, athletic. If he finished filling in over the next few years the way his body promised he would be too good to be true. Special. “Yes. It’s been an eventful introduction.” He touched his head tentatively, winced and shrugged the pain away in favor of a parting smile. It was the most charming yet- sort of cockeyed- and teasing and it lighted his face with an impish air. He’d saved the best for last, she decided- the you’ll-break-my-heart-if-you-go smile. Sara took a deep breath, grabbed her garbage can and started dragging it to her locker. She needed to clean out that mess and go home. Not flirt with the new kid. She had homework up the behind- science, a history essay and pages of math. Math. She got ‘A’s in it but she had to work at it. Maybe a little tutoring would help. She glanced back hoping Ian had decided to pursue her but the aisle was empty. A thump and muttered vulgarity from his general area told her he was still attempting to stock his locker. With a resigned sigh she started in with what she had come there to do. It had been a very enjoyable diversion, she decided as she dumped outdated workbooks into the trash. He was quite comfortable to be with- not platonic like Danny but not as transparently horny and obnoxious as most of the other boys. Maybe Ian didn’t believe in casual sex, either. She guffawed under her breath at that. Right. He probably had girls lined up at his old school. Take a number like at the deli. They probably fought to walk him home. Especially since he had been one of the primo jocks. Status alone would make him desirable. He had considerably more than that to offer. Sara sighed again. This locker had been previously inhabited by a human pack rat. Almost everything was yellowed notes and old texts that looked like they had been put in here for use and then forgotten. Maybe this poor kid had had to switch lockers midterm too. She was almost at the bottom when she discovered the sweater. It was well hidden under a jumble of notes that looked like the cryptogram puzzles she and her dad worked out in the Sunday paper. The cardigan was folded neatly, cashmere and soft as only that wool can be, dyed a rich and elegant emerald color and styled from the 30’s or 40’s but the kind that never really outdates fashion. Simple. Chic. And it was embroidered- there were initials on the top in cream thread, ‘E.B.’ Whoever E.B. was she was the same size as she was, Sara surmised as she held the sweater out in front of her. She’d never been much into hand me downs but then she didn’t have anyone to hand anything down to her. She had no sisters or aunts or cousins. Her mom had died when she was a baby leaving just her and her dad and her dog, ‘Yankee’ after the NY baseball team. She had to include him. “That matches your eyes”. Sara spun startled and breathless. Ian stood behind her, recalcitrant gym bag in hand watching her. He had approached her as silently as she had him. “It’s not mine. It was in this locker. Look at the mess”. Sara explained. “How do you know what color my eyes are?” She demanded suddenly unreasonably annoyed with him. He’d snuck up on her on purpose. How long had he been watching her? Yes, she’d done exactly the same thing to him, but that was different. How it was different she couldn’t pinpoint but she’d figure it out later. “You sat right next to me to help me. Did you think I wouldn’t notice your eyes? What did you think I was looking at?” Ian was slightly defensive at her tone but trying to remain agreeable and gracious. She wanted to say most guys looked at the firm, rounded masses that comprised her chest and not her eyes but somehow her annoyance shifted from him to herself for jumping to conclusions. He apparently wasn’t “most guys”. “Yeah, sorry. I can get a little defensive sometimes.” Sara shrugged and looked hopeful that he’d accept that as a heartfelt apology. “I’ve heard that.” Ian grinned broadly at her and relaxed back on his heels to watch her reactions scroll by. “Who...? “ She exploded, caught herself as his smile intensified along with the gleeful sparks flickering in his eyes. He was purposely teasing her now- friendly, comfortable, and unlike most victims of her wrathful temper- undaunted. She grinned and did just what she’d have done to Danny- jabbed him lightly in the arm and laughed. Was she that at ease with him? Apparently so. Ian faked a pained look and rubbed his ‘damaged’ appendage before he turned abruptly serious. “What’s that – in your locker?” He nodded at the remains of the buried treasures. Sara knelt down and fished behind a stack of small leather bound journals for the item that they had both spotted at the same time. It glittered and shone softly in the dim glare of the grimy florescent lights. She had to pull the notebooks out first and hesitated over them a second. They looked like diaries, booklets of excellent quality and construction unlike the typical ruled school papers that had comprised the rest of the paper nest. “What?” Sara picked it up. “It looks like a bracelet.” Ian was kneeling next to her, so close their arms brushed. He rocked back a little as she sat down and displayed the unexpected find. “Yeah. I guess I’ll have to take it to the security office. It’s pretty.” She turned the silver bracelet with its big crimson stone around in her hands before slipping it on to model it. “It fits, too.” It was made like a cuff that couldn’t be resized but if E.B.’s sweater would fit, there was no reason for her jewelry not to. She looked up at Ian with a smile that faded as her eyes widened and her heart leapt to her throat. Reflected in his eyes she saw herself- only older, with a police badge clipped to her belt, her golden brown hair billowing about her and a metal glove covering her arm up to the elbow. A sword extended from the gauntlet with flames licking its edges and swirling in the same mysterious air current as her hair. Her green eyes were just as fiery – defiant and challenging but imploring for a peaceful resolution to their combat. Her opponent was... Ian Nottingham. He was also older, hardened and filled in even more exquisitely than she had imagined, his autumn browns hair falling loose and free below his shoulders, the fine planes of his cheeks still there but the jaw now covered with a short cropped beard that gave him a touch me/ pet me aura that made her fingers twitch in response. Dressed all in black- form-fitted and snug enough to reveal the sculpted musculature beneath but loose enough not to restrict movement he was just smiling at her and her weapon and her boldness. She looked into his mocking eyes, loving eyes, depthless eyes and she felt herself falling again... falling... falling... “Sara”. Ian’s sharp address cut into her mind. She blinked up at him and he was just Ian. But he was staring at her hand. She had reached out to brace herself again and ended up resting her hand on his thigh, again. But the bracelet was gone. And the hand that grasped his leg was covered in a metal glove. The gauntlet from her hallucination. Only real now. Luckily there was no sword or she would have emasculated him. She definitely didn’t want that. It was a good bet he didn’t either. She liked groping his leg better without the glove. She swallowed hard, apprehension and desperation starting to well up inside her. “What do I do?” She whispered confused and a little panicky. “I dunno”. Ian cautiously laid his hand over the glove. A sharp snicking noise and a slithering motion resulted with her holding his thigh and him holding her hand. The bracelet was just ... a pretty trinket. Sara’s lips trembled. She was level headed and calm in most traumatic situations but she was no good with spooky stuff. She even hated Halloween- except for the candy. There were tears welling in her eyes and threatening to burst forth in a rushing torrent to embarrass her beyond redemption in front of the new guy. Who was still holding her hand. Who was still watching her with more concern and worry than alarm or bewilderment. Whose opinion of her actually mattered. Ian Nottingham was ok. “Want to be my date for the dance?” She blurted out and batting her eyes in an attempt to push back the tears. She really wanted to scream. “Yes”. His soft voice wrapped her in a bodiless embrace, an aural hug of reassurance and compassionate as he raised her newly adorned hand to his lips and kissed it. “You into that chivalry stuff, Ian?” she was trying to laugh to keep from crying. “Yes, Lady Sara. Just don’t stick me with that sword thing, ok?” Ian smiled slightly. Geez. He’d seen it too, Sara realized. So they could be crazy together. Senior year was definitely going to be the one to remember.
“Maybe I should rub it and make a wish?” She added in an attempt to hide her fears beneath her usual sarcasm and brusqueness. Aladdin had his magic lamp she had her Pez prize. Ian laughed softly and used his free hand to pull the journals closer to them. She wondered vaguely if she could wish for him to hold her hand indefinitely? It was a lean, strong hand and the heat from it; the sensation of skin to skin transmitted an incredible empathy. She was suddenly thankful it was still warm enough that heavy coats and outerwear weren’t necessary yet. Holding a glove just wouldn’t have cut it. “Maybe these are her diaries or notes. This E.B.’s.” Ian held her eyes for confirmation of his theory, the soft comforting radiance in them letting her know he was committed to helping her sort out this mystical mumbo jumbo. “There could be some explanation in them.” His being committed might
be the only thing that kept her from well, being committed. As in white
jackets that tie in back, padded walls and visions that were excessively
real. Yes, it was purely platonic. Sure. She smiled at him and wanted to slap herself. She was mooning at him like a lovesick calf and he was being gracious enough to ignore it. A hint of a smile touched his come-hither lips and Ian squeezed her hand. “If we can find some
clue in here maybe your science wiz friend could piece it together.”
Ian offered some strategy for action. “Or we could try to figure
it out on our own.” Was he really as calm and in control as he appeared? She really doubted it. “Did you... did you see anything when this did whatever it did?” maybe she just imagined that part...she really didn’t want to fight with him even in a dream. And with swords? Geez, where did that come from? “I saw us...” Ian hesitated, dropped his eyes a minute to compose his thoughts then met her gaze steadily. “Only older.” She nodded encouragingly. She wasn’t crazy after all. “We were fighting, right? With swords?” His blank look turned to chagrin. “Not hardly. We were... we were making love. Pretty passionately too.” Sara blushed so deeply her ears burned and she tugged her hand free of his. “I wasn’t hitting on you, Sara. You asked what I saw and that was it”. Sara experienced a rush of guilt at her reaction. Ian’s look was the same crushed and bewildered one that Yankee gave her when she yelled at him for drinking out of the toilet. “Not that I wouldn’t want to make a pass at you...” Ian floundered.” I just... think you’re more than a piece of ass and I wanted time to be friends.” He spread those beautiful hands out in placation and petition for forgiveness. Sara blinked. Piece of ass? Is that what the guy’s really thought of her? Actually except for Danny and one or two others, the answer was unfortunately yes. “Piece of ass?” she hissed under her breath. Ian retreated into the safety of his own personal space but didn’t appear overly concerned with the potential of her renowned temper. He apparently was confident he could weather one of her tirades. “But you think I’m more than that?” He nodded, apparently willing to suffer the headache the movement invoked to accentuate the sentiment. “You are a strong, self-reliant and smart girl. That is the real you, the one I ... like.” Either it one hell of a line or he was being utterly sincere. Sara opted for the latter. “Did you have a girlfriend at your old school?” She probed. If she talked about him she could let the shock of the bracelet’s actions ease away. Distraction worked miracles. ‘Did he have’, she’d asked. Duh? Maybe he still had some special babe- just because he’d changed schools.... “Nothing serious.” “Why?” Sara decided to just be all out pushy. “None of them ever peeked my interest enough, Sara.” Sara snorted and a tight smile appeared. Damn, had he meant to sound that cocky? That... sure of himself? He did have the looks and body to have girls swooning in his footsteps but he hadn’t seemed that arrogant. He seemed kind and down to earth and ... first-rate company. “That’s pretty cocky.” She critiqued his reply. “No. I didn’t mean it to be.” Ian stopped again and she could swear she could see him struggling to precisely word his answer so she’d understand. “I mean... if I would get involved with a girl, real involved I’d want it to be for the long haul. You understand? I don’t want just a quick one with somebody’s body in the back of the stadium.” Sara raised her eyebrows. She’d been offered that opportunity more times than she could remember. She had somehow just come to the conclusion that anything fueled by high test-osterone only cared about immediate self gratification. This Ian was an enigma. The enigma shook his head. “I ... if I give someone my heart, my love and invest myself in a relationship I want it to be enduring, lasting. I never met anyone I could picture myself with like that, before. Mostly my girlfriends have been friends who are girls.” Ian sighed. Was he for real? Sara wondered what kind of life Ian Nottingham had lived to encode such ideals and desires into him. The only other male she knew that adhered to ethics and values like that was Danny. “So that’s why you agreed to go to the dance with me? I’m just a sorta friend that’s also a girl?” Ian made a noise that was half laugh and half snort. “I said ‘before’, Sara.” He bathed her in that sweet, warm smile that perked up from some inner hearth to toast her to all the way to her toes. She sorely regretted yanking her hand away from his grasp. “Oh.” She made a small mew of realization of the significance of his words. ‘Before’... before he met her. She had to change the subject before she embarrassed herself even more than she had so far. There should be a limit on that kind of thing. “What do you... think I should do about this?” She repeated her previous question and tapped the bracelet with her fingers. “I think you should keep it at least for now. Its obviously been locked in there a long time and no one has missed it so that isn’t an issue. And I think you should go through these journals to see if there’s any information. I told you I’d be glad to help, it would be quicker with two of us.” Sara smiled at him. If he was earnest in what he’d told her, she didn’t need a genie or magical wish for a perfect boyfriend- he was sitting in front of her. If it were a ploy, a deception to trick her into a physical tryst well, she’d handle that too. A vision of them cuddled together on a couch, her ensconced against his touchable chest with each of them reading a journal flashed through her imagination. This mental picture she had conjured all by herself and it was vastly preferable than the one of her waving that pig sticker at him and him laughing heartlessly at her efforts. “Okay. I think that’s a good start but please don’t tell anyone. Not even Vicky. I think it might be better to keep it secret for now, ok?” He nodded again and very lightly extended a hand to brush his fingertips against her cheek. It was a gossamer touch, a feathering of a stroke but it added to the heartfelt and trusting smile that spread across his lips and filled his eyes. It was not platonic but neither was it overtly sexual. It was unlike anyone else had ever touched her. A communion of psyches. She rubbed her wrist, surprised at the sudden heat in the cold metal. It must have had something to do with her body temperature suddenly spiking. “Uhm. Help me pitch this garbage and you can walk me home.” She imperiously commanded her newly appointed knight. She started to laugh at his prefabricated look of shock. "I always wanted some big, handsome fella to carry my books for me.” Ian joined her laughter and rose to offer her a hand up. “You could have them lined up for that, Sara.” He scooped the useless academic trash into the can and glanced back at her. “Maybe no one ever peeked my interest enough...before, Ian.” She grinned broadly at him but there was an edge to her words- a mantle of truth and seriousness that glimmered through. “Why Miss Pezzini! Did you just make a pass at me?” Ian pressed a hand to his chest in exaggerated mock astonishment and widened those already enormous soft hazel eyes. “You bet. Come on.” She gathered up as much as she could by stuffing the journals into the green sweater and letting him bear her dual purpose gym /book bag. “You know, Vicky told me you have a nice butt.” Sara informed him. The incredulity on his face this time was genuine. “She was right. The rest of you seems to go with it.” She passed him on the way to the door letting him sort out this extra bit of unexpected information. “Yours is pretty fine too.” He remarked from behind her. Sara grinned. “Thanks for noticing” “Believe me, it’s
my pleasure.” ~Far
Out ~ They made it as far as the front of the school- Sara slightly breathless despite being as physically fit as any of the team athletes. Ian Nottingham exuded energy and it displayed itself in his movements. He didn’t so much walk as flow, fluid and graceful with a ground-eating stride that took one and a half of hers to keep pace. When he realized that she was working to stay even with him- her pride and competitiveness refusing to let her acknowledge her efforts, he switched to alternately walking backwards to talk with her, to circling her, to bouncing around like a playful puppy. Lordie, she had imagined long romantic walks holding his hand and gazing at the moon and stars but now she worried that it might be more of a marathon run. He hadn’t done it on purpose- he just was tall, leggy and borderline hyperactive. Sara stopped at the main entrance and plopped down her bundle. “Ian, when I said for you to walk me home- well, I don’t even know where you live. I mean you don’t have to go out of your way. I don’t live that far from here and if it would be putting you out...” Please say, ‘its ok, Sara. I’ll walk you home’, she pleaded silently. Her self-sufficient nature warred with the part of her that was enjoying his company. Bouncy or not. Ian hesitated, still holding everything of his and hers. Here it comes, she thought. Well, he did have that nasty cut on his head and it was late and they had only just met so she should understand if he took off and left her standing there... “Ah, Sara, if you’ll trust me, I’ll take you home.” What did that mean? She cocked her head and stared at him to relay her bafflement at his cryptic statement. “”There... that’s my car. I drive because I’m too far out.” “You’re far out?” She teased as she admired the vehicle in question. “I live too far out.” He explained in a tone that told her he deserved that verbal jab. “I’m a safe driver.” “Sure”. She eyed the car. There was a group of the local hotdog street racers that typically congregated outside the school in the evenings to drag race up and down the alleys in the area. She’d seen this car parked on the campus before but always believed it belonged to one of the gearheads even though she’d never actually seen it racing. “That’s yours?” She checked to be sure. Ian nodded. “Can I ask you something, honestly?” She turned to him, putting together the remaining edges of the Ian Nottingham jigsaw puzzle. Then she could start to fill in the center... “Yes. My dad’s loaded and I come from money.” Ian answered her yet to be verbalized question with so much disgust and resignation apparent in his voice Sara felt like she’d unwittingly tortured him. Money was a good thing right? Why did Ian make it sound... like leprosy? “Ok. Ride me home. But drive nice.” She wagged a finger at him trying to lighten the mood back up. “My dad’s a cop and he doesn’t fix tickets he hands them out.” Ian relaxed visibly at her attitude and answer. Moving to his car he popped the trunk to store all their assorted bags and bundles. Sara noted the gearheads watching him like vultures hovering over a decaying carcass. She trailed her fingers over the immaculate paint of the heavy steel frame as she walked to the passenger door. “Wait till I tell Vicky this is yours and I rode in it.” She grinned impishly.” “She’ll die.” Ian appeared beside her and opened the door before she could manage the feat for herself. He smiled and ushered her in before bounding around to slip in next to her. “Its not a new car Sara.” Ian pointed out. “Its as old as I am.” She sniffed at him. Not new, better than new was more like it. This camaro was a collector’s car already. Maybe he was worth collecting too. “I think you have more wear and tear.” She chided him as he engaged the clutch and turned the ignition. The inside of the car was flawless too. It was a stick. She wanted to learn to drive one in the worst way but her dad never seemed to have the time lately. There was something going on at the station, something he wouldn’t talk to her about. That worried her so she didn’t push for anything extra from him. But Ian, maybe... He grinned and winked at her, again at ease with the banter and commradery that had seemed instantaneous between them, like two old friends reunited rather that new acquaintances. “I do.” “Did you ... buy this yourself?” she didn’t want to touch on that obviously a tender spot involving money but geez, this was scrumptious. She wiggled herself comfortably into the deep leather bucket seat and looked at her chauffer. “It was my birthday gift, last year. “ The carefully uttered words promised layers of hidden meaning as Ian explained. “To make up for my father being away in Europe again. I stayed here this time and got the car.” Sara focused on his face.
The car was idling like a huge happy tiger full of cream. A mint condition
’69 camaro, set up from that hot rod racer guy down in Pennsylvania
was an unbelievable gift. She knew enough about fast cars to recognize
it. But did it equal to time spent with family? Maybe being rich wasn’t all it was portrayed to be. Ian looked worn and haunted suddenly. Alone. Po’s chastisement came back to her- he was new and had been relocated, he hadn’t made many friends yet but apparently that included more than just school. Sara instinctively slid her hand over his in a quick soft caress. “I know how to ride a motorcycle....” She tried to add a more casual meaning to the way she was clutching his hand as it rested on the shift. “But I always wanted to learn to drive a stick. Is it hard?” Why had her eyes sort of drifted to his lap when she said that- just as those long hard muscled thighs rippled while he shifted the car. She spent too much time with Vicky Po. The transmission changed gears smoothly, without any perceptible alteration of the car’s smooth motion and Ian shook his head in answer. “If you want to learn, I’d be glad to show you.” he glanced at her then as he eased the car to a stop at the end of the school lot. There was only minimal traffic at this hour and several of the rodders stepped up to their cars in anticipation as the Camaro prowled toward them. “Sure. But not now.” She glared at a couple of the guys she recognized as the car passed them. “Some day.” Ian agreed ignoring the challenging looks and hooted calls that followed in their wake. “You don’t race?” She asked bluntly. “I don’t need to prove anything to anyone, Sara.” Ian replied bluntly as he guided the mass of American metal muscle down the streets she pointed at. “I drive to get where I need to be. This car just makes it especially enjoyable.” She nodded. She liked his mind-set. “Do you want me to take a couple of the diaries with me?” He segued from one subject to the next as smoothly as he shifted the car. Sara contemplated his suggestion. Her dad was working late- again, so she could start right in reading them without any questions. It would be quicker with Ian’s help but if they were separated, well what if one of them found something? They’d have to call each other. That seemed unproductive. It would be much more efficient if he was actually physically present with her as he scrutinized the pages. Definitely more fun, too. Could Ian stay? He acted like there was no one for him to go home to. Where was his mom? Brothers? Sisters? Was he an only child like her? What would her neighbor’s think if she brought a new fella home with her? That damned nebby Miss Boucher would be gawking out her window for sure. Damn, did she dare? “Do you have to go straight home, Ian? I mean, could you stop awhile and we could work on these diaries together. My dad’s at work but sometimes I have a friend over to study with.” ’Friend’ meant Danny who her dad knew and trusted. He trusted Sara as well though and believed in her good sense and judgment. If she liked Ian, dad would like Ian. She liked Ian. A lot. “You can call home and tell them where you are.” She offered. Ian glanced quickly at her before returning his focus to the road. The purring car didn’t seem to be moving at all except that the scenery was zipping past too quickly. She’d casually checked his speedometer- he was going exactly the speed limit but the way he angled around the corners was like a snake slithering through a tube. Sara was willing to bet he had pushed a car to its limit for fun before. If not this one, then some car maybe when he’d lived in Europe. She could picture him flying down the autobahn with some Italian sports car tach and speedometer bottomed out, stylish hair blowing around him like some big name designer’s underwear model out for a jaunt between photo shoots. Sara stared resolutely at his profile. Nah. He was just a nice kid who had clung to normalcy despite a rich dad. “I can stay if you want. Or you can come to my house.” he offered. “You’re folks wouldn’t mind?” She thought he’d implied his father was away but she was curious about his mother. How many girls had he brought home? “Father’s in Europe. There are just the caretakers there. An me.” Ian said a bit too quietly. “Where’s your mom?” Sara blurted out before engaging her brain and tact. “I don’t have one.” Ian mulled something over. “I mean I never knew her. Father told me once she died before I was born.” “Excuse me?” She gaped like a beached cod. “I don’t understand either.” Ian remarked sourly. “ He doesn’t talk about her at all. Ever.” A wistful sigh escaped his lips and in the shadowy blur of the twilight and fuzzy streetlights a painful longing and need etched his features. “ There are no photos either. I may as well be one of those test tube babies that everyone’s talking about. Created with some sterile dropper and trial and error instead of born out of love and desire.” A tangible silence filled the car. Sara wanted to hug him. He was a hopeless romantic that had been scratched and clawed by a harsh reality until he was already jaded at eighteen. He safeguarded a gentle soul under his strong masculine presence. She was glad she hadn’t teased him about the poetry book. “Well, don’t tell that theory to Vicky. She already wants you for a research project and that’ll make it worse.” “What kind of research?” Ian curiosity was piqued enough to force away any bitter lonely residue. ”Anatomy.” Sara grinned and patted his arm. She was used to athletes, jocks and brawny boys and it took outstanding musculature to impress her. Ian was ... very nicely put together. She could handle broken homes and jerky jocks. She wasn’t sure she could cope with morphing bracelets that evoked delusional fantasies. She needed Ian Nottingham’s solid, stable reassurance. He had experienced it with her and besides she really liked him. “Let’s go to my house. We’re almost there, now. If we don’t finish the diaries tonight, then we can go to your place next time.” That seemed an equitable decision. She knew they’d never get through that stack of books in one night so that meant they had a few more ‘dates’ up coming. Karma, Danny was always telling her. Things worked out. “Okay.” Ian swung the car into the narrow drive of the little white-framed house Sara had pointed at. The picket fence matched the house and there was a welcome light burning brightly in the front window. Her dad always left that light on for her when he worked in the evening shift- just in case. “You have a dog.” The strident woofing coming from the house spoke of an urgent need combined with a warning that some strange vehicle was trespassing on his private territory. “I have to let him out. Can you bring the journals?” Sara was already scrambling out the car door. The barking changed to a happy excited yodel as Yankee’s acute hearing recognized her voice and begged for assistance. Ian was opening the trunk when she yanked open the front door and a blur of ginger and black fur streaked through pausing long enough to waggle and lick at her, then bolt to give Ian a quick perfunctory sniff in the crotch before racing to his personal canine rest area in the yard. Sara glanced past Ian’s laughing reaction to this extreme introduction and saw her neighbor staring out through her curtain. Nebbish. “Sara if you’re alone ... besides him.” Ian’s voice jumped an octave as her dog rocketed up to them again and goosed her guest in a more formal dog greeting. “Maybe I shouldn’t come in.” He twitched his head casually in the direction of the overtly peeping Thomasina. “Pffutt.” Sara dismissed her neighbor. “Danny’s here all the time even when dad’s out. She’s just jealous.” Sara grinned and waved rowdily at the window. The curtains immediately drew closed. Ian was laughing too hard to comment. “Come on boys, in you go.” She opened the door and shepherded dog and young man inside. “I’m not Danny, Sara.” He reminded her as he slipped past her. He most definitely wasn’t, she thought as she focused on the tight butt packaged so perfectly in those slacks. There was an obvious advantage to walking behind him. Really really nice buns. “Do you like pizza?” she demanded as the door swung closed behind them.
~Chapter
5 ~
“But its still early...
oh, no it isn’t.” She stared at the clock, willing it to
tick widdershins and make the time reverse. He had received that news with mixed reactions- pride in her and fear for her. Too much been there, done that, don’t want my little girl to experience the same. If Ian stayed, her dad could meet him. How would he take that? Probably better than her career choice, she decided. She hadn’t often brought a boy home for him to meet... in that special way. As a boyfriend not just a boy friend. Come to think of it she had never done that. She frowned at the recalcitrant
clock that just continued its normal chronological pace. It didn’t mean anything to her so the only help she could offer was a smile and a slightly too familiar hug. The journals were dated so they had chosen to start with the earliest ones. So far there had been no information about the magical mutating bracelet- just general daily observation from a young girl growing up. Sara suspected it was dull and tedious for Ian, until she had noticed him engrossed in the sidebar notes precisely scripted in the margins of the book he had. “What is that? Doodles?” She scrunched up against him to peer at the numbers and symbols. If it had been typed it would have looked like someone was just tapping the number line with and without the shift key. “Logarithms. Theorems.
Equations.” Ian had said quietly, almost reverently tracing the
precise lines with the fingers of one hand while rather nonchalantly
looping his other arm around her to hold the book steady- not to mention
holding her more closely against him. “She was a math wiz, this Liz Bronte. I wish I had known her.” He sounded so wistful Sara felt an unreasonable pang of envy stab in her chest. Wherever she was now, EB was old enough to be his mother so why should Sara be jealous? Maybe she wasn't a ‘wiz’ but she managed an A average in math- even though it did require the most effort of all her subjects. Right now she was the one snugged up against his chest, enjoying the simple intimacy of plain pleasant physical contact. Ian was a math major so naturally he’d find this numeric gibberish appealing while it just made her eyes water. Sara sighed louder than she meant too. He breathed gently onto the top of her head, ruffling her hair like autumn leaves slowly drifting to the earth. He’d heard her and whatever he was doing was sending shock waves straight to her groin. Sara glanced up into those soft deer eyes and engaging smile. He was laughing at her, with her and she couldn’t help but join in. He was so comfortable to be with as a friend and yet so strikingly sexy she was having trouble deciding which facet she appreciated more. Before starting the read-a-thon she had hauled him into their tiny bathroom. Perching his tall form on the only available low seating- the commode, she leaned against the edge of the clawfoot tub so she could dab at the gouge in his scalp with peroxide. For a minute she feared she’d be scrapping him off the ceiling as the cleanser bubbled and frothed in the open wound and Ian made a steam pipe hissing sound and bit his lip so hard it started to bleed as well. Scalp wounds always looked bad and bled a lot so she was sure he didn’t really need stitches. Somehow other than the sound effects he had managed to not even flinch as she mopped around using a plain water dampened washcloth to eradicate the remains of any blood stuck in his silken hair. “Why are you in a public school instead of a private one?” she’d asked in an attempt to divert his attention from her handiwork. His hands were clasped on his knees so tightly the knuckles were white but he never cringed even when she accidentally bumped him right against the oversized scratch. “I was when I lived in Europe.” Ian hissed then caught his breath to steady himself. It had hurt less before she ministered to him. “When we moved back here father wanted me to attend one of the upstate prep schools. Academically I’m ahead ... “ he stopped as if trying to decide if that sounded too egotistical, then forged on irregardless. “Many of my classes there equaled freshman college level here but I was too cut off from the real world, from normal day to day activities in a boarding school. Then the culture is very different here... it would have left me too vulnerable; too inexperienced in ordinary things that everyone else took for granted. That kind of isolation wasn’t safe. I insisted on attending public school and father agreed with my justifications... so here I am.” Sara pursed her lips and nodded. He sounded like a reasonable caring dad even if he was away a lot. Maybe that was unavoidable in whatever business he was in. Ian certainly seemed a stable and grounded young man. To fortify him after that grueling Sara Nightingale ordeal, she had procured them a late dinner. They had eaten almost two whole large pizzas- loaded with everything but those nasty little fishes and the kitchen sink, gleaned from the local neighborhood shop Gallo’s Pizzeria. The owner, Tommy was a friend of her dad’s from their school days, never charged her and always delivered right to the door. He’d teased her that they ‘took care of their own’ once when Sara had lauded profuse thanks for an over laden supreme calzone he’d made expressly for her. She suspected that statement had something to do with them being Italian rather than schoolmates, though as a businessman it was useful to have a friend on the police force- in case of a robbery or vandalism. Sara didn’t take advantage of Tommy’s generosity but sometimes it also came in handy to have acquaintances with clout- or at least free food. Ian had wolfed his portion down like his legs were hollow, then grinned at her and carefully wiped a gob of stray marinara sauce from her cheek. How she’d managed to hog it up there she didn’t know but at least she hadn’t felt embarrassed in front of him. “I’m messy sometimes.” She’d joked. Ian had smiled rakishly at her and informed her the next time, he’d lick it off. She found herself looking forward to that. Then they had each taken a diary- Sara the earliest, Ian the next in order and relaxed in the crook of either end of her couch. They had shifted and rearranged themselves in their respective corners theoretically to keep from cramping until somehow they both ended up in the same corner. It was his doing, she vowed even though he was still in his original spot and she was the one on top of him. Well, maybe ‘on top of’ was a little misleading. This was an obviously prime anti-cramping position since they had been in it for quite a long time without any Charlie-horses or kinks or other muscular mishaps. Ian was jammed sideways in
the angle of the couch, slumped down enough that his head rested comfortably
on the armrest and his body paralleled the length of the seat. One leg was bent at the knee and that foot firmly planted on the floor but his other leg- the one closest to the back of the couch was extended full length, his ankle and foot dangling over the opposite arm rest. He was taller than her couch was long accordingly his comfort was the main objective- he was her guest after all, so he could put his parts wherever he wanted. Ian rested his book on his outer thigh propped upright with one hand and looked totally at ease. Sara had wedged herself on her side between him and the couch back, her knee cocked over his muscular extended leg and her book and her cheek resting contentedly on his chest. It was a comfortable chest and its steady rise and fall and rhythmic heartbeat was lulling and reassuring. And despite the eerie bracelet impersonating a lava light by twinkling on her wrist she was almost certain she’d dozed off. She didn’t remember his arm encircling her they way it was now- warm, and protective and a little seductive. It felt like they’d been friends for ages rather than just a few hours. He also felt very masculine and very, very tempting. Now her pillow wanted to go home. “This has been full of interesting memories but nothing about this...” she wagged her wrist to flash the bracelet at him. That movement unintentionally... well, maybe not, managed to rub him firmly along the waist and ribs. Ian shivered slightly under her. He was definitely not cold. Rarely but every so often she almost felt sorry for boys- they really couldn’t hide their body’s reactions what with their gender specific organ attached as a mobile appendage right up front and center. Nature’s packaging for display purposes, Vicky referred to the male anatomy. No wonder Nature was female- she was the primal ogler. Maybe that construct was
why so many guys acted like dorks- their brains were oxygen deprived
down there in their pants. Imagine if their shorts were washed in Clorox
too often- the poor little things would be afflicted with toxic fumes
as well. Maybe that was the real reason why guys got into the marking
ritual thing outside... just to get their deprived little brains some
light and air. They were both ...wilder, more adventurous than Sara in a refined hedonistic way. She didn’t want them to tease her so she just let innuendo’s slide- after all cheerleaders were loose and ditzy right? She had never encountered a man she had seriously wanted to investigate before. Ian though... she wouldn’t mind exploring him at all. “Nothing in here either.” He folded the journal shut and laid it on the coffee table. No, she knew where it was... oh, he meant information. He hadn’t had to do more than move his arm to deposit the book but it had tightened and rippled his chest and abdominal muscles in a way that made her tighten low and deep and wet. Damn, her panties were wet. “Do you want to pursue this tomorrow?” Ian asked as his free hand traced a tickling line along her jewelry adorned arm. “Oh, yes...” Sara breathed. Oh, damn he meant the journals. She kept misinterpretating him. Maybe he was too cryptic. “Uh, yes tomorrow is good for me.” “At my house this time?” his voice had motored down to a fine tuned rumble that said more than the words did. “Right.” Sara started to sit up, but the only leverage she could get was by placing her palm on his ... body and heaving herself up. Her hand flattened on his belly and she started to innocently rise when somehow- she was never quite sure how, she ended up nuzzling his shirt instead. There was this firm inviting nub pressed against the indigo silk – two of them actually, one on each side of his chest, that she just had to scrutinize up close. Amazingly she found if she nipped at it gently, Ian’s whole body began to tremble beneath her. She knew how sensitive her breasts and nipples were to just casual contact. She’d had a couple of ‘dates’ make an accidental connection with her accessories- before she offered to revamp their faces for them. But she had also imagined the way it would be for someone she actually wanted to fondle her, suckle her in his mouth and rasp his tongue over the hypersoft skin of that rosy ring. She had never considered a man would react as ardently. She was mistaken. “No, Sara, please.” Ian was all exhaled air and she knew he didn’t mean it. Did he? He tucked a finger under her chin and raised her head to search her eyes. “I like you... I want to ... do this with you but I told you that I don’t consider you just a piece of ass. I don’t want to rush into something that we could regret later.” Ian stopped and his eyes bypassed her face to assess his need. Sara followed his gaze down his body. Oh, he was probably as wet as she was. He definitely was as hot. She was seducing him. Her, Sara Straightlace Pezzini. She pulled in her breath and rested still against him. She could feel his response to her- the blood swelling and pumping him hard and throbbing within the limits of his pants. She pictured how he’d look in snug, faded in the right areas jeans. She had... yeah, she’d creamed her panties. Geez. She wanted to feel him, take his burgeoned manhood in her hand, in her body... she wanted to go for a home run. But she’d always been the one to say back off. She should follow Ian’s advice. Before she could consider any more, he gently hefted her off him and sat up. ”I better leave.”
He whispered. “I can see myself out. I’ll meet you tomorrow,
Sara.” | ||||||||||||||||||||
“You
have to go. You’re the head cheerleader. It would look bad if
you didn’t go”. Vicky outlined the facts of high school
politics.
Sara
walked over, silent in her loafers and stood a few feet back admiring
at close range. His slacks were well tailored and more expensive than
most of the guys wore, black, spotless and fitted, a little too loose
for her taste but nice. Very nice. They had just received word that
starting next week they were allowed to wear blue jeans to class as
long as they were neat and presentable. The memo hadn’t mentioned
fit and Sara could tick off a couple of hand fulls of kids who would
show up in ones they’d have to pour themselves into. All the jocks
and hot rodders and the girls that hung around with them for a start.
She was glad for the change, she hated skirts and her pants always seemed
wrinkled no matter what she did. 
"What
should I do about this"? Sara still sat on the floor in front of
her locker, fiddling with the now ordinary bracelet and alternately
looking from it to the young man next to her back to the bangle. He
was still holding her hand. It helped for some reason, the contact with
him made her feel- safe. Or maybe just not so alone in the thrall of
the magic trinket.