“Yes.”
He looked up quickly.
“The open-faced turkey sandwich is very good,” I replied.
His smile seemed to grow out of his eyes and trickle down to his lips. “What are you doing after dinner?”
“Nothing special. Writing some letters.”
“Writing letters? You mean emails?”
“No, old-fashioned letters. There’s still something about you in your handwriting.”
“To old boyfriends?”
“I wouldn’t write to more than one, would I?”
“Most of the girls here would. So it’s a boyfriend?”
“No. I’m writing to my mother, if you have to know.”
He nodded, sat forward, and ate some more. I did, too.
It did feel like some sort of fencing match, I thought, but strangely, as my surge of rage subsided, I realized that I liked it.
“How would you like to go for a ride first? I’ll show you the neighborhood,” he said, still looking at his food. “Nothing special, just a chance to get away for a while.” He paused, like someone waiting to hear an explosion. I realized he was even holding his breath.
And I thought, Here I go. I felt like I was about to attempt a deep-sea dive.
“Okay,” I said, and then, with caution still in control, added, “but not too far or for too long.”
He went back to his dinner as if I weren’t there.
“Are you shocked by my answer?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, just hungry,” he said. “And this is a good open-faced turkey sandwich.”
Another girl might have felt taken for granted or something, but I felt just the opposite. It was a feeling I had practically disowned for the rest of my life when it came to being with a boy.
I was excited.
10
“What’s it like living in Ridgeway?” Troy asked as we left Asper Hall and headed for the boys’ dorm parking lot. One thing I had noticed about him immediately was that whenever he asked me anything even remotely personal, he avoided looking directly at me. The new amateur psychiatrist in me suggested he had been hurt deeply in some way and, like me, was nervous about getting too close to anyone. Lately, however, it seemed like I was diagnosing many people similarly, perhaps hoping to find kindred spirits. Misery truly loves company, which was probably why I got along so well with Claudia.
Maybe, I told myself, Troy really was just shy despite his great looks, his intelligence, and his obviously wealthy family. Shy people were too often mistaken for arrogant people. Perhaps all the girls in this school, including me, were unfairly judging him.
I had hardly gotten to know him, and here I was already looking for ways to rationalize being with him. However, I had seen the way the other girls had looked at us when we left the cafeteria, and I anticipated Marcy pouncing on me.
I walked with my arms folded over my breasts, my hands buried under them. Nights were cooler now, bordering on chilly. I hadn’t chosen a warm enough jacket, only a light sweater over my blouse, but I didn’t want to complain and have to return to my dorm. Troy had on a soft-looking black leather jacket, and as we walked, he began putting on black leather driving gloves.
He turned to me when I didn’t answer his question. “You left lots of friends back there, I imagine.”
“Some.”
“They resent your going to a private school.”
“Some,” I said.