"Good. Now that I drove Mrs. Skulnik out of my nose. I'm hungry," he said and started to wheel himself into the house.
I hurried to catch up, wondering what he, was talking about when he talked about cyber dates.
He asked me so many questions at lunch. I was barely able to chew my food and swallow. Mostly, he wanted to know what my school experiences were like. When I began in a new school, did I always gravitate toward a certain clique of friends? What kind of people did I like?
And what about my classes? Was there a great deal of flirting always going on behind the teacher's back? How many school dances had I attended? Did I have a boyfriend I regretted losing so much that I was actually in physical pain? Was I ever on a team or a cheerleader or in a play and what was that like? On and on it went, making me feel he was truly like someone who had just arrived from another planet.
"I can't imagine really learning in such a setting," he finally said after hearing some of my school experiences. "'There's so much to draw away your attention. Did you ever go to an all girls' school?" he asked quickly. "Without members of the opposite sex present, it might be easier. Well?"
He was so impatient for my responses, he couldn't wait for me to start to talk.
"No, Evan."
"I can't imagine not being related to you and being in a class with you," he suddenly said, but he said it like a scientist evaluating data. "I'd be looking at you all the time and never concentrating."'
I smiled, even though he had made it sound like cold analysis.
"You're going to give me a big head. Evan. There were always prettier girls in my classes."
"I doubt that. I've never been in school like you. but I've seen plenty of girls."
"Oh?"
"There's this personal dating service on the Internet where the girls put up pictures of themselves and describe themselves. Then boys send them their pictures and descriptions and they communicate for a while to see if it might work into anything. I've done it plenty of times. Of course. I substitute pictures so they never see me like this." he said, indicating the wheelchair,
"What's to keep anyone from doing the same?"
"Nothing, if that's all they want to do. But if they actually want to meet someday, they better show the truth, don't you think?"
I nodded.
"I have no illusions about it. The chat is as far as I'll be able to go." "You never wanted to meet this Arlene?"
"No," he said quickly. "Maybe she dumped me because she found out the truth about me. Besides. I'm not talking about her anymore. remember. She's going into your magic box," he reminded me.
I laughed and nodded. "Right."
"What about that boy you're seeing? Does he know you've actually moved?"
"Yes, and he's coming to take me to dinner on Saturday. You'll meet him. His name is Barry Burton."
"Great alliteration."
"P ardon?"
"You know. B and B? The repetition of consonants?"
"Oh. I bet you have one of those very high IQs, don't you?" "Off the charts." he said smugly.
"What do you want to do, to be. Evan?"
He thought a moment.
"I guess I'll become a brain surgeon. What they'll do is make a platform by the operating table and I'll wheel up on it and lean over the patient's head."
I stared at him coldly.
"I don't know." he said in a softer tone. "I like to write. I've been working on a play."