perplexed expression on his face. “Are you trying to hold my hand?” Jack asked, as if the idea were completely alien.
I was not trying to hold his hand, but I didn’t appreciate the way it seemed so offensive to him. What would be wrong with that? After all, this essentially was a date, whether he called it that or not. So why would it be so unthinkable that we’d hold hands?
“What if I am?” I stuck out my chin, ready to hold my ground and find out what would be so bad about hitting on me. Without hesitation, Jack called my bluff and took my hand in his. It definitely felt like I was holding hands with doll or something other than another person, but then it started to warm up, his skin heating up unnaturally, and I pulled my hand from his. “Okay. That’s just weird.” In response, he just shrugged, apparently deciding against explaining his abrupt temperature change.
We watched the rest of the movie in silence (or at least I did – he continued shouting lines and singing). By the time it ended, I had started yawning, and I knew that I’d have to call it a night pretty soon. Not that I wanted to. Bizarre handholding and classified information aside, I really enjoyed spending time with Jack and I didn’t want it to stop. Not ever.
The car ride home was mostly filled with Jack’s excited chatter about the movie. He explained all the reasons it was such a masterpiece, and had an endless stream of compliments about Tim Curry. I added things now and again, but it was mostly one-sided. There was something very thrilling about seeing Jack so excited. He became very animated and his eyes almost seemed to glow. “I hope you had fun tonight,” Jack said when he pulled up in front of my place.
“I did,” I nodded. Only he could make frustration so much fun. “So… we’ll hang out again?”
“Of course,” he smiled, then held out his hand towards me. “Let me see your phone.”
“Why?” I asked, but I was already pulling it out of my pocket and handing it to him.
“One second.” Taking my phone, he started scrolling through it and doing things that I couldn’t see from my angle. A minute later, he handed my phone back to me, looking rather mischievous.
“What’d you do?” I flipped it open and started looking through it, trying to see what he could’ve done.
“You’ll see,” he smiled.
“Oh, you are trouble.” Shaking my head, I shoved my phone back in my pocket, and he laughed.
“You have no idea.”
When I got out of the car, he was still laughing. I watched him speed off, moving impossibly fast, and then dashed upstairs to my house. Being with him was strangely exhilarating, but it also ended up a little tiring. Even when he wasn’t moving, he had so much energy about him, and it seemed to take so much energy just being around him. Not that I didn’t enjoy every minute of it, but it really made me look forward to curling up in my bed.
I’d barely made it inside the apartment when I saw Milo looking sheepishly at me, and I knew there was trouble afoot. It was way past his bedtime, and he was leaning against the kitchen counter all decked out in his pajamas. I was about to ask what was going on when I heard the rather shrill voice of my mother, and looked over to see her sitting in the tattered easy chair in the living room.
“Glad to see you finally made it home,” Mom said icily. Her graying hair looked like a frayed mess spreading out from her bun and her eyes were unusually large, a feature that both Milo and I had inherited, making us all look much younger than we were. Her voice, which could be rather soothing when she wanted it to be, sounded like she had been chain-smoking for forty years, which wasn’t that far from the truth. As it was, she was lighting another cigarette as she cast a cold glance at me.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I asked dumbly.
“They had a bomb threat to the building so they shut it down for the night,” Mom explained harshly.
I was not trying to hold his hand, but I didn’t appreciate the way it seemed so offensive to him. What would be wrong with that? After all, this essentially was a date, whether he called it that or not. So why would it be so unthinkable that we’d hold hands?
“What if I am?” I stuck out my chin, ready to hold my ground and find out what would be so bad about hitting on me. Without hesitation, Jack called my bluff and took my hand in his. It definitely felt like I was holding hands with doll or something other than another person, but then it started to warm up, his skin heating up unnaturally, and I pulled my hand from his. “Okay. That’s just weird.” In response, he just shrugged, apparently deciding against explaining his abrupt temperature change.
We watched the rest of the movie in silence (or at least I did – he continued shouting lines and singing). By the time it ended, I had started yawning, and I knew that I’d have to call it a night pretty soon. Not that I wanted to. Bizarre handholding and classified information aside, I really enjoyed spending time with Jack and I didn’t want it to stop. Not ever.
The car ride home was mostly filled with Jack’s excited chatter about the movie. He explained all the reasons it was such a masterpiece, and had an endless stream of compliments about Tim Curry. I added things now and again, but it was mostly one-sided. There was something very thrilling about seeing Jack so excited. He became very animated and his eyes almost seemed to glow. “I hope you had fun tonight,” Jack said when he pulled up in front of my place.
“I did,” I nodded. Only he could make frustration so much fun. “So… we’ll hang out again?”
“Of course,” he smiled, then held out his hand towards me. “Let me see your phone.”
“Why?” I asked, but I was already pulling it out of my pocket and handing it to him.
“One second.” Taking my phone, he started scrolling through it and doing things that I couldn’t see from my angle. A minute later, he handed my phone back to me, looking rather mischievous.
“What’d you do?” I flipped it open and started looking through it, trying to see what he could’ve done.
“You’ll see,” he smiled.
“Oh, you are trouble.” Shaking my head, I shoved my phone back in my pocket, and he laughed.
“You have no idea.”
When I got out of the car, he was still laughing. I watched him speed off, moving impossibly fast, and then dashed upstairs to my house. Being with him was strangely exhilarating, but it also ended up a little tiring. Even when he wasn’t moving, he had so much energy about him, and it seemed to take so much energy just being around him. Not that I didn’t enjoy every minute of it, but it really made me look forward to curling up in my bed.
I’d barely made it inside the apartment when I saw Milo looking sheepishly at me, and I knew there was trouble afoot. It was way past his bedtime, and he was leaning against the kitchen counter all decked out in his pajamas. I was about to ask what was going on when I heard the rather shrill voice of my mother, and looked over to see her sitting in the tattered easy chair in the living room.
“Glad to see you finally made it home,” Mom said icily. Her graying hair looked like a frayed mess spreading out from her bun and her eyes were unusually large, a feature that both Milo and I had inherited, making us all look much younger than we were. Her voice, which could be rather soothing when she wanted it to be, sounded like she had been chain-smoking for forty years, which wasn’t that far from the truth. As it was, she was lighting another cigarette as she cast a cold glance at me.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I asked dumbly.
“They had a bomb threat to the building so they shut it down for the night,” Mom explained harshly.
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