desk in the back of the library. I notice he’s one desk away from little Ginny, and he stops to talk with her a minute before getting to work. I’ve yet to have a successful conversation with Ginny, so it’s surprising to see anyone talking to her, but especially Mason.
Abe sets down his books on the table and slides into the seat across from me.
“I thought we could start with the heart,” he says.
“Fine by me.”
“Or we could do the lungs, if you’d prefer?” he offers.
I don’t have a great understanding of the heart, but it’s probably no worse than anything else in the thorax. I’m equally confused about everything.
“Let’s just do the heart.”
Abe nods and pulls out a stack of index cards. He lays them down on the table and I see that he’s drawn color-coded diagrams of the heart. I gasp.
“Wow,” I say.
His eyes widen. “What?”
“I just…” I grin at him. “I didn’t realize you were such a huge nerd.”
Abe looks down at his nerdy index cards, then back up at me. “I’m not a nerd! I’m organized.”
I shake my head at him. “That’s exactly what a nerd would say.”
He picks up a blank index card and flicks it in my direction. He obviously meant to hit me with it, but the card doesn’t even make it across the table. It just kind of flies into the air, then flutters slowly to the ground. Abe and I both watch it, then simultaneously bust out laughing.
“Pretty pathetic, huh?” he says.
I nod. “The trick is to form it into a plane,” I explain.
I grab another blank index card and form it into a little makeshift paper airplane. I aim it in Abe’s direction and it hits him directly in the forehead.
“Ouch!” Abe cries, rubbing his forehead. He grabs himself another blank card. “Okay, you’re asking for it, McKinley…”
And then we spend the next thirty minutes making planes out of index cards. I am such a bad influence.
_____
At some point, we get tired of acting like children and actually start studying for real. It’s intimidating that Abe knows his stuff so much better than I do, but at the same time, it’s motivating. Someone once told me that it’s always better to study with someone who knows more than you do.
If that’s the case, Abe is screwed.
It’s dark out by the time we decide to call it a day. We’re both carrying an armful of books as we head down in the elevator to the parking lot.
“Where’d you park?” Abe asks me.
“Second floor. You?”
“Third.” Abe steps out of the elevator. “It’s dark out. I’ll walk you to your car.”
I make a face and stand in the doorway to the elevator so the doors won’t close.
“I’ll be fine.”
“It’s safer if I walk you,” Abe insists.
The ele vator starts to close on me, so I step aside. Fine, if Abe wants to waste his time walking me to my car, that’s his business.
“This is Connecticut, you know,” I say. “Not Detroit.”
Abe shrugs. “Still.”
“How are you going to protect me anyway?” I challenge him. “Are you carrying a weapon?”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a weapon. Nobody’s going to attack me.”
“How come?”
“Heather, come on,” he snorts.
Okay, I guess Abe is a pretty big guy. Still, he’s not some kind of Superman who can dodge bullets or something. (Can Superman dodge bullets? I’d assume so. As long as they’re not made of kryptonite.)
“Do you know karate?” I ask him.
He shakes his head.
“So what would you do if some guy attacked you?”
Abe shrugs. “I don’t know. Sit on him?”
Actually, that would probably be pretty effective.
I have to admit, it is pretty dark out and the parking lot isn’t particularly well lit. It’s late enough that the lot is completely silent aside from our footsteps echoing on the pavement. As I walk by a white Lincoln Continental I had thought was empty, I detect movement from within the dark car. Like someone is sitting there, waiting. But when I peer through the
Abe sets down his books on the table and slides into the seat across from me.
“I thought we could start with the heart,” he says.
“Fine by me.”
“Or we could do the lungs, if you’d prefer?” he offers.
I don’t have a great understanding of the heart, but it’s probably no worse than anything else in the thorax. I’m equally confused about everything.
“Let’s just do the heart.”
Abe nods and pulls out a stack of index cards. He lays them down on the table and I see that he’s drawn color-coded diagrams of the heart. I gasp.
“Wow,” I say.
His eyes widen. “What?”
“I just…” I grin at him. “I didn’t realize you were such a huge nerd.”
Abe looks down at his nerdy index cards, then back up at me. “I’m not a nerd! I’m organized.”
I shake my head at him. “That’s exactly what a nerd would say.”
He picks up a blank index card and flicks it in my direction. He obviously meant to hit me with it, but the card doesn’t even make it across the table. It just kind of flies into the air, then flutters slowly to the ground. Abe and I both watch it, then simultaneously bust out laughing.
“Pretty pathetic, huh?” he says.
I nod. “The trick is to form it into a plane,” I explain.
I grab another blank index card and form it into a little makeshift paper airplane. I aim it in Abe’s direction and it hits him directly in the forehead.
“Ouch!” Abe cries, rubbing his forehead. He grabs himself another blank card. “Okay, you’re asking for it, McKinley…”
And then we spend the next thirty minutes making planes out of index cards. I am such a bad influence.
_____
At some point, we get tired of acting like children and actually start studying for real. It’s intimidating that Abe knows his stuff so much better than I do, but at the same time, it’s motivating. Someone once told me that it’s always better to study with someone who knows more than you do.
If that’s the case, Abe is screwed.
It’s dark out by the time we decide to call it a day. We’re both carrying an armful of books as we head down in the elevator to the parking lot.
“Where’d you park?” Abe asks me.
“Second floor. You?”
“Third.” Abe steps out of the elevator. “It’s dark out. I’ll walk you to your car.”
I make a face and stand in the doorway to the elevator so the doors won’t close.
“I’ll be fine.”
“It’s safer if I walk you,” Abe insists.
The ele vator starts to close on me, so I step aside. Fine, if Abe wants to waste his time walking me to my car, that’s his business.
“This is Connecticut, you know,” I say. “Not Detroit.”
Abe shrugs. “Still.”
“How are you going to protect me anyway?” I challenge him. “Are you carrying a weapon?”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a weapon. Nobody’s going to attack me.”
“How come?”
“Heather, come on,” he snorts.
Okay, I guess Abe is a pretty big guy. Still, he’s not some kind of Superman who can dodge bullets or something. (Can Superman dodge bullets? I’d assume so. As long as they’re not made of kryptonite.)
“Do you know karate?” I ask him.
He shakes his head.
“So what would you do if some guy attacked you?”
Abe shrugs. “I don’t know. Sit on him?”
Actually, that would probably be pretty effective.
I have to admit, it is pretty dark out and the parking lot isn’t particularly well lit. It’s late enough that the lot is completely silent aside from our footsteps echoing on the pavement. As I walk by a white Lincoln Continental I had thought was empty, I detect movement from within the dark car. Like someone is sitting there, waiting. But when I peer through the
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