Beginning, Previous Section, Section III
Jump to new as of August 7, 2000
Jump to new as of August 11, 2000
Jump to new as of August 13, 2000
Part 20
Ava Fiennes paused in the doorway to the kitchen, listening with a furrowed brow to the music that was flowing from the battered upright in the corner of the living room. She recognized it, of course--it was something her daughter had played for a recital in her junior year, and a song that Liz still played whenever she was upset or confused. The words echoed in her mind.
The sun comes up,
I think about you.
The coffee cup,
I think about you.
I want you so,
it's like I'm losing my mind.
The morning ends,
I think about you.
I talk to friends,
I think about you.
And do they know,
it's like I'm losing my mind.
All afternoon, doing every little chore,
the thought of you stays bright.
Sometimes I stand in the middle of the floor,
not going left,
not going right.
I dim the lights,
and think about you.
Spend sleepless nights,
to think about you.
You said you loved me,
or were you just being kind?
Or am I losing my mind?
I want you so,
it's like I'm losing my mind.
Does no one know,
it's like I'm losing my mind.
All afternoon, doing every little chore,
the thought of you stays bright.
Sometimes I stand in the middle of the floor,
not going left,
not going right.
I dim the lights,
and think about you.
Spend sleepless nights.
to think about you.
You said you loved me,
or were you just being kind?
Or am I losing my mind?*
"Liz?"
Liz jumped and looked up. "Hi, Mom."
"I'm about to make Christmas cookies, sweetie. Do you want to help?"
Liz shrugged and let her fingers trail over the keyboard. "Maybe later."
Her mother eyed her for a long moment. "All right, 'fess up. What's wrong?"
"Wrong? Nothing's wrong, Mom."
Her mother let out a snort. "Nothing's wrong, is it? When my daughter, Miss Elizabeth Anne Fiennes, who normally has to be forcibly restrained from making enough for the larger L.A. area, doesn't want to make Christmas cookies, I know something's wrong."
A smile played around the edges of her daughter's mouth, but she made no move to get up from the piano. Ava sighed. "Sweetie," she said, "I wish you would tell me what's troubling you."
Liz stared at the music in front of her, unseeing. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."
She felt her mother's hand, brushing the hair back from her face. "Liz," she said, "is there a chance you could be--"
"Mother!"
"Well, it's a possibility."
"Not when you've never once had sex."
"You know better then that. It doesn't take going all the way to--"
"Mom, there's not even a chance, unless immaculate conception is an option."
Ava put a hand to her heart. "Just what every mother wants to hear."
Liz giggled outright at that, then sobered. "Ma," she said slowly, "what would you do if--that happened?"
Ava thought about it. "Well," she said consideringly, "first I'd take you in for a full medical checkup. Then your father, you, and I would sit down with the father and his parents and discuss our options. Of course, that would be after we tied your father up so he wouldn't kill the poor boy." She eyed her daughter. "Now what brought that on?"
Liz shook her head slowly. "It's a really long story."
"Well, as I see it, we have three options--I sit in here while you tell me this really long story, or we forgo the story altogether and make cookies--or--"
"Or?"
"We make cookies and you tell me the story."
Liz smiled. "Door number three."
It took nearly half an hour to explain all the ins and outs of the situation, as they measured out flour and sugar and vanilla in the sunny kitchen. "The worst part," Liz finished, "is how totally I was taken in by Jason's lies. I didn't even give Will a chance, and I never thought I was like that. It's like I'm a whole different person then I thought I was, and--" she frowned as she opened up a bag of chocolate chips, "--I really, really don't like this new person I am."
"Hm," Ava murmured, and took the chocolate chips away as Liz starting eating them. "Remember, sweetie, that you met Will before you met Jason."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Liz asked, sneaking another chocolate chip.
"I mean that it didn't sound as if Will was very polite to begin with. Do you suppose it's possible that the reason you believed what Jason had to say was because you were already disliking Will?"
Liz opened her mouth, then closed it again. She looked down thoughtfully at the last chocolate chip, melting gently in her hand. "I--guess. But still--"
"Oh, I never said that made your behavior any better," Ava said lightly. "But it is a bit more of a reason then a pretty face and an engaging manner." She smiled at her daughter and passed her another handful of chocolate chips. "Congratulations, sweetie--you're growing up."
The kitchen door thudded open, letting in a blast of chilly air, and Liz's older brother walked through, shopping bags dangling from his hands. "Well, that's done," he sighed. "God, I hate Christmas shopping."
"You watch," Liz commented dryly to her mother. "He bought us mother-and-daughter bars of soap."
Ricky tossed the bags in a corner of the kitchen and leaned over the counter to tweak his sister's nose. "If I did, it's no more then you deserve, brat. When are the cookies going to be ready?"
* "Losing My Mind" from Follies by Stephen Sondheim
Part 21
"He's avoiding me."
"He's not avoiding you."
"He is avoiding me."
"You're paranoid."
"Wait a minute, that can't be right. Paranoid is when you think everyone's out to get you, right?"
"Oh. Yeah. Okay, then, you're not paranoid."
"Thank you."
"You're the opposite."
"The opposite?"
"The opposite. You're avoid-a-noid."
"I've never heard of that."
"I just made it up."
"Oh, that would be why. So what is avoid-a-noid?"
"It's when you think everyone's out to avoid you, and nobody wants to talk to you--"
"That's not true."
"It's not?"
"No. I don't think everyone's out to avoid me. Just Will."
"Oh. That's different."
"It is?"
"Uh-huh. Now you have a persecution complex."
"What are you, Freud?"
"Yah, liebchen."
"Okay, Herr Doktor, tell me something then."
"Vat is zat, mein liebchen?"
"Why is it that the one person I could have cheerfully avoided all first semester, I suddenly now want to talk to? And why is he avoiding me?"
"Hmm. Zat is a thorny qvestion. A thorny qvestion indeet."
"Forget the thorns and answer the qvestion. The question."
"I zink--"
"Not much."
"--zat you are een loff."
"Love?"
"In serious like, anyway."
"Not even like. He still drives me crazy."
"How can he drive you crazy when he's avoiding you?"
"So you admit he's avoiding me."
"I admit you think he's avoiding you."
"You want proof?"
"Yes, show me proof."
"Okay, here's proof. Hey, Will! Rick!"
"Wow."
"Told you."
"He just--veered off."
"Direct course away from me."
"Dragging Rick along."
"Uh-huh. So what's the prognosis?"
"He's avoiding you."
"Thank you."
"Why are you avoiding her?"
"I'm not avoiding her."
"Right."
"I'm not avoiding her."
"Uh-huh. Is that why we suddenly made an about-face and scurried out of the Eaterie?"
"We did not scurry."
"Did it ever occur to you that I might want to eat with Liz and Char?"
"No."
"Well, I did."
"Fine, go back then."
"Not before I find out why you're avoiding her."
"I'm not avoiding her. I just don't want to talk to her."
"Excuse me, dumb cluck, that's the definition of avoiding."
"That is not the definition of avoiding."
"Yes it is."
"That's the cause of avoiding, not the definition. Dumb cluck."
"So you admit you're avoiding her."
"I admit nothing."
"I say you're avoiding her."
"Fine. Say it."
"Why don't you want to talk to her?"
"Dude, I dumped all over her the morning we left for Christmas break. She knows all my dirty secrets now. She doesn't want to talk to me."
"Looked like it to me."
"She was being polite."
"She bellowed across the Eaterie."
"She likes you."
"She called your name first."
"She doesn't want to talk to me, and I don't blame her."
"You know what this is?"
"No, and I don't care."
"It's the world's smallest violin, playing you a sad, sad tune."
"Thank you, Maestro. Do you know what this is?"
"Ooh, a cute widdle birdie."
"Just for you."
"I'm so flattered--and yet repulsed."
"If you're so repulsed, go back and eat with them."
"What, and leave you in your moment of trial?"
"You're the trial, jerkface."
"I think I've just been insulted."
"Think that some more, and leave me alone."
"On second thought, I'm having too much fun being a trial."
"What part of go away don't you understand?"
"She's crazy about you."
"Is it the go?"
"And you're crazy about her."
"Or maybe the away?"
"A blind man on a running horse could see it."
"Are we cosmically destined or something?"
"Probably."
"Star-crossed lovers."
"Hm. Maybe not."
"Aren't you getting hungry annoying me?"
"I figure I'll just go with you to McDonald's."
"Who says I'm going to McDonald's?"
"I do."
"Yeah, well, you're also the moron who says I'm avoiding Liz."
"Uh-huh. And I'm right."
Part 22
The door to Dr. Salvatore's office was open, so Liz put her head around the doorjamb and started to say, "Dr. Salvatore, could I--" Then she stopped dead.
Dr. Salvatore looked up. "Ms. Fiennes! Was there something you needed to speak with me about?"
"It can wait," Liz almost squeaked.
"I'll only be meeting with Mr. Spielberg for a few more minutes. I believe he has another appointment somewhere else."
"That's cool," Liz babbled. "I'll just--hang out or something..."
The man opposite her professor smiled benignly. "I promise," he said. "I'll only keep Dr. Salvatore a few more minutes."
"Don't worry about it." She gave him an inane smile. "I--uh--I really liked 'E.T.', Mr. Spielberg."
"Thank you."
"Excuse me." I have to go hyperventilate now. She fled.
When her heart rate had gone down somewhat--Stephen Spielberg! Dr. Salvatore knew Stephen Spielberg --Liz wandered around, looking at the announcement boards. Most of them were clogged with information about the Longbourn Revue, and though she knew it all already, she read them anyway.
The Longbourn Revue was a week of performances and exhibits that took place at the very end of the school year. Each separate performance discipline--acting, dancing, and instrumental and vocal music--had its own day for performances and each artistic discipline--sculpture, photography, and painting--also had its own day for exhibits. Musical composition, which was sort of in-between, got tucked into the instrumental and vocal music days, depending of which category the piece fell into. Performances and exhibitions weren't required for underclassmen, but everyone did it anyway, especially the actors. The reputation of the Revue was so good that agents often took the whole week out to come see the promising new blood coming out of Longbourn, and more then one career had been launched that way. All exhibits were individual, but performances could be in pairs.
Liz sighed over the listing of the awards. Each performer or exhibitor got scored and then ranked by a panel of judges, and the five highest got monetary awards. Fifth place got two thousand dollars, while first place got ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars, she thought wistfully. It would mean that she, with her partial scholarship, wouldn't have to work as hard as she had the summer before to pay her tuition. Even some of the lower prizes would help out. And of course, the prestige of the prizes themselves wouldn't hurt a bit.
She didn't even look at the paper about the deBourgh Medals. Only two were given out--one for Most Outstanding Performance, one for Most Outstanding Exhibit--and while technically everyone was eligible, they practically always went to a senior. The only time they'd ever gone to an underclassman, Char had told her, was when they went pairs with a senior.
Four years, Liz, she thought. Then you'll have a crack at that shiny gold medal and the twenty thousand dollars that goes with it.
She frowned at the announcement board. Before she started thinking of awards and medals, she had to figure out what to perform. Which was why she was here, waiting for Dr. Salvatore to finish speaking with Stephen Spielberg--Stephen Spielberg! Stephen Spielberg!!--so Liz could ask her advice.
She wandered away from the announcement board, and towards the practice rooms that honeycombed this wing of the music building. Most of the doors were closed tightly, with faint, lovely sounds leaking out around the edges, but one or two hung open. Liz stopped in front of one of them and checked to see if anyone had reserved it for the next hour. The dry-erase board showed nobody for the rest of the day, so Liz slipped in and settled herself at the piano.
She was playing the music from "While You Were Sleeping" when she noticed the papers on the floor. They looked as somebody had crumpled them and flung them towards the trash can, then left without checking to see whether they'd made it.
Liz stopped playing and leaned over to pick one up, smoothing it out with gentle hands. My god, she thought. Some idiot comp student has no clue how good his work is. At least, it looked good, from what she was reading. She'd have to play it to make sure.
Liz only hesitated a moment. Sure, it was someone else's work, but they'd thrown it away--and besides, nobody would hear.
She picked up the rest of the sheets and smoothed them out, looking for numbers to put them in order. There--at the bottom of the page. This one was number six.
She shuffled the papers around, flicking her eye over the notes as she did so. Her suspicions--that this could be a really, really good piece--were confirmed by her perusal. It was too damn bad there wasn't a name on any of the sheets, and no title either.
She settled the sheets against the music stand, hissing as the sheets, supple from being crumpled, gently folded over themselves. Muttering, she held them upright with one hand while she started picking out the melody with the other.
F, E flat, A.
Half note, whole note. E flat, B, C.
A run of sixteenth notes, from middle F straight on up to high C.
A dancing grace note, then a series of thirds, all the way down again.
Will was cursing himself as he rushed through the music building to the practice room he'd vacated ten minutes before. He'd thrown the damn piece away finally--and now he was being a idiot, running back for it. Make up your mind, dipstick. Do you want it or not?
Yes. Yes, damn it.
As he drew nearer to the practice room, he heard the music sliding around the edges of the door. There was someone in there--damn.
Then he stopped dead as he recognized the music.
Someone was playing his piece.
Will shoved the door open so hard it bounced off the wall and roared, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The worst possible person in the world to be playing this piece--this piece, of everything he'd ever written--looked up from the piano and snapped, "What does it look like? I'm trimming my ear hair."
The pages--his pages, his piece, his music, his soul--collapsed and floated gently to the floor.
Will dove for them and nearly knocked heads with Liz. "Where did you get these?" he snarled, kneeling on the floor, clutching three of the pages.
Her eyes were narrow and brilliantly green. "They were in the trash can--now give them back!"
He responded with a phrase that was as pithy as it was blue, and while she was still gaping at him, he grabbed two of the three sheets she was holding.
"What--you--you--!"
"Give me that," he snapped, reaching for the last sheet.
She pulled it out of his reach. "No. This belongs to whoever wrote it, not some random jerk who decides he wants it."
"Exactly."
"What?"
"I wrote it. Give it back."
"But--but you threw it away!"
"I changed my mind."
"Why did you throw it away?"
"Because--" Because it scares me. Because it has so much of me in it that to share it with anybody would be risking too much. Because it has so much of you in it that anyone who ever heard it could guess--could guess that--
"Because I didn't want it." His voice was Arctic cold. "Now give me the last page."
She clutched the one last sheet to her. "No. Not if you're going to throw it away again."
"I'm not going to throw it away again."
"You changed your mind once--who's to say you won't do it again?"
"I'm not going to change my mind again." Not now.
"You promise?"
"Look, if I ever again want to get rid of it, I'll bring it to you. Okay? Are you happy?"
Reluctantly, she held out the last sheet. He snatched it and shoved it deep into the folder with its fellows, then stood to go.
He was halfway out the door when she called out, "Will!"
He stopped but didn't turn.
"It's--it's really good. You know that, right? It's--wonderful. Please don't throw it away again."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Part 22
The door to Dr. Salvatore's office was open, so Liz put her head around the doorjamb and started to say, "Dr. Salvatore, could I--" Then she stopped dead.
Dr. Salvatore looked up. "Ms. Fiennes! Was there something you needed to speak with me about?"
"It can wait," Liz almost squeaked.
"I'll only be meeting with Mr. Spielberg for a few more minutes. I believe he has another appointment somewhere else."
"That's cool," Liz babbled. "I'll just--hang out or something..."
The man opposite her professor smiled benignly. "I promise," he said. "I'll only keep Dr. Salvatore a few more minutes."
"Don't worry about it." She gave him an inane smile. "I--uh--I really liked 'E.T.', Mr. Spielberg."
"Thank you."
"Excuse me." I have to go hyperventilate now. She fled.
When her heart rate had gone down somewhat--Stephen Spielberg! Dr. Salvatore knew Stephen Spielberg --Liz wandered around, looking at the announcement boards. Most of them were clogged with information about the Longbourn Revue, and though she knew it all already, she read them anyway.
The Longbourn Revue was a week of performances and exhibits that took place at the very end of the school year. Each separate performance discipline--acting, dancing, and instrumental and vocal music--had its own day for performances and each artistic discipline--sculpture, photography, and painting--also had its own day for exhibits. Musical composition, which was sort of in-between, got tucked into the instrumental and vocal music days, depending of which category the piece fell into. Performances and exhibitions weren't required for underclassmen, but everyone did it anyway, especially the actors. The reputation of the Revue was so good that agents often took the whole week out to come see the promising new blood coming out of Longbourn, and more then one career had been launched that way. All exhibits were individual, but performances could be in pairs.
Liz sighed over the listing of the awards. Each performer or exhibitor got scored and then ranked by a panel of judges, and the five highest got monetary awards. Fifth place got two thousand dollars, while first place got ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars, she thought wistfully. It would mean that she, with her partial scholarship, wouldn't have to work as hard as she had the summer before to pay her tuition. Even some of the lower prizes would help out. And of course, the prestige of the prizes themselves wouldn't hurt a bit.
She didn't even look at the paper about the deBourgh Medals. Only two were given out--one for Most Outstanding Performance, one for Most Outstanding Exhibit--and while technically everyone was eligible, they practically always went to a senior. The only time they'd ever gone to an underclassman, Char had told her, was when they went pairs with a senior.
Four years, Liz, she thought. Then you'll have a crack at that shiny gold medal and the twenty thousand dollars that goes with it.
She frowned at the announcement board. Before she started thinking of awards and medals, she had to figure out what to perform. Which was why she was here, waiting for Dr. Salvatore to finish speaking with Stephen Spielberg--Stephen Spielberg! Stephen Spielberg!!--so Liz could ask her advice.
She wandered away from the announcement board, and towards the practice rooms that honeycombed this wing of the music building. Most of the doors were closed tightly, with faint, lovely sounds leaking out around the edges, but one or two hung open. Liz stopped in front of one of them and checked to see if anyone had reserved it for the next hour. The dry-erase board showed nobody for the rest of the day, so Liz slipped in and settled herself at the piano.
She was playing the music from "While You Were Sleeping" when she noticed the papers on the floor. They looked as somebody had crumpled them and flung them towards the trash can, then left without checking to see whether they'd made it.
Liz stopped playing and leaned over to pick one up, smoothing it out with gentle hands. My god, she thought. Some idiot comp student has no clue how good his work is. At least, it looked good, from what she was reading. She'd have to play it to make sure.
Liz only hesitated a moment. Sure, it was someone else's work, but they'd thrown it away--and besides, nobody would hear.
She picked up the rest of the sheets and smoothed them out, looking for numbers to put them in order. There--at the bottom of the page. This one was number six.
She shuffled the papers around, flicking her eye over the notes as she did so. Her suspicions--that this could be a really, really good piece--were confirmed by her perusal. It was too damn bad there wasn't a name on any of the sheets, and no title either.
She settled the sheets against the music stand, hissing as the sheets, supple from being crumpled, gently folded over themselves. Muttering, she held them upright with one hand while she started picking out the melody with the other.
F, E flat, A.
Half note, whole note. E flat, B, C.
A run of sixteenth notes, from middle F straight on up to high C.
A dancing grace note, then a series of thirds, all the way down again.
Will was cursing himself as he rushed through the music building to the practice room he'd vacated ten minutes before. He'd thrown the damn piece away finally--and now he was being a idiot, running back for it. Make up your mind, dipstick. Do you want it or not?
Yes. Yes, damn it.
As he drew nearer to the practice room, he heard the music sliding around the edges of the door. There was someone in there--damn.
Then he stopped dead as he recognized the music.
Someone was playing his piece.
Will shoved the door open so hard it bounced off the wall and roared, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The worst possible person in the world to be playing this piece--this piece, of everything he'd ever written--looked up from the piano and snapped, "What does it look like? I'm trimming my ear hair."
The pages--his pages, his piece, his music, his soul--collapsed and floated gently to the floor.
Will dove for them and nearly knocked heads with Liz. "Where did you get these?" he snarled, kneeling on the floor, clutching three of the pages.
Her eyes were narrow and brilliantly green. "They were in the trash can--now give them back!"
He responded with a phrase that was as pithy as it was blue, and while she was still gaping at him, he grabbed two of the three sheets she was holding.
"What--you--you--!"
"Give me that," he snapped, reaching for the last sheet.
She pulled it out of his reach. "No. This belongs to whoever wrote it, not some random jerk who decides he wants it."
"Exactly."
"What?"
"I wrote it. Give it back."
"But--but you threw it away!"
"I changed my mind."
"Why did you throw it away?"
"Because--" Because it scares me. Because it has so much of me in it that to share it with anybody would be risking too much. Because it has so much of you in it that anyone who ever heard it could guess--could guess that--
"Because I didn't want it." His voice was Arctic cold. "Now give me the last page."
She clutched the one last sheet to her. "No. Not if you're going to throw it away again."
"I'm not going to throw it away again."
"You changed your mind once--who's to say you won't do it again?"
"I'm not going to change my mind again." Not now.
"You promise?"
"Look, if I ever again want to get rid of it, I'll bring it to you. Okay? Are you happy?"
Reluctantly, she held out the last sheet. He snatched it and shoved it deep into the folder with its fellows, then stood to go.
He was halfway out the door when she called out, "Will!"
He stopped but didn't turn.
"It's--it's really good. You know that, right? It's--wonderful. Please don't throw it away again."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Part 23
Will sneered at the heart decorations all over the Eaterie doors. "Valentine's Day," he said. "What a waste."
"Yeah," Chaz said absently.
"It's like a pink paint bomb exploded all over the campus."
"Uh-huh."
Will shot his friend a look as they paid for their meal. "What is with you lately?"
"Nothing," Chaz muttered. "I just--"
He stopped short, and Will looked up. MJ Lansdowne had just risen from her seat and was heading towards them.
No, Will realized. Not towards them. Towards the trashcan they were standing next to, in order to dispose of her yogurt container and her empty water bottle. She hadn't even noticed them, or if she had, she didn't care.
Probably the latter, he told himself, but the thought didn't sound quite as right as it had just three months before.
Chaz's moment of immobility might have been all there was to it, if MJ hadn't glanced up just as she started to throw out her water bottle. Her hand jerked, just the tiniest bit, but it was enough to send the water bottle bouncing off the edge of the trash can and skittering to the floor, just at Chaz's feet.
"Oh--I'm sorry--"
"I'll get it--"
It was over in a moment. Chaz picked up the bottle and chucked it towards the can himself, and MJ said, "Thank you," and Chaz gave an awkward shrug and then she walked away.
Behind his shades, Will watched her push her bag up further on her shoulder with fingers that trembled, just the tiniest bit.
A cool, soft night breeze snaked in the half-open window and slid around the room, washing over Will and ruffling his hair slightly.
He didn't move. He didn't even notice.
He just kept seeing MJ's fingers tremble as she walked away from the guy who'd broken up with her--be honest, butthead, dumped her--more then three and a half months before.
Why?
He leaned his head against the wall--he was sitting up, cross-legged, on his bed, back to the wall. Why? Was it possible he had been mistaken?
He hadn't thought so at the time, but that surety wasn't so stable now.
Truth was, as the weeks had dragged by and Chaz showed absolutely no sign of following his old pattern and falling for another girl, Will had been starting to doubt the decision he'd made before Christmas. Had it really been for Chaz's own good? Had Chaz honestly been benefited by breaking up with MJ? Or did he, Will, just think that?
And MJ--
MJ, always calm, always cool, always in control, had dropped her water bottle when she'd seen them. When she'd seen Chaz.
Liz's voice echoed in his mind--an argument they'd had just before the project had been finished.
I didn't know I was supposed to be nice to the jerk who up and totally broke my best friend's heart. I'll do better next time.
Broke her heart? What a load of crap.
Oh, what do you know?
At the time he had dismissed it as Liz's natural desire to think the best of her friend, but doubts were nibbling, rat-like, at that conviction too. Liz was loyal as a hound dog, that was for sure--and she'd probably break his nose for that description--but she wasn't loyal to the point of blindness. She wasn't loyal to the point of pretending to herself that someone cared for someone else when they couldn't give a rip about 'em. Especially MJ.
Something else she'd said to him, that disastrous night at the Christmas Ball, kept coming to mind. You decided she wasn't good enough for him, and of course since you decided it, it must be so. What a prince.
MJ wasn't going out with anyone--he knew that much just from asking Matt's chick-of-the-week, a dance major like MJ named Tawni or Bambi or Barbi or something else that belonged in a strip joint. She--MJ, not Strip Joint Barbie--had shown no signs of wanting to, either, which had surprised him. She should have moved on, shouldn't she?
Yeah. She should've. She would've.
If she'd been what Will had thought she was.
And Chaz hadn't either.
And they were both unhappy.
And whose fault was that?
Will thought, I wonder if ketchup goes well with crow?
Will scowled at the crowd of giggling, stick-thin girls that washed around him, and turned up the volume on his Discman. Obviously, some dance class had just gotten out.
Dance class.
MJ.
The sea of raging hormones ebbed, and Will glanced around. There--just passing him. She was walking with her head down, fingers tight around the handle of her bag. She looked tense and tired, and Will hesitated a moment before calling out, "Hey! MJ!"
She glanced up, saw him, and her eyes slid past him as if it was inconceivable that he had hailed her. Well, maybe a little, he admitted to himself.
"MJ," he said again.
She stared at him, a look that said Which one of us is readier for the loony bin here? But she didn't say it, or anything else to indicate her surprise. Instead, she said quietly, "Hello, Will."
"Can--I walk with you? I've got something I need to tell you."
It wasn't exactly the hardest thing he'd ever done, explaining to MJ that he was the one responsible for nearly four months' worth of heartbreak, but it sure as hell came close. He finished up with, "I know that maybe you don't want to ever talk to him or see him again, but he misses you. I should know--I've been living with him the whole damn year. And I'm pretty sure you're as unhappy as he is. He knows it, too--I've already talked to him about this. He's in our room right now, if you want to go."
He ran out of words and stopped right there.
They were standing at the top of the stairs in their dorm, at the point where MJ would turn right for her room and Will would turn left for his. She studied him, and he squirmed slightly under her quiet gaze. He felt like a bug under a microscope. Hell, he deserved to.
"Do what you want to do," he said abruptly. "I just wanted you to know that it wasn't Chaz that did this. It was me."
She nodded slowly, hesitated, and turned left.
Liz walked in, dropped her bag with a thud, and dropped into the chair by her keyboard with a sigh. Only then did she see MJ sitting by the window. "MJ? What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?"
"I saw Chaz this afternoon. We had a really long talk."
Liz flicked on the light and then saw her friend's reddened face and damp eyes. She leaped up. "I swear to God I'm gonna kick his butt. I swear it--"
"No, Liz--it's all right. Chaz didn't do anything. We decided to give it another try--and this time, we're both going to try a little harder."
Part 24
"So Jason and Liddie are going pairs for the Revue, huh?" Char said, shoving her salad around her plate. "That ought to be something to see. What are they doing?"
"Something from Romeo and Juliet, I think," MJ said. "They were practicing yesterday in the main room."
"Oh, is that what they called it?" Liz said dryly. "What scene are they doing, the wedding night?"
"Oh really," MJ said, but her lips were quirking.
"Disgusting," Char pronounced.
"The lettuce, or that pairing?"
"Take your pick."
"Well, Liddie's very excited about it," MJ said firmly. "They're renting their costumes from someplace in L.A."
Char snorted with laughter. "Well, so much for them winning anything!"
"What? Why?"
"No costuming. NFL rules."
"NFL?" Liz said. "What does football have to do with anything?"
"Not NFL," Char said. "NFL."
Liz narrowed her eyes at Char. "Clear as mud, babe."
"National Forensics League. The only NFL. Those stupid football guys are just rotten copycats."
"Mmm-hm. So what does National League of Cutting Open Dead People have to do with anything?"
Char rolled her eyes. "Forensics," she said icily, "is the art of public speaking. And the Revue, at least as far as the acting portion goes, is conducted with NFL rules--no costuming, no set, and no props, except for a chair."
Liz whooped. "So much for them!"
"Liz!" MJ said.
"You forget, I've seen him act. He totally depends on set and props and all that stuff. In street clothes, on an empty set, he couldn't act his way out of a paper bag."
"How did he get in, then?"
"Beats me. He might've--"
"Hey, MJ!"
MJ looked up, then smiled beatifically. "Hey, Will."
Will paused by their table, shades in place and holding a can of Dr. Pepper. But he was--almost--smiling. "What's up?"
"Not too much. You?"
"Same ol'. Listen, did Chaz ever get a hold of you?"
"No--when was he trying to?"
"About two hours ago."
"I don't wear that pager in dance class."
"Oh. Okay. Anyway, he wanted to know if you wanted to do a movie night with us tomorrow night. We're gonna rent videos and just sort of hang out."
"Maybe--it depends on what you're seeing."
"Not Flashdance, that's for damn sure."
MJ laughed a little. "Oh, well. I'll call him, ok?"
"He's at class right now. Matt's girlfriend is coming--Barbi or whatever her name is."
"You mean Tabbi? Oh, she's sweet."
"Uh--yeah. See you." He glanced around the table. "Char. Liz."
Liz stared after him. "MJ?"
"Yes?"
"That was--Will Fitzroy."
"I know."
"He said hi."
"Yes."
"He--stopped to talk."
"Mmm-hm."
Liz exchanged baffled glances with Char. "Um--I think I'm missing something here."
"We've become friends," MJ pronounced, as calmly as she might say, "I brushed my teeth."
"Friends?" both girls yelped.
MJ's characteristic unflinching honesty forced her to admit, "Well--sort of. He's really very nice once you get to know him."
"Nice," Liz echoed.
"In a--rough-edged sort of way."
"How did this happen?"
"I really think it was when he came to me and admitted that he'd influenced Chaz to break up with me in November, and apologized for it."
"He told--"
"Now, Liz, don't freak out. He really did think he was doing it for Chaz's own good."
Liz had been going to say, He told you what he did? I can't believe it! But she didn't correct MJ when her friend assumed otherwise. Instead, she said, "And you just--forgave him?"
"Well, I'll admit I was a little angry with him initially, but it was so good of him to admit his mistake to me, and the way he apologized--you know, he said we could both hate his guts if he wanted, and it would be okay, because it had been a scummy thing to do. Well, after that, I could hardly hate him!"
"No," Char murmured, eyes dancing. "Of course not."
"Really, Liz, he has a good heart under all that gruffness. You should try and get to know him better."
With a muted wail, Liz let her head drop to the table with a clunk that made the dishes dance.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Char advised. "You don't know what's been on these tables."
"Mweh," Liz said.
MJ patted the top of her head, gently. "I know it's a bit of a shock to realize that someone's different then they seem, Liz, but he is really very sweet."
"Muh?"
"Sort of," MJ added. She collected her yogurt container and water bottle together and said, "I'm going to go leave a message on Chaz's machine. Liz, would you like to come? I'm sure Will wouldn't mind. He seems to think very highly of you."
"Bzzzuhhhh."
"No? All right then. Char?"
"No--I've got a date."
"Okay. See you."
MJ left, and Char continued composedly forking up her salad. Liz still had her head on the table.
After a long moment, she said to the tabletop, "Char, I've made a decision."
"Good for you."
"Two, in fact."
"Even better. Let's hear 'em."
"One, I have absolutely got to talk to Will."
"Seconded. And two?"
"Two? I have absolutely got to get my face unstuck from this table."
Part 25
Walking down the hall, Liz was chewing her lower lip almost ragged. She couldn't recall ever being so nervous about anything in her life.
Don't be ridiculous, girl, you're just going to talk to the guy.
She had to forcibly restrain herself from spinning around and sprinting for the safety of her room.
Just a few feet more...
The door was propped open, and Liz paused in the doorway and knocked on the jamb. "Hello?"
Only two people were in the main room, Will and a tiny, pretty, dark-haired girl that couldn't have been more then sixteen. She also couldn't have been less then eight months pregnant.
Liz stepped back. "Um. I can come back--"
It was the girl, struggling to a slightly more upright position in the recliner, who answered, "No, it's okay, really. Stay. You're a friend of my brother's?"
How to answer that? They could hardly be called friends. Then again, Liz had no idea what they could be called. "Sort of," she said. She shot a look at her sort-of friend, asking silently, Should I come back?
He shrugged and stepped back, inviting her in.
Liz settled herself on the couch, feeling absurdly like something out of a Victorian novel. Two lumps, please, and no cream. So good to see you, my lady, and how was London? "You must be Tina. I'm Liz--Liz Fiennes."
"Oh! You're Liz!" Tina shot Will an arch look, and her lips curved. Liz wondered what the joke was. "You know, you're all my brother talked about over Christmas break--when he talked at all."
Liz was about to say, "None of it good, I'll bet," when Will muttered, "Christ, Tina," and went to the refrigerator. "You want some food or something?" Which one of them he was asking wasn't particularly clear.
Tina answered. "Do you have any French fries?"
Will opened the freezer. "No. But I can get some."
"That's okay," Tina said, hiding disappointment badly.
"No, really, I will. McDonald's is like five seconds away. You wanted French fries?"
Tina had perked up. "Yeah, a really big thing of 'em."
Will shook his head and looked at Liz. "What about you?"
Liz answered promptly, "Quarter-pounder with cheese, large fries, and a large Dr. Pepper."
Will blinked. "You know, you have to start eating more," he said after a moment. "You'll waste away."
Liz grinned and stood. "Just let me run back to my room and get some money."
"Forget about it."
"No--I won't let you pay for me--"
"Look, pay me back later, okay?" He disappeared into his room.
"A large Coke, too, Will!" Tina called after him.
He came back into the room with sunglasses and keys "Caffeine's bad for you. There's milk in the refrigerator."
"Oh, c'mon. I've drunk enough milk these past months to sink a battleship."
"Then you won't mind drinking a little more. I'll be back in ten minutes."
Tina waited until the door had closed behind him to say, "Good, that'll give us time to talk."
Liz glanced at her suspiciously. "Did you really want French fries?"
"Of course I did. I've been craving French fries like nobody's business lately. But I wanted to talk to you without him scuffling and muttering around."
Liz shook her head, overcome with admiration. "So are you the only one who can manipulate him, or what?"
"That way? Yeah." She giggled a little. "It sounds awful, using all that overprotectiveness to get what I want, but if I didn't do something, he'd steamroller right over me."
"Oh, believe me, I understand. I've got brothers."
"How many?"
"Two--twins."
"Are they older then you?"
"Yeah, and don't they know it, too! Three lousy years--that's all they've got on me--but the way they always try to protect me, you'd think it was ten."
"Try to?"
"I won't let them."
"Will said you're very strong-willed."
"Will said that?"
"Well--" Tina's dark eyes slid away. "Actually he said you're as stubborn as a brick."
Liz snorted with laughter. "I'll bet!"
"You aren't offended?"
"Why should I be? I'd rather be a brick then a pushover."
Tina's lips twitched. "I guess I fit into the second category more," she admitted. "Especially with...Will said he told you everything about--well, you know."
"Yeah. Are you okay with that?"
"Will wouldn't have said anything if he didn't think you should know," Tina said firmly. Then her eyes dropped to her stomach again. "But you must think I'm such a slut for sleeping with Jason the way I did."
"Oh, no," Liz said. "You forget, I know Jason. I know his priorities. The big head is definitely not the one in control."
Tina laughed out loud, then looked startled that she had. "But--I'm still the one who slept with him."
"Tina--you're what, fifteen? Sixteen?"
"Sixteen. Yesterday."
"Happy birthday. But my point is, you're still really young. You're not quite grown-up yet, you've got all the hormones going on, and you thought you loved him. It was a mistake--you're allowed some mistakes. Don't make yourself into the ho of the greater L.A. area just yet."
"Jason said that if I loved him I would do it, and I loved him, so..."
"So you did it."
Tina sighed under her breath. "I didn't even like it," she confessed.
"What? Sex?"
"It hurt--even after the first time. And it was weird. But isn't sex supposed to be fun?"
Liz chose her words carefully. "I'm told it can be, and fairly often is."
"Can be? You've never--?"
"Nope. Never trusted a guy that much, to tell you the truth."
"My mom always said I should wait until I found a guy I trusted. I couldn't tell her I hated it when I did."
"That's not exactly the kind of thing you say to your mom," Liz murmured.
Tina bit her lip, then burst out, "What if it means I'm a lesbian? Or that there's something wrong with me?"
"Hey--hey! There is nothing wrong with you just because you didn't like it. It just means you weren't ready. You were fifteen. I'm nineteen, and I'm not sure I'm ready yet."
"But my friend Shannon--" Tina said softly, staring at her folded hands.
"It's different for everybody. Trust me on this one." Liz reached out to touch the back of Tina's hand. "You feel better now?"
Tina looked up, and smiled a little. There were tears glinting in her eyes, and Liz wondered how long all this had been locked up inside this sweet, naive girl. Then she thought, Eight, nearly nine months. That's a long time.
"Thank you," Will's sister was saying. "I--I can see why Will likes you so much."
Liz flushed and looked away. "I don't know where you got that idea, but--"
"No--really. He's always talking about how smart you are--and how well you play the piano--and how you never let him steamroller you--"
"Translated, that means I'll fight with him about anything--"
"Oh, he likes it when people fight with him. He doesn't think so, but he really hates it when people let him walk all over them. He knows I manipulate him all over the map, but you're the first girl who'd ever fight with him outright."
"I can't believe that!" Liz stopped to think. "Well, maybe I can."
A quick grin flickered over Tina's face. "The very first one," she confirmed. "All the others were always trying to impress him."
"Trying to impress who?"
"Will!" Liz could feel herself blushing--how much had he heard?--and tried to head it off by focusing on the food he carried. "Which one's mine? I'm starving."
"As usual." Will passed her one of the bags and the first of the two drinks and turned to Tina, who was still sitting. "Don't you want your fries, Teeny-tiny?" he said, swinging one of the bags temptingly.
Her brow was furrowed. "Whose recliner is this, Will?"
"Chaz's."
"How much was it?"
Will shrugged. "You'll have to ask him. Why the sudden interest?"
"Well--I'll have to pay him back for it. I mean, amniotic fluid can't be good for leather, can it?"
Will stared at her, completely lost. Liz let out a gasp and dropped her food. The large Dr Pepper, no ice, splatted on the rug like a broken water balloon.
Tina smiled weakly. "My water just broke. I'm in labor."
Part 26
Gentle hands led Will out of the birthing room and out into the waiting area. He protested, but feebly, like a sleepwalker unsure of quite what he's doing. A quiet, calm voice answered him. "Your mom's with her, and she doesn't want you seeing this. Both of you will be better off with you out here."
The hands settled him onto a hard couch, and he sagged where he sat, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. His head drooping, his hands dangling between his knees, Will simply sat and stared at the pattern of the floor tile. Between calling 911, helping Tina into his car, and driving like a bat out of hell to the nearest hospital--unable to even spout the terrified curses that ricocheted inside his brain because Liz had told him, "If you scare her, I'll kill you; concentrate on your damn driving,"--it was the first moment he'd had to simply sit since the moment his little sister had said those stunning, impossible words: I'm in labor.
Labor.
Tina.
Baby.
Will closed his eyes. For the past eight months, he'd been able to stave off the thought of unclehood by concentrating on Tina, on her health. But now that it was actually happening, Will couldn't stop the realization that this was a real, live, helpless, tiny human being coming into the world. One conceived in carelessness and ignorance, perhaps, but nurtured by love and eagerly anticipated by the couple who'd agreed to adopt--him? Her? Will suddenly realized that he'd never bothered to find out whether he was going to have a nephew or a niece.
A cup of something steaming hot was put into his hands. "Here, drink this."
He automatically lifted it to his lips, drank, and promptly spat it out again. "What the hell is this?"
"It's coffee."
"It's sludge."
"Well, excuse me," Liz said, putting her hands on her hips. "They have the cappuccino machine reserved for the surgeons. Would you just drink it?"
Will made a face and set it on the table in front of him. "Thanks, I'll poison myself some other way."
"Picky, picky, picky. Would cream and sugar suit Your Highness?" Several packages of the former, and at least as many packets of the latter were plopped onto the table.
Will eyed them, then the "coffee", with disfavor.
Liz rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said, taking some of packages and packets for herself and adding them all to her cup of sludge. "Have it your way. Just remember, I get to drive that testosterone-mobile of yours when you keel over from exhaustion."
Faced with such a threat, Will made another face and reluctantly started doctoring his own sludge. "Testosterone-mobile?" he asked after a moment.
Liz swallowed a mouthful, wrinkled her nose, and said, "That brand-new convertible--"
"Not quite--"
"It's less then a year old, both in ownership and in model. That's brand-new to me."
"How do you know what model it is?"
"Puh-leeze--it was all my brother could talk about when it came out. And I do mean all."
"You have brothers?" Will suddenly realized that he knew next to nothing about Liz Fiennes, even though he'd known her for almost seven months.
"Two. Two too many, sometimes." Liz made a face, although that may have been due to the swallow of sludge she'd just taken.
Just then, Will's mom came into the room. She was a tall, graceful woman of about forty-five, and Liz could see where Will had gotten his looks and build. Her eyes, as dark as her son's, looked exhausted. Will leapt up. "Mom? What's happening? What's going on?"
She came to him. "The epidural's taking hold pretty quick. The doctor says it won't be that much longer." She picked up the coffee sitting on the table, took a gulp, and made a face. "My God, son, where did you get this?"
"Her," Will said. "She's bullying me into drinking it."
Liz stood, feeling awkward. That is, until Mrs. Fitzroy said, "You mean someone can actually make you do something you don't want to? Good, he needs somebody like that."
A nurse came into the waiting area. "Mrs. Fitzroy? Your daughter is asking for you."
Mrs. Fitzroy sighed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. "Oh, Will," she murmured. "I don't know if I'm ready to be a grandmother yet."
"Join the club, Ma," he said, and gave her hand a squeeze. "Pass that along to Tina, would you?'
She managed a smile. "All right. Have you called the Gardiners yet? I think they wanted to be here."
"I forgot." Will patted his pockets and managed to come up with his cell phone. "What's their number again?"
His mother gave it to him, and he punched it in as she went back to her daughter. "Mrs. G? It's Will. Tina went into labor--" he checked his watch. "Like an hour ago. Mom said you guys wanted to be here for it." He listened a moment. "Yuh-huh. Yeah, it was scheduled for a week from Sunday, but her water broke--in my freaking dorm room, too. So they're doing it right now. Yeah, they say it won't be long. Really?" He shuddered visibly. "No, they're doing a Caesarian. Her bones aren't right for--um--the natural way yet. They're not fully-grown yet. Too much stress on 'em to do it--uh--naturally or something. Uh-huh. Okay. See you. Uh-huh. I'll tell her. Yeah. Bye."
"Who are the Gardiners?" Liz asked when he pushed the disconnect button.
"The people who're adopting the baby. They're friends of the family, and they've never been able to have kids, so . . ." Will shrugged, punching another number. "It's a better deal then most biological mothers get. The kid's gonna know he's adopted and that Tina's his biological mother, but the Gardiners can give him a lot more then Tina is ready--Chaz? It's Will. Yeah, my sister's water broke. Wild, huh? Sorry about the rug and the chair, dude. Tina says she'll pay for it." He listened a moment. "Naw--let her. That thing was probably freakin' expensive. Yeah, I know you don't care, but she does. Uh-huh. Yeah. The rug was from Liz--she dropped her drink. Uh-huh--yeah, you can tell MJ she's here. Yeah."
Will covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Chaz says he can come and get you now if you don't want to stay the whole time. It's probably gonna be pretty late at night before this is all through, and you've got classes tomorrow."
"I'm staying," Liz said. "If I don't, you'll probably drown yourself in the drinking fountain."
He gave her a weird look and said into the phone, "Naw, she's cool here. I think she just wants to see the new baby. What is it with girls, man, how they get all mushy over some yelling little poop machine?"
Liz snorted, loudly.
"Uh-huh. Yeah. No, I'm probably skipping all my classes tomorrow. See you." He hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Then he just stood, looking helplessly towards the hall where his mother had disappeared.
Liz rose and took him his coffee. He grimaced at it, then drank the rest of it down. "Yech," he said. "It's even worse cold."
"It's a natural law or something. Hospital coffee always sucks. I guess it's because the people waiting usually have more important things on their mind."
He crumpled the flimsy paper cup and shoved it into his pocket, obviously completely unaware of anything he was doing. "This is all my fault," he said abruptly.
"What is?"
"That Tina's--in there," he said, gesturing helplessly. "That she's hurting--and scared."
Liz eyed him. "If you tell me that you slept with your sister and got her pregnant, I am going to be seriously grossed out."
That dragged a smile out of him, as she had hoped. But he said, "If I hadn't said that about Jason--if I hadn't--"
"You gave your honest opinion. No shame in that. It was your dumb luck that he happened to overhear." "But if I'd never said anything, he never would've even looked at Tina. He--"
"Look," she snapped, putting her hands on either side of his face and forcing him to look at her. "This happened because Jason Ford is a vindictive little jerk. He wouldn't know decency if it bit him on the butt. It's not your fault, it's his. Got it?"
He looked into her eyes, blazing green with intensity, and he said softly, "Liz..."
And then he kissed her.
And then the Gardiners walked in.
True to the doctor's prediction, the whole thing was over within half an hour. An hour after that, after visiting a drowsy Tina, Will and Liz stood at the nursery window with the Gardiners, staring at the tiny, red-faced, napping form of Adam Fitzroy Gardiner.
"Look at that," Mrs. Gardiner was saying, sniffling a little. "Oh, look at that, Fred. Our baby."
Mr. Gardiner was crying, unashamedly. "He's going to be a big one. Look at all that hair. Sticking up like a punk rocker's."
"Just the image of Tina. You remember when Tina was born, Fred, she was just like that."
"Sucked her thumb just like that, too," Will said in a choked voice. "But she was real little."
"I guess he gets his size from his father," Mrs. Gardiner said.
Will felt a flare of resentment that Jason Ford had given that little boy with the minor explosion of dark hair anything but his sperm, but he managed to tamp it down. Basic genetics dictated that Adam would get something. Will supposed they were lucky that size was it. In every other way, Adam was a perfect copy of Tina as a baby.
He wanted to reach for Liz, to hold her as Mr. Gardiner was holding his wife, but he felt awkward and unsure of himself in a way he hadn't in quite a while. After that interrupted kiss in the waiting room, he wasn't sure of anything.
After a long time, the Gardiners were pulled away from the nursery window to go fill out some papers so they could take Adam home as soon as possible, and Will and Liz were left alone. Will had put his shades back on, because the brilliant lights of the hospital corridor were making his eyes sting and water.
Liz put her hand on the nursery glass, sighing a little. "I remember when my cousin was born," she said. "She was so little she looked like a doll. I got to hold her, and I was so afraid I'd break her . . ." Her lips curved. "And now she's ten, and she goes tearing down the street on her two-wheeler. Scares Aunt Ida half to death."
Will was looking at her, though, and not at his nephew, dreaming of milk and mother's warmth behind the glass. "Liz," he said, "about earlier."
She jolted and gave a forced, brittle laugh. "Don't worry about it. You were stressed and you were freaking out. I understand. These things happen--"
"Liz, am I stressed right now?"
She looked at him, at the tension around his mouth and in the set of his shoulders. "Yes."
He let out a huff of breath. "Fine. Am I freaking out right now?"
She had to say, "No."
He kept his hands in his pockets, because he was almost afraid to touch her. "Look, I know I'm rude and arrogant and stubborn and all those other things you've always accused me of--"
"So am I," she murmured, but he didn't hear.
"But you know, you're the only person who's ever called me on it. You make me mad, and you make me laugh, and you challenge me. You make me better, and you make me whole. Liz--if you still think the way you did at Christmas, I'll drop it--I'll drop everything--but--"
She lifted a hand to his face, and he broke off. Gently, so gently that he forgot to breathe, she removed his sunglasses, folding them and slipping them into the breast pocket of her shirt, just over her heart. She stared into his eyes for a long moment, and his heart thudded in his ears. He felt exposed, as if she was seeing to the very core of him.
Then she smiled, and he remembered to breathe again.
And then she kissed him.
Down the hall, the door to a birthing room opened, and music from some mother who wanted her child born to Faith Hill swirled out and enveloped the entwined pair.
It's the way you love me,
it's a feeling like this,
it's centrifugal motion,
it's perpetual bliss,
it's that pivotal moment,
it's--ah--impossible,
this kiss, this kiss,
unstoppable,
this kiss, this kiss . . .
Part 27
Liz did a little twirl of happiness in the hall before she slipped her key into the lock. She was in love--the one she wanted loved her back--and they'd just gone out to dinner. Okay, so it had been McDonald's, consumed while sitting on the hood of his car at a local park, but to her, French fries by starlight were at least as good as--no, better then--escargot by candlelight.
How could life get any better?
Her mood took an abrupt nosedive when she pushed open the door and saw the form sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels on the TV. She planted her hands on her hips and demanded, "What are you doing here?"
Jason Ford looked up, a sneer on his face. "Sleeping over--what does it look like?"
He was barefoot and shirtless, his hair hanging over his face in disarray. Obviously, whatever he and Liddie had been doing, it wasn't running lines.
"Doesn't it offend you to have an audience?" Liz said snidely. "No, it probably wouldn't."
"What, you mean Katie? She can sleep somewhere else if she wants. It's a free country."
Liz let out a hiss of breath between her teeth and turned away. The click of the channel changer continued behind her for a moment, then stopped as Jason apparently found something to his liking.
"Tina Fitzroy had your son tonight," she said abruptly.
"So?" Jason said in a bored voice.
She swung around to face him. "Eight pounds, four ounces."
"I repeat--so?"
"Brown hair, brown eyes."
Jason made no answer.
"He's got a touch of jaundice, but that happens a lot anyway, and the doctors think it'll clear up on its own."
"What do I care?"
To her horror, Liz felt tears threaten. "That baby is yours," she said. "You had a hand in creating him--or did you forget?"
"Look, I told that stupid little slut to get an abortion. It's not my responsibility. She was the one who got knocked up."
"Whatever you may have convinced yourself of, Tina didn't get pregnant on her own."
He changed the channel.
A voice from earlier that night echoed in her head. Look at that, Fred. Our baby.
He's going to be a big one, Mr. Gardiner had said, tears sliding down his face as he looked at the child he had longed for. Look at all that hair.
And Jason would have willingly had that child, that beautiful, precious, yearned-for child, killed so he wouldn't have to deal with it.
Anger roared through Liz, so hot that she trembled with the force of it. Fists clenched, she marched into her room, rifled through a drawer, and found the pristine box of condoms that her mother had given her on the day before she'd moved in. She extracted a thick handful and dropped the box back into the drawer. With red tingeing the corners of her vision, she stalked back into the main room and hurled them into Jason's lap.
He leapt up, scattering foil packets in every direction. "What the hell--!"
"There," she said. "Just in case you can't get 'em on your own."
He picked one up and threw it at her. "You--"
"Use them," she said over the vulgarity. "If you know how."
"Go to hell."
"Use them," she repeated, and stepped over the scatter of silver. Her voice dropped, vibrant with danger. "Because if I ever, ever hear of you doing to another innocent girl what you did to Tina Fitzroy, the only stage appearances you'll ever make for the rest of your long, miserable life, will be with the Vienna Boys' Choir. Singing soprano."
She turned her back on him and started to walk away.
"You know what you are," Jason shouted at her. "You, with those skinny little tank tops and those flirty little short shorts, and that hot body you're always showing off. You're just a tease! You show it off, but you ain't giving any of it out. You frigid little--"
Liz slammed her bedroom door, then sagged against it.
MJ was sitting up in bed, her eyes wide and curious. "What was that all about?"
Liz just shook her head. "A disillusioning," she murmured. "Did I wake you up, sweetie?"
"When you came in earlier--but it doesn't matter. I only have one class tomorrow anyway. How is Will's sister?"
"She'll be fine."
"And the baby?"
"A boy. He's so cute, MJ." Liz had to smile, even though her eyes were stinging again. "And the people who're adopting him--they were so happy."
MJ looked at her keenly. "There's something else."
Liz looked back, a secretive smile curling her lips. "What?"
MJ's eyes warmed. "Of course there's something else."
Liz shrugged casually. "Other then the fact that I'm going out with Will now..."
MJ let out a cry and leapt up. "I knew it!" she cried. "Oh, I just knew it!"
Laughing, Liz and MJ hugged and spun in the middle of the room, two girls who knew what it was like to love and be loved, in contrast to the petulant, self-absorbed boy in the outer room.
Part 28
Clack. Clack. Swish. Clack. Clack.
"Sit down."
"I can't." Clack. Clack.
"Come on--you're gonna collapse before you even get onstage if you keep going like this."
Liz continued pacing, the stiletto heels of her black shoes clicking on the wooden floor. "I'm always like this before a performance." She turned on a heel, and the swirling skirt of her knee-length black dress flared out with a swish.
"What--driving yourself crazy?"
"It's called adrenaline, Mr. Cucumber."
"Cucumber?"
"As in cool as. My god, how are you doing that? Aren't you nervous at all?"
As she passed him for the sixty-seventh time, Will reached out and simply pulled her into his lap. She yelped and squirmed, but he locked his arms around her until she settled down. "I am nervous," he said then. "I just don't see the point in exhausting myself trying to work it off."
She sighed and, linking her arms around his neck, settled her head on his shoulder. "I know I should calm down," she said in a muffled voice. "But this is so--Will, it's the Longbourn Revue!"
"I noticed," he said dryly.
She snorted. "Yeah, there's that intuitive grasp of the obvious again."
"Look, we've spent the past two months preparing for this. I've been polishing and tightening like crazy--you've been practicing practically day and night. We've got a great piece--"
"So modest."
"So I'm a genius. So sue me."
She got a fistful of the hair curling at his nape and gave it a healthy yank. He twisted her ear in return. "But to continue--"
"Please do." His silliness--the sort of deadpan goofiness that only Will could quite carry off--was doing the impossible and actually soothing her. Damn, did she have a find here or what?
"A great piece, a fantastic player--"
She fanned herself with her hand. "Such flattery. I vow I'm quite overcome."
"Yeah, I'll overcome you. Can I continue?"
"Shutting up."
"Perfect--a woman who knows how to keep her mouth shut. Ow!"
"Never mess with a woman wearing stiletto heels," Liz said sweetly. "You were saying?"
"I'm just saying--before you tried to break my damn foot--that we've got something special here, and if the judges don't realize that--well, they're stupid, that's all."
She whooped. "That's my boyfriend--diplomatic as ever."
"It's true."
She turned her face into his shoulder, smiling. "Thanks."
Out front, applause rolled, and when it died away, the announcer said portentously, "Number thirty-six, Uriel MacLain, junior, performing the Moonlight Sonata."
They were number thirty-seven. Liz's shoulders went taut again.
"We're gonna blow 'em away, Green-Eyes," Will whispered as the first notes flowed out from the grand piano onstage.
"We'd better."
"You still nervous?"
"Less. You have to admit, Will, that as of right now your job is done. I still have to perform."
"Hey, I'm going to be up there too--your devoted slave, turning your pages for you."
"Devoted slave, huh?"
"Absolutely. Devoted."
"So, as the object of your devotion, I could--oh, say--order you to forget about a certain bet?"
"No way."
"Oh, come on."
"Uh-uh."
She huffed. "How long does my hair have to be before I can cut it again?"
"Waist length."
"Last time you said the middle of my back!"
"I changed my mind."
"I don't even think that's legal. Get me a lawyer."
"Full house, even with three twos and two fours, beats three aces every time, Green-Eyes. Grin and bear it."
"But changing the terms in the middle?"
"The terms of the bet said, and I quote, 'Elizabeth Anne Fiennes will allow her gorgeous hair to grow until such time as William Darien Fitzroy allows her to cut it again.' Chaz has it in his wallet. And if you'll recall, you made the exact same bet with me."
"Yeah," Liz sighed. "And if I'd just gotten like two kings or something, you'd be looking like Michael Bolton before I was done with you."
Will shuddered. "The poker gods were smiling that night."
"On you," she said resentfully.
"It's almost time," a quiet voice said. It was a student, picking up extra cash by babysitting performers through warm-ups and the waiting period. This particular one was the dancer that Matt had briefly dated.
They both stood, and Liz tugged at her dress and patted at her hair. "Oh, damn," she said when she saw the faint traces of her make-up on the shoulder of Will's tux jacket. "Tabbi, do you--"
Genie-like, Tabbi produced a compact and then a damp sponge for Will's jacket. "Your hair's fine," she told Liz, "but your necklace is hanging funny."
Will did deep breathing exercises as the female fussing went on around him. He couldn't see the significance of a funny-hanging necklace, but the judges, Liz assured him, looked at everything. The way she'd put it was, "Your performance starts the minute you walk onto that stage, and it doesn't end until you're back in the wings."
Hair, makeup, and what little jewelry she did wear now perfect, Liz stepped lightly towards the spill of stage lights, holding the leather folder with the sheet music in it. They would make their entrance when their names were announced, and now all they had to do was wait.
Right. Just wait.
The final liquid notes of the Moonlight Sonata slipped into silence, and applause roared out from the audience. A tremble rippled through Liz. Was it her, or did it sound louder then it had for the others? Oh, god, was that what they had to follow?
Will caught at her hand. "Liz," he said under the applause.
She had closed her eyes. "What is it?"
"I have to tell you something."
"What?"
"The piece--I wrote it for you."
Her eyes flashed open. "What?"
He gave half a shrug. "The first night--you know--the night you threw your food all over me."
Ordinarily, she would have taken the time to argue that with him, but the applause was already starting to die away. "But--you hated me!"
"I couldn't stop thinking of you. I wrote until dawn--literally. Where do you think the title came from?"
She stared at him, and the announcer's voice sounded in her head like an echo. "Number thirty-seven, Elizabeth Fiennes, freshman, performing Waking Dreamer, an original composition by William Fitzroy, freshman."
Her feet moved automatically, and she strode out onto the stage, pasting a brilliant, confidant smile on her face. Her insides quivered like a Jell-O mold.
She made her curtsey to the judges, saw Will in her peripheral vision making his bow. She sat at the piano, arranged the sheet music. Will settled in beside her, looking odd for not slouching. The lights poured down on them like gold from a smelter's furnace, burning hot.
He touched her knee, and she looked at him. He mouthed, Love you.
The Jell-O within settled, and she mouthed back, Love you back.
His eyes smiled. Let's do this, Green-Eyes.
She put her hands on the keyboard and began to play.
"Third place, Charles Delmonico, sophomore, for Queen of the Fairies, in marble!"
Chaz rose, looking dazed. Liz laughed as she clapped hard enough to make her palms sting. Will held out his hands to be high-fived as Chaz passed by, and MJ was almost glowing from happiness. Char put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "It was all the model," she said over the applause.
"Oh no," MJ demurred, but the others just laughed at her. No other model could have given Chaz the particular delicate grace that must have won this piece the award.
Several awards already glittered down the row of friends. Rick had taken fourth for his soliloquy from Macbeth--out, brief candle, a performance that had literally sent chills down Liz's spine. Char had also taken a fourth place with, oddly enough, one of the pictures of MJ and Liz she'd taken near the beginning of the year. MJ's fifth-place win, unwitnessed though it was by her parents--still convinced that their daughter would give up this dance business and become something sensible like an accountant--was being clutched with both hands, and her cheeks were still a little pink from Chaz's exuberant congratulatory kiss. For a group of mostly freshman, even being in the top five was heady stuff.
The only awards left to be announced, besides the two deBourgh Medals, were composition and instrumental music.
"You have to win something," Char told them, unconsciously tracing the gleaming surface of her plaque as she spoke. "You were too good. Didn't you hear how crazy the audience went?"
"The audience wasn't who was judging us yesterday," Will said.
"The judges must have liked it," MJ said firmly. "I don't see how they couldn't."
"We'll find out, won't we?" Liz wanted to turn around and search for her family, sitting with Will's mother and sister back in the family section, but she couldn't seem to turn her head.
Will put his hand on the nape of her neck and rubbed. "They're right," he said in an undertone. "We did fantastic."
Liz let out a long breath.
"And now--the awards for composition. In fifth place--"
Liz's fingers tangled with Will's.
"Marcela Giavonni, sophomore, for Allegro in E flat!"
The fingers of Will's free hand began thrumming at the chair arm.
"In fourth place--Fenton McFarland, sophomore, for Dawn Melody!"
Third place?
"In third--Lomasi deLanyea, junior, and Samuel Gee, senior, for Street Corner! In second, Anthea Westlake, junior, for Lessons in Loneliness! And in first place, Krishna Rahim, senior, for I Felt It Was Glory!"
Will closed his eyes and let out his breath through his nose. Liz's hand tightened around his, a question. He squeezed back. It's okay.
He opened his eyes and leaned over. "Maybe we got something for instrumental."
"But Will--your piece..." Liz said, starting to clap automatically. In the row behind them, someone had burst into noisy tears.
"Remember, cross-category pairs can't win in both categories--the higher one gets it."
Liz nodded jerkily. Godgodgodgodgodgod...she wanted this so bad that her fingers ached, and her heart ached, and her soul ached.
"Congratulations to all. The final category is instrumental music. Have patience, folks--the deBourgh Medals are the end of it--hahaha!"
Just announce it, twithead Liz growled mentally. Forget the jokes.
"In fifth place--Kimberley Ledger, junior, organ, for Bach's Tocatta and Fugue!"
Okay. Okay. All right. There were still four slots to be filled.
"In fourth place--Lucas Harding, sophomore, saxophone, with Devil in a Blue Dress! In third place--Anne Wentworth, senior, piano, with Greensleeves! Second place--Uriel MacLain, junior, piano, with Moonlight Sonata! And first--"
Oh god please god please please please...
"First place goes to--"
Please
"Caroline Bingley, senior, flute, and George Wickham, senior, violin, with Eine Kleine Nachtmusik! Congratulations all!"
We didn't get it.
Liz began to tremble, all over, as the applause swept past her like a tidal wave. Her mind was stuttering with disbelief. Sure, they were both freshman ... but they'd done fantastic! She knew it--Will knew it--their friends knew it--why hadn't the judges thought so?
Why?
"Liz?" MJ whispered.
Liz shook her head, mute. Will put his arm around her and drew her into his side, and she could feel that he was trembling too.
"That's bull," Chaz was declaring in a furious whisper. "You deserved friggin' first place--those stinkin' judges have their heads up their--"
"Chaz!" MJ said in the sharpest tone anyone had ever heard from her.
Rick, on Will's other side, was shaking his head. "I just don't get it..."
"Shh," Char murmured, and reached out to squeeze Liz's knee in a gesture of comfort.
"And now for the thing you've all been waiting for--the deBourgh Medals!"
I don't want the damn deBourgh Medals--I just want to get out of here...
"The first Medal, for the Most Outstanding Exhibit, goes to..."
Just say it! Just say it and let me out!
"Asia Chamberlain, senior, for Starflower Residents, in colored pencil!"
A figure stood and walked in a wobbly sort of way up to the stage. Liz thought at her, Go faster--I need to get out, before I start screaming--
"Congratulations, Asia, on a truly extraordinary piece of art. And now--for the second deBourgh Medal--"
The announcer, who had never lost his big fat toothpaste smile the entire ceremony, looked at the card in his hand and visibly faltered. He looked over to the side and saw Dean Bennet nodding hard. Liz clenched her teeth, furious at any delay in her escape. Whispers were starting up.
Will pressed his cheek to the top of her head. "It's okay--just hold on a few minutes, Green-Eyes--you can cry and scream and throw things all you want when we're outta here--"
Liz put her arms around his waist, feeling how taut his muscles were. God, she thought, this must be even worse for him. They just judged me on my playing, intimate as that gets. They were judging him on a little piece of his soul.
The announcer cleared his throat. "This is--this is truly an unprecedented event--I--I don't know what to say--"
Tears prickled. Would you please shut up and announced the damned winner?
"--this is utterly extraordinary--"
Will growled, low in his throat. He started to rise, and Liz held him down. As awful as it would be to burst into tears in the middle of the ceremony, they'd cause even more of a disruption if they jumped up and left while they were announcing the second deBourgh winner.
"--but the second deBourgh Medal, for Most Outstanding Performance, goes to--"
Get me through this, oh, please. Just a few more minutes--
"Elizabeth Fiennes and William Fitzroy, freshmen, with Waking Dreamer!"
Conclusion
Liz flapped the flippers madly, muttering to herself, and then let out a muffled scream as the sneaky little silver ball slid through them and disappeared. "Wha--!"
Will bumped her gently out of the way. "My turn." They were playing head-to-head pinball, and so far he was 1,846,036 points ahead.
Liz narrowed her eyes at the machine. "It hates me," she said, leaning on the side.
"It senses fear--and inattention. You need to keep your eye on the ball."
"This is pinball, not baseball."
"Same difference."
"Well, how am I supposed to pay attention with you heckling me?"
"Think of me as your own personal Peanut Gallery."
"Thanks a lot. So what am I, Howdy Doody?"
"Princess Pennynickeldimequarter, I think her name was. I dunno. I never saw it, but my dad always talked about it."
"Oh, I'm a princess now?"
"You've got the gold for it."
Liz put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the three-inch wide disk of the deBourgh Medal, smiling at it. "We earned this. Princesses inherit their loot."
She could still remember the awards ceremony, vividly. She didn't think she'd ever forget it. The dead silence that had fallen for ten full seconds as the crowd of students and parents realized that a pair of, not seniors, not juniors, not even sophomores, but freshmen, had won the coveted deBourgh Medal. Then the wild, jubilant scream that had been loosed from Char's throat, and the answering roar that had arisen from everyone who had heard them perform. The hands that had pulled a stunned and unresisting Will and Liz from their seats and to their feet and pushed them, stumbling, towards the stage. They'd somehow managed to pull each other up the steps and to the announcer, and stood blinking in the stage lights, as the applause and cheers continued. Then Dr. Salvatore, as the head of the music department, had come forward to present the Medals to them, and she'd held up a hand for silence. It had come reluctantly, but fallen at last, and she'd said clearly, "As extraordinary as this accomplishment is, I feel confidant in expecting to hear much, much more of this talented pairing before their time here is done. Ms. Fiennes--Mr. Fitzroy. Congratulations." And she'd draped the heavy medal, on its wide ribbon, around their necks--one for each. Feeling the weight of it, seeing how the light glimmered off the engravings of performing symbols, they'd finally realized that it was true. They'd won the deBourgh Medal.
Together.
The audience, already hyped, went wild when Liz launched herself into Will's arms, to be lifted off her feet and spun around until they were almost falling down from dizziness. Then even wilder when he set her down again, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her silly.
A picture of that, much to Will's chagrin, had popped up in Sunday's LA Times, along with a story on their unprecedented win. Liz's mother was talking about having it bronzed, and Liz was talking about killing her brothers for giving Will so many fish-eyes when they'd gone out to dinner later, with all their friends, her family, and Mrs. Fitzroy and Tina.
But that had been three days ago, and now it was time to leave Longbourn behind for the summer. Because they were all so close, and the moving-out of everyone else was so hectic, most of the group of friends had decided to wait until Monday, the last possible day to move out. They were hiding out in the rec room now, waiting for the rush to slow.
Will looked down at the medal in Liz's hand. "You carry that around in your pocket, too?"
She grinned at him. "Eye on the ball," she said, and Will looked back just in time to see the silver sphere zip through the still flippers and down into the bowels of the machine. He cursed, and Liz laughed.
"You'd better watch that potty mouth," she advised. "You've got a godson to think about now. You want Adam growing up sounding like Cartman?"
"Hunh," Will said, giving up his place. "Yeah, if he can do that cool beefcake thing." He grinned. "Wanna come help babysit the poop machine on Friday?"
"Maybe," she said, over the clanging of points being racked up.
Char, wearing a t-shirt that said "I haven't lost my mind, it's backed up on disk somewhere" came over. "Who's winning?"
"Me."
"Not for long," Liz said, grinning evilly as the first ball locked. "Multiball, here I come."
"Well, I'm going," a voice sang out from the doorway, and Liz howled as she lost her ball. She turned to see who was the guilty party, and saw Liddie and Katie Wickman.
Liddie, dressed in the narrowest tube top Liz had ever seen and shorts that would have looked skimpy on a Barbie doll, lounged against the doorjamb. "I'll see you all next year," she said carelessly, "if I decide to come back."
Liz and Char, who had found out mid-semester that Liddie was here on conditional, exchanged glances.
"You know something, we should all go out sometime this summer," Liddie said brightly, "if you guys," to Will and Liz, "are still together."
"Why wouldn't we be?" Will asked mildly.
Liddie flapped a hand. "Oh, you know how you start getting bored with the same person day after day."
"Night after night," Char said under her breath, and Liz elbowed her.
"But you never know--I mean, MJ and Chaz have been together four whole months, altogether. Although they did have a break in between."
Will winced slightly, and Liz slipped a forgiving arm around his waist.
"Oh, hi!" Liddie said to someone out in the hall. "You know, I was just saying that it's amazing how long you guys have been together."
Chaz and MJ, then. Liz waved as her friends came into the room.
MJ said softly, "I suppose for some people, it sounds long, but it seems very short to me."
Liz gave her a sidelong glance. That remark had been almost . . . nasty.
Liddie shrugged. "Well, that's like forever to me. I mean, Jason and I were together for practically two months, can you believe that?" She tugged her tube top a little lower, and Will made a little gagging sound that only Liz heard. "I'm so glad I dumped him--he was so holding me back."
Katie finally spoke up. "He, like, dumped you, Liddie."
Liddie gave her a sharp look. "It may have looked like that, Katie," she said airily, "but trust me, I was the one who got rid of him. Totally excess baggage, you know?" She adjusted her tube top again. "Well, I've got to fly, but I'll see you all this summer, okay? We'll have a blast." With a final little flip of her hand, she was gone, Katie trailing after.
It was MJ who spoke first. "You know," she said sadly, "I really hate to say it, but sometimes Liddie is just--"
"Shallow as a Saharan puddle?" Liz said.
"Dumb as a red brick?" Char said.
"Easy as a--"
"Will!" Liz scolded.
Will shrugged and looked at the door. "I wonder which of them dumped the other?" he said thoughtfully, turning back to the pinball machine and launching his ball.
"It was probably a mutual decision," Char said dryly. "They each decided to dump the other. Did you guys see their performance?"
"What, you mean that onstage egofest?" Rick said from the computer terminals in the corner. "My god, Shakespeare was rolling in his grave. I never knew Juliet had that much cleavage."
"Do you know how they were ranked, though?" Char asked, going to sit by him and calling up her email.
"Dead last."
"No way!" came from every other throat in the room.
Rick nodded. "It's the truth," he said. "Zaq saw the sheet."
Zaq was Rick's new boyfriend, who also happened to have been roommates with Jason for the second half of the last semester. Somehow, Jason could never seem to keep a roommate.
"And," Rick continued, clearly enjoying the spotlight, "guess who's getting his butt kicked out?"
"What?"
"It's the truth, swear on Cher's plastic surgeon. Turns out he was here on conditional."
"Conditional?"
"Yuh-huh. Dean Bennet took a look at his grades, first and second semester, interviewed the profs, and went to go watch him in the Revue. He is outta here."
Char shook her head. "And so ends the sad, sorry saga of Jason Ford, the man with the smallest brain and yet the biggest head in the universe." She pouted at her email inbox. "Nobody loves me," she said sadly.
"I'll email you, sweetie pie," Liz said comfortingly, going over to sit on the arm of Char's chair.
Char perked up. "Really?"
"Yes," Liz said solemnly. "All the annoying surveys and stupid jokes and email hoaxes and senseless life reflections I can find."
"If you do that," Char threatened, "I will kill you."
Liz just laughed. "Will might have something to say about that."
"If you send me any of those," Will said over the binging of the pinball machine, "I'll send you to sleep with the fishes myself."
It was nearly seven o'clock at night when Will's car, piled high with all the things that wouldn't fit in Matt and Ricky's pickup truck, screeched to a stop in front of Liz's house. "Door to door service," Will said.
"Does that include restarting my heart?" Liz asked. "Jeezus, I think the left-hand wheels got three feet off the ground last time."
"Well, since you asked--"
"A-hem," Ricky said, several minutes later.
"Oh, dry up," Liz muttered, but climbed out of the car.
Matt said, "Now that you two have finished inventorying each others' tonsils--"
"Like you don't play tongue hockey with Michelle every chance you get," Liz fired back. She reached into the car, pulled out a suitcase, and tossed it in her brother's general direction. He caught it, staggered, and fetched up against one of the trees in the front yard where he sagged in mostly exaggerated strain.
"You'd better be glad Mom and Dad both had to work tonight and aren't around to see you and Will," Ricky told her, hefting another suitcase.
Liz gave him a look. "You're talking about two people who have kissing marathons in the kitchen, while the spaghetti sauce is burning. I don't think they have a leg to stand on."
She passed Will another suitcase, and he groaned. "What do you put in these things, rocks?" he demanded.
"Yes," said Ricky and Matt in unison, moaning as they lugged their loads towards the front door.
With four pairs of hands, it only took ten minutes to clear the convertible of Liz's suitcases. Ricky and Matt decided to be nice and give their sister and Will some time alone--"Ten minutes, that's all, Liverbreath!"--while they started in on the load in their truck's bed.
They sat on the hood of his car to say their good-byes, ignoring the occasional bellows from her brothers--"Hey, buddy, arm's-length! Arm's-length!"--and figuring out what they would do over the next few days. Finally, prodded by the twins, they slid off the hood and Will got into his car. "I'll tell Tina you say hi," he said, pulling out his keys.
"Tell her I want to go back to Rodeo Drive, but she's got to try harder to restrain me this time."
"What is the fascination with that place?" Will demanded.
Liz smirked at him. "Remember that green sundress you like so much?"
"Yeah." Will grinned.
"Rodeo Drive."
A pause.
"Oh."
She laughed and started to step back, but Will said, "Wait a minute."
"What?"
"C'mere."
She braced herself on the door. "What is it?"
He took her chin in his hand and kissed her until her toes curled and the twins started yelping. Then he let go, slid on his sunglasses, and gave her an audacious grin. "That ought to hold me--for awhile anyway." Then he hit the gas.
When he looked in his rearview mirror, she was laughing.
As he zoomed down the residential street, the soft spring air ruffling his hair, Will wondered what she would do if he told her the thoughts that had crossed his mind lately, thoughts about an apartment in downtown LA with green-eyed babies plinking at toy pianos.
She might laugh in his face.
Then again, being Liz, she might just grin at him and say, "So how long does it take that testosterone-mobile of yours to get to Las Vegas?".
But those were for later--after graduation, after they both began to find success in their fields. He didn't know what the future would bring, and for the first time in his life, he didn't care that he didn't know. This time, and from now on, he was just going to sit back and enjoy the ride.
With Liz.
The End.