Stranger & Friend

         Izzy’s accelerating at an alarming rate.

         We fly down the winding coastal roadways in her newly restored car…but something doesn’t feel right.

         I hear the engine rev when she pushes the pedal to the floor even as we go around a sharp corner. My chest is tightening with fear. I grab for the car door-hold like it will steady me, somehow

         It’s snowing. Big, puffy flakes zoom around us like a portal through space, and the skies overhead – between the trees – are getting dark.

         As I’m about to turn to yell at her to slow down, I freeze. The girl in the driver’s seat is dressed like Izzy – looks like Izzy – but she’s wearing this big, rubber mask of a toothy, grinning dragon with bulging eyes. It scares me more than the driving, and I scream. My scream startles the imposter at my side, and the Mustang goes into a tailspin when we try to round another corner.

         The driver loses control. The car slams into a tree.

         I hear glass shattering.

         The world is spinning, but as I fly into a roll across the ground, it becomes apparent that I was the one spinning.

​

         I’m rattled, but unharmed.

         I look up, and I can’t breathe. I’ve never been here before… As with any dream, my mind barely stops to puzzle over it.

         I notice, finally, that the stuff falling from the sky isn’t snow…it’s ash.

​

         I am in a burnt forest.

​

         I collect myself from the ground and begin walking, wide-eyed, through the charred and blackened landscape.

         The sky through skeletal branches of trees is red, but everything else is gray or black. If I listen hard enough, I can hear the sound of wind whispering high above.

         “Izzy!” I know I yelled, but the voice that called out for my best friend doesn’t seem to come from me. It echoes all around.

         The only answer I get is a glittering flash in the distance. I head in that direction.

​

         I stand before a wide, circular black pool where I think the sparkle came from. I peer down into the still, obsidian water at my own dark, muddled reflection. A pinching pain on my hand makes me glance down. My finger is cut, and bleeding badly. As I gawk at the gash – thinking I must have sustained the injury in the accident – a drop of blood falls into the pool. The splash it makes upon entering the abyss seems to reverberate through the charred forest. I watch the ripples dimpling through the thick liquid. My forehead furrows when the rippling doesn’t stop. In fact, it gets faster, and closer together, almost vibrating.

         To my horror, a taloned hand stretches from the depths, followed by a grinning muzzle filled with large, razor-sharp teeth. There are no lips to hide those teeth. The Grinning Dragon rises after the muzzle. There isn’t anything lifeless or mask-like about it.

         I shriek with terror unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I throw myself back, away from the hand, and into my bed, where I wake with a jolt that jostles the frame.

         Light breaks in through the openings in my curtains. My heart is pounding so hard it’s shaking me with every beat. I’m covered in sweat, so the first thing I do is check my blood sugar. The reading is one-thirteen. Perfect…but I’m still freaked out…

         I thought the nightmares before were vivid, but this could have been real. It wasn’t real. Whatever that was, it can’t hurt me…

         My hand hurts. To my relief, there’s no cut on the finger I’d seen in my dream.

         I take a few minutes to calm down and stop shaking. Then I look to the smart phone laying on the nightstand by my bed. After putting in my application yesterday, I figured it was a good idea to charge it, finally.

         Reluctantly – still breathing deeply from unease, I pick up the phone. The screen switches on. I see that I have two missed calls and a voice message. One of the calls is from Izzy. She and I had talked on the drive yesterday. We’d gotten everything straightened out. Once I explained how I felt to her, she’d seemed genuinely remorseful, and had apologized, promising to leave it alone from now on. We had fun after that. The drive was smooth, easy – nothing like what my mind had just fabricated. We’d stopped at the local market to grab some plastic forks and eat our pie while I filled out my application, and then she’d swung me back by Sherry’s to drop it off on our way to the shop to get my car, new tires and all. I’d wished her a happy birthday; given her the present I’d hidden in my bag – a silver fairy necklace with a sparkly vile – and we’d said our goodbyes for the evening.

         The other missed call and the voicemail is from Sherry, calling to set up an interview.

         I call her back right away. When she answers, I’m careful to sound as chipper and awake as possible. We set the time for Monday after my tutoring sessions are done. Today is Saturday.

         With a sigh, I get to making’ my bed out of habit, but stop when I find dried spots of blood on the outer sheet. I check my hand again, but there’s still no cut. That gives me a little comfort. The blood must have been from a pricked finger I hadn’t realized was still bleeding. That’s a completely logical explanation, and yet I still don’t feel completely assured. Nightmares have that affect on me.

         The weekend zipped by.

         My hand hurt most of Saturday, but after calling Izzy back, I managed to get all caught up on assignments and journaling. The pain went away throughout the day, except by bedtime, I was too nervous about having another nightmare to be sleepy.

         I stayed up watching some Bewitched with Elizabeth Montgomery on the Roku channel instead of going to bed. It’s an oldie, to be sure, but despite some of the misogynistic plotlines of its time, and Derwood’s maddening unwillingness to accept Sam for what she is, it’s a favorite pastime in this house. I have Mom to thank for my topical taste in everything from music to movies and literature, and Mom has Aunt Rhonda to thank for hers.          Rhonda is twenty years Mom’s elder.

       That’s not to say I don’t appreciate the music or movies or literature of my own generation. I like all sorts of things, but Mom and I kind of grew up together. She was only twenty when I was born. She and I have been best friends ever since.

         When she got home Saturday night, I was asleep on the couch.

         Mom woke me, and sent me up to bed.

         Sunday, I puttered around cleaning our quaint, three-bedroom house before doing some recreational reading and going to bed. I got through another night without any nightmares.

         Monday started out by dragging by at the pace of a snail.

         As usual, Crystal and I started with math and science at seven, and then Missus Berk came for English, reading and poetry at eight-thirty. At ten, Devin came for biology. Then, it was on to history and social studies with Connie at eleven.

         After Connie left, I opted for a run around the neighborhood rather than beating up the punching bag we have in the garage. Running and kickboxing is another thing that gives me a sense of control over my life and this disease.

         At twelve-thirty, I got home and made myself some lunch.

         At one, the politics tutor, Missus Stanley, arrives.

         I spend forty minutes with her, and then we moved onto piano. It is a routine that I’ve become blissfully comfortable with since we moved to Coupeville and I started home schooling, but today at two-thirty, when I hear the predictable knock at the door and open it, a face I don’t recognize is standing on our porch.

         Jessica, my art tutor, has been with Mom and I for almost a year.

         The tall and muscular guy in the doorway has shiny, silky black hair cut short, slanted eyes, and prominent cheekbones. He’s dressed in a casual white shirt and dark jeans, but the leather jacket over his shoulders looks buttery to the touch. There’s a leather book bag with a wide strap over one of his arms.

         He doesn’t resemble Jessica in the least.

         The courteous smile he gives me lights up his appearance. He has great dimples. They’re the first things I notice about that smile.

         He extends a strong hand to me in greeting. “Jin Banksee?” Despite his exotic looks, he doesn’t have an accent. He continues after I nod dumbly. “I’m Dexter Perrine, annnnnd by the look on your face, I’m guessing Rachael didn’t tell you I was coming…”

         I hear myself laugh and answer a little uneasily, accepting the hand he’s still holding out. I don’t like unpredictability.

         “Uh, no, actually. It must have slipped her mind. She’s a busy woman, you know…” I take my hand back, and brush a strand of hair behind an ear if for no other reason then to find something to do with myself. “You seem really—“

         “Young?” Dexter interrupted. He smiles jestingly.

         I chuckle. “Well, yeah. Mom normally hires students from the college.”

         “Oh, I am from the college, or, one of them. I graduated high school a couple years early. I’ve been taking classes at Pacific Northwest. I need some extra money, so when I saw the listing for a local art tutor in the afternoons before classes, I thought this seemed perfect.”

         I note his jacket again, and then hope he doesn’t see how I glance at the polished, new or newer charcoal-colored car parked in front of our house.            I brush off my observations. He’d said he graduated a couple years early? I’m impressed. “Gotcha. It’s good to meet you, Dexter.”

        “Or Dex, if you ever decide to consider me a friend,” he amended playfully.

         I contemplate pointing out that I haven’t known him long enough to consider him a friend. I decide to smile cordially, and fish.

         “So…what happened to Jessica? Are you just filling in for her temporarily or something?”

         “Rachael didn’t give me any details, but yeah, from what I know, I’m with you ‘til summer. So…here I am.” He said it with a chuckle and a glance to his toes.

         “I guess she wouldn’t give you any details…” I replied, still feeling somewhat displaced by the new company and interruption in my routine. It isn’t like Mom to forget to tell me something like’ this, especially if Dexter will be sticking around. Then again, she’s been especially distracted lately. Sometimes I wonder if she’s seeing someone. It would be the first time since Jimmy left, and I don’t want to say anything in case I’m right and she isn’t ready to tell me.

         I ponder calling her to confirm about Dexter.

         He must sense my natural distrust.

         “Here,” he said warmly.

         He pulls out a thin phone. Like cars, I can’t tell one phone from another. He unlocks the device, and then, after a few quick swipes, shows me the name he’s about to dial.

         Ms. Banksee.

         I crack a partial smile. Mom never likes it when anyone addresses her as ‘ma’am.’

         Dexter dials the number, and places the phone against his ear.

         The word chivalrous runs through my head unexpectedly.

         I know the muffled voice that answers on the other end, and then Dexter’s talking.

         “Hello, Miss Banksee? Sorry to bother you. This is Dexter Perrine. I just wanted to give you to Jin real quick so that you can confirm with her that I’m supposed to be here today.”

         I hear her cry out in apologetic consternation. He’s already handing me the phone.

         “Mom?”

         “Jin! Oh, honey, I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you about Dexter! I’m really glad you called me, but you have nothing to worry about.”

         “No problem, Mom. I know how hectic things get. What happened to Jessica?”

         “I’ll tell you all about it later, Bumblebee-Baby. Thanks for understanding my slipup. I gotta get back to work, but I love you. I’ll see you at the diner tonight.”

         “Love you too, Mom.”

         I hand the phone back to Dexter, feeling a little foolish.

         “Thanks for doing that…” I muttered with a twinge of guilt. Not wanting to prolong this awkwardness, I step aside. “Would you like to come in?”            “Any time. I don’t want you to feel unsafe in your own house… And sure.” Dexter accepts the invitation with another friendly smile.

         When he goes by, it’s hard not to notice how he towers over me, but my mind is at ease now. Thanks to his call to Mom, I’m almost positive he’s not going to try to murder and-or rob me.

         I lead him to the back room, the only bedroom on the first floor. Over the years, Mom’s converted it into something like a classroom for me. It has everything a student might need for various courses.

         Four, large windows – one in each of the side walls and two in the main wall – give me and my tutors all sorts of natural light, even through the trees out back. More and more light as their leafs turn colors and fall into the yard. A big, wooden desk with two chairs is placed left of the door, where numerous supplies, including the microscope, are kept. That’s where the Echo Dot’s blue light occasionally spins, too. I concentrate better on certain assignments, like math, when I’m listening to music. Beside the windows and over that desk are some cupboards Mom installed, harboring everything from paper to pencils to erasers. On the other side of the big desk are two smaller, old-fashioned desks, but they’re each paired with comfortable computer chairs. I think Mom got them more for the tutors than for me, so they could feel comfortable here. A small flatscreen is mounted on the attention-grabbing, bright yellow wall on the same side as the door, for documentaries or any other program a tutor might want or need to show me.              Throw in a tall floor-lamp here and there, a big, oval rug sewn with colors in the yellow, orange, green, blue and red spectrums to liven the place up, a few knickknacks, a tall bookshelf between the two windows ahead, live plants, and creative wall art paired with Harvard paraphernalia, and you got yourself a study. The only thing this room lacks for learning is the piano. We keep that in the living room because it made the space back here look cluttered.

         Dexter comments on our surroundings as I guide him through the door.

         “Dang, this is great. You should see some of the rat nests I’ve tutored kids in. I think most of their parents let them draw the blinds and play video games in those rooms all day.”

         I scoff humorously, but for some reason I don’t like the way he said ‘kids,’ when he was talking about students.

         I’m not a kid…

         I know he doesn’t mean it personally, though. I ignore the inclination to feel scolded.

         “Mom—er—Rachael’s been working on it since we moved to Coupeville,” I told him openly.

         We naturally aim for the two desks.

         Dexter lets me choose mine first, and then takes a seat at the one perpendicular to me.

         “She says she has to spoil me twice as much, since Jimmy’s gone.” Why did I just tell him that? I immediately regret the slip, but it’s too late.

         “It’s great,” he repeated quickly. He’s slipping the book bag from his arm when he asks, “Jimmy?”

         “…My dad…” I tell him, cross with myself. Still wondering why I said that to a stranger. It made me sound like a brat, and the part about Jimmy isn’t anyone else’s business. That doesn’t stop Dexter from meddling.

         “He abandoned you and your mom?”

         It’s my own fault, but now I can’t see a way out. I pick my answer tentatively.

         “I wouldn’t exactly say he ‘abandoned’ us… He… My mom and him had been fighting a lot. I…think she knew he was going to leave. My mom thinks he still sends money every month…but she doesn’t know for sure.” Why am I opening up to him? It took me two years to tell Izzy this much.

         Before he speaks, he evaluates me for what feels like forever.

         “How can she not know for sure?”

         This time, I pause to give myself a sec’ to decide if I want to answer that.

         “We…can’t find him. She’s looked, but…he didn’t have any family aside from us… Whoever sends the money…it’s just directly deposited into Mom’s account every month without any information. It’s strange, but Mom said Jimmy had a lot of secrets. It’s part of the reason they fought so much…” “If you don’t mind my asking…”

         It’s Dexter’s turn to choose his words carefully. “Is Banksee Rachael’s maiden name, or married?”

         “Married. Mom’s maiden name is Jordan.” I disclosed. I instantly wonder why he’d asked, or why, again, I’d given him more information than needed. This is making me uncomfortable. I’m not sure I really want to know why he’s prying.

         Dexter studies me soberly for another moment, and reads me like a book. That’s my guess, because he ends up changing the subject.

         “We should get started, huh?”

         I’m relieved. When I glance at the clock above us and realize we’ve wasted about fifteen minutes, all I know to say is,

         “For sure. Let’s.”

         “So, your mom said that you and Jessica left off on medieval Egyptian sculpture. Am I ringing any bells?”

         He made the question sound somewhat playful, like no tension had just transpired between us. He’s retrieving the book on Egyptian Art and Architecture Throughout the Dark Ages from his bag.

         “That’s right,” I said.

         “Have you done any sculpture?”

         The question seemed a bit random.

         Jessica and I only ever went over timeframes, styles, materials and symbolisms.

         I answer anyway. “I have! I mean, nothing fancy. Polymer clay’s about it, but I like to think I wasn’t too bad at it. I actually made that vase over there.” After what I’d just told him about Jimmy, I shouldn’t be surprised at how much I’m talking, but I am. It usually takes a little more to get my mouth going.

         I gesture idly to the other side of the room.

         Dexter shifts to view the sculpture placed on one of the bookshelves over there.

         “You made that?” He puts his book bag aside and gets up to go and inspect it.

         It’s not very big, but I’m proud of the way I did the wavy sides and hollow middle, and of the round base I’d created for it.

         I nod, but I don’t think he sees it before he asks,

         “Do you dabble in any other kinds of art? Drawing? Or painting, maybe?”

         “I just…doodle in columns, mostly, but I have a sketchbook too.” I admitted on a bemused breath. I’m actually pretty passionate about singing, but that’s a secret. Even Izzy’s only heard my voice behind a concealing sheet of music when I sing along to the songs we listen to together.

         Realizing the attention’s still on me, I quickly change the subject. “What about you? Do you dabble in any kinds of art?” It hits me after I asked that, that he said he goes to the art college, and I kick myself mentally.

         Dexter doesn’t seem to notice. “Only any thing I can get my hands on,” he laughed the words, and moves to return to his seat.

         He reaches again for his bag, but this time, he retrieves a simple sketchbook with a spiral spine. He hands it to me.

         I open it. Right away, I’m blown to smithereens by what I see.

         He’s done what I would guess are charcoal sketches of faces, and not only faces. Women dancing. Men posing. All sorts of studies on the human form. By the fluent, quick strokes shown on each page, there seems to be a sort of motion or energy even in the still forms sketched within.

         “Dude, these are amazing!” The compliment is louder than I meant for it to be. I hadn’t thought to subdue myself. I feel a bit silly when I meet his eyes, but he’s smiling proudly.

         “Thanks,” he answered, humble. Giving me a moment to continue flipping through the sketches.

         “How long have you been at this?” The drawing on every page I turn to is better than the last.

         “Well, my mom’s a painter, so I’ve had a paint brush in my hand for pretty much as long as I’ve been able to hold one.”

         “Amazing.” I repeated the word with a disbelieving shake of my head, which seems to please him even more.

         His smile broadens.

         It strikes me again that he has a good smile. I dismiss the thought.

         I finally hand the book back to him.

         “I’d love to see more, if you’ll let me.” I mean it. “Man, I’d love to learn how you do this—“

         “I can teach you,” he cuts in eagerly. “In fact, I was thinking that we can try the same techniques and materials we learn about, if we can get our hands on them… If you want.” He added the last part with a welcoming smile, returning the sketchbook to his bag. “After all, I’m an art tutor, right?”

         I like his style. A sudden rush of excitement fills my blood.

         I’ve always loved the arts, but none of my art tutors have actually been artists, until now.

         “That sounds awesome.” I try not to look as excited as I feel, but I think maybe my unrestrained smile gives me away. Maybe this disruption of my routine isn’t so bad. I think I’m going to like having Dex as a tutor.

         When I see he’s watching me intently, an odd sensation comes over me. I change the subject again.

         “You said you graduated early a couple years ago. Where from?” I’d never seen him around Coupeville, and in a town this small, everyone knows everyone. I’m curious to see if he’d gone to Coupeville High School, where Izzy is now, or if he’s even from around here.

         “Coupeville High,” he told me, answering one of those questions.

         Now it’s time for the next one I have. “That’s where my best friend goes. Do you know anyone from there?”

         “Not really,” he divulged casually. “To be honest, I was more interested in studying than having a social life. I was kind of a nerd. I’ve only grown into my muscles since I started college.”

         “Oh, yeah, well…college,” I joked back, playing along. “So, how old are you, then?” I pried.

         He seems happy to answer. “I’m eighteen.”

         “You must be pretty smart.”

         He laughs, almost seeming bashful, and then points to the Harvard paraphernalia I have on the wall.

         “Apparently I’m not the only one.”

         I smile, appreciating the compliment.

         “You can decide for yourself if I’m smart,” he stated boldly, reaching for the book on Egyptian antiquity. “Let’s get started where you and Jessica left off, and tomorrow, I’ll bring some supplies, and we can make some art. What do you think?”

         “Sounds good.” I figure that’s something to look forward to.

         The rest of the time with Dex flew by. I was glad it did. Dexter seems like an interesting guy, but I was eager to get to my interview.

         I wondered…hoped that Dominic would be there. Despite what Izzy told me, I hadn’t stopped thinking about him since I caught him watching me Friday. If he and I are both loners, maybe we can be friends. He could probably use one… It doesn’t seem like he gets along well with the other kids at the high school.

         He wasn’t at the diner when I got here. However, as I’m coming out of the interview with Sherry, my heart quickens with a little thrill when he walks through the door, a black motorcycle helmet under his arm. I see him glance up while Sherry’s handing me my new shirt, skirt and apron. Tonight, Mom and I will have to stop somewhere to get some none-slip shoes for the job. I start tomorrow. Tuesday. Four days a week at five hours a day with a half hour lunch, three-thirty to nine. Sherry had asked me if I wanted to work Monday through Thursday so that I’d have more time for weekends, but I’d assured her that wasn’t necessary. After all, I barely have a life. I’m just excited to have a new distraction whatever nights of the week.          When Sherry heads back to work, I stand at the counter, pretending not to be completely aware of where Dominic is.

         It’s becoming apparent that he’d stopped on his way to the kitchen when he saw Sherry and I, and now he’s watching me.

         Delight shoots up my back when I see him start to approach from the corner of my eye. I hold my breath.

         “You’re Jin Banksee, right?”

         He knows my name! I can’t believe how lyrical it sounded in his mouth.

         I tell myself to breathe, unless I want to sound like a mouse…if I can find my voice. How does he know my name?

         I must have looked at him oddly, because he explains.

         “I heard Sherry call you that when you were here Friday. She said you put in an application… Looks like your interview went well.” He said, nodding at the folded stuff on the counter in front of me.

         I don’t want my last reaction to make him feel weird. I muster a smile and do what I can to seem confident. Like I said, I’m not used to feeling stupid around guys, but Dominic seems to have a different affect on me. With a face like that, I figure that’s to be expected.

         “Yeah—no. It’s okay. Sherry’s kind of an old friend.” I started out a little rocky, there, but I leaned into the slide. By now, he’s standing right next to me, and I’m very conscious of his height. I can feel the heat radiating off his amber skin, like the flame I’d compared it to the first time I saw him. It crosses my mind that I shouldn’t be able to feel that warmth, not even standing this close, but I dismiss it. He looks fine to me. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been near enough to notice his green eyes, and how stupidly beautiful they are. They peer through me like a predator tracking a doe through the forest.

         His looking at me isn’t raising my confidence. I don’t mind…

         His gaze never wavers, and it feels like an eternity passes between the last time’ I spoke and now.

         “It’s a pretty name…” He stated offhandedly. “Is it…jinn, like ‘genie’?”

         I blush and look away. Is he showing off? I want him to be showing off.

         I answer awkwardly. “Just…Jin, like me, I guess. Spelled with one N.” I hate how that sounded! I rush to redeem the correction. “I’m actually named after my mom and dad, sort of… My parents took the first two letters of my dad’s name, and the last letter of my mom’s maiden name.”

         He pauses to consider what I’ve just said. His eyes glint intelligently. “Jim?”

         I smile stiffly. I sound just as stiff. “That’s what he liked to go by…”

         He must have heard the indignation in my voice, because Dominic smoothly gets back on track.

         “Sherry seems fond of you. I’m glad I walked in when I did. It gives me a chance to properly introduce myself. I’m Dominic Spencer.”

         Since he’s said more, I pause. Do I detect an accent?

         …No. It’s just the way he speaks…

         There’s a musician’s depth to his inflection. He doesn’t talk or sound like anyone else I know. If Izzy hadn’t mentioned he goes to school with her, I’d wonder if he’s older than I’d first thought.

         “I know who you are.” I didn’t exactly catch those words before they came out. I stopped myself when he raised his eyebrows inquisitively. Had I sounded rude? “Izzy mentioned you go to Coupeville High. It’s good to actually meet you though, Pie Guy.” I said his impromptu nickname sarcastically. You know…so I wouldn’t sound stupid…

         Kill me…

         My random moniker elicits a laugh from him, and I feel less stupid.

         The first laugh… I could have listened to it forever and died happy.

         As he watches me, he seems to get a little more serious, except his smile lingers.

         “It’s a pleasure… I do go to school with Izzy, but I haven’t seen you around. Are you new to Coupeville?”

         I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined the hope in his tone. I answer quickly.

         “No, my mom and I moved here four years ago… I just…I’m home-schooled, is all. I’m really more of the solitary, homebody type—” In my effort to avoid questions about why I’m home-schooled, I heard how that must have sounded. Like I’m some loser with nothing to do. I’m quick to correct myself. I really need to stop trying to sound cool and just talk. “—But I’ve been trying to get out more, lately,” so much for correcting myself. I try again.          “Er… Izzy and me have been friends since we moved here — Mom and I… I haven’t seen you hereabouts either, though.” Stop babbling, Jin. “You must not have worked at the diner long… I come here all the time.” I’m feeling pretty dang dumb by the time I finally get to that assumption.

         Suddenly, he’s smiling again, looking down at me. If I weren’t so wise, I’d say he’s charmed by me, but that can’t possibly be it. I sound like a moron. Is he just used to girls falling over them selves when he talks to them?

         That has to be it…

         Kill me twice.

         “I started here last Thursday… And it’s all right. I get it. I’m more of a solitary being as well… I’m glad you’re getting out, though…”

         We share a lingering glance. I want to melt through the floor to get away. At the same time, I never want to leave his side. It is a strange, unfamiliar, nauseating feeling. Are those butterflies in my stomach?

He looks to the uniform in front of me again. “When do you start?”

         I’d love to say something clever. What actually comes out of my mouth is,

         “Extra money’s a good thing… I start tomorrow.” The question smacks me harder in the head than the embarrassment I’m feeling.

         Why is he talking to me? Izzy says he never talks to anyone…

         He grins, and all the thoughts leave my brain. He’s standing even closer now.

         “You’ll do great here. Sherry’s treated me real good, and you already know you like the pie, so…”

         This time I laugh. It sounds very ordinary in my ears. “Well, yeah. That’s obviously the best way to choose a career.”

         He’s still grinning. “What days and times do you work?”

         Is he fishing to find out if we work at the same times?

​

         I’m telling him my schedule when the bell on the door rings and Mom walks in.

         We’d agreed to meet for dinner. I must have lost track of time talking to Dominic.

         Mom sees us, and pauses. She gets a knowing smirk when I catch her eye. If I read her lips right, she mouths, “Who’s the heartthrob?” with a nod and chef’s hand before a thumbs up accompanied with an overly big grin. If Dominic had seen that, I might have fainted with humiliation, but, luckily, he hasn’t looked away from me once.

         “My mom just walked in,” I told him halfhearted. I like talking to him even if I do sound like an idiot. “She’s meeting me here for dinner.”

         Dominic sounds almost as averse as I do. “I suppose I should get to work. It was nice talking to you, Jin. I’m here Monday through Friday from four to ten-thirty, so I’ll be seeing more of you.”

         He gives one last dashing smile, and disappears – helmet still underarm – behind the wall bordering the front desk.

         When he’s out of sight, it’s like I can breathe again for the first time since he walked in. Part of me is glad that he hadn’t stuck around long enough to hear whatever fumbling answer would have come out of my mouth.

         I roll my eyes at myself as I move to meet up with Mom and wait to get seated.

         As soon as Sherry gets our drink orders and walks away from our booth, Mom leans over the table. She starts whispering to me, and looking for Dominic like a teenage girl.

         I have a sudden urge to start bouncing my forehead off the surface in front of me, but I resist.

         I swear...

         Mom can be worse than Izzy.