Lina 11
He was lying. That was what I sensed earlier, the guilt and paranoia that came with lying. It was so obvious, too. I was awful at reading people, and I could read him like a book. Why lie about something like that? It felt like something was trying to break that wall in my mind down with a battering ram. Every second I spent with Telor, that wall was coming closer and closer to tumbling down.
When lunchtime came around, I was sure to find Telor before he could change his mind. We walked to Goodfella’s in silence—not awkward silence, just silence. He seemed to take everything in, looking at things a little longer than most people did.
What he seemed to enjoy looking at most was me. He didn’t openly gawk, but I could feel his eyes on me when I looked away. Each time I chanced a glance at him, he averted his gaze back to the sidewalk. Despite the slightly creepy factor of it, I couldn’t resist smiling, just a little.
We reached the pizza shop and ordered our slices then sat at the only table there. I slipped my coat off and hung it on the back of my chair. Telor tilted his chair backward and balanced on just the back two legs, crossing his arms over his chest. Every time the chair wobbled, I had to fight my body’s urge to lunge for him. It was a small miracle that he didn’t bust his head open.
“So, Catalina, tell me about yourself,” he said, smiling. Bang-bang, that wall was going to shatter into a million little pieces soon.
“I’m pretty boring.” As I said it, I realized how true it was. I didn’t have any hobbies; I wasn’t particularly good at anything except work, which, by the way, was what I did most of the time.
“I sincerely doubt that.” Telor plopped his chair back on the ground as our slices were delivered to the table. “They’re huge,” he commented, moving his gaze between the pizza and me.
“How have you never eaten here before?” Goodfella’s was a pretty big staple of living and working downtown. As I watched him pick at his food cautiously, an idea formed in my head. “I’ll tell you what: for every question you answer, I’ll answer one, too.”
He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to me at the moment; he picked a sundried tomato off his pizza and nibbled it cautiously.
“It won’t bite, ya know,” I teased, attempting to hide my smirk behind my own slice.
“I know.” He finally ate it and proceeded to pick more toppings off and eat those first.
“So, how ‘bout it?” I prompted, biting my bottom lip, wondering if this was really a good idea. There was really nothing I wouldn’t mind telling him. And I was dying to know more about him. It wasn’t curiosity, but something deeper. Like my very soul wanted to devour every bit of information he was willing to feed it.
“Sure,” he said.
“You start,” I offered, trying to keep the giddiness from my voice.
“Favorite color?” he asked.
“Orange,” I said, it always reminded me of fall and bonfires. I thought of his eyes, and the way they faded into various shades, wishing I could put a color on them. That would be my favorite color. “You?”
“It used to be yellow, now it’s blue,” he said.
“Why did it change?”
“Is that your next question?” he asked. His smile was so broad it was almost too beautiful to look at. I shook my head. “Hobbies?”
“Does working count?” I asked hesitantly. “I do it at home and on weekends, also.”
“Working doesn’t count. What do you do for fun?”
“Is that your next question?”
“Yes.” He had finally finished all of his toppings and moved on to the cheese.
“Um, I like to draw,” I said. “I’m God-awful at it, but I like it.”
“I doubt you’re God-awful at anything,” he said. “Your turn.”
“Hobbies?” I was apparently the master at asking questions.
“I used to be in a band,” he said wistfully.
“Used to?”
“Our lead singer died,” he said, and a light bulb flickered in my mind, a beam leading me toward the answers of unasked questions.
Rather than say something, I just stared at him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It was like when you were thinking of a word but couldn’t remember what it was, even though it was on the tip of your tongue. He cleared his throat, and it took me a moment to remember he was waiting for me to talk.
“Sorry,” I said, shifting in my seat under the weight of his gaze. I felt like he was looking right through me. “I can’t get over this feeling of déjà vu. You just seem so familiar.”
“I guess I just have one of those faces,” he said, smiling, looking slightly uncomfortable.
We were done with our pizza, and the cashier had dropped our checks off. I reached out to take mine, but he had already picked it up.
“Hey, I can get it. Consider it a welcome present.” I reached out to take it from his hands. He moved, but not before my skin grazed his.
A whole side of the wall came toppling over, and I had a vision, a memory. Though I didn't remember exactly when it was, I knew it was mine.
I was cold and numb, I could barely see. I felt like I was under dirty water trying
to look up at the world. The only thing I could make out were eyes staring down at me. They calmed me, even though they portrayed a deep worry. I felt…safe.
As quickly as the memory had appeared, it was gone, yet the feeling it elicited stuck.
Telor looked how I felt—stunned and confused. I took a deep shaky breath and pulled my hand back. Instinctively, I reached for the ring, only to remember it was gone. I shoved my hands in my lap to keep him from seeing them tremble. Telor recovered before I did, flashing me an easy smile.
“Don’t sweat it. I’m nothing if not a gentleman. Consider it an early birthday present. Or late. Whichever,” he said, his smile widening.
“My birthday is in June, so it’s early,” I said, and his smile fell, just a little.
“June what?” he asked, his attention half on me and half somewhere else at the same time.
“Twentieth, why?” I asked, confused. His mood was going downhill quickly.
“No reason.” He stood and handed me my coat, his face no longer wearing anything remotely close to a smile. No, it was the exact opposite. I wanted to reach over and smooth those worry lines right off his face. I refrained, though it pained me almost physically. I let him lead me outside, his shoulders tensed and ready to snap.
“What’s wrong?”
His long strides left me several paces behind him.
He paused for a second, allowing me to catch up to him before continuing with slower, measured steps.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, even though he’d ignored my first question.
He kept pace beside me, but other than a sidelong glance, he gave no indication that he’d even heard me.
“Well then, good talk,” I sighed as I walked through the back door of the museum that he held open for me.
Ever the gentleman, indeed.