The Girl Who Would Be King(53)

“So I have to ask…how old are you?” he asks, looking at me sideways a bit.

“Does it matter?” I ask, trying to be light.

“I hope not,” he says, clearly nervous.

“I’m 18, but I’ll be 19 soon…okay not soon, but in…May. How old are you?”

“Twenty,” he says, clearly relieved.

“That’s not so bad,” I say, equally relieved. “You’re really young to be so far along in school…you must be really smart,” I say.

“I do okay,” he says good-naturedly. And I suddenly feel like an idiot. What would he want with me? I’m just some kid, some girl that has no parents, grew up in an orphanage, and has a crappy public school education and no SAT scores to speak of, let alone some impressive Ivy League education, fancy law school acceptance letters, and swanky internships. Superpowers don’t seem like they give me any advantage, all of a sudden. In fact, they seem like only a disadvantage. Like something that might threaten him or scare him, like something that could even put him in danger. My mood darkens quickly. He notices and elbows me lightly in the arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“Um. Nothing.”

“C’mon, what happened…you got all sullen.”

“Well, I just…you must be really smart and you’re getting this great education, and someday soon you’re going to have a serious, really grown up job…you are soooo not going to be interested in me. I’m just like totally mediocre in comparison…me and my stupid non-career jobs.”

“I don’t think you’re mediocre at all,” he says quietly. “In fact, I think you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

I look up, happy, but confused. “Why?”

“I don’t know really…” he starts and I can’t help laughing because it sounds really bad. “No, I mean…” he laughs. “Sorry that sounded terrible, I just…there’s just something about you. You’re different than anyone else I’ve ever met. It’s kind of intoxicating, actually,” he says. I smile to myself more than him now. It’s nice that he can see that there is something different about me, even if it’s a secret. We turn the corner and we’re close to my crappy motel so I suggest we part.

“No, let me walk you all the way,” he protests, looking around gallantly.

“It’s okay, my place is really close, and I’ve been here for awhile. The people here know me, I’ll be fine.” He looks around again.

“You’re sure?” he asks. I nod.

“I’m sure,” I say.

“When can I see you again?” he asks.

“Tomorrow?” I venture optimistically. He laughs.

“I’ll come by the bookstore. When do you get off?”

“Six.”

“Six it is then,” he says, and stands there awkwardly for a minute. There are no more questions to ask, but neither of us wants to leave. I’m so nervous my toes are sweating. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now. It was easy just talking with him – about books and movies, about his life and mine. He made me forget that I didn’t know what to do. But now I can only think about what comes next and that I don’t know what it is. I try not to look directly in his eyes, it’s like looking directly at the sun – burning, intense – and when he looks back at me it’s like he can see back into me, maybe even too deep. But I can’t help it, I look and he looks back. I lean forward and brush his cheek awkwardly with my lips, before turning and running away like a little girl – shy and embarrassed and very much feeling eight instead of 18.

“Bye!” I shout as I run. He says bye too, though quietly, and any girl without superpowers wouldn’t have been able to hear it. I’m glad I can though, because I can tell by the corners of it that it was all caught up in a smile. His skin tastes somehow both salty and sweet and I can taste it all the way home.



In the morning everything still retains its bright, lovely color.

And I look like an idiot.

I smile all morning like I can’t turn it off. I had no idea I have so many teeth. I shower, very aware of my body. I open my closet, very aware of the lack of options hanging there. I walk down the street, very aware of every red strand of hair brushing against my cheek. I feel almost like a grown-up and so I buy and drink a strong, dark coffee, very aware of how it feels in my mouth. I still don’t really like it, but maybe I could learn to?

Even though he’s not coming until six I listen for him all day as I bounce around the bookstore. He has a distinctive sound that I know I’ll recognize. It’s unique, like everything else about him. He weighs about 190 pounds and is strong, but walks carefully, almost quietly, like an athlete that’s forgotten he’s no longer on the field. It makes him easy to hear, easy to distinguish from other people. There’s also the deepness of his laugh, which I think I could pick out from a mile. Time will tell, I suppose. After an agonizing day where suddenly books I once loved seem dull and lifeless, I hear him, his feet coming past the registers and past customer service. He bounds up the stairs and, after turning a corner, sees me in the Science Fiction aisle. Everything else in the world seems like it’s on pause, just waiting for him. And then he steps up to me, and it’s like everything starts again. I breathe him in, soaking up everything about him.