Undercover As Geek

The Excursion

Sunday passes much too quickly. Before I know it, I am sitting on the bench that my parents had placed on my porch, backpack in hand and unrest in my conscious. Ever since the almost-kiss, (which is what I've decided to call it, even though I'm not entirely sure that's what it was) my intestines have not settled down, squirming with a stubborn queasiness. My thoughts aren't calm, either, doubting repeatedly what happened with Noah after the picnic. I have mostly convinced myself it was an illusion; Noah saw some bug or something in my hair, leaned over to pick it out, and then was offended by my forward reaction.

Yes, that was it. But a tiny voice in my gut keeps resisting, and I'm sorely tempted to chisel it out. No one noticed my quietness yesterday, though that wasn't much of a surprise. There was a day-long argument between my parents again. What was it about this time? Oh, something awfully important. The broken bird-feeder. In the middle of the battle, I had silently repaired the thing with a few strips of duct tape. They hardly noticed, and kept shouting for the "principle of the matter".

Oh, sure. I wonder now, as I sit here in the foggy morning, if they might have noticed me if they were happy with each other. But I don't bother to even bring up the answer that I know awaits.

I hear the Honda before I see it. It clicks and clacks down the road and I am finally able make out the red through the heavy fog. I walk out to meet it, not bothering to tell my parents goodbye. They are already at work, and had nodded in somewhat consent the day before when I told them where I was going.

Noah hops out and circles around to open the door for me, saying good morning. I slide in warily, glancing uncertainly at his face. It is nothing but friendly, like that moment never happened. I am relieved, but slightly sad. Noah takes his place behind the wheel and starts to drive down the road.

"How far away is it?" I ask.

"Oh, just an hour," he says and looks briefly at me. "Is that okay?"

"That's fine, fine," I say in a rush. A whole hour! I'm going to die!

"I wish I could tell you about it," he says, watching the road. I analyze his voice, listening for any bumps or hesitations to show that he is nervous, but there is none. He's perfectly smooth, as always. "But if I did," he continues, "that would ruin the point of everything."

I resolve to adjust like he did. Any significant event on Saturday ended when Jackson left the park. "Alright," I say. "Is it a tourist attraction?"

He snorts. "No, thank heavens. No one would pay even a penny to drop by this place."

"Well, that's reassuring."

Noah laughs. It sounds good floating in the compartment, and I almost believe my conviction about Saturday. "Really, though," he says. "I think you'll like it."

I smile, and after a minute, Noah asks if he can turn on the radio. I let him, and the car is filled with soothing classical music. The sounds are relaxing, and it reminds me how much I enjoy orchestras. They're practically the only genre in my music library. Asher, however, is immersed in the hard rock bands. I've had to endure hours of ringing in my ears as a result from one of his car rides. Our difference in preference used to make me chuckle, but now I wonder: shouldn't Asher and I have more in common? He likes sports, I like books. He's popular, I'm obviously not. Does the "opposites attract" rule apply?

Frowning, I glance at the phone in my lap. Earlier, I had gotten a text from Asher asking about when I would hand him the UFOrdinance theories. I want so desperately to ignore it, but I know that I can't. I open the messages to his conversation folder. The little black bar blinks, waiting for me to begin the text. My fingers hover above the screen and hesitate.