Putting on Airs

Setting up Setups and Throne Worshipping

Tuesday I spend the entire morning fiddling with my spy pen and randomly humming the theme songs for The Pink Panther, Inspector Gadget, and Mission Impossible under my breath. It's probably my way of coping with so much stress and pesky thoughts of espionage, but it does the job well enough until lunchtime.

I'm sitting with Silas at the jock and cheerleader table when the She-Devil turns her poisonous eyes to me. Silas' arm around my shoulder tenses briefly, but he pretends to continue listening to some garbage Rocky is talking about. Or should I say Mr. Rocky? He was successful in getting his teammates to call him that, after all.

"Sorenson, I need you to see Crowley before school every day. He'll give you instructions from there," Jade orders.

"I won't be able to make it every morning. I rely on others for rides to school," I explain, hoping to get out of these meetings as often as I can.

"You'll have to take that up with Crowley. You'll find him in the office each morning," she disregards my plea.

I look up at Silas and see understanding reflected back at me. We both know that it's important for me to play along to get proof that I am acting on someone else's orders, but being elsewhere at the times in question seems to be a better alibi in the event I'm being framed. I smile at him, and go back to eating the sandwich I brought from the big house.

I go to my classes at the college, then return for cheer practice. From there I go to the library for another shift. Yet again, one of the guys is there to take me to each location making me feel guilty for taking up so much of their time. I know they don't mind; I asked. I just don't want to have to put them out every time I have to go somewhere.

Owen comes to pick me up after work. He greets me with his millimeter smile and a courteous opening of the car door. I've come to expect little things like this. They wouldn't be proper Southern gentlemen if they skipped these small courtesies.

"How was work this evening, Sang?"

"It was okay. A little boring. I'm not sure it's really my thing," I reply honestly.

"You don't like books?" His voice sounds like I just admitted to eating scorpions.

"I LOVE books. They just don't let me read them when I'm at work. The closest I get is holding them in my hands, lovingly. Longingly. I put them back on their shelves and can't stop thinking of how lonely they must be. Then there are the ones that I don't put back on the shelves--the ones that are already there and are just waiting for someone to pick them. Don't EVEN get me started on the books that come back damaged. It just breaks my heart that people can be so careless with book friends," I explain my completely irrational, yet rational, thoughts.

I realize we haven't moved from the stoplight and look over at Owen. He's already staring at me, and he looks...intense. I gulp, wondering if he's ready to have me committed. That'd be just perfect.

"You are very passionate about books," he whispers.

"Yes," I whisper back. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's a very attractive trait." He continues to stare, and I lose track of the conversation.

"What is?" I ask like a dope.

"Passion," he leans closer to where I've subconsciously moved toward him.

BEEEEP! Owen and I both jump at the pervasive sound of the driver behind us losing their patience. I flatten myself back in my seat and hold my hand to my chest. Owen glues his eyes back on the road as he eases us forward, but the way he absentmindedly flattens his hand down his tie and adjust his glasses as he drives one-handed shows he, too, was startled.