Chapter 3 #2
Sam didn’t laugh with me. Instead, he tilted his head, like he was trying to decide whether I was the one joking.
“You’re serious?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. My mom—” I couldn’t very well say she was having a paranoid breakdown and forbade me from associating with him.
“Doesn’t like me?” he guessed.
“Well, she doesn’t know you.”
He looked away, a troubled spark in his eyes.
“Don’t take it personally. She’s the type of person who takes her time to warm up to new people.”
His calm gaze met mine again.
“Can I still offer you a ride?” he asked finally.
“Um. Sure. Just let me message my mom.” I pulled out my reader and found a message already waiting.
Need to work late. You’ll have to walk. Sorry, sweetie.
Finally, fate was on my side. I hurried to send a reply.
No worries. I’ll see you at home.
“I’m all set,” I said. “Where’s your car?”
He motioned to the right, and we walked that direction together.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked.
“Four years. What about you? When did you move here, and where did you live before?”
“Two weeks ago, and Montana.”
“Why move to Wisconsin?”
“My mom saw potential here and thought I’d love it.”
“Love it?” I glanced around, not seeing anything remotely interesting. Except him. He caught my doubtful look and smiled.
Why did his smile keep scrambling my thoughts? I just wanted to stare at him. And maybe pet him a little.
“Where were you staying before moving next door?” I asked, struggling to focus.
“A friend's place. They needed some help on their farm, and we needed somewhere to stay until something caught my eye. What do you do for fun?”
Oh, great. This is where he found out how boring I was.
“I read. A lot.”
“What do you like reading?”
“Fiction. Just about any kind. It’s hard to find new stuff, but there are so many classics out there. I wish more authors would write fiction. This world has enough instructional videos.”
“You think so?”
“Last night, my feeds had seven new videos on how to make my own cheese. Four on hydroponics and twelve on making clay roof shingles. Why would anyone want to do any of that?”
He scratched his arm absent-mindedly as we headed across the parking lot toward a lone antique pickup.
“The way the world was headed twenty-eight years ago, the pollution and landfills were taking over,” he said. “Our planet had an expiration date if things didn’t change. Aren’t you learning the same in school?”
“I guess. It doesn’t make sense to me, though. How does making cheese or clay roof shingles save the planet?”
“It cuts back on manufacturing. Less pollution. Less waste. Sustainable living.”
He opened the truck’s passenger door for me.
“If we’re supposed to worry about pollution, why are we still driving carbon-emission transportation?”
He grinned, took my bag from my shoulder, and helped me get in. Holding his hand made my pulse skip and my face flush. Quickly releasing him, I took my bag and reached for the seatbelt as if I wasn’t fazed by the simple contact.
The second he closed the door, I forgot to buckle and watched him circle the hood. The breeze was playing with his light brown hair. I wanted to do the same so badly.
He glanced up and caught me staring. Quickly dropping my gaze, I fumbled with the seatbelt while mentally scolding myself.
Get it together, Clarity. You were just talking to him. Guys don’t like girls who openly drool.
“Well?” I asked as he opened the door, desperate to pick up the conversation again.
He started the truck and started driving toward home.
“People don’t like change. When change is forced, there’s revolt. So the videos are suggestions.”
“Annoying suggestions.”
“And you compost your leaves and mow your lawn with an electric self-composting lawn mower, I bet. Probably garden, too, and can or freeze any excess.”
I made a face because he was right, which he caught.
“That means the suggestions are working.”
I turned a little to study him. Although I’d told Mom no one under twenty-three was worth having as a friend, I was starting to reconsider my words.
Sam was interesting.
“History has proven that we’re easily subconsciously influenced by an inundation of information. If our planet had an expiration date, that seems like a slow approach.”
He shrugged. “Better than ignoring the problem, though, right?”
“I’m not sure what’s worse, a dying planet or people giving up hope.”
“What do you mean?”
“The self-sufficiency increase in the past decade has led to business closures and a higher unemployment rate. People might be able to grow their own vegetables, but they’re struggling to find the jobs they need to put meat on the table and keep a roof over their heads.
Nine out of ten adults have some kind of mental health disorder.
Depression and anxiety are at the top, with panic, PTSD, and phobias, not far behind.
” I briefly thought of Mom. “The path to self-sufficiency might save the planet, but will it save us?”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Internally cringing at how heavy the conversation had gotten, I waved away the apology.
“No. I am. I didn’t mean to be so serious about it. It’s a side-effect of seven hours of public school. Besides promoting instructional videos, what did you do for fun in Montana?” I asked.
“I hung out with my friends.”
“And did what?”
“Ran wild mostly.”
“Aren’t you a bit young to be running wild?”
He grinned.
“My family encouraged it.”
“Cool family.”
He pulled into his driveway and parked.
“Thanks for the ride and for not pulling into my driveway.”
“I didn’t want to get you into trouble.”
I reached for the door, but he stopped me.
“Wait a minute.” He got out and rushed around the cab to open the door for me. Then, he offered his hand as I climbed out. The touch was politely brief, like the gesture of opening my door. But it still made my heart race.
“Thank you for trusting me to bring you home safely,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He wanted to see me again?
Play it cool, Clarity.
“Maybe.”
I turned around and managed to walk away without tripping on anything.