Chapter 8 #2
“Where I’m at in my life, I’d pick up the damned glass and throw it into a wall, shatter it into a million pieces. Does that answer your question?”
I lean my elbows on the table and rest my chin in my hands as I look at him. What I like about our dynamic is neither of us thinks the other is weird, even if we’re obviously two circles trying to fit into a world full of squares.
“Why are you so down all the time? Did something happen to you? Was it family stuff? Did someone break your heart? Or did you try out for a talent show and they turned you down?”
He smiles and his eyes shine. “You got it. I did a Backstreet Boys cover, and they showed me the door. It was highly traumatic.”
“I take back what I said in the car. Your sense of humor is acceptable. But not good enough to distract me and change the subject. So let’s get back to the glass, optimism, and all that. I sense an anger in you…”
“So you’re not just capable of seeing people’s aura. You’re like a fortune teller at a fair,” he says mockingly.
“Tell me who you’re mad at.”
Maybe he can see I’m determined, or maybe he’s tired of hiding, but when Will sighs, I know I’ve won, even if I don’t yet know what the battle’s about.
“Fine. I’ll tell you if you tell me why you think I’m purple and what the deal is with the auroras.”
“Aura, not aurora.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not, though.” I start giggling and Will observes me till I close my mouth.
He seems surprised. I guess it’s the first time I’ve laughed in front of him.
Honestly, I don’t usually laugh much, and I’m not sure how he got me to do it.
His green eyes freeze me, and all of a sudden, I feel naked.
There’s a shadow of a thrill there, but also a fear that he could hurt me if he wanted to. “Your aura is the energy you give off.”
“Where’d you get that idea from?”
“You won’t like my answer.”
“Why?”
“Because, Will, you’re a skeptic.”
“Then try to convince me.”
“When I was little, my grandfather gave me a book that was really for girls younger than myself. It explained the colors using people’s emotions.
I used to get bored in school back then, and I would spend time trying to guess what color each classmate was.
I told Lucy about it one day and she loved it, and from that point on, we did it together: We’d analyze her friends, the guys she liked, our neighbors.
It’s easy to see what the people around you are like if you just look close.
Actually, we’re all rainbows, but there’s always a dominant color in each of us. ”
“So the conclusion is?”
“It’s just a game.”
What I don’t tell him is I’ve always felt attracted to the color purple: the melancholy, the arrogance, the mystery and vanity, atonement, magic, fantasy…
“You Peterson girls have a weird thing about games.”
“Probably we’ve got too much imagination.”
“That was my guess. So why is my aura supposedly purple?”
“It’s no fun if I tell you everything. And as you said, I like to play. So figure it out for yourself.”
“You’re cheating,” Will says.
“I make the rules.”
Will’s smile stretches upward, and there, in the crescent of his lips, I notice something dark and enigmatic. He likes a challenge. I know he does. But I can also tell he’s trying as hard as he can to hold back.
“Okay. Then why don’t you guess who I’m mad at,” he counterattacks.
I accept without reproach. “Your father. With guys like you, it’s usually the father. He probably wants you to take over the family firm or go into the navy or something, and you’re the rebellious type who wants to strike out on your own.”
“Wrong.”
“Well, if that’s not it, then it must be a girl.
Your ex-girlfriend, right? Let me see if I can get this right: She’s a college chick, intellectual, probably, since you like to read, one of those who doesn’t have to put anything special on to look stylish.
Horn-rim glasses, maybe? Sexy-librarian type?
Classic leather bag slung over the shoulder, a Moleskine notebook.
I’ll bet she’s addicted to some kind of natural honey cough drops.
You made plans for the future, she was going to be a professor and you were going to do who knows what, but some other guy came along and you ended up with a broken heart. ”
“Wrong again.” He smirks.
“Regardless, what I don’t get is why you decided to hide and lick your wounds in a place like Ink Lake. Also, you still haven’t told me why you know my sister.”
“It’s not an ex,” he says, ducking this last point.
“Your mom? I hope it’s not an Oedipus complex thing. You should have gotten past that stage in your psychosexual evolution.”
“Has anybody ever told you how fucking weird you are?”
“I’ve been hearing that as long as I’ve been alive.”
But I’m not the only one, I want to add. In my head, I hear myself telling him, Something about you is different. I don’t know what it is yet, I haven’t gotten to the bottom of it, but I will. Something that means I don’t have to pretend when we’re together.
But since I can’t bring myself to say this, I go back on the offensive: “Was it a friend?”
“No.”
“Give me a clue.”
Will shakes his head. “He’s right in front of you.”
“You mean…”
“Yeah, I’m mad at myself.”
I don’t get to dig any further before he ends the conversation, standing up and walking to the counter to pay.