Out of the Ashes (6 page)

There were no further incidents, but after all the other fires we'd had through the fall I couldn't help wondering if it had really been accidental. Still, we were all having a good time, and it didn't make sense that anyone would deliberately ruin the dance.

In spite of everything else, it turned out that the dance was awesome. In fact, I was still walking on air the next Monday morning when I got to school. Even though I hadn't been able to dance with Nick, what happened was the next best thing. The high point came when I was standing alone while Greg went to bring us back some raspberry punch from the tables along the wall.

“Having a good time?”

I turned to see Nick standing to my left with this incredibly adorable smile on his face. He was leaning toward me a little, and I could smell cologne on him.

“Yes, thanks,” I managed to stammer, then thought to add, “Sorry to hear about Jane.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “what can you do?”

“I guess.”

“I'd really like to dance with you. Think Greg would mind?” He winked, and my stomach flip-flopped all over the place. I frantically hoped I wasn't turning red.

I wanted to tell him that I'd love to dance with him, but my throat had constricted and I couldn't get any words out right away. I pictured what it would be like to have his arms around me, my face pressed to his shoulder. If I'd had another minute I might have found my voice, so it's probably lucky that Greg came back then and saved me from my own weakness. I'd promised myself I'd do the right thing and be really nice to Greg while I was his date, and there I'd been, on the verge of breaking my promise.

“Hey, Nick.”

“Greg, you lucky dog. You've got yourself quite a babe here tonight.”

If Greg answered him, I sure didn't hear it. Nick thought I was quite a babe! His words echoed in my head for the rest of the night and on through the weekend.

There was no doubt in my mind that Nick was going to ditch Jane and ask me out. I played the scene over and over in my head, how he'd call me up or maybe come right up to me at school and tell me he was through with her, that it was me he wanted. In my imaginings, I accepted him with grace and poise. I blocked out the fact that the few short conversations I'd ever had with Nick had left me blushing and tongue-tied.

But at lunch on Monday he was sitting with Jane as usual, touching her hands and smiling. My only consolation was that she looked awful from when she'd had the dizzy spell and fallen. There was a dark bruise on her cheek, and though she'd obviously tried to cover it with makeup, I could still see the shadow from across the cafeteria.

Of course I realized then that he couldn't just up and dump her after she'd hurt herself and missed the dance and all. Obviously he was waiting for the right time. But there was only another day and a half of school before the winter break. It was clear that I was going to have to bide my time.

I was just congratulating myself on my patient and mature attitude when Greg slid in beside me at the table. Betts was having lunch with Graham and I could have joined them, but you know what that would be like. I'd have felt like an outsider — watching them smile at each other and hearing everything they said.

“Hey,” Greg greeted me. He looked happy.

“Hi,” I answered without enthusiasm. I silently willed him away.

“I was wondering if maybe you'd like to take in a movie over the holidays.”

“Uh, I don't know. I'm going to be pretty busy with family plans and stuff.”

“Ah, a full social calendar. You must be very much in demand. Perhaps I should call your secretary to make an appointment.”

I smiled at that, feeling foolish. Greg wasn't dumb enough to think I had no time for a movie over a whole two weeks off school.

“I meant, it would depend on when you wanted to go,” I said, figuring I could always put him off when he tried to pin me down for a specific time.

“This may be a challenge, what with your full schedule and my shifts at work. But I think we can overcome these formidable obstacles. If we want to.” He had a look on his face that was both serious and teasing at the same time.

Why did he have to talk like that? Formidable obstacles, for goodness' sake! He sounded like some character in a book, not a normal teen having a normal conversation. I glanced around, hoping no one had heard.

“Yes, I suppose we could. If we want to.” I put the same emphasis on “if we want to” that he had when he'd said it. Maybe he'd take the hint.

Across the room, Nick was laughing at something Jane had just said. I'd never found Jane to be much of a wit myself. He was probably being polite.

“You know, Shelby, nothing makes a girl more attractive to a guy than the fact that another guy is interested in her.”

“Huh?” I thought I must have missed something between the last thing we were saying and this remark. It seemed to come out of nowhere.

“For example, let's just say hypothetically that there was a couple sitting here in the lunchroom and that the female half of the couple was rather taken with someone else. So she's half listening to the fellow at her table, but following every move made by the other guy, who, for example, could be sitting across the room with another girl.”

I felt myself getting red. He hadn't missed my glances at Nick, which I thought were pretty well hidden.

“Forget for the moment whether the other guy is suited to this young lady, or whether her affection for him is a shocking display of bad taste. Ignoring the fact that he is all wrong for her, let us say that her heart is firmly set on him.”

“This is ridiculous.” “Is it?

But Shelby, we are only speaking hypothetically, remember?”

“Then get to your hypothetical point. You're starting to aggravate me.”

“Excellent. I'd begun to think myself incapable of evoking any emotion from you whatsoever. But I digress. Returning to our situation, let us examine what the best course of action would be for our heroine to
obtain the affections of the undeserving cad who has mysteriously captured her heart.”

I have to admit I was starting to enjoy the way he was talking. It was different and fun and interesting to listen to the way he said things.

“This delightful young woman, who so foolishly desires the wrong fellow, has but one chance of securing his interest.”

“And what would that be?”

“Why, she must be sought after, longed for, by another. This will make her more desirable to the unworthy fellow she imagines herself smitten with.”

“And how does she manage this?”

“Why, by seeming to accept the attentions of the fellow at her side. By showing interest in him, even if she is only playing at it.”

“And what advantage is that to him, since she's not really interested in him at all?” This may have been a bit cruel, but he'd said enough embarrassing things about me that it seemed only fair for me to take a shot back at him.

“His advantage is that he then has the chance, however slim, to open her eyes.”

“Meaning what?”

“That perhaps, just perhaps, she will realize that he is the right one for her after all.”

“And if that doesn't happen?”

“Then they must both pay the price for her folly. It's a risk he would be prepared to take.”

Folly indeed! As if he knew anything about Nick. As if I was ever going to think Greg would make a better boyfriend than Nick would. It was ridiculous.

It was also intriguing, the idea that he was willing to put himself in the position he'd just described. I could suddenly see the very real possibility that it would indeed help me get Nick's interest.

And I knew what Mom would have to say about such a thing. Not that I would ever discuss it with her, but in spite of that, her voice was in the back of my head pestering my conscience. I wonder sometimes how she manages to come through at moments like that. I'd just had a pretty tempting offer, and I couldn't take advantage of it because her unspoken disapproval hung over me like some sort of weird ethical cloud.

“Well, thanks for the fairy tale,” I told Greg, standing up. “But if you ask me, it's the guy in your hypothetical story who needs his eyes opened, not the girl.”

“You could be right,” he smiled. “Maybe we can discuss it further at Christmas.”

“Christmas?”

“Yes, your mother has kindly invited my dad and me to have Christmas dinner with your family.”

I knew right off that he wasn't making that up. It
was just the kind of thing my mom would do. At that moment I wished she wasn't such a nice person!

Later on though, when I'd had more time to think about it, I decided that it wasn't really all that bad. Talking to Greg could be fun, especially if there was no one else nearby to hear some of the strange things he said. I figured I could stand having him around for a couple of hours. I was curious about his dad too, and this would be a chance to meet him.

Maybe I could look at him and somehow be able to tell if he was the Little River fire starter!

My stomach was growling from the smells of Christmas dinner by the time our family and the Taylors sat down to eat. Dad carved the turkey while steam wafted up from the dishes holding potatoes, gravy, stuffing, carrots, turnip, and warm rolls.

Greg and his father hadn't been at our place long when I saw where Greg got his way of talking. Mr. Taylor spun out conversation that captured our attention and held us still, waiting for more. It made me think of a spider's web.

He didn't look at all as I'd pictured him. In my imagination he'd been tall and thin and pale, with a beard and glasses. It had been a surprise to find that he was broad shouldered, with muscular forearms that bulged against the rolled-up sleeves of the blue plaid shirt he wore. His hair was long, about shoulder length,
and looked as though he didn't give it much attention. It wasn't exactly messy; it just didn't have that overly styled look you usually see on an older guy who has long hair. There was no beard, no glasses, and he had a healthy, weathered look that you'd expect from someone who spends most of his time outdoors.

I liked him. When he spoke, he included everyone instead of passing over us teens and concentrating on the adults, like most grown-ups tend to do.

He didn't ask me how old I was or what grade I was in or how I liked school. Those questions irritate me. It's as though they're the only things adults can think of to ask a kid, and you can always tell they aren't really interested in your answers.

“Greg tells me that you have a love for literature, Shelby,” he'd said during a break in the conversation. “Suppose that you were to spend five years in an isolated place, say a cabin in the woods where you'd have no contact with anyone. Suppose that you could take only three books with you.”

“That's not very many,” I said, dismayed at the thought. I couldn't imagine being limited to the same three books for five years.

“Then you'd have to choose very carefully.”

“We have a book that contains the complete works of Shakespeare,” my mom remarked. “Would it be cheating to take that?”

“Not at all, but this is Shelby's list.”

“I hate Shakespeare,” I moaned, “it's so hard to know what he's saying most of the time.”

“I felt that way right through university,” Mr. Taylor smiled. “It's a lot of work to read the Bard. You have to be willing to invest yourself in his writing.”

I'd never thought of investing myself when I was reading anything. It was interesting to think of it in that way. It implied that there was a payoff for the effort.

“I really don't know what three I'd take,” I said finally. I felt a little pressured, as though I was taking a test and hadn't been able to study for it.

“Excellent!” He lifted his empty fork up in the air as though he was holding up a scepter.

His proclamation startled me.

“That proves that you would choose well. You aren't willing to just name any three books you like. You'd want time to think it through, to make your selections with care.”

I felt suddenly proud, as though I'd made perfect choices instead of saying I didn't know. And I felt as though my opinion was valued and interesting.

“Well, my first choice wouldn't take much thought,” my dad spoke up. “I'd darned sure need a cookbook of some sort.” He patted his stomach in satisfaction at the huge meal we'd all just shared. “Otherwise I'd be living on toast.”

The subject of spending five years learning to survive and do everything for yourself spread out in front of us and kept us occupied through dessert. It was fun thinking of how you'd have to take provisions like flour and sugar and yeast to make bread and how you'd have to learn to scavenge off the land for some of your supplies.

“I couldn't trap poor innocent animals!” I said when the talk turned to procuring meat.

“What would you do for protein then?” Greg asked.

“I'd take peanut butter, and chickens for eggs.”

“But your chickens have died and the peanut butter turned rancid.”

“I'm not killing and skinning animals,” I insisted, making a face at the thought. “There must be other things a person can get protein from.”

“Perhaps you'd cook dried beans and our national food — oatmeal,” Mr. Taylor offered helpfully.

I hadn't known that oatmeal contained protein or that it was Canada's national food. That seemed kind of funny until Mr. Taylor explained what a great food it actually is.

It was amazing how I learned so many things over dinner that day just by talking about stuff that was fun and interesting. I couldn't help but think that Mr. Taylor must have been a great teacher at college, the way he could get a person drawn into a topic and considering all different things about it.