– through the divine powers of pencil, paper, and chance – tell me whether Chris likes me or not.
“Don’t count as you swirl!” Michelle admonishes, watching my pencil. I loop the point around until I fill up the center box, then pull away so the girls can count up my results.
“She did eight swirls – start counting, Suzanne.” Their small fingers trace around the outside of my box, crossing out different possibilities between me and Chris. Fortunately, we’re not supposed to live in a shack. Sadly, we’re going to miss out on the mansion as well.
“And you’re going to have twelve kids!” Suzanne says excitedly, working on the paper again.
Today marks the four-day anniversary of the tunnel collapsing. That is today’s only significance. Although we’ve all managed to get by on the food and water we have in the tunnel, boredom is still a persistent enemy. I managed to finish Political Parties and Pervasive Persuasion , and I’ve joined back in on patty cake and hot potato. I’ve played every rock game under the sun with the girls in the past four days, as well as dozens of word games. I even managed to dig up a few extra sheets of paper out of the trunk so we can play paper games. I’ve spent at least a little bit of time chatting with every person in the tunnel, barring perhaps the workmen.
Sadly, though, my time with one person in particular has been limited.
I sigh, looking over my sisters’ heads down the tunnel. Chris had said that we needed to act normal, as if we didn’t know anything. Well, he’s gone above and beyond.
His laughter floats down the tunnel as he wins a nother round of poker with the workmen. He’s joined their circle and hardly left, completely accepted into the fold by virtue of age and personality. Though he played with them only intermittently at first, ever since we came out of the ventilation system he’s been with them practically nonstop. He’s shared a couple of secret smiles with me, and talked to me once in the course of getting me and the girls some food. But other than that, it’s like our closeness, our sharing never existed.
Much less our kiss.
Okay. So he kissed my forehead. Still – that’s as close to a kiss as I’ve ever come. And although I’m sure it was no big deal to him, it was a big deal to me.
And it did happen twice, after all.
But that was it. Aside from a short conversation over twinkies yesterday, there’s been nothing. Maybe that’s all there’s ever been?
I feel my face fall. That’s probably the case. Hannah Avery was wrong. I was wrong. He couldn’t possibly–
“He loves you!” Suzanne shouts, and I put a hand over her mouth quickly.
“Not so loud!” I tell her, then turn quickly to study the paper. “Show me how you found out.”
Suzanne and Michelle walk me through the steps of ‘Mash,’ teaching me how to divine a certain boy’s feelings for me. Though it’s a bit more complicated than picking petals off of a flower, the results seem rather conclusive.
“He loves me,” I sigh before shaking my head sternly. “I’m being ridiculous.”
After the ventilation system, after we confessed what we knew, I thought maybe he was interested in me. But now it seems like he was only interested in gaining an ally, a friend. An informant, even. We haven’t had any more private conversations, any more closeness. Much less midnight rendezvous.
I know why, of course. We can’t let anyone know we know anything. We can’t hint that we might suspect anything. We can’t talk in private, for fear we’ll get caught. We can’t even whisper alone together, lest they suspect it’s about them.
Our very lives are at stake. I know this. I do.
But the more he laughs with the workmen, the more I feel like our late night trip up to the ventilation system is nothing but a dream. And the more he ignores me, the more I wish to go back to said dream.
I sigh, trying not to look longingly down the tunnel again. The reality is
“Don’t count as you swirl!” Michelle admonishes, watching my pencil. I loop the point around until I fill up the center box, then pull away so the girls can count up my results.
“She did eight swirls – start counting, Suzanne.” Their small fingers trace around the outside of my box, crossing out different possibilities between me and Chris. Fortunately, we’re not supposed to live in a shack. Sadly, we’re going to miss out on the mansion as well.
“And you’re going to have twelve kids!” Suzanne says excitedly, working on the paper again.
Today marks the four-day anniversary of the tunnel collapsing. That is today’s only significance. Although we’ve all managed to get by on the food and water we have in the tunnel, boredom is still a persistent enemy. I managed to finish Political Parties and Pervasive Persuasion , and I’ve joined back in on patty cake and hot potato. I’ve played every rock game under the sun with the girls in the past four days, as well as dozens of word games. I even managed to dig up a few extra sheets of paper out of the trunk so we can play paper games. I’ve spent at least a little bit of time chatting with every person in the tunnel, barring perhaps the workmen.
Sadly, though, my time with one person in particular has been limited.
I sigh, looking over my sisters’ heads down the tunnel. Chris had said that we needed to act normal, as if we didn’t know anything. Well, he’s gone above and beyond.
His laughter floats down the tunnel as he wins a nother round of poker with the workmen. He’s joined their circle and hardly left, completely accepted into the fold by virtue of age and personality. Though he played with them only intermittently at first, ever since we came out of the ventilation system he’s been with them practically nonstop. He’s shared a couple of secret smiles with me, and talked to me once in the course of getting me and the girls some food. But other than that, it’s like our closeness, our sharing never existed.
Much less our kiss.
Okay. So he kissed my forehead. Still – that’s as close to a kiss as I’ve ever come. And although I’m sure it was no big deal to him, it was a big deal to me.
And it did happen twice, after all.
But that was it. Aside from a short conversation over twinkies yesterday, there’s been nothing. Maybe that’s all there’s ever been?
I feel my face fall. That’s probably the case. Hannah Avery was wrong. I was wrong. He couldn’t possibly–
“He loves you!” Suzanne shouts, and I put a hand over her mouth quickly.
“Not so loud!” I tell her, then turn quickly to study the paper. “Show me how you found out.”
Suzanne and Michelle walk me through the steps of ‘Mash,’ teaching me how to divine a certain boy’s feelings for me. Though it’s a bit more complicated than picking petals off of a flower, the results seem rather conclusive.
“He loves me,” I sigh before shaking my head sternly. “I’m being ridiculous.”
After the ventilation system, after we confessed what we knew, I thought maybe he was interested in me. But now it seems like he was only interested in gaining an ally, a friend. An informant, even. We haven’t had any more private conversations, any more closeness. Much less midnight rendezvous.
I know why, of course. We can’t let anyone know we know anything. We can’t hint that we might suspect anything. We can’t talk in private, for fear we’ll get caught. We can’t even whisper alone together, lest they suspect it’s about them.
Our very lives are at stake. I know this. I do.
But the more he laughs with the workmen, the more I feel like our late night trip up to the ventilation system is nothing but a dream. And the more he ignores me, the more I wish to go back to said dream.
I sigh, trying not to look longingly down the tunnel again. The reality is
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