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From: Nick Scipio <nick_scipio@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Summer Camp - Book 3" by Nick Scipio - Ch 28 (no sex)
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Date: Tue, 20 Sep 2005 16:10:04 -0400
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall
Part: Chapter 28
Universe: Summer Camp
Summary: Coming-of-age story about a teenager whose family spends 
their summer vacations at a nudist camp.
Keywords: no sex
Revision: 1.03
Word Count: 14,977
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/

*****************************************************************
                       STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This story is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains 
material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are 
offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT 
read any further.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events 
portrayed in it are fictional, and any resemblance to real people 
or incidents is purely coincidental. The author does not 
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without 
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio 
(nick_scipio@yahoo.com). It may be freely distributed with this 
disclaimer attached.

Copyright (c) 2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall
by Nick Scipio

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I eventually accepted that I was never going to get back together 
with Gina. The dull ache of loss didn't fade with the 
realization, though; it simply reminded me of my own 
shortcomings. If only I'd paid more attention to her. If only I'd 
listened to Trip's advice. If only I'd _done_ something.

If only, if only, if only.

Physically, though, I was fine. My ribs had mended to the point 
where I could start working out again, and my bruises and cuts 
had healed (except for a small scar through my left eyebrow, a 
constant reminder of the consequences of my actions).

Since I was getting my life in order, I decided to give up some 
of my extracurricular activities--give them up for good, that is. 
Kendall and I were getting along well and I was doing well in 
school, so I didn't want to screw things up by taking on too 
much.

Consequently, I gave up the Ski Club and the Wrestling Club. 
Coach Travis wasn't very happy, but he couldn't change my mind. 
The season was winding down anyway, so it was time for him to 
begin focusing on his football players and spring training.

I also gave up basketball. My decision was more of a formality, 
though, since another guy from our floor had taken over my spot 
on the team when I couldn't play. The guys did pretty well 
without me--better than they had _with_ me--but they didn't even 
make the quarterfinals.

"Aw, hell, Loverboy," T.J. said. "I didn't think we'd get to the 
finals anyway. Especially since you had to go and get yourself 
beat half to death... just when you were starting to get good, 
too!"

T.J. still grated on my nerves at times, but I reluctantly 
admitted that he had his good qualities. For one, he was fiercely 
loyal. For another, he was absolutely fearless. And once I looked 
past his bluster and obnoxious nicknames, I realized that he made 
wisecracks instead of showing his emotions. I knew we'd never be 
bosom buddies, but at least I didn't snap at him when he was just 
trying to be friendly.

I did keep up with the Flying Club, though. I enjoyed my lessons 
with Earl, and I especially enjoyed my cross-country trips. They 
were relaxing, since I had to pay so much attention to flying 
that I didn't have time to brood about losing Gina.

Felicia called me sporadically after the fateful Night at the 
Hilton, but I was usually preoccupied, surly, or both. I know it 
wasn't fair, but I blamed her--at least in part--for my break-up 
with Gina. If only she hadn't been so starved for attention. If 
only I hadn't given her my phone number. If only she hadn't 
called when Gina was there to answer.

_"If only,"_ I cursed silently. _If only I hadn't had sex with 
her in the first place! Self-discipline? Ha!_

I don't remember when it happened, but her phone calls stopped 
abruptly. Maybe her boyfriend caught her. Maybe she got tired of 
me being a jerk. Maybe she simply moved on. When it finally 
dawned on me that I hadn't heard from her in a while, I berated 
myself for not noticing sooner.

I cared about Felicia, and she deserved better. After a bit of 
soul-searching, I located her phone number and called her, but 
the number had been disconnected. I called the store where she 
worked, but the manager said she had quit unexpectedly.

I felt bad for her, but I didn't know what else I could do, since 
_I_ wasn't the answer to her problems. In my imagination she 
dumped her boyfriend, quit doing drugs, and found a guy who would 
love her and take care of her.

_Not likely,_ I thought grimly. _And that's another thing I'll 
eventually have to atone for._

-----

About a month after our break-up, Gina called. For a moment, my 
spirits soared, thinking she wanted to get back together. But at 
the sound of her voice--so full of determination--my hopes died 
silently.

"How are you, Paul?" she asked.

I mentally shrugged. "I'm fine, I guess. How're you?"

For a few minutes, we had a surreal conversation, which made a 
mockery of the warmth from times past. I could hear the heartache 
in her voice, but it was locked away behind a thick wall.

She asked about my classes, and told me about hers. I told her 
about my flying lessons, and she told me about volunteering at 
the hospital. We talked like normal people, like _acquaintances_. 
We definitely didn't talk like former lovers, or even best 
friends.

"Have you told your parents about us?" she finally asked.

"No," I said simply. "You?"

"I... couldn't. Besides," she added, with forced humor, "I didn't 
want Leah to start pestering you right away."

I laughed, but it was strained.

"We're going to have to tell them, though. Sooner or later."

"Yeah," I said heavily.

"Have you talked to Susan?"

"No. I...." I fell silent with the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

"I know," she said simply.

"Have _you_ talked to her?"

"I wanted to talk to you first," she said. "Besides, I didn't 
want her to try to...."

"Get us back together?" I finished rhetorically.

"I'm sorry, Paul."

"Yeah, me too," I said, trying not to sound surly. She sniffled, 
and in my mind's eye, I could see her wiping her cheeks, her dark 
eyes full of tears. I continued, my emotions tightly controlled: 
"I guess we'd better tell everyone, though."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to do it together?" I asked hopefully.

Silence.

"Okay, bad idea."

"I'm sorry, Paul," she said. "I _want_ to see you, but...."

"I understand." It was _my_ turn to wipe my eyes. "Okay, so what 
do you want to tell them?"

"The truth."

"_All_ of it?" I asked, a little shocked.

"No, not all of it. Let's just tell them that we drifted apart. 
That's more or less true. Let's tell them we had a talk, and 
decided not to see each other any more."

"No, _you_ decided not to see _me_ anymore," I half-snapped. 
"There wasn't any '_we_' about it."

"Paul, what did you expect me to do, wait for you to fix things? 
You see how well _that_ worked!" Suddenly, she paused and drew a 
deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I don't want to get 
into it again. We're _both_ to blame. I know you didn't decide to 
break up; _I_ did, and I'll have to live with that the rest of my 
life. But I want to _have_ a life, Paul, and I need to do what's 
best for me."

"You could've had a life with me," I muttered.

"Yes, I could've had a life with you. But not with you and 
_Kendall_. I tried, Paul. I really did. But...."

"Yeah, I know," I said at last, silently admitting that she was 
right. I bore the majority of the responsibility, but Kendall 
wasn't without her share of blame as well.

"I'm sorry, Paul," Gina said quietly. "I really don't want to get 
into this again. I know it's hard... it's hard for me too." After a 
mutual silence, she sniffled. "Promise me one thing, though?"

I could hear the hope in her voice. "Anything," I said.

"Promise we'll always be friends."

For a moment, I thought about saying something spiteful. But I 
couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to hurt someone I loved, 
_still_. "I promise," I said at last.

"Thank you."

Once again, we were silent for several long, emotion-filled 
moments.

"I _will_ always love you, you know," she said at last. "You'll 
always be my pitter-pat man, even if...."

"I know," I said, fighting to keep my voice from breaking.

"I'm so sorry, Paul." After another long silence, she composed 
herself. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger, less 
anguished. "Let's just tell our parents that we're adults, and we 
decided to break up. We decided to be just... friends." She 
laughed, with teary, artificial humor. "You're going to have to 
fight off Leah, you know."

"I'll survive. I _like_ Leah, but I don't think I could be with 
her without thinking of you... and that'd be pretty hard. You're... 
you're one of a kind, Gina Coulter. And you'll always be my first 
true love."

At that, she did begin crying, in earnest.

I couldn't fault her; I had to blink back tears of my own.

"I'll always love you, Paul," she said at last. "_Always_."

We talked for a little while longer, about the specifics of what 
to tell our families. It was a sad conversation, as if we were 
announcing a death in the family. By the time I hung up, I wasn't 
feeling any happier, but at least I didn't feel like I'd lost 
Gina forever.

A little while later, after I composed myself and took a shower, 
T.J. knocked on my open door.

"What's going on?" he said.

"Just finishing up some homework," I said. "What's going on with 
you?"

He shrugged. Then he studied his shoelaces for a moment. "Were 
you talking to Gina earlier?"

The wall between the rooms was metal, not cinder block, and 
muffled sounds came through. Actual conversation wasn't clear, 
but the general tone certainly was. "Yeah," I said. "Why?"

He fidgeted. "I guess I just wanted to say...." Another fidget. 
"You know...."

I waited.

"I guess I just wanted to say... um... you know...."

I smiled, albeit sadly. "Yeah, I think I know."

"Okay," he said, the relief in his voice almost comical. Then he 
looked up and flashed me a lopsided grin. "Me and Glen are gonna 
go out drinkin' tonight. D'you and Super Jock wanna go?"

"I don't know...."

"C'mon, Loverboy," he whooped, "let's go raise some hell!"

I forced a chuckle at his enthusiasm. "Okay," I said after a 
moment.

He grinned, ear-to-ear and a little goofy. Then, just as 
suddenly, he sobered. He started to return to his room, but 
paused instead. "Hey, Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"I... I'm really sorry about you and Gina."

"Thanks, T.J.," I said. "That means a lot."

To my surprise, he simply looked me in the eye and nodded.

_Not bosom buddies,_ I thought, _but maybe he's not so bad after 
all._

-----

I called my parents the following day. Gina and I had decided to 
coordinate our calls, so I imagined her dialing the phone as I 
did the same. With a dark chuckle, I wondered if she looked as 
morose as I did.

Erin answered.

"Hi," I said. "How's it going?"

She immediately sensed my mood. "What's the matter?"

"Gina and I broke up." _So simple,_ I thought. _My heart ripped 
out and I can explain it in five little words._

"Oh, Paul," Erin said. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

I told her the story Gina and I had worked out: that we'd grown 
apart since coming to college, and decided to take a break from 
dating each other. It was the truth, but it left out a lot of 
unpleasant details.

The main thing we'd agreed upon was that we didn't want our 
families trying to fix things. Our mothers had worked behind the 
scenes for years--sometimes quietly, sometimes not--and we didn't 
want our emotional wounds reopened by a round of "get the kids 
back together."

Erin asked me a bunch of questions, and I answered them, but I 
don't remember what they were, or even what my answers were. I'm 
sure I made sense, but I wasn't really paying attention. Instead, 
I was thinking about Gina, and about how badly I had screwed up 
our relationship.

When I talked to my mom, the conversation was much the same, 
although I kept waiting for her to prod me to reconcile with 
Gina. She never did, and I was so shocked that I actually asked 
her about it.

"You've been drifting apart for a couple of months, dear," she 
said.

"Then why didn't you _do_ anything?"

"Why didn't _you?_"

_Ouch._

She paused a moment to let the silence draw out. "Elizabeth and I 
thought this was coming, but...."

"Then why didn't you _say_ something?"

"I _did_. Remember?"

"I guess," I said sullenly.

"Oh, Paul," she said, her voice soft, "I wish I could put a Band-
Aid on it and make the hurt go away, but I can't." She paused. 
"This is the hardest part about being a parent."

"What?"

"Seeing your child fall and then having the willpower to wait for 
him to pick himself up on his own."

I laughed, without humor.

"You'll understand... someday."

"So you're saying that this is hard on you too?" I asked, almost 
sarcastically. I immediately regretted my tone, but I couldn't 
take it back.

"In a way, yes. But it's not nearly as hard on me as it is on 
you. I understand that, Paul. I wasn't always a mother. I was a 
girl once, too, and I had my share of heartbreaks."

"Does it ever get better?" I asked, trying not to sound as 
miserable as I felt.

To my surprise, she laughed, low and sweet. "Believe it or not, 
it does. It might not seem like it now, but it does get better."

"When?"

Once again, she laughed, but without scorn. "I think it took me a 
whole year to get over _my_ first heartbreak."

"That long?"

"Yes," she answered quietly. "But I was young--younger than you 
are now--and I think I was being a bit melodramatic." She 
mimicked a maiden in distress: "Oh, the world is coming to an 
end. What will I do? What _will_ I do?" Then she laughed. "I 
survived. Ginny helped... a lot, as a matter of fact. You don't 
have a big sister, but you've got Kendall."

"Oh, yeah," I said with a harder edge than I intended, "I've got 
Kendall. And even though she hides it well, she couldn't be 
happier about how things worked out. This is what she's wanted 
all along. Well, since I came to UT, at least."

"Do you think she really loves you," Mom asked shrewdly, "or does 
she love the _idea_ of loving you?"

I considered for a moment. "I think she really loves me," I said 
at last. "I mean, I _know_ she does, but...."

"But?"

"I guess I've seen a side of Kendall that I didn't know before." 
I laughed, a little bitterly. "I guess she's human after all." At 
her hesitation, I explained. "Manfred and I always called her 
'The Goddess Kendall.' To us, she _was_ a goddess, on a 
pedestal."

"No one can survive on a pedestal for long."

"I know," I said. "And when they come down to earth, you realize 
they're only human."

"Mmm hmm."

"So Kendall's only human. But she _does_ love me. I can see it in 
her eyes when she looks at me. And... I know this is gonna sound 
crazy, but when she touches me--not like sex or anything, just a 
touch, you know?--it's... comfortable. I can't explain it any 
better than that."

"I think I understand."

"So yeah, she loves me. And I love her. I wasn't real _happy_ 
with her for a while, but...."

"That's what relationships are about, Paul," Mom said gently, 
"making things work, even when you're not happy with the other 
person."

"Does it get any easier?"

"No, not really," she said with a frank laugh.

"You're not helping, Mom."

"Oh, Paul," she said, her voice trailing off in a wistful, amused 
sigh. "Welcome to the world of grown-ups."

"When did life get so complicated?"

"I believe it was June 6th, 1963."

That was the day I was born, and I grimaced at her gentle jibe.

"Things'll get better, honey," she said with genuine warmth. "I 
know it hurts right now, but it _does_ get better."

"Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome."

"Do you mind telling Dad for me?" I asked after a moment. "I 
really don't have the energy to go through all this again."

"He's got a layover in Phoenix, but I'll tell him when he calls. 
Do you want me to ask him to give you a call?"

I started to say no, but then surprised myself. "Um... yeah. If you 
don't mind."

"What is it you pilots say?" she teased. "Roger wilco?"

"Thanks, Mom."

"Oh, Paul, you're not my little boy anymore."

"Evidently not."

"But I'm proud of you," she said. "I'm proud of the man you've 
become."

_You wouldn't be if you knew about some of the things I've done. 
Maturity? Ha!_ Aloud: "Thanks, Mom."

"I love you, honey."

"I love you too. Bye."

-----

I called Susan next, but the line was busy. When I tried again 
fifteen minutes later, she answered on the first ring.

She didn't even say hello: "Trust me, you're going to survive."

"Huh?"

"Oh, Paul, it's you!"

"Who'd you think it was?" I asked. "Oh, never mind. Gina, right?"

"Yes. She called back a couple of times, so I thought it was her 
again."

"Oh. How is she?"

"She's upset," she said. "But she'll survive."

"She's upset?"

"Yes, of course she is," Susan said, with gentle reproach. "A 
chapter of her life just ended."

"No kidding," I said, my voice thick with irony.

She neatly changed the subject: "How're you?"

"I'm fine, I guess. I mean, I'm not exactly the happiest guy in 
the world right now, but I'll survive."

"That's good to hear," she said, a teasing note in her voice. 
Then she sobered. "I _am_ sorry to hear about you and Gina. She 
loves you very much, you know."

"Yeah, I know," I said. Then I repeated Gina's own words: "But 
she can't be with me, right?"

"No, she can't. Do you understand why?"

"No," I said sourly.

Silence.

"All right, yes. So I screwed things up. Bad. I should've done 
something sooner. I should've said something. I should've... 
_aaargh!_" I half-howled in impotence. "I should've paid 
attention, or... something."

To my utter surprise, Susan laughed. She composed herself 
quickly, though. "I'm sorry. I sometimes forget how young you 
are."

I grumbled something about older women laughing at me.

"Back to what you were saying," she said easily, ignoring my 
grumpy remarks. "Yes, you probably should've done something, but 
it's not easy maintaining harmony in a three-way relationship, 
especially when two of the members don't want to share the third. 
I'm not saying you didn't screw up, like you said, but you _did_ 
have a difficult job."

"_Finally!_ Someone sees things my way."

"Paul," she said deliberately, "I've always seen things your way. 
We're more alike than you might realize. But I'm also a woman, 
and I can empathize with Gina and Kendall. Do you remember the 
conversation we had about committed relationships?"

I laughed ruefully. "Yeah, I was thinking about that the other 
day."

"You can't have a committed relationship with more than one 
person. I know _I_ certainly haven't met anyone who's managed to 
sustain a multiple-partner relationship. Not a long-term 
relationship, at least."

"You haven't? Then why did you let me get into one in the first 
place?" I asked, with more than a trace of exasperation.

"I didn't 'let' you do anything, Paul. I've always treated you 
like an adult and let you make your own decisions."

"Then why didn't you stop me?"

"Would it have done any good?" she asked reasonably.

"Yes!" Unfortunately, I knew my answer for the lie it was. When 
she let the silence draw out, I admitted it, "Okay, _no_."

"I thought you'd see it my way."

"I always see things your way," I muttered.

"That's because you have wisdom beyond your years."

I couldn't decide if she was mocking me or not.

"I'm teasing you, Paul," she said, as if reading my mind. 
"Although not entirely. You _do_ have wisdom beyond your years, 
but you're still only eighteen."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she said calmly, "that you don't have all the 
answers; you don't know how to deal with every situation. Take 
comfort in that. Right now you can blame your mistakes on youth 
and inexperience. Imagine what happens when you're _my_ age."

"What?"

"You can't use immaturity as an excuse!" she said with a laugh. 
"When you're my age, you have to blame your mistakes on 
ignorance, or arrogance, or simple stupidity. That's not very 
good for your ego."

"I guess."

"_Everyone_ makes mistakes, Paul, but the important thing is that 
you _learn_ from them. My father always taught me to forgive any 
mistake--the first time--no matter how big. If someone _repeats_ 
a mistake, however, you've got a problem. You made a lot of 
mistakes with Gina. But are you likely to do the same thing 
again?"

"Not hardly," I said, with surprising conviction.

She chuckled. "Good. So take this experience and learn from it."

"Easier said than done."

"True. But I have faith in you. I don't think you'll let things 
go so far if you and Kendall ever drift apart."

"No way."

"Then you're learning already."

"I _hope_."

"You'll do fine," she said.

We talked for a few more minutes about communication and trust, 
things I had failed at miserably with Gina. I thought I had good 
grounds not to trust her, but the communication breakdown was 
mostly my fault. Time and again Gina had tried to get me to fix 
things, but I hadn't done a thing.

As our conversation wore on, I wanted to ask Susan's advice about 
Gina's cocaine use, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I guess 
I didn't want to be a snitch. I'm ashamed to admit that I also 
didn't want to ruin my chances of keeping Gina as a friend.

I knew cocaine wasn't good for her, but in her own way, Gina 
_was_ a strong person, and I had to trust her to take care of 
herself. If I meddled in her life, it would just drive her away 
completely. I was selfish enough to want to avoid that.

In the end, I decided that Gina was an adult; I couldn't live her 
life for her. So I didn't say a word about cocaine, or anything 
else Gina had done.

Susan and I talked for a little while longer, mostly about school 
and my plans for the summer. She had a way of listening that made 
me feel like I was the most important person in the world. By the 
time we finally said goodbye and hung up, I felt immensely 
better.

-----

My dad called later that night. Surprisingly, we spent most of 
the conversation talking about planes and flying. I think he 
understood that I didn't really want to rehash the situation with 
Gina. So we talked man to man, rather than father and son. I 
don't know why, but it was tremendously important that he see me 
as an adult, rather than a child who needed comforting.

"Well, Paul," he said, winding up our conversation, "is there 
anything you need? Money? Food? Books?"

"Spending money wouldn't hurt," I said, echoing the request of 
college students throughout history.

He laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Dad."

"It sounds like you're gonna be all right, son," he said after 
a moment.

"Thanks, Dad. I hope so."

-----

Eventually, I began to believe my father's words. The sun still 
rose and set. The stars still wheeled through the skies. The 
world around me continued its cycle, and so did my life.

In the middle of March, we had to go through advising and 
registration for the upcoming quarter. Once again, Trip and I 
planned our schedules together, along with the rest of our design 
team.

I also made sure my schedule worked with Kendall's, Wren and 
Christy's, and Siobhan's modeling schedule. I regretted not 
having to worry about Gina's schedule, but I told myself that she 
was probably happier without having to deal with me and my 
schedule either.

Getting all of my required classes at the right times took a bit 
of work, but I eventually managed to get all of the pieces to fit 
together. My one fear was that I'd encounter a myopic halfwit in 
the advising center.

Fortunately, I didn't. _Un_fortunately, Professor Joska was the 
reason why. He was actually in the advising center, and when he 
saw me walk through the door, he said a quiet word to the clerk 
handling advisor assignments. My stomach sank when I saw him do 
it, and I wasn't surprised when she directed me to him.

"Well, Mr. Hughes," he said as he took a seat behind one of the 
ubiquitous desks, "let's see what you have planned for next 
quarter."

"You don't have to bother with this, Professor Joska," I said, 
even though I knew it was useless. "A regular advisor would be 
fine."

He gestured at the other desks with graduate advisors; they were 
all busy with students. "And since I run the advising center"--he 
suppressed a smile at my startled look--"I thought it best to 
help with the overflow."

I sat down with a resigned sigh.

For ten solid minutes, he questioned my class choices. Since our 
design team had selected one of his sections, he couldn't object 
to that. Trip and I had chosen Professor Ledbetter for our 
Drawing class, so he couldn't object to _that_ either. But I had 
to keep my temper firmly in check as I patiently--_respectfully_, 
even--explained the reasons behind each class selection. In the 
end, he didn't change a thing.

"Professor Ledbetter tells me you're a figure model for an art 
class," he said at last.

"Two, actually."

"Don't you think your time could be better spent in the design 
lab?" he asked, his gaze unwavering.

I answered without hesitation: "No, sir."

"And why not, Mr. Hughes?"

"Because I enjoy modeling."

"And why is that?"

"It's relaxing."

"So you think becoming an architect is about relaxation?"

"No, sir. It's about hard work," I said. _And lots of it, you 
cold-hearted slave driver._ "But it's also about emotion and 
creativity and beauty."

He nodded for me to continue.

"If I don't have _some_ time to relax, I don't have any of those 
things. So I model for art classes. It gives me time to think, to 
dream. And if I can't do that, then I don't want to be an 
architect in the first place."

"You're not an architect yet, Mr. Hughes."

As his words registered, my eyes widened.

"What's so astonishing, Mr. Hughes?" he asked, deliberately 
laconic.

_"Yet,"_ I thought exultantly. _He said I'm not an architect 
"yet."_ I could see the realization in his eyes. A surge of 
adrenaline prickled my skin as I thought about calling him on it. 
He'd shrug it off as a simple misstatement, and I'd say, "With 
all due respect, sir, you don't make mistakes. You said so 
yourself." He'd be forced to admit the truth or bluster. _Either_ 
would be a victory, as far as I was concerned.

The entire scenario ran through my mind in the blink of an eye, 
and I held his steely gaze as I gathered my courage. Then...

I didn't do a thing.

I didn't open my mouth. I didn't blink. I didn't even draw a 
breath. I simply gazed at Laszlo Joska and understood him with a 
clarity born of hard-earned experience.

_I've got what it takes to be an architect,_ my imaginary voice 
said.

_Yes, Mr. Hughes,_ he replied,_ I believe you do._

To the outside world, we were silent, a student and a professor 
contemplating each other across a well-worn desk.

I schooled my expression. "Nothing, sir," I said at last. It took 
a moment to convince myself that I'd actually spoken aloud.

After a long pause, he turned businesslike again. "Well, your 
schedule appears to be in order. I'll sign it without any 
changes."

"Thank you, sir," I said, standing up with the signed card in 
hand. I didn't even smile. I still didn't like the man, but I'd 
just gained a small measure of respect for him, and I wouldn't 
cheapen it with a smirk.

If he understood, he didn't show it. "Good day, Mr. Hughes."

"You too, sir," I said.

In the end, though, I couldn't help myself: I think I actually 
_whistled_ as I left the advising center.

-----

As the end of winter quarter drew near, we finished projects, 
polished term papers, and studied for final exams. I had a major 
design analysis due in Professor Joska's class, and I knew it had 
to be perfect; he'd accept nothing less. So I pored over my 
research, adding footnotes and illustrations where I needed to 
support my assertions.

I also had a portfolio review in Professor Ledbetter's class, and 
from the hints he'd been dropping, Professor Joska wanted to see 
my drawings as well. I knew that Joska was in charge of the 
overall design curriculum, but I didn't know how I felt about him 
presiding over _every_ aspect of my education.

The man was an infernal taskmaster, and nothing I did was ever 
good enough. Any time he gave me a compliment, he followed it 
with "but you'll have to do better than this." I wanted to pull 
my hair out in frustration and scream, "I've redone it a dozen 
times! How much better can it be?!" I never did, though. I simply 
took whatever he returned and either redrew it, reanalyzed my 
research, or reexamined my conclusions.

He also questioned everything I did. His questions usually 
highlighted my errors, but I actually defended my work a couple 
of times, stridently even. The first time, he patiently listened 
to my points before he shook his head, returned my drawing, and 
said, "Try again."

The second time, however, he questioned a simple design of a 
building facade. The assignment had been to take the outline of 
the facade and complete it using a required list of architectural 
elements. I had _added_ several elements not on the required 
list, because they pulled my design together and gave it balance.

Professor Joska had called me to the blackboard to defend my 
work. By that time, I was sick and tired of being grilled in 
front of the class. I knew what he was going to do--make an 
example of me--and I snapped; I decided that I wasn't going to 
roll over for him.

His tone was urbanely irritating as he asked me to sketch my 
drawing on the blackboard. With practiced ease, I recreated my 
design in macro scale.

"No one else added elements to the assignment," he said. "Why did 
you?"

"Because my design needs them."

"I didn't say you could add elements."

"You didn't say we _couldn't_," I countered.

He quickly rallied. "Why did you include the large transom piece 
and pilasters around the doorway?"

"To draw the eye to the focal point of the building," I said 
decisively. Then I drew a neat line from the corner of the 
pediment to the corresponding corner of the center-set doorway; 
the line neatly intersected the corner of my transom and 
pilasters.

"And why did you do that?"

"To give it regularity and symmetry. I also needed something to 
break up the monolithic expanse of the facade."

"Why not use a Palladian accent window above the doorway?"

"Because a curved element wouldn't work with this design," I 
said, standing my ground. "The geometric shapes and proportions 
lead the viewer's eye to the doorway, which is the focal point of 
the whole facade. The transom is part of that, along with the 
classical lines of the pediment."

"Classical lines, Mr. Hughes?"

I nodded. "This is a Golden Section design, sir." Several blank 
faces looked back at me from the class, so I ticked off points on 
my design and drew lines between them. I didn't add ratios, but I 
saw a number of people nodding in recognition.

"But why not add a smaller pediment-like feature above the 
doorway?" Joska asked.

"Because...," I said, leaving the word hanging as I connected the 
other side of my pediment to the upper corner of the door. Then I 
pointed to the inverted triangle formed by the entablature and 
the two connecting lines.

"The subliminal triangle mirrors the pediment above, and adds 
symmetry," I continued. "The casual observer might not notice it 
_consciously_, but it's there, and they get an _un_conscious 
sense of... rightness... about the design. After all, that's the 
whole point of the Golden Section in the first place. I know the 
transom and pilasters weren't on the list, sir," I concluded, 
"but to my mind--to my _eye_--they need to be there."

"And what are the circular elements on the doors themselves?" he 
asked with thinly veiled amusement.

I actually hesitated, my cheeks warming. "Christmas wreaths," I 
said at last.

The class tittered.

"A rather unusual addition, wouldn't you say?" he said.

I stiffened defensively. "They _also_ draw the viewer's eye to 
the focal point of the facade. And they...." I squared my shoulders 
and continued in a stronger voice: "They make the building seem 
inviting."

A couple of people snickered, but others looked thoughtful. 
Gracie Fisher even nodded in admiration.

Joska gazed at me for a long moment. Before he could say 
anything, the bell to end class rang. Then he looked at my design 
again, studying the proportions I'd illustrated. He didn't look 
thoughtful so much as contented, as if he'd known all along why 
I'd added the transom. I suddenly realized that grilling me 
hadn't been for _my_ benefit at all; it had been for the _other 
students_.

When I realized that I'd been used as an unwitting pawn, I 
started to bristle. But then I stopped suddenly, my mind racing. 
Why had Joska chosen _my_ design? Was I the only one who'd made 
the leap from the basic box to the Golden Section? Was I the only 
one who'd seen the need for symmetry, especially with the 
oversized entry doors? Was I...?

"An acceptable design, Mr. Hughes," Professor Joska said quietly, 
his voice almost lost in the clamor of students leaving the room. 
"I thought the wreaths were a nice touch."

I looked at him in surprise.

"But you'll have to do better than this."

I could've _sworn_ he was hiding a grin. "Yes, sir," I said.

He handed over the paper version of my drawing. He had circled 
several points where I'd made minor mistakes, but overall, he'd 
given me a 94, a solid A.

Trip clapped my shoulder as we walked out of class together. I 
was numb with amazement at Joska's remarks.

"You're going to hate me for saying this," Trip said, chuckling, 
"but I told you so, my proud, stubborn friend"

-----

Compared to my architecture classes, the others were easy. Even 
though I still couldn't understand Professor Vajpayee, I didn't 
really need to; the book contained everything I needed to know, 
and it was in _English_. Professor Feller was Professor Feller, 
so I was confident of an A in her class. And Dr. Bertrand was a 
lively, energetic teacher, who made art history fun.

I saw Gina every once in a while, and she would wave to me, but 
nothing more. Even Regan had a grudging wave whenever we 
encountered each other in the Carrick breezeway. Since Rod's 
arrest--which was _huge_ news on campus--she and Gina had 
probably been on their best behavior, lest the baleful eye of The 
Law fall upon them. That suited me fine, since it meant that Gina 
was staying out of trouble.

I had also settled into a post-Gina routine with Kendall, who was 
happier than ever. She was doing well in her classes (including 
Organic Chemistry and French), and she was back on track to make 
the Dean's List.

All in all, life without Gina wasn't great, but it _was_ getting 
better.

-----

"Did you have plans tonight?" Kendall asked one evening after 
dinner.

"I need to go to the A&A building," I said. "I've got to finish 
my Gateway Arch drawings for Professor Ledbetter." With a sour 
look, I mocked myself: "'It'll be simple,' I said, 'just pick the 
St. Louis Arch for your final drawing. How tough can it be?' I 
swear, Kendall, Eero Saarinen has risen from the grave to torture 
me."

She laughed. "It can't be _that_ bad, can it? It's just an arch."

"It's a _catenary curve arch_," I corrected absently. "And it's a 
_bitch_ to draw in perspective. But since I know Joska's going to 
be looking over my portfolio, it's got to be perfect. I think 
I've about worn out my French curve trying to get the damned 
thing right. I'm sure Joska'll take out a ruler and start 
measuring it, though. He probably has the design specs committed 
to memory. Just an arch, my _ass_," I finished grumpily.

She smiled good-naturedly. "Well, I think I've got some good news 
for you."

"Oh?"

"I talked to my dad this afternoon...."

"And?"

"He thinks he's found a car for you."

Kendall and I had told her family that my car had been 
vandalized, but we hadn't elaborated on the circumstances. 
Neither of us really wanted her father looking into things, since 
it would force her family to confront my--_our_--relationship 
with Gina.

(Kendall's mother definitely knew about it, and her father 
_probably_ knew, but bringing it out in the open would've forced 
them to admit that their daughter was bisexual. And since they 
weren't prepared to do that...)

"What kind of car?" I asked.

"One of the guys in his off-road club has a Toyota for sale."

"A Toyota? A _Japanese_ car? Off-road? Are you sure you got it 
right?"

"Talk to my father," she said with deliberate patience. "He said 
'Toyota.'"

So, later that evening, after slaving over my rendition of 
Saarinen's masterpiece of engineering, I went to Kendall's 
apartment and we called her father.

"After Kendall told me your Jeep was totaled," he said, "I 
started looking around to see if I could find you another one. 
And for cheap, since she also told me what the insurance company 
paid you."

"It was a joke," I muttered.

He laughed in commiseration. "Most of the guys I hang around with 
have International Scouts--it's kind of a club--but a bunch of 
guys have Jeeps or Land Rovers. A couple of 'em even have 
Toyotas, and lemme tell ya, those little FJ-40s are tough. 
They're basically a Jeep knock-off, but-- Anyway, that's neither 
here nor there. I didn't have any luck finding anyone who wanted 
to part with their Jeep, but I did find a guy with a Toyota."

"Um... thanks," I said, at a bit of a loss. I didn't even know he'd 
been _looking_.

"But it's not an FJ-40."

"We're not talking about a little Corolla here, are we?" I asked, 
a bit skeptical.

"Heck no, son, we're talking about a Land Cruiser. A '72 Land 
Cruiser FJ-55, to be exact."

"A Land Cruiser?"

"It's kinda like a Jeep Wagoneer."

"Oh, okay."

"It's in good mechanical shape, too," he said. "I've looked at 
it. The body's a little beat up, but no rust. And the best part 
is, the price is right: a thousand dollars."

"Really?! The money from the insurance company will almost cover 
_that_."

"Uh-huh. As a favor to me, the guy is selling it for what he's 
got in it. And it's a nice truck, Paul. It's a bit bigger than 
you're used to, but I know you and Kendall had a tough time 
getting all your stuff in the Jeep. So I'm sure you won't mind a 
little more cargo space."

"Not at all."

"And it drives good; I took it out for a spin. I gave the man a 
hundred-dollar deposit, and if you want it, I'll buy it and drive 
it up there. You can pay me back as soon as you have the money."

"Um... _thanks!_"

Kendall had been watching my face as she listened to my side of 
the conversation, and she smiled at my sudden enthusiasm.

"I'll have to talk to my parents," I continued, "since they'll 
have to help me out with the rest of the money. But they said 
they would, so lemme call them and I'll call you back."

"I think you're going to like this truck, Paul. It ain't pretty, 
but it's solid and in good shape. And the price is right."

"No kidding."

"So call me back, and I'll call my friend. If you want it, I 
could get it up there this weekend."

"That's _great_, Adam," I practically gushed. "Okay, lemme call 
my parents."

Mom and Dad were an easy sell. I promised to repay them from my 
summer job, and they agreed to loan me the money to make up the 
difference between my insurance check and the price of the 
Toyota. Kendall beamed as I called her father back.

"They said they'd do it," I said as soon as he answered.

"Congratulations, Paul," Adam said, "you're the proud new owner 
of a Land Cruiser."

True to his word, he and Drew arrived on Saturday. My parents had 
wired the money from my insurance check, along with some 
additional money, and I wrote Adam a check for a thousand 
dollars.

The Land Cruiser was slab-sided and boxy, with an ugly blue and 
white paint job (which was original!), but it was _mine_.

"Start 'er up, son," Adam said.

The engine smoothly roared to life. I popped the hood and joined 
Adam and Drew as they looked at it. The engine wasn't pretty 
either, but someone had given it a lot of attention, and it 
purred happily at idle.

I had owned the truck barely five minutes and I was already 
growing attached to it, ugly or not. And as I looked at it some 
more, I decided it wasn't ugly after all. Well, it wasn't 
_painfully_ ugly. (Knowing I wouldn't have to bum rides from Trip 
made it even more appealing, though.)

"Thank you very much, Adam," I said.

"Don't mention it," he said, clapping his arm around my 
shoulders. Then he looked at me askance and grinned. "You should 
probably think about getting a winch for it, though."

He burst into laughter at my expression. Kendall merely rolled 
her eyes and smiled fondly, none the wiser.

-----

"Christy said you got a new car," Wren said as we left our Art 
History exam.

"Yep!" As we walked, I described the Land Cruiser.

The girls merely shared an occasional grin as I did.

"So I was wondering," Wren said as I wound down, "could I get a 
ride to Atlanta for Spring Break?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Sorry," Christy interrupted, "I've got to go meet Siobhan to 
talk about my portfolio. I'll see you guys later?"

"Sure," Wren and I said in unison.

As soon as Christy was out of earshot, Wren turned serious.

"Christy said she told you about Laurence," she said.

I nodded.

"March 24th was his birthday."

I checked my watch and then looked up in alarm. "That's two days 
from now."

Wren nodded. "I don't want to make a big deal about it, but do 
you think you could plan to do something? With us, I mean?"

"Yeah, sure, anything."

"Good. I was thinking we could have a party or something. Not a 
birthday party, but... you know...."

I flashed her a hesitant look. "Um... a party?"

"Okay, maybe that's not such a great idea. But I want to do 
_something_ to keep her mind occupied."

I snapped my fingers. "I know just the person to ask."

"Who?"

"Trip."

"Trip?"

I nodded. "Trust me."

"Why him?"

"I can't tell you," I said, thinking about Trip's mother. "Just 
trust me. I'll call you later, okay?"

-----

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked Trip when I saw him 
later.

"Sure. What's up?"

"I need to tell you something, but you've got to keep it strictly 
confidential. Okay?"

"Sure," he said, turning serious. "You know I will."

"Christy's brother died."

"Oh, my God. How'd it happen."

I realized my mistake. "Oh, no! He died nearly a _year_ ago."

He frowned in puzzlement. "And she's just now finding out about 
it?"

"No, no, no," I said, a little exasperated with myself. 
"Wednesday would have been his birthday... the first since he died, 
and...."

"Ah, I get it. Sorry."

"It was my fault," I said. "Anyway, Wren wanted to do something 
to keep Christy occupied. She suggested we throw a party, but I 
didn't think that was such a good idea. So I thought I'd ask you, 
'cause of... you know...."

To my surprise, he chuckled. "You're not going to hurt my 
feelings; you can say 'because your mom died.' It happened almost 
nine years ago. Sure, I get a little sad around October--and 
around her birthday, Wren's right--but I'm okay with it the rest 
of the time." His lips quirked up in a wry grin and he pointed a 
finger heavenward. "My mom's okay with it too."

I chuckled at his disarming aplomb.

"Believe it or not," he said, "a party isn't such a bad idea 
after all, but not the kind you're thinking. Something casual and 
friendly. You know, where you can celebrate her brother's 
memory." He shrugged. "That's what I'd like, if someone was doing 
it for me."

"Should we make snacks? Light hors d'oeuvres? Dinner? What?"

He chuckled at my uncertainty. "I think I've got an idea."

"What?"

"Luke," he said simply.

"Luke? I don't think a band and two kegs is what Wren had in 
mind."

"Dude, trust me," he said. "Luke's been wanting to cook for us 
since he got back from Christmas break. You know how he's always 
talking about the bland food here, and saying we don't know how 
to season things? Well, let him cook. We can use Abby and 
Kendall's apartment, and Luke can make... I dunno... something Cajun. 
He'd love the chance to cook for us. Let's ask the girls at 
dinner."

-----

Wren told Christy she had a paper to write at the library, but 
joined us for dinner at the apartment instead. Over the course of 
the meal, Trip gave a cursory explanation about Christy's brother 
and then outlined his idea for the party.

"So," he finished, "what do you think?"

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" Kendall asked me, accusation in her 
eyes.

Wren put her hand out to forestall my answer. "Christy doesn't 
like people to know about it," she said. "Paul figured it out, 
and she told him what happened. She doesn't want people to treat 
her differently."

Trip nodded in agreement. "I'm the same way. It just makes it 
worse when people make a big deal about it."

Kendall's eyes slid from me to Trip and back again. Her 
expression clearly asked, "And what happened to _Trip_ that I 
didn't know about?"

"Um... his mother died when he was ten," I said, a little 
uncertainly.

Abby didn't look surprised at all.

"Shame on you, Paul," Kendall said. "You don't tell me 
_anything_."

"I asked him not to," Trip said simply. "Not specifically you; 
just in general." He shrugged. "It's not something I talk about 
very often."

"But you could've told _me_," Kendall said, a bit wounded.

"I'm sorry," Trip said. "I know I could've... but it never came up. 
And, like I said, I don't talk about it much. Back to the party, 
though," he said, smoothly changing the subject. "I think it'd be 
a good idea just to have a small get-together, ten to fifteen 
people. We can call it an end-of-the-quarter party, so Christy 
doesn't feel self-conscious. As a matter of fact, she doesn't 
even have to know it's for her benefit. We can just tell her that 
Luke wanted to cook."

"She'll figure it out," Wren and I said at the same time.

"Well, as long as we don't make a big deal about _why_ we chose 
the date, she should be fine with it," Trip said.

Kendall immediately nodded in agreement.

"So we can use your apartment?" Trip asked semi-rhetorically.

"Absolutely," she and Abby said simultaneously.

"I'll talk to Luke and make the arrangements," Trip said.

"I'll help," Wren said.

"Me too," I added.

"Okay then," Trip said, "here's what we need to do...."

-----

The day of the party, Luke and I went shopping (in my new Land 
Cruiser!). Trip had announced that he was going to pay for the 
entire party, and turned a deaf ear to all objections. So Luke 
had a pocketful of cash and orders to spend it.

At the grocery store we bought all sorts of things: rice, 
sausage, bell peppers, onions, celery, garlic, spices, and more.

"I just wish we could get some fresh shrimp," Luke complained. 
"Those frozen things they call 'shrimp' ain't worth feedin' _un 
chien_."

At our next stop we bought enough rum to souse a small army.

"_Mais_," Luke explained when I asked him about it, "you think 
you can eat jambalaya without a hurricane?"

"A hurricane?"

He gave me a long-suffering look. "A hurricane, _mon ami_. Orange 
juice, pineapple juice, grenadine syrup, light rum, and dark rum? 
You know, a hurricane." He mumbled sotto voce: "_Couillon_ think 
we go an' eat jambalaya without no hurricane."

"Whatever," I said, throwing up my hands with a confounded laugh. 
"I'm just the driver."

"Then drive on!" he commanded with a mock-imperious look. "We 
still need to pick up a ton of ice and a cooler. And does Kendall 
have a big pot? And I mean a _big_ pot."

"I have no idea."

"_Mais_, then we'd better find out, _bra_."

"What did you just call me?" I asked, throwing the truck into 
gear.

"'_Bra_'? Ain't you ever been called '_bra_' before?" he asked, 
his patois deliberately thick. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 
"_Je parle anglais!_ '_Bra_' as in 'brother'? Now, get this 
_char_ moving, we ain't got no time to make the _veiller!_"

With that, we roared off, Luke boasting happily--in an odd 
mixture of Cajun and English--about the taste of heaven he was 
going to serve up, and how we'd fall down and worship him for 
introducing us to "proper seasoning."

-----

The party came off without a hitch. Luke had spent the afternoon 
cheerfully chopping vegetables and cooking, while his new 
girlfriend, a pretty brunette named Cecile, helped. When people 
started arriving, she began mixing drinks under Luke's careful 
supervision.

Wren and Christy arrived first, along with Ash, Zoe, and her 
boyfriend. Vivian and her boyfriend were there, but Phoebe had 
already left campus (she only had two exams). When Jeff and 
Meredith arrived, Luke started serving bowls of spicy jambalaya.

"Now, this ain't hot-hot," he announced in his exaggerated 
dialect, "'cause I don't wanna kill none o' you nice folk. But 
_oo-wee_, this here's a little taste o' heaven. _Bon appetit!_"

The jambalaya was absolutely fabulous. The fruity hurricanes 
packed a punch, but they also put out the fire of the food. Much 
to my amusement, Christy picked the sausage out of the jambalaya, 
but ate the rest. She even had two good-sized helpings, and I 
found myself envying her metabolism.

Luke, of course, was the life of the party (as Trip intended, I'm 
sure). He told Boudreaux and Thibodeaux jokes, stories from the 
bayou, and held forth on Cajun life in general.

The timing of our party wasn't lost on Christy, though, and she 
quietly cornered Wren. I watched them from the kitchen. Wren 
initially shook her head, but after a moment of friendly 
interrogation, she implicated me with a glance. Christy's blue 
eyes locked with mine. With a smile, I headed toward her.

"You two did this, didn't you?" she said.

"Did what?" I asked disingenuously.

Christy merely rolled her eyes. Then they misted over and she 
smiled a little sadly.

"Of _course_ we did it," Wren said, wrapping her arm around her 
friend's shoulder.

"We had lots of help, though," I said.

"You didn't have to do all this," Christy said.

Wren hugged her. "But we love you."

I nodded and put my arm over Wren's.

"Thank you _so_ much," Christy whispered, teary-eyed. "You're the 
best friends in the world."

-----

By the time March drew to a close, I'd actually begun to feel a 
bit better about my life. I wasn't exactly thrilled by the 
direction it had taken, but I'd come to accept it. After all, I'd 
survived a break-up, a beating, Professor Joska, and everything 
else life had thrown my way. I hadn't always done it with grace, 
maturity, or aplomb, but I _had_ survived.

I'd also begun to feel better about my future. Kendall would 
never fill the void left by Gina, but she wanted me to love her 
for who _she_ was, not as a replacement for Gina. I was happy to 
do just that. After all, she was smart, sexy, and fun. In other 
words, she was everything I wanted in a girlfriend.

So I was in a reasonably good mood as the quarter ended. I knew 
I'd done well on my exams, even Joska's, and I was looking 
forward to Spring Break.

"You're happy this afternoon," Kendall said as I loaded the 
Cruiser with our things.

I shrugged. "I guess maybe Trip's music finally got through to 
me." At that, I laughed. "Believe it or not, I'm starting to 
really like the Beach Boys."

"That's not why you're so happy," she said.

"Maybe it's because I've got a girlfriend who loves me, and I 
should be happy for that."

"As much as I'd like to take credit, I don't think that's it 
either."

I shrugged again, but then turned introspective. "Maybe I just 
decided not to be so miserable," I said, without a trace of 
glibness. "Yeah, sure, I miss Gina, but I've got to move on with 
my life. I _do_ have a girlfriend who loves me, and I've got a 
great group of friends. I just did well on my exams, and I've 
already got a summer job lined up." I laughed ironically. "If I 
didn't know better, I'd say I'm a pretty lucky guy."

"You _are_ pretty lucky," Kendall said, stepping close.

I pulled her into my arms and we gazed into each other's eyes. 
"Yeah, I'm lucky. And I guess maybe I'm happy because I decided 
to start _acting_ like it."

She smiled.

After a quiet moment, we separated. I finished loading our things 
and we headed toward Morrill to pick up Wren. After we brought 
her things downstairs, she surveyed the Cruiser.

"Wow, this _is_ bigger," she said.

"You'll actually have the entire back seat to yourself," I said. 
"What luxury, huh?"

A few minutes later, we roared onto the interstate. To my 
surprise, the drive to Chattanooga wasn't a repeat of the one 
before Christmas, since the girls didn't tease me at all. Kendall 
was happy that I was in a good mood, and I think Wren was still 
on her best behavior. So we talked about Spring Break instead.

Trip and I had plans to go house hunting in Franklin. We needed 
to find at least two houses to renovate, and I think he was 
actually hoping to find a third. His uncle, the contractor, had 
several prospects in mind, but we still needed to look at a lot 
of houses in a few short days.

Kendall planned to spend the time at home, reading for her spring 
classes. Organic Chemistry was a lot of rote memorization, and 
she didn't want to let her grades fall because she started 
coasting.

Wren and a couple of her friends from high school were going to 
her family's condo in Florida. They planned to "do girl stuff... 
you know, talk about guys, paint our toenails, work on our tans... 
that kind of stuff."

At the thought of Wren's lack of tan lines, my dick stirred, but 
I quickly suppressed the image. By the time we made it to 
Kendall's house, the conversation had safely moved on to more 
mundane topics. I unloaded her things and promised to call her 
when I got home. We spent some time making small talk with her 
family and then Wren and I headed toward Atlanta.

-----

"Oh, shit," Wren hissed as we pulled into her driveway.

"What?"

"I just remembered... I never broke up with you."

"Huh?"

"I never broke up with you," she repeated cryptically.

"Wren, what the--"

"I told my mom that you and I were dating... you know... to keep her 
from bothering me about it. It seemed like a simple thing at the 
time."

I chuckled.

"And I planned to 'date' you for a month or so and then break up 
with you. Remember? You told me to tell her that," she half-
accused.

"I remember," I said, smiling at her fluster.

"Okay," she said, "here's what we're going to do...."

By the time she was done, I could hardly contain myself.

"Oh, quit grinning," she said, piqued. "I just want you to _act_ 
like my boyfriend. But I don't _need_ one--"

"I know," I said, cutting her off mid-rant. "We've been through 
this before. Remember?"

Chagrinned, she fell silent. "Will you do it?" she asked after a 
moment.

"I'll 'do it' with you any time, Wren." I almost managed to say 
it with a straight face, too.

She nodded thankfully, but disbelief flitted across her 
expression when she caught my double entendre. "Impossible," she 
cried. "You are simply im_possible_."

"I know," I said smugly. "Isn't it cool?"

She rolled her eyes and got out of the truck with an exaggerated 
huff.

A moment later, her mother emerged from the house. She hugged us 
both in turn.

"Oh, it's so good to have you here, Paul," she gushed. "Can you 
stay for dinner? I told Arnold you were coming, but he's at one 
of the restaurants. I don't remember which one; I never can keep 
up with his schedule."

Wren frowned.

"He wanted to be here to meet you, though," Helen continued. 
"Anyway, I've got a tenderloin roast in the oven...." She chattered 
happily as we unloaded Wren's things. Then she insisted that I 
stay for dinner.

Wren flashed me a pleading look, so I agreed. I called my parents 
to let them know I was going to be later than expected. Mom 
seemed a little disappointed, but she said she'd see me when I 
got home. After I hung up, I rejoined Wren in the living room.

"I can't stay much past dinner," I said quietly. "I think I 
screwed up... I was supposed to have dinner with my family."

"You don't have to stay," Wren said. "I really appreciate you 
doing this, but if you need to go..."

I shook my head. "I can always make time for my 'girlfriend.'"

She made a moue.

"I know, I'm impossible." Then I did a passable imitation of her 
huffing and stomping her foot. "Im_possible_."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for doing this. I'd never hear the 
end of it if you just left."

I simply smiled in reply as Helen appeared in the dining room 
doorway to semi-formally announce dinner. She was a good cook, 
but I tried not to eat too much, since I still wanted to watch my 
weight. After dinner, she made a show of giving Wren and me some 
privacy. We sat on the living room couch, and Wren chuckled as 
soon as her mother was out of earshot.

"What?" I asked.

"She's just _dying_ to talk to you," she said. "But she wants me 
to spend time alone with you." She shook her head in bemusement. 
"I love my mother, but she drives me _nuts_ sometimes."

I laughed softly.

"Anyway, thanks again for playing my boyfriend. I'll break up 
with you in a month or so, and you won't have to worry about it."

"You don't have to break up with me, you know," I said. "I mean, 
your mother'll never know the difference."

"But _I'll_ know," Wren said. "I don't really like lying to her 
in the first place." She chuckled ruefully. "It started with an 
innocent little white lie and kinda snowballed from there."

"I know what you mean."

"Now," she said with a repentant laugh, "we've been 'dating' for 
two months and I'm supposed to be happy as can be."

"I'm glad I make you happy," I said with a grin, "even if it's 
only in your imagination." With that, I put my arm around her, to 
complete the illusion for her mother's benefit. At least, that's 
what I _told_ myself I was doing.

Wren looked at me funny for a moment, but didn't move away. Then 
she sighed heavily.

"What?"

"You know," she said, "I actually _miss_ this." With that, she 
leaned against my side and tucked her feet underneath her. "You 
don't mind, do you?"

After a momentary hesitation, we settled together.

A little while later, Wren turned slightly and I could feel her 
gathering her thoughts. "Christy told me about what happened with 
Gina."

I swallowed hard. "She did?"

"Well, she told me enough that I figured out the rest. I knew you 
were upset, of course, and I wanted to flirt with you to lift 
your spirits," she said. "You know, to kind of stroke your ego."

I nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"But she told me not to. I kind of dragged the story out of her. 
She made me promise not to tell you. Don't worry, though, 
Christy's very good at keeping secrets. I just know her too 
well."

"That's okay," I said.

After a long silence, Wren sat up and turned to face me. "Did you 
really have two girlfriends?"

I hesitated, but then nodded.

"Wow," she said, the word loaded with unasked questions. She 
composed herself quickly, her eyes filled with compassion. "I'm 
sorry about what happened." After a moment: "And I know you 
didn't have a car accident, either. Christy told me about the 
fight with those frat guys." She laughed darkly. "I wanted to 
find them and kill them when I saw what they'd done to you."

"You're not the only one."

"But I'm really sorry about you and your girlfriend. Your _other_ 
girlfriend, I guess I should say, 'cause I thought Kendall was 
your girlfriend... your _only_ girlfriend, I mean."

"It was a complicated relationship."

She nodded quietly. Then she drew a deep breath and gathered her 
courage. "Since I know a secret about you," she began 
tentatively, "can I tell you a secret about me?"

"You don't have to--"

"I _want_ to. I think you'll understand." She laughed, a bit 
bitterly. "You're one of the _few_ guys who'll understand."

I nodded silently, letting her work up to what she wanted to say.

"I... I like...." In a rush: "I like girls." Tense and nervous, she 
waited for my reaction.

I think I surprised her when I chuckled.

She reeled, a betrayed look on her face.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I didn't mean to laugh."

"Then why _did_ you?"

I held her eyes. "Because I'd already figured that out."

She swallowed hard. "I _thought_ you'd understand," she half-
wailed.

I caught her before she could flee. "Wren, _stop!_ Look at me."

She did.

"I _do_ understand. I've understood all along. Why do you think I 
told you I thought it was sexy?"

"I thought you were just picking on me...."

"For _that?_ Are you kidding? I _do_ think it's sexy. I think 
it's sexy as hell."

"You do?" she asked in genuine amazement.

I nodded.

At my gesture, she settled on the couch again, a bit cautiously 
at first, but with growing confidence when I didn't mock her.

"There's nothing wrong with it," I said softly.

She turned diffident. "Did Kendall and Gina...? I mean, did they do 
it with each other?"

"Yes."

She blinked. "Kendall did? You mean she really _does_ like 
girls?"

I nodded and tried not to look bemused.

"Lots of girls will tease each other about it," she said with a 
frown, "but not many of them actually _do_ it. I mean, guys 
_never_ joke about liking other guys--"

My I'm Not A Fag reflex reared its ugly head, and I emphatically 
agreed.

"--but girls... some will joke about it, but they're not serious."

"Kendall's pretty serious," I said. "And so was Gina. _Is_, I 
guess, just not with Kendall and me."

"I thought Kendall was just flirting with me to get _you_ in the 
mood."

I shook my head. "She honestly thinks you're sexy."

"She does?"

"I do too," I said. Then I paused to consider what I was doing. 
Did I really want to follow that statement to its logical 
conclusion? I did, but I didn't. I wanted to have sex with Wren--
with Wren _and Kendall_--but I didn't want to replace Gina, not 
with Wren, not with _anyone_. At the moment, I wasn't in danger 
of having anything more than a _conversation_ about sex, though. 
So when Wren sighed in exasperation, I returned my attention to 
her.

"Of course _you_ think I'm sexy. You're supposed to," she said. 
With that, she took a deep breath, which emphasized her breasts. 
"See? You're _supposed_ to notice my tits."

I tried to ease my conscience with a chuckle. "Believe me, I do."

"But Kendall thinks I'm sexy too?"

"Yep."

"Does she really shave her pubic hair?" she asked all of a 
sudden.

At that, my chuckle was genuine. Wren seemed more curious than 
bent on seduction. Curious was good; it wouldn't lead me into 
temptation. So I resolved to let the conversation develop 
naturally.

A flicker of irritation crossed Wren's face. "Will you quit doing 
that?"

"What?"

"Chuckling. I'm serious here."

"Okay," I said, composing myself. "I'll be serious. But I think 
you're being too serious in the first place."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, okay, sure, it's not something you talk about with just 
anyone, but still.... Sex is supposed to be _fun_, not something 
you're furtive about. Private, maybe, but not anything you're 
ashamed of. If you like girls, that's cool."

"I like guys too," she said quickly.

"Then you're bisexual."

She immediately shook her head.

"Yes," I said deliberately, "you are. And there's nothing wrong 
with that. Not for girls, at least. For guys... well, that's a 
different story. I mean, I guess there's nothing _wrong_ with it, 
but it's not for me."

She shivered in distaste. "Me either. The thought of two guys? 
Ugh! _Girls_ are supposed to suck dicks, not guys."

I laughed.

"Well, they _are_. I actually sort of like it."

"That's good," I said, still laughing softly.

"But I like going down on a girl too."

"That makes two of us," I said. "Three, if you count Kendall."

"Kendall's not the _only_ one," Wren muttered with a secret 
smile.

It was my turn to arch an eyebrow at her.

"Never mind," she said.

I might be slow on the uptake, but I wasn't an idiot. I raced 
through the implications of what she'd said. She couldn't mean--

"What?" she asked, anxious.

"You said something once, and I didn't think anything of it at 
the time...."

"_What?_"

"I said Christy eats like a rabbit, and you said, 'that's not 
_all_ she does like a rabbit.'"

"I didn't say that!"

"You did too. I'm weird about remembering stuff like that. 
Christy blushed when you said it, too. I didn't think anything of 
it at the time, but...."

"It doesn't mean anything," Wren said, almost desperately.

"Christy likes girls too, doesn't she?"

"No, of course not."

I snapped my fingers. "Of course! It all makes sense now."

"What does? You don't know what you're talking about. You don't--
"

"I always wondered why you didn't have a boyfriend," I said, 
cutting her off. "You obviously like sex--you like _talking_ 
about it, at least. But I never could figure out why you didn't 
have a boyfriend. Yeah, sure, I understood about your last 
boyfriend. And you have your vibrator--every modern girl needs 
one--but.... You and Christy _are_ close." Once again, I snapped my 
fingers. "The jerk on the swim team... he broke up with you last 
spring."

She nodded, hesitant and a little worried.

"Christy would've been there to comfort you."

"So?"

I rolled my eyes. "And then after her brother died... you'd've been 
there to comfort _her_."

"So? Besides, she was gone for nearly a month after it happened. 
And girls' dorm rooms aren't like some dirty magazine, you know."

"No, they're not," I agreed. _But I seem to find the ones that 
are,_ I thought with a silent laugh.

"There," she said defensively. "Christy and I never--"

I silenced her with a doubtful look. "For most girls, sex is all 
about emotion," I said slowly. "For guys, it's more about getting 
off... you know, the physical side of things. But it's different 
for girls. Sure, you like getting off just as much as we do, but 
the _reasons_ you have sex are more emotional."

"So? What's that have to do with--"

"You were probably pretty upset after the jerk on the swim team."

"Yeah. So?"

"And who was there to comfort you? Christy. I've seen you 
together--you're like sisters. So Christy was there for you after 
you broke up with the asshole. You were pretty emotional, right?"

Reluctantly, she nodded.

"That kind of shared emotion is powerful--almost overwhelming--
isn't it?"

"How do you _know_ all this?" she rasped.

"I know it 'cause I pay attention to girls," I said. _Although I 
failed _miserably_ with Gina._ "And I had a good teacher."

She arched an eyebrow.

"I'll tell you about her sometime. The older woman...?"

Her eyes widened in understanding.

"But back to you and Christy," I said. "Too much about this makes 
sense. You like girls, and you _obviously_ like sex. Christy's 
fiance is in England, and she doesn't seem like a prude either. 
You make comments like 'that's not all Christy does like a 
rabbit' and  'Kendall's not the _only_ one.' Did you think I 
wouldn't figure it out? '_Fucking_ like a rabbit'?" I asked 
rhetorically. "Wren, c'mon, I'm not stupid."

For a moment, she stared at me in horrified silence. Finally: 
"Please don't tell her I said anything."

I laughed, good-natured and soft.

"Please, you've got to _promise_ me."

"Wren, stop. First of all, I promise. I won't tell her you said 
anything. But second, don't _worry_ about it. I don't think 
you're some freak or something, just because you and Christy like 
girls."

"You don't?"

I shook my head. "I may be horny as hell," I said, chuckling, 
"but I definitely _don't_ think you're a freak."

"You really don't?"

"No, absolutely not."

She laughed, bitter and harsh.

"What?"

"You know the jerk on the swim team?"

I nodded.

"That's one of the reasons he broke up with me. Stupid me, I 
trusted him... I told him I wanted another girl to join us." She 
laughed again, cynically. "I thought he'd _like_ it, but he 
called me every name in the book."

"What an asshole."

"Exactly," she agreed.

On impulse, I caressed her cheek with the backs of my fingers. I 
knew I shouldn't have done it, but it seemed like the most 
natural thing to do. "Look," I said softly, "you're a wonderful 
girl. You're beautiful, you're smart, and you're sexy. Any guy 
who doesn't like you just the way you are is an idiot, an 
absolute _idiot_."

Her eyes went soft and round, and the next thing I knew, she was 
kissing me. It was tender and sweet at first, but built quickly, 
turning deep and longing. When she finally pulled back, her lips 
were shiny, and she was breathing harder.

I took a deep breath myself. The conversation had suddenly taken 
a turn I hadn't expected, and my mind was still racing to catch 
up. Unfortunately, the little head knew _exactly_ what was going 
on.

"God," Wren said softly, "I've been wanting to do that all night. 
Except when I thought you were picking on me, that is."

"I wasn't picking on you."

"I know." She turned pensive. "And you promise you won't tell 
Christy? Right? You promise?"

"I promise," I repeated.

"Good, then kiss me again."

_Uh-oh._

When we finally broke the kiss, nearly a minute later, she pulled 
back with a sigh. "Mmmmm, you're a good kisser. One more time...." 
With that, her lips met mine.

The little head warred with the big head, and in the confusion, I 
grew bold and cupped her breast. She arched her back and groaned 
into my mouth. My fingers found her nipple and tweaked it gently. 
She squirmed against me, her crotch seeking my hip.

"We can't do this," she said at last, panting.

The big head agreed. The little head had other ideas, however. 
Wren didn't resist when I pulled her to me and kissed her again. 
She tasted sweet and insistent and full of promise.

After a minute, she put her hands on my shoulders and pushed 
away.

With an almost palpable wave of relief, I let her go.

"I can't sleep with you," she said, panting. "I _want_ to," she 
continued, her nipples erect, "but I can't."

"We don't have to go all the way. Besides, that's against the 
rules--_my_ rules, that is. We can fool around, though. After I 
talk to Kendall, the three of us can--"

She cut me off with a headshake. "I want to, but I can't. And I 
can't fool around with you tonight, even if Kendall wouldn't 
mind."

"She won't, as long as we don't go all the way." I wasn't _sure_ 
about that, but the little head was doing the thinking. "And she 
definitely wants to have a threesome with you."

Once again, Wren shook her head. I could see the desire in her 
eyes, but she fought it down and mastered her emotions. "No," she 
said at last. "I want to, but I can't. I _won't_. If we did 
anything tonight, it'd be purely physical."

The little head was screaming things like "_So? Physical is 
good!_" but the big head was fighting through the fog of lust.

"I want more than that," Wren continued. "Yeah, sure, I really 
wanna sleep with you--and I mean _really_--but I can't. I guess 
you're right," she said slowly, "it _is_ all about emotions. And... 
it's not right."

I started to disagree, but stopped myself.

"_God_ how I wanna sleep with you. You have no idea how hot I am 
right now, but if we do, it'll change our relationship. I... I 
don't want that."

Some part of my brain agreed, but I still felt my brow crease 
with doubt.

"Look," she said, "you're the first guy who's ever been able to 
resist me. Believe it or not, I like that. I enjoyed getting to 
know you, instead of just flirting with you. That 'high school 
prick-tease shit,' I think you called it? I'm not in high school 
anymore."

"Neither am I," I said, the little head still hoping to win her 
over. The big head was gaining ground, however. "But I 
understand."

She nodded. "Besides, I'd never do that to Kendall."

"You could join us," I said. "I _know_ Kendall would--"

"No. I don't want to become your 'other' girlfriend."

I didn't want that either.

"And right now," Wren continued, "I'm just not ready for a 
relationship with a guy. Yeah, I think you're sexy, and you're a 
great friend, but let's keep it that way."

"Okay," I said at last. I wanted to have sex with her--I _really_ 
wanted to have sex with her--but I also respected her decision. 
Eventually, I'd respect her reasoning too (as well as my own), 
but at the moment, I was too horny to think straight. 
Fortunately, I _knew_ I was too horny to think straight.

"Do you understand?" she asked. "You're not angry?"

"If I were the kind of guy to get angry at being told no, would 
you still like me?"

She shook her head, her eyes shining with a smile.

"So, what're we gonna do now?"

"After you leave, I'm going to draw a hot bath and play with 
myself till I get off," she said with a frank laugh. "Then I'm 
going to regret not sleeping with you. At that point, I'll 
probably imagine what could've happened--especially with Kendall-
-which'll lead to another round of playing with myself."

"It's a vicious cycle," I quipped, thankful that the mood had 
shifted.

"It'll stop when I'm too sore to continue." She sighed longingly. 
"You've got a _great_ body, you know. And Kendall? God, she's the 
stuff of fantasies."

I smiled and simply nodded.

Wren's eyes sparkled. "After the third or fourth time I get 
myself off, I'll probably collapse from exhaustion. So," she 
asked, sing-song innocent, "what're _you_ going to do when you 
get home?"

"Pretty much the same," I said with a laugh. "Maybe not the hot 
bath, but I'm definitely gonna jerk off."

"Are you going to think of me?"

I shook my head. At her faux-injured look, I grinned. "I'm gonna 
think of you... and _Kendall_."

She sighed and looked like she regretted her decision. Then she 
composed herself and smiled. "She's very lucky."

I turned flippant. "You could've been too."

"Maybe someday," she said, soft and wistful. "Maybe someday."

At that, I sobered. "Any guy would be lucky to have you, Wren."

"Thank you." After a moment's silence, she hugged me. "You're a 
great friend."

"Are you sure you don't wanna be more than friends?" I asked, the 
little head making a last ditch plea.

"No, I'm _not_ sure," she said with a slightly bemused 
expression. "But... I can't."

I nodded. "Okay. I just thought I'd ask one more time."

To my surprise, she laughed ruefully.

"What?"

"I just realized something," she said. "You're the best boyfriend 
I've ever had. And you're only pretend."

I caressed her cheek and she shut her eyes, enjoying the contact. 
"One more time," I said softly.

She knew what I meant, and her lips met mine. Our kiss was 
tender, without the promise of more, but still passionate.

"Now," I said at last, "we've _got_ to quit breaking the rules."

"No kidding."

"You're a great girl, Wren," I said softly.

Suddenly, she hugged me tight.

I kissed her cheek and she hugged me tighter still.

"Now," she said, "you'd better go, before I change my mind. And I 
believe I've got a date with the bath."

I grinned.

"Hey! You said you were gonna do the same thing."

"I am. A couple of times."

Her eyebrows shot up. "A couple of times?"

"Sorry," I said with an impish grin, "you had your chance."

She rolled her eyes, but then smiled.

With that, we said our goodbyes and I headed out to the Cruiser. 
I thought about her all the way home. I can't say I was exactly 
_happy_ that we didn't fool around, but I was somehow proud of 
myself.

Then I smiled at the memory of her body pressed against mine. I 
smiled wider still at the girl herself.  "Lorelei Wren Hilliard," 
I said to the night, "you're gonna make someone a great wife 
someday. I just hope I'm there to congratulate the lucky 
bastard."

-----

Trip and I spent the first days of Spring Break looking for 
houses. On the third day--his birthday, coincidentally--we got 
lucky: we drove by two houses for sale, side by side. They were 
identical Craftsman style bungalows, kind of run down, but in a 
neighborhood undergoing a renaissance.

The houses had been built in the 1920s, and were solidly 
constructed. They'd been owned by elderly spinster sisters who 
had died within weeks of each other. Their only relative, a 
nephew, was selling both houses. Trip negotiated with the nephew 
himself, and we left with a handshake deal for both.

"That was a stroke of very, very good luck," Trip said as we 
drove to the next house on our list. "The houses are picture-
perfect, and the neighborhood has lots of young families moving 
in. Even better, though, we'll be able to use smaller crews than 
if the houses were farther apart."

"Why?"

"Because we can stagger the renovations, but still have the 
specialized crews close at hand," he said. "That's the thing 
about a renovation--something unexpected _always_ happens. I plan 
for it in my budget and schedule, but I still get surprised 
sometimes. With the two houses next to each other, all we have to 
do if we need to bring back a crew is to walk next door."

"Ah, that makes sense."

"So I think we can go ahead and look for a third house. It'll add 
to our expenses, but we'll increase our profit margin."

"Hold on... if we have two houses and we add a third, won't our 
profit margin be the same? I mean, we're adding more profit, but 
we're also adding more expense?"

He shook his head. "Economies of scale," he said simply.

I looked a question at him.

"Because we've got three houses, we can guarantee more work for 
the crews, which means they'll give us a better rate. And since 
we'll buy more materials, we'll get a lower price on them too. 
Our expenses go up, but not at the same rate as our profit, so 
our profit margin is higher. Make sense?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

-----

The next day we found a third house. It was about a mile from the 
first two. It was a two-story Colonial Revival with a detached 
garage. Trip negotiated with the realtor, and finally agreed on a 
price.

Altogether, we had contracts--_contingent upon financing_, a 
point Trip was careful to include in the agreements--on more than 
eighty thousand dollars of property.

I was nervous, excited, bewildered, and scared witless. I thought 
buying the Cruiser for a thousand dollars was a big deal, but 
Trip had negotiated eighty _times_ that in two days.

"Now we just have to convince the bank to see things our way," he 
said with a grin. Then he held out his hand. When I shook it, his 
grin widened. "Welcome to the company, partner. I guess we'll 
have to come up with a new name."

I gave him a blank look.

"Well, Whitman Remodeling won't work," he said. Then he tapped 
his chin, musing. "Whitman & Hughes Remodeling? W & H Remodeling? 
T & P Remodeling? Nah, too unprofessional. What do you think?"

"I think you're crazy," I said. "You just bought eighty thousand 
dollars of real estate and you're wondering what to call the 
company?"

"_We_ just bought eighty thousand dollars of real estate," he 
said. "We're partners, remember?"

"No fucking kidding."

He laughed at my shell-shocked expression.

As we drove back to his parents' house, he suggested names for 
the company. We eventually settled on "Whitman Hughes Homes." We 
thought it made us sound more important, as if we were 
homebuilders too, a business Trip was keen to get into "in a 
summer or two."

We called my parents after dinner, to tell them the news.

"So I'm going to co-sign for forty thousand dollars?" my father 
said.

I tried not to sound nervous when I agreed.

"That's a lot of money, Paul."

"Trip's done this before," I said. I had told my parents what we 
planned to do, but only in general terms. So I took my dad's 
unspoken cue and went into detail. I told him about the houses 
themselves. I told him about the neighborhoods, the schools, and 
the "comps" (comparable sale prices for nearby houses). I told 
him about the economies of scale, and about Trip's experience. By 
the time I finished, I could almost hear him nodding at the right 
times.

"Okay, son," he said at last. "It sounds like you and Trip know 
what you're doing."

I flashed a thumbs-up to Trip and his father.

"If you don't mind, though, I'd like to speak to Mr. Whitman."

"Um... sure. Hold on a second." I held the phone away from my ear. 
"He'd like to speak to you, Frank."

The two men went through the obligatory pleasantries of meeting 
each other for the first time. Then Frank assured my dad that 
Trip had extensive experience in home renovation. They spoke for 
ten or fifteen minutes, and I could hear the pride in Frank's 
voice as he talked about his son. Finally, he handed the phone 
back to me.

"Okay, Paul," my dad said, "you're in business."

"Thanks, Dad!"

"How much are you going to need for renovation expenses?"

"I'll need to get a budget from Trip," I said, "before we know 
how much we're going to need. He also wants to keep some cash in 
reserve, for emergencies--"

"Good idea."

"--but my half shouldn't be more than twenty thousand dollars." 
_Did I just say "shouldn't be more than _twenty thousand 
dollars_"?!_

"We should be able to swing that," Dad said.

For a moment, I was overwhelmed by the enormity of what I was 
getting into. "We're talking about sixty thousand dollars, Dad," 
I said, almost protesting. "Can you and Mom really afford that? 
It's a lot of money."

"No, it's a lot of _debt_, Paul. There's a difference. It's a 
slight difference, but it's important. Besides, it'll be secured 
by real estate--the houses and property itself. Your part of the 
renovation expenses will be secured debt too; we're going to get 
a second mortgage on the house."

I fought not to croak. "Our house?"

"Uh-huh. Your mom and I talked about it, and we think it's a good 
investment. We're investing in your future. You'll be a co-signer 
on the loan, and you'll be responsible for making the payments. 
Besides, it'll help establish your credit. Okay?"

"Yes, _sir!_"

"Now, Paul, you realize this is serious. It's not a four-hundred-
dollar charge card bill."

"I know, Dad."

"Okay, son." After a pause, he laughed.

My mouth went dry. "What?"

"I knew you were gonna grow up someday, son," he said, "but I 
didn't realize it'd be sixty thousand dollars at a time!"

I tried to laugh with him, but I couldn't seem to make my 
diaphragm work.

-----

Trip and I went to the bank with his father to start the 
paperwork. It would take nearly three weeks to process, and then 
we'd have to set a closing date for each of the houses.

"You see why I want to get this done so early?" Trip said as we 
left the loan officer's office. "We'll be lucky if we close by 
the first of May. But as long as we take possession by June, 
we'll be fine. Do you remember what the last day of exams is?"

"Um... June 25th, I think. Why?"

"'Cause we'll need to hit the ground running. That only gives us 
two months--July and August--to supervise all the work. We can 
get the demolition started as soon as we take possession, but I 
want to be there to oversee the work after that."

Trip and I stayed up late that night. As he outlined his plans, I 
was astounded by his self-assurance, but I guess I shouldn't have 
been. After all, he'd done the same thing for five summers. But 
he completely surprised me when he turned over the primary design 
to me.

"You're the better designer," he said matter-of-factly. "We'll 
have to get a licensed architect to review the plans, but I want 
you to do the majority of the work."

"But Trip, I've never designed a house before. I've never 
designed _anything_ before."

"You'll do fine," he said, with more confidence than I felt. 
"Don't go crazy with any Phillip Johnson or Frank Lloyd Wright 
designs, but do something creative."

"Phillip Johnson? Are you kidding?" I said. "That's totally 
inappropriate for a suburban house. I mean, we're talking about 
Craftsman bungalows and a Colonial Revival here; a simple 
design'll be fine. Besides, this is a _renovation_, not new 
construction, so I've got load-bearing walls and existing 
fixtures to deal with. And since we want young families to buy 
these houses, I can't do Frank Lloyd Wright inside. Yeah, he's a 
great architect, but have you seen his furniture? Stylish, but 
totally uncomfortable. Uh-uh, no way. I've gotta design something 
that'll...."

I barely noticed Trip's grin as I reached for my sketchpad and 
began drawing floor plans from memory.

-----

Copyright (c) 2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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