Attempting Elizabeth (3 page)

This time Mark's laugh was full-bodied and loud as he grabbed my elbow and steadied me. “Easy there.”

I was pretty sure he was laughing at me. I pulled my arm out of his large hand and rubbed my elbow as if he’d burned me. I’m not usually so sensitive, but this man made me feel completely off-kilter. I’d been in his presence only a few hours total and managed to always appear at my absolute worst. “I’ve got it, thanks,” I said stiffly.

He shrugged, his face a mixture of confusion and mild annoyance. “Yeah, sure.”

I made my way over to where Tori was spreading out a picnic blanket. I was going to stick to her like a burr the rest of the afternoon, using her to insulate me from the guys. Rick kept looking at me as if he was starving and I was a handy granola bar. It made me uncomfortable. Mark had resumed his nonchalant ignoring of me. It wasn’t even like he was ignoring me. That implied effort. He just honestly didn’t seem to notice my presence. For some reason that bothered me more than Rick’s obvious staring. Even though being ignored was what I wanted. Why should I care if Mark didn’t give two cents about me? I didn’t give two cents about him. The non-caring was mutual...as evidenced by the fact that I spent the entire rest of the afternoon sneaking glances at him and wondering if he thought I was a total jerk, or if he was really just not thinking of me at all.

“Sorry about the mess.”

Fun fact about
hiking: Going down the hill is so much easier than going up. Who knew? Another fun fact about hiking: It was not something I should participate in again. Ever. If someone had a gun to my head and ordered me to hike up another dusty, hot, steep trail again I would offer to take the gun from them and finish myself off so they could be spared the residual guilt and possible life sentence.

It seemed, however, that I was the only one in our party who was convinced that hiking was a tool of Satan. Everyone else was laughing and talking and looking like they’d done nothing more strenuous than take a leisurely stroll. I wanted to toss the lot of them off the nearest cliff. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my head hurt, and all I wanted to do was see the parking lot and Charlie’s stupid, ugly, yellow sedan. I’d probably kiss it. I might even be persuaded to marry it. If God had wanted us to walk straight up mountains he wouldn’t have invented Henry Ford.

Rick and Charlie were walking in front of me and their conversation was getting louder and more animated. I glared at their backs.

Rick turned back to look at me with a smile. “What do you think, Kelsey?”

“About what?”

“
Star Wars
. Special Edition or not?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. They were not seriously trying to get me to discuss this now, were they?

“I don’t know, Kels, I’ve been thinking about it and I’m wondering, why
not
watch the Special Edition.” Charlie shot me an evil grin over his shoulder and I had the sudden urge to smack him. Hard. He had to know that my inner geek would not fail to rise up in protest at the thought that anyone would prefer that travesty of computer animated crap George Lucas had foisted on an unsuspecting movie-going public.

“Theatrical release. Only. The end,” I managed to huff out.

“But if the director had a vision—a vision that couldn’t be adequately met in 1977—why can’t he go back and modify it? It’s his piece of art, his call.” Charlie was really doing his best to sound serious.

“Once a movie, or a book, or any piece of art has been part of society for that long, it’s stupid to go back and modify it.” I argued, knowing full well that he was baiting me. “Especially when you’re changing the way a character behaves. Han Solo would never have let a bounty hunter get off a shot at him. The fact that Han shoots Greedo in the original with no warning demonstrates his character. In the Special Edition he’s no longer sexy and swashbuckling, he’s just careless enough to let a bounty hunter get off a shot at point blank range.” I felt a little light-headed after this speech. It had taken a lot out of me.

“Exactly. Totally great points, Kelsey.” Rick flashed me a smile that was a bit more warm than I preferred. I should have just kept my stupid mouth shut. I’d probably just cemented myself as Nerd Queen in his mind. I didn’t want Rick harboring a geekery-induced crush on me.

From behind me I heard Tori say to Mark, “Kelsey has very strong opinions on the whole Han-shot-first controversy, but we love her anyway.”

Mark laughed in response, and I gritted my teeth and turned my head to look up at them.

“It’s Han-shot-
only
, not Han-shot-first,” I said sweetly, hoping my eyes conveyed the “you are dead as soon as we get home, sister” message I was trying to send my traitor roommate.

Tori must have been completely missing the fact that her life was in imminent danger, because she winked up at Mark. “The only thing that would get her more riled up is a discussion of which actor is a better Mr. Darcy: Colin Firth or Matthew Macfadyen.”

I wondered if there was something more dead than dead? Dead wasn’t good enough for her. She needed to be deader. Like maybe I could kill her, then raise her in some horrific voodoo ceremony just so I could kill her again. It occurred to me that I’d been way more homicidal than usual today. I’m pretty sure I’d thought of killing Tori more times in the last six hours than in our entire fifteen-year friendship. The girl had no idea the kind of thin ice she was skating on. None.

Don’t respond; don’t respond; don’t respond.
“Firth, of course,” I bit out and then wanted to smack myself. “What do you think, Mark?” I said quickly in an attempt to move the conversation back off myself.

“On Firth versus Macfadyen?”

“No. On Han vs. Greedo.” Too late I saw the devilish twinkle in his eye. He’d known exactly what I was asking. I was beginning to come to the conclusion that this entire hiking experience had been orchestrated by the universe to put me in the worst possible light.

“I’m not sure it matters,” he dismissed the topic with a shrug. “The essence of the movie is the same.”

“But it changes the whole way the audience sees the character of Han Solo.” I was indignant.

“But the movie isn’t about Han Solo. People love him, especially women,” he raised his eyebrow at me. “But it doesn’t matter if Han is a little less sexy or dashing, because it’s not his story, it’s Luke’s, yeah?”

I sputtered in outrage for a moment, searching for a reason why his argument had to be wrong. “But Han
is
a very important character. His character stands in opposition to Luke’s earnestness, so when he finally changes in the end, it makes it that more epic.”

“
Star Wars
is a typical Hero’s Journey, written straight to Joseph Campbell. So Han’s a great character, but he’s a supporting one. Luke’s journey isn’t affected by who shoots first in the Cantina scene.”

I almost tripped over my own feet. Had Hottie Bartender Guy just pulled a Joseph Campbell—the author of the definitive comparative mythology text—reference out of his back pocket?

“But,” he continued. “I don’t disagree that once a film has been out that long it becomes part of the broader cultural consciousness, and it’s probably wisest not to tamper with it too much, even for the sake of—and in George Lucas’s case I use this term loosely—broader artistic vision. I’m not sure it’s quite worth getting worked up about, though.”

I didn’t even have to look at Tori to know she was trying not to collapse into hysterical laughter.

“Well, we all have things that push our buttons, I suppose,” I said with as neutral an expression as possible. Such as hot guys with muscles, killer accents, and apparently brains, that managed to be both irritating and arousing. I couldn’t decide which Mark was more of, but I was generally annoyed enough to side with irritation, even though his use of the term “cultural consciousness” had made me want to throw myself at him and beg him to let me have his babies. But he’d probably let those babies watch the Special Edition, and God forbid, maybe even the second trilogy. It would only end in acrimony and recriminations. And then I’d have to add him to my growing “To Murder” list, right after Tori.

Charlie and Rick started in on a new topic, and I took the opportunity to lapse into a frustrated silence. Luckily the conversation had helped us cover the last quarter of the trail and it was only a few minutes before we were able to see the blessed sight of the parking lot. I was only too glad to have the end of the hike, and hopefully the entire day, within reach.

~

Why I’d let myself be dragged out for appetizers and drinks after the hiking excursion, I will never know. I was hot, sticky, in pain, and generally the worse for wear. I hadn’t been aware that going to McKinney’s Pub after was part of the deal, and Charlie would have had to drive back to the apartment to drop me off. I guess I didn’t want to come off as that much of a spoilsport. Plus, McKinney’s has these potato skins that are like a party in your mouth.

By the time said potato skins were deposited on our table, I was salivating. The sandwiches we’d eaten earlier had been good, but I’d worked up quite an appetite walking down the mountain. Stuffing my mouth full of potato, bacon, and cheesy goodness also meant I didn’t have to participate as much in the conversation.

Which was probably good because whenever I opened my mouth around Mark, really stupid things seemed to pop out of their own accord.

“Hey, did that slacker Erickson pay you for saving his butt last night?” Rick asked Mark. He turned to Charlie, who hadn’t been at the party last night. “Dude, the bartender Scott hired didn’t show up, but Barnes just jumped back there and ran the bar all night.”

Charlie looked at Mark in appreciation. “I didn’t know you were a bartender.”

“Yeah. Earned some extra money when I was in uni that way. Been a while, but like riding a bike, I guess.” Mark shrugged his broad shoulders. Had I mentioned his shoulders? I almost forgot to swallow the bite of potato skin in my mouth as I tried not to stare.

“That’s awesome, I hope you at least made good tips.”

Charlie had no idea. Good tips didn’t even begin to cover it.

I blinked and tried to refocus my eyes somewhere other than Mark's shoulders.

“So, what do you do, if not bartend for a living, Mark? You’re pretty good at it; my drink was amazing.”

I could have kicked Tori, except she was sitting down the table from me. My legs are long, but not quite that long. Flirting with Mark right in front of Charlie was low. Although she was probably doing it more to get a rise out of me than out of Charlie, judging by the sly glances she was sending me.

“I teach history.”

“Oh really?” Tori shot me another glance. I was too preoccupied with trying to look like I wasn’t choking on a piece of potato to respond. I’d been mid-swallow when Mark had announced that he was a teacher. Hottie Bartender Guy was now Hottie Teacher Guy. Talk about jumping to conclusions about someone I’d never met. My eyes started to water, but I was still trying to act like nothing was wrong.

"Mark teaches at Whittier Prep,” Charlie told Tori.

I was really choking now. The potato had made its way down but I still couldn’t get any air. My face was probably turning bright purple. I reached for my drink, hoping that taking a sip would help.

Rick, who was, unfortunately, sitting right next to me, finally noticed my distress as I started coughing. “Kelsey, are you okay?” He reached over and thunked me on the back, causing me to gasp and splutter and spill daiquiri all over my shirt.

What was wrong with him? He obviously was not up on his CPR certification if he thought smacking a choking victim on the back was the way to go. Although, by that point I wasn’t choking on anything but my own embarrassment, and the thought of Rick giving me the Heimlech actually made me break out in a cold sweat.

“Yes, thank you. I’m fine,” I finally managed after taking a swig of my drink. I set it back down and grabbed my napkin, trying to sop up some of the liquid from the front of my shirt. Great, now in addition to smelling like sweat, I was going to smell like alcohol. That combo was sure to get more pleasant with time.

“Wow, that’s cool. How long have you been teaching there?” Tori continued as if my little incident hadn’t happened. Mark turned back to her, and I was grateful to her for reclaiming his attention.

“Coming up on a year,” he answered.

“Kelsey went there. Just think, Kels, you could’ve had Mark for a teacher.”

All eyes swung back toward me. The thought of Mark being a teacher of mine was making me feel vaguely sick to my stomach. My brief moment of gratefulness toward Tori evaporated. Was she on some kind of narcotic that made her suddenly witchy toward her basically harmless best friend?

“I graduated from high school almost
six
years ago, Tori. The same year you did.”

Tori flashed Mark another smile. “I didn’t go to Whit Prep though. Plain old public school for me.”

“And me,” Charlie grinned. “I don’t know how I forgot you went there, Kels. Remember that dance I went with you to; what was that? The one right after you broke up with that football player.”

“Junior formal.” I muttered into what was left of my drink.

“Oh, yeah. How could I have forgotten that!”

I grimaced. “It was a pretty forgettable evening.”

Luckily, Mark didn’t seem interested in comparing people we may or may not know in common. The fact that he was probably colleagues with my former teachers was disconcerting. I was just hopeful that he’d never feel a need to go through any old year books.

“One of the pool tables is opening up. You guys want to play?” asked Danny. There was a mass exodus from the table. I didn’t blame them, the conversation wasn’t exactly sparkling. If I’d had opportunity to escape, I would have.

“Are you trying to torture me?” I asked Tori as soon as we were alone at the table. “He could have been my teacher? Seriously?”

“I was trying to involve you in the conversation,” she defended herself. “What’s up with you? You’re not usually so standoffish. Is it because of what happened last night? Mark doesn’t seem the type to hold a grudge.”

“No, that’s not it. I mean, only partly. I don’t know, I just feel awkward.”

“Well, you’re certainly acting awkward.”

“Um, thanks babe, real uplifting,” I said sarcastically.

She arched an eyebrow at me. “I’m trying tough love. Something to break you out of this weird funk.”

I sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Tori grabbed her bag. “Let’s hit the ladies room. I have another shirt you can wear.”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. “You have another shirt?”

“Well, yeah,” she grinned. “Things happen when you’re in nature; it’s best to be prepared.”

I followed her to the bathroom, studiously ignoring the guys at the pool table in the corner. When I finally surveyed the damage to my shirt, complimented by the tendrils of hair escaping my ponytail and sticking out wildly around my face, I actually laughed. “I look like a homeless person.”

“It’s not quite that bad,” Tori grinned at me. “Close though.”

I ducked into a stall and changed out of my smelly shirt and into Tori’s black t-shirt. It was a little bit short on me, but as long as I didn’t raise my arms, I wouldn’t show any midriff. Wearing something that didn’t smell like hiking trail and booze totally trumped not having freedom of movement.