Seers (8 page)

Watching Patrick ready for the race is like watching a marble wind through a perfectly constructed Mouse Trap game. He moves through the steps of getting his equipment set up to entering the water as if it is all one extended action. I don’t know much about boating or crew teams or a bunch of beautifully muscled boys rowing in perfect sync with one another, but I know that Patrick makes it look simple and graceful. I, as well as every female nearby age nine to ninety-nine, have my eyes fixed on him. He gives a final wave to his entourage just before the race begins and he is off. There is no talking, only oohs and ahhs as the teams traverse the water and a pace is set. Once Patrick’s team has a substantial lead and has rounded the bend, the crowds disperse a little and conversations resume.

“What do you think so far?” Daisy asks me.

“It’s incredible. An experience. Just seeing Boathouse Row from this angle is new for me. And you’re right, Patrick is amazing. Thanks for inviting me along today.” I’m sure to look at each of their faces to show that the sentiment is meant for the group and not just for Daisy.

“Happy to have you here,” Luke responds quickly and sounds cordial except for the way he held on to the “here” longer than he should have. It sounded clenched and forced. Am I just reading too much into everything he does now? Or does he really have something against me?

“Thanks, Luke.” I say his name on purpose. I’ve noticed if people don’t like someone or have a conflict with someone, being addressed by name by the person can ignite something. I am looking for any sign at this point. And I get it.

As soon as I utter his name, he jerks his head to face me. He lifts his chin slightly in defiance. He puffs his chest. His eyes, his coal-black eyes, pierce mine. But then he half smiles and nods once. But it comes too late. He recovers too late. I have my answer. He has a problem with me. But what? And why? And, most important, how is this going to complicate my getting close to Eri if he is her obsessed platonic-yet-boyfriendy bodyguard?

Conversation continues but is centered on Patrick and when he is going to come back around toward the end of the race. Finally we see him. His team is out in front by two hundred yards at least. His team strokes the way a millipede simultaneously moves its legs. The boys glisten in the sun, and the water glints off their oars. They make such a beautiful spectacle that once again my surroundings distract me.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Eri has moved beside me as the crowd shifts to watch the end of the race.

“They don’t look real.” I glance over as I say this and am surprised to see that she is looking directly at me.

“Real. Humph. Privileged, smart, athletic young men in water sports. They aren’t real.” She keeps throwing me these loaded statements. She wants to tell me something. I can feel it. And then there’s Luke. There is so much going unsaid right now. I have to take a deep breath. Maybe a few. It’s usually about this time that I go into somebody’s brain just to do something to someone.

“They won! They won! Oh, Patrick! Oh, honey!”

Frances identifies the screaming woman as Patrick’s grandmother, and I watch as Patrick is surrounded in seconds, and our group is kicked back a few feet as family members take their places closest to Patrick. Frances says at most meets it can take fifteen minutes or more for them to get their chance to congratulate him.

The sun is low in the sky before the group is loading up to return to Preston. No one says the obvious to me, and that is, “You can leave any time, Leesie. You’re not coming back with us.” No one seems in a hurry despite the fact that it’s going on seven o’clock, we haven’t eaten, and we all have a ton of homework to do. I decide to initiate my exit before they do.
Leave while the party is still good and don’t overstay your welcome.

“I’m gonna head home, guys. Thanks for the invite today. It was a lot of fun. Congrats again, Patrick.”

“You’re leaving?” The urgency in Eri’s voice takes me by surprise. It must have taken Luke and Daisy by surprise as well because they look over at her with raised eyebrows and silent concern.

“Uh, yeah. I was going to. I mean, I’m starving and I have a lot to do before tomorrow.” I make sure I say “was going to” and throw in an “I’m starving.”

“I’m hungry, too. Maybe you could show us a place around here to eat? Or a place by you?” She hangs on to the second question. She wants to go by my place. Check out where I live. Maybe she’s just curious about what it’s like to live in the city. Maybe she’s still on this “How does a kid with no parents live?” kick. Maybe she’s seeing if I check out. Suddenly I feel like I am the one being Navigated. Who’s the center of a mission here, Eri or me?

“Sure. There’s a diner by me. Only about ten minutes west of here. Who wants to go?” I look at their faces, hoping to be able to tell if they all really want to go or if they’ll feel obligated to say yes because Eri initiated the whole thing.

“I’m too hungry to make it home. We’ll all go, right?” Patrick answers with a smile so wide with victory that no one would dare refuse him. In fact, no one really bothers answering. They just turn and head to the cars in obedience. I wonder if that’s what it’s always like with them, if they always follow one another like a school of fish or a flock of geese. Normally I would be put off by the idea of sameness and of going along with the crowd, but with these guys it feels fair, unforced, and like they’re being together trumps the importance of being in charge.

“So, where’re we going?” Eri is beside me. She falls into step with me easily.

“A place called Tuie’s. It’s pretty good.”

“Great. We’ll follow you.” She glances back at Luke before she says this. She drops her voice at the “you.” She smiles with the left side of her mouth. The right side is up slightly in a smirk. I haven’t seen this look on her face before. It’s not shy, nervous, slightly insecure, and sweet. It’s something much more determined, purposeful.

As we all get back in our cars, I can’t help but wonder … I came here alone, following them. I leave here alone but as the leader, taking them closer than anyone has been to where I live. How did this juxtaposition happen? I keep giving information, letting them in. Aren’t I the one who is supposed to be getting the information? I should be following them around Preston right now. I should be going to
their
favorite diner or to one of
their
houses. I should be sitting in Eri’s room getting her to divulge all her secrets to me. Why does she seem to manipulate things to make me the center instead of her? And why is Luke always there to back her up or to listen in? And when I meet again with Tobias, what am I going to report? That I am a pawn in Eri’s chess game? That I am being played? Am I? Is she onto me? No. How could she be? But why does it feel like she has her own agenda?

As we head west on Girard Avenue toward the diner, I am crawling in my own skin. Here I am in my neighborhood—at the center of my mission—with a bunch of highly intelligent and intuitive kids whose idea it was to come around here. I’m beginning to panic. It’s the kind of panic I imagine a kid feels as he sneaks out of his parents’ house to go to a party in the next neighborhood over. As he leaves his house and walks down his own street, he likely ducks his head, trying to make himself invisible. Suddenly every car is his neighbor’s car. Every guy walking his dog is the guy who’s friends with his dad. Every face he passes could be the person who says, “Hey, I saw your son out walking last night. Everything okay?” It’s only when he enters into the next neighborhood that a veil of anonymity makes him feel safe, like he might actually pull this off. I feel this, only I am heading out of anonymity and into familiarity.

I am scanning the streets for the regulars I see all the time. There’s the flowing skirt lady. She wears these long prairie skirts and rides her bike all over the place. I keep waiting for the skirt to tangle in her pedals and for her to do a flip over the handlebars into oncoming traffic. There’s newspaper guy. He buys a paper at about seven or eight every evening and then sits out front of the fire station at Fourth and Girard and reads the paper in the waning sunlight. He’s gonna drive himself to a state of blindness. There’s chain-smoker girl. I don’t actually know if she’s a chain smoker, but whenever I see her, she’s on the corner of Germantown Avenue lighting up another one. I’ve never spoken to these people. I’ve never stopped to chat or to introduce myself. I probably never will. And yet they, and a handful of others, have become my neighbors. They’re my “borrow a cup of sugar/invite them in for tea” neighbors, if only in my head. I know I have no roots, but that doesn’t stop my tree from dropping seeds. And now I feel like they may be watching me leading this caravan and waiting to question my intentions. Or the group’s.

I pull into the lot on Germantown and wait for Patrick and Eri to park.

“That was easy to get to! What part of the city is this?” Patrick is wide-eyed and impressed.

“Northern Liberties.”

“And you live here?”

“Nearby.”

Oh, God, please don’t ask to see my place. Hurry. Have an excuse ready.

“It’s nice.”

Good. Okay. Patrick has manners. He knows it’s rude to invite yourself over to someone’s house. He’ll wait to see if he’s asked, which will
not
happen. I just hope the others show the same restraint.

“The diner’s this building here,” I say, pointing across the street toward Second. The diner’s back is to us, but we can see the wrought-iron tables to the side and the orange and teal décor through the floor-to-ceiling windows facing us. We form a lateral line and head toward it like a pack of wolves.

“You guys want to sit outside or in?” I ask trying to avoid the fumbling that will take place if I allow the host to ask that question once we’re already inside.

“Let’s sit outside. I want to see the neighborhood,” Frances says. She’s been quiet since the race. She probably wants to go home. I know she’s got homework. We all do. At least that means they won’t linger. They’ll eat and go back to Jersey. And I’ll be able to sort my brain out before I have to go back to them tomorrow and jumble it all back up.

The host with the big gauges, earrings that are more like space savers or hollow saucers creating a hole in each earlobe the size of a penny, and a merman tattoo on his forearm seats us facing the Piazza. It’s the center part of the neighborhood, where most events take place. It’s great for people watching. I come to the diner every couple days at least and sit by myself out here. I see it as part of my job. I have to be able to read people. I have to be able to make split-second decisions based on people’s verbal, nonverbal, and facial cues. Plus it’s fun. City people are especially fun to watch. They tend to use their bodies as extensions of their personalities more than suburbanites. There’s hot-pink-hair guy, face-tattoo girl, and tons of people dressed so funkily that you know it has to be part of who they are and not just for attention.

It turns out the group enjoys people watching, too. That coupled with the fact that we have been together going on twelve hours has extinguished the need for constant conversation, thankfully. Even Eri lets up and concentrates on the short stack of pancakes she has ordered.

I fumble with my veggie wrap. I ordered the dressing on the side, but I can tell the cook forgot or missed the message, because the wrap is soggy and the sprouts are drenched. I’d send it back, but I don’t want to mess up the relaxed feeling at the table. It’s the second meal we’ve shared in one day. Because I spend so much time alone, the communal importance of eating with other people is not wasted on me, and I begin to feel, despite all the questions I have about Luke and Eri, like I am a part of this group. More than that. Like I
want
to be a part of this group.

I look from one member to the next. Frances and Daisy are talking and giggling. I follow their gaze and realize their eyes are following a guy wearing nothing but dangerously low-riding cut-off sweatpants. He is jogging through the Piazza as a glistening, muscle-bound thing of beauty. Wow. I tear my eyes away and look to the other end of the table. Patrick is making eyes at the cute blonde two tables away. Everywhere he’s a star. Across from me Eri is treating butter and syrup as mediums in an art project as she readies herself to polish off the second half of her pancakes. Even Luke, sitting next to her, seems to have relaxed. The beef patty melt must be good. He is dipping fries into the juices left by the caramelized onions. He isn’t watching me or frowning. And suddenly I am back to our first conversation in the hallway at school. The one where I couldn’t speak calmly because his classic good looks threw me for a loop. All at once I am caught up in them again. His square jaw, his straight, thick eyebrows and a perfect hairline—the kind of hairline you know could never lead to baldness—his clear, clean skin, and nice lips—not too thick and not too thin.

“Leesie, you okay?”

I watch his lips form those words before I realize he is talking to me. And that he has obviously noticed me staring at him.

“Uh, yeah! Sure,” I answer too quickly. What does it matter how well I cover it up? It’s obvious to him that I was checking him out. What’s funny is that for the first time since early this morning he seems amused and friendly instead of looming and accusatory. He is smirking at me. His coal-black eyes dance over my face. He likes it. Unnerving me. That much I know.