XGeneration 1: You Don't Know Me (22 page)

Scott pulled open the drawers beneath the welding bench. In one sat an acetylene torch and a row of soldering irons. Another drawer revealed a folded apron, gloves, and a welder’s mask. Scott donned them, the mask cold against his face, and lifted out the torch. It still worked. The flame whooshed to life and then hissed as Scott honed it to a point. His old passion for model building sang inside him. But this wasn’t plastic and model glue. He cut the torch and raised his mask. This was the real deal.

He smiled, something he didn’t think he would be capable of again after the disastrous evening—from pulling a Barney Fife on the reclining couch seat, to going loopy in the middle of his and Janis’s conversation (a conversation that had been going so
well
), to having to spend the rest of the night watching her and Blake get cozy.

But here was another world for him to explore.

Scott put everything away and returned the piece of plywood to the columnar indentations that marked the two sides of the workshop as separate. He scooted the boxes, buckets, and cans of paint in front of the false wall and stood back. The computer, the metal shop—he could have his old life back here, and no one would ever know. Scott cracked his knuckles as he considered it. No, not his old life—better. It was the
evolution
of his old life.

But what about the tap?
the voice reminded him.

Scott frowned and brought a knuckle to his lips. He needed an ally. He needed… Wayne. But for the last month, Wayne had been abiding by Scott’s decree to the letter:
Don’t talk to me. Ever again.

No surprise there.

But what continued to puzzle Scott was why Wayne had been so dismissive of his warning about the phone tap. It seemed the sort of thing Wayne would have jumped all over—getting to play Whiz Kid, using his technical skills to demystify the puzzle, solve the rid—

Scott froze where he stood.

Unless Wayne’s the one who tipped off the feds.

He began to shake his head, then stopped.

Scott
had
heard stories about hackers ratting out other hackers. They popped up on the message boards from time to time. Some of the hackers-turned-rats had gotten busted themselves and made deals with the feds. Others seemed to have done it out of sheer competitiveness and spite.

Scott thought of the fights he and Wayne had gotten into throughout the past year, all of them fueled by… competitiveness and spite.

He took the phone from his rear pocket and dialed Wayne. His heart pounded in his temples as he waited for the numbers to pulse out. But just before the first ring, he hung up.

Better to confront him in person.

Scott turned off his computer equipment and began disassembling cords and cables. He disconnected the modem from the wall jack last and stood a moment contemplating the cord’s plastic head. All that separated this lowly space in the back of his parents’ garage from the rest of the world was one cursed tap.

And if Wayne was behind it, so help him.

18

Graystone house

Wednesday, October 10, 1984

Dinnertime

Janis’s dad slowly wiped his napkin against his mouth and returned his gaze to the muted television—another commercial for Viper Industries. He had said nothing for the last minute. He grew silent like this whenever he weighed a momentous decision. All Janis could do was watch.

“How well do you know this fellow?” he asked Janis at last.

“Pretty well.”

He remained looking at her, his face bearing the solemnity she’d seen in the parking lot almost two weeks before. For a man who dealt in sound thinking,
pretty well
was not the best answer.

Margaret, who had been the one to announce her upcoming date with Blake minutes before, spoke up again.

“Well, how well do you know anyone before a first date?” she asked. “That’s what first dates are for. But what we both know of Blake”—she moved her eyes to Janis—“is that he’s responsible, respectful, an A student. His father works in cancer research at the hospital.”

“How long has he been driving?” their father asked.

“He got his license this week,” Janis answered, too honestly.

“
Which means
he’s been driving with a temporary permit for the last year,” Margaret finished, narrowing her eyes at Janis.

“Has he been driving at night?”

Margaret sighed. “What difference does it make?”

“It makes a considerable difference,” her father answered. “Things are harder to see at night—lane markers, signage—especially if you don’t have experience driving in the dark.”

“Well, I’m sure he does,” Margaret said.

Janis had been watching her sister’s eyes, and now their color began to shift with the tone of her voice.
She’s doing it again, eroding his convictions until her way seems the only, or at least the easiest, way.
The grooves of concern across her father’s brow pouched and sagged like a sand sculpture facing a shallow but relentless tide. It was hard for Janis to watch. Even though Margaret was intervening on her behalf, this didn’t seem right, as if she were upsetting some hallowed order. And it made their father look old.

“I’d like to meet him,” he said, looking back to Janis, blinking. “Have him come early to pick you up.”

“Or how about inviting him for dinner?” her mother offered.

“That’s a fantastic idea,” Margaret said.

“Here?” Janis’s ears prickled at the thought of Blake wedged between her parents and Margaret. “Nuh-uh. No way. Not on a first—”

Margaret’s foot caught Janis in the shin.
Don’t screw this up,
the kick said.
I just got a
major
concession from Dad for you.

“All right, I’ll
ask
if he can come.”

And it was settled.

* * *

The crowd in the theater was sparse for a Saturday night. The summer hit
Ghostbusters
was going on nineteen weeks, according to the sign in the theater lobby, but it was a movie neither Blake nor Janis had seen, so it was the one they agreed on. Sitting in the back third of the theater, waiting for the lights to dim and the red curtains to open, Janis reflected on how unusual it had felt being driven to her date
by
her date. The dates she’d gone on in middle school involved bicycles or carpooling parents. Not only that, but having her car door opened for her, her ticket purchased, her soda paid for… It evoked the same topsy-turvy feelings of unreality as when he’d asked her out the week before.

Blake found her hand on the armrest they shared, and Janis inhaled the cool scent of his cologne. “I don’t know anything about this movie.” His fingers slipped inside hers. “Is it supposed to be scary?”

She smiled. “Starring Bill Murray and Dan Aykroyd? I don’t think so.”

When he laughed, the purple sleeves of his school jacket glinted softly beneath the theater lights. “All right, but if it gives me nightmares, I’m going to be calling you tomorrow.”

Then I hope it gives you nightmares.

But she didn’t say it. All week, Margaret had counseled her about not being too forward, not showing too much interest too soon. “It’s a mistake a lot of girls make,” she said. “And it’s a major turnoff. Make
him
do the work.” But Janis felt so comfortable in his presence, so exclusive, as though it was just the two of them in the theater despite the other patrons sprinkled about, that she wanted to shove off Margaret’s advice for a change and say what she felt.

Instead, she gave Blake’s hand a playful squeeze. “If it gives you nightmares, then blame the joke writers, not me.”

“I’ll do that,” he said.

“Hey, um…” She drew the corner of her lip between her teeth. “I hope you were cool with dinner. I know it was probably a little weird, this being our first time out.”

“No, no, I was honored to be invited. Really. You have such a great family, and your mom’s cooking…” He kissed his fingertips. “Just between us, I wish
my
mother cooked that well.”

As Blake went into the specifics of what he’d liked about the food, Janis thought about how well the dinner had actually gone despite her obsessive concerns that week on all the ways it could implode. Blake had arrived early and addressed her father as “Mr. Graystone” and “sir” and her mother as “ma’am.” Margaret was working the evening shift at JC Penney, so Blake sat across from their father in Margaret’s usual spot. Her mother had prepared Janis’s favorite dinner: breaded and fried chicken strips with sweet potato soufflé and broccoli on the side.

But Janis hadn’t been hungry. Her stomach flip-flopped every time her father put another question to Blake because no matter the question, and no matter how competently Blake answered, what Janis heard every time was,
Why should I allow you to date my daughter?

“So do you plan on playing football in college?” her father asked.

“That’s a tough call, sir.” Blake paused to bring his napkin to his mouth. “I’d like to, but two of the pre-med programs I’m considering don’t have football teams. And the others… well, between the coursework and the research that’s required, I’m not sure I would have the time.”

Bingo.

Her father appeared to relax then. For the rest of dinner, his questions to Blake had mostly to do with whether he was getting enough to eat, which Blake assured him, he was. For her part, Janis said little. She watched Blake’s attentiveness toward her parents, his easy laughter, the neat tuck of his white Polo shirt inside his jeans, where his napkin lay. And even though she knew it was way too early, Janis caught herself wondering if this was something that might last through high school and into college… maybe even beyond.

In the front hallway, Blake grasped her father’s hand and thanked both of her parents for the evening.

“We’d like our daughter home after the movie,” Janis’s father said. “No later than ten.”

Janis cringed at his forwardness, but Blake didn’t seem to mind.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Ten o’clock.”

“And, Blake, we’d like you to join us again for dinner sometime. Janis’s mother and I have really enjoyed your company. Your parents did a fine job.” And Janis could see in the meshwork of lines around her father’s eyes that he had meant it.

As the lights in the theater dimmed and the projector shot to life, Janis leaned nearer to Blake’s shoulder and then let her head rest against it.

* * *

“And how about when that marshmallow guy came to life and started rampaging?” Blake asked, wiping a finger beneath his eyes. “Oh, man, I haven’t laughed that hard in ages. I needed that.”

“Yeah.” Janis laughed at how hard Blake was still laughing. “Me too.”

They were parked out in front of her house in Blake’s Toyota MR2, a birthday gift from his dad. The car idled quietly, its amber parking lights illuminating the Prelude’s back bumper. Just as Blake had promised Mr. Graystone, they had come straight from the movie, rounding the cul-de-sac at 9:48 p.m. Janis glanced at the clock display again, wondering how to stretch the next five minutes.

“Really.” He turned toward her, his laughter winding down. “I had a great time.”

Janis looked up at him.
Is this where we’re supposed to kiss?
Her last time had been with Keith Rafferty, her last boyfriend. They had sneaked into his parents’ basement during his birthday party and made out for a few minutes in the cool darkness. May, was it? Now Janis wondered whether five months was too long. Could she have gotten rusty in that time? Her stomach fluttered madly.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes brightening with something remembered. “How did you know that old man was going to trip?”

Heat filled Janis’s cheeks. “What do you mean?”

“Outside the theater. You lunged for him before he even started to fall.”

“Oh, I…” She’d seen a ghost image. “I could tell he wasn’t paying attention to the curb.”

“So on top of everything else, you’re a superhero?” Blake smiled, then watched his hand jiggle the stick shift. “You know, when I saw the article about you in the paper this summer and read that you’d be attending Thirteenth Street High this year, I…” He gave an embarrassed laugh. “I was hoping that I’d have a chance to meet you. I remember thinking that. And now I’m really glad I did.”

“Really?” Janis wrinkled her brow. “I mean, about the article.”

It had never occurred to her that someone she’d never met—never even seen—could develop feelings for her from a couple of pictures and a few columns of print.

“It’s funny,” he said. “I expected us to connect as athletes—you know, before we met. I saw a lot of myself in that article. Your drive, your competitiveness. But now, having met you, talking to you, being out with you… I don’t know, it’s like those pressures are a million miles away.” The soft dimples returned, and he tipped his forehead toward her. “That’s something I didn’t expect.”

“No, me neither,” she whispered.

Whether she moved nearer to him or he nearer to her, she wasn’t sure. But in the next moment, their lips were touching. His kiss felt strong and gentle. He brought his hand to her cheek and held it, her hair falling over his fingers. On the radio, Bryan Adams was singing “Straight from the Heart.” How long they stayed like that, Janis couldn’t say. She figured she must be doing something right because she felt warm and a little dizzy. She felt safe.

When they parted, Blake’s blue eyes shone into hers.

“Well,” he said, glancing at the display. “I have exactly one minute before your father puts out an APB on a missing daughter.”

They walked around the driveway in silence, Janis still feeling his close presence, his lips against hers. She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing. She hoped so. Though they didn’t hold hands, the sleeves of their jackets touched as they walked. On the front porch, he smiled and kissed her cheek.

“In case your father’s watching,” he whispered, before standing back. “Call you tomorrow?”

She nodded and slipped her hands into the front pockets of her pinstripe jeans.

“All right. Thank your parents again for me.”

“I will. Thanks for the movie.”