freely.
I told her about my job and the mad blokes Iâd met. She laughed along with me, hung on every word I said, like she was really interested, not just in the stories but in me.
âWhat about you?â I asked. âYou know what kind of job youâre going to do?â
âNot really. When I was a little girl I had it all worked out. I wanted to be a vet in the daytime and a model at night. And on weekends I was going to be a nurse â and have babies.â Emma stretched out on the grass, grinning up at me. âBut now Iâm not quite so ambitious.â She lifted herself back into a sitting position. âIâm thinking about doing Law.â Another grin. âOr becoming prime minister. Thatâs a definite possibility.â
Right about then I started hoping sheâd changed her mind about going to Canada as an exchange student, but when I mentioned it her eyes gleamed.
âIâm counting the days. Only sixty-five to go. You know how many minutes that is?â
âNo.â
âNeither do I, but itâs got to be plenty!â
âSo thereâs no way that you wonât go?â
âWhy would anyone give up a once in a lifetime opportunity like that?â
âBecause they fell madly in love with someone great like me?â
But there was no chance of me saying that out loud.
âI canât think of a single reason,â I told her.
It was better to keep it light. I didnât want to scare her off. Anyway, I was simply enjoying being around her. She was bubbly and happy â she even brought out a few bubbles in me.
We raved on and on about movies and music and books â she was mad about books.
âMe too,â I said.
âReally? I had no idea. What are your favourites?â
I was thinking: Playboy . Picture . Hustler .
âAw, you know, bit of everything.â
She âjust lovedâ about a zillion books and she gladly rattled off the plots and described the characters for me. I had book burn-out, but still I said, âIâll go to the library tonight and see if I can get a few of those. They sound real good.â
âYou do really like books, donât you? Youâre not just saying that because you think itâs what I want to hear?â
âSure I like books.â
Whatâs more, I was prepared to read every one that was in the library if it helped my chances. I wanted her to keep talking. I loved listening to her voice ⦠maybe it was even better than the perve.
She glanced at her watch.
âI have to be getting home,â she said.
Emma took long loping strides as we walked back towards the road, her arms folded. Suddenly it felt like all the words had dried up and we were fast becoming strangers again. I couldnât blame her. I didnât have a lot going for myself. My long hair was a feeble attempt to look sexy and interesting, but mostly I just looked like Iâd lost my comb. I did twenty push-ups every morning â when I remembered â but that did nothing to give my arms any shape. My ears stuck out too much and my teeth were crooked, so I usually kept my mouth shut in photos. I wasnât bag-over-the-head ugly, just your usual run-of-the-mill bloke, plain and ordinary. Very ordinary.
When we got to the fence sheâd go her way and Iâd go mine and thatâd be it ⦠unless I let her know how I felt. But that would set me up for rejection and I couldnât handle it. With some dreams you never want to wake up.
We clambered through the fence. I raised my hand, wanting to touch her, but too scared to try.
âIâll see you around,â I mumbled.
She didnât reply. The eyes said it all. âIs that it? Are you going to walk away without even making an attempt at getting to know me more? Are you really that gutless?â
Well, maybe that wasnât all in her eyes. Maybe a lot of it was how I felt. But there was enough in her
Learning to Kill: Stories