“Only fifteen miles,” he said.
“Does he need help?”
“There was a State Patrol car.”
“I didn’t see it.”
“I’m so sorry about this,” Levi said.
“Stop,” she said. “You didn’t make it snow.”
“Your dad’s going to hate me.”
She raised his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. His forehead wrinkled, almost like it hurt.
Cath listened to the windshield wipers and watched the front window for whatever was coming next.
“Are you sure?” Levi asked after a few miles. “About the fiction-writing? Are you sure you don’t have that inside you? You’re fathomless when it comes to Simon and Baz—”
“They’re different. They already exist. I just move them around.”
He nodded. “Maybe you’re like Frank Sinatra. He didn’t write his own songs—but he was a genius interpreter.”
“I hate Frank Sinatra.”
“Come on, nobody hates Frank Sinatra.”
“He treated women like things.”
“Okay—” Levi adjusted himself in the seat, shaking his neck out. “—not Frank Sinatra, then … Aretha Franklin.”
“Blech. Diva.”
“Roy Acuff?”
“Who?”
Levi smiled, and it made Cath kiss his fingers again. He gave her a quick, questioning look.
“The point is…,” he said softly. Something about the storm made them both talk softly. “There are different kinds of talent. Maybe your talent is in interpretation. Maybe you’re a stylist.”
“And you think that counts?”
“Tim Burton didn’t come up with Batman. Peter Jackson didn’t write Lord of the Rings.”
“In the right light, you are such a nerd.”
His smile opened up. The truck hit a slick spot, and he pulled his hand away, but the smile lingered. A coffeepot-shaped water tower slowly moved past his window. They were on the edge of town now; there were more cars here, on the road and in the ditches.
“You still have to write that story,” Levi said.
“Why?”
“To bring your grade up. Don’t you need to keep your GPA up for your scholarship?”
She’d only just told him about the scholarship a few nights ago. (“I’m dating a genius,” he’d said, “and a scholar.”)
Of course she wanted to keep her GPA up. “Yeah—”
“So, write the story. It doesn’t have to be great. You don’t have to be Ernest Hemingway. You’re lucky you’re getting a second chance.”
Cath sighed. “Yeah.”
“I don’t know where you live,” he said. “You’re going to have to give me instructions.”
“Just be careful,” Cath said, leaning in quickly to kiss his smooth cheek.
“You can’t shave your head. You’ll look mental.”
“I look worse than mental with this hair. I look evil.”
“There’s no such thing as evil hair,” Simon giggled. They were lying on the floor of the library between two rows of shelves. Baz on his back. Simon propped up on one shoulder.
“Look at me,” Baz said, pushing his chin-length hair back from his forehead. “Every famous vampire has a widow’s peak like this. I’m a cliché. It’s like I went to the barber and asked for ‘a Dracula.’”
Simon was laughing so hard, he nearly fell forward onto Baz. Baz shoved him up with his free hand.
“I mean, honestly,” Baz said, still holding back his hair, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s like an arrow on my face. This way to the vampire.”
Simon swatted Baz’s hand away and kissed the point of his hairline as gently as he could. “I like your hair,” Simon said against Baz’s forehead. “Really, really.”
—from Carry On, Simon, posted March 2012 by FanFixx.net author Magicath
TWENTY-SEVEN
When they pulled crunchily into Cath’s driveway, Cath exhaled, completely, for the first time in two hours.
Levi leaned back and let his head fall against the seat. He opened and closed his hands, stretching his fingers. “Let’s never do that again,” he said.
Cath unbuckled her seat belt and slid toward him, pushing her arms around his shoulders. Levi smiled so wide, she wished it hadn’t taken an adrenaline rush for her to feel like she could hug him like this. His arms moved around her waist, and she held him tightly, her face in his coat.
Levi’s mouth was close to her ear. “You shouldn’t reward me for endangering your life, you know. Think of the precedent you’re setting.”
Cath held him even tighter. He was good. He was good, and she didn’t want to lose him. Not that she felt like she was going to lose him on the interstate. Just, in general. In general, she didn’t want to lose him.
“I wouldn’t have thought twice of driving through this back home,” he said quietly, “by myself. But I shouldn’t have done this with you. I’m sorry.”
She shook her head.
The street was silent, and the cab of the truck was dark gray and white-bright, and after a few minutes, Levi’s hand trailed up her back and down again.
“Cather,” he whispered, “I really like you.…”
* * *
When they got out of the truck, the windshield was covered with snow. Levi carried her laundry. Cath let him. He was nervous about meeting her dad, and she was nervous about her dad, period. She’d talked to him every day since Christmas break, and she’d been home to visit—he seemed like he was doing fine, but you never knew with him.…
When Cath opened the door, he was right there in the living room. There were papers everywhere, onionskin taped to the curtains and walls, all his ideas sorted into buckets. And her dad was sitting on the coffee table, chewing on the end of a Sharpie.
“Cath,” he said, smiling. “Hey … is it Cath time already?” He looked at the windows, then down at his wrist; he wasn’t wearing a watch. Then he saw Levi and stopped. He took his glasses off his head and put them on, standing.
“Dad, this is Levi. He gave me a ride.” That hadn’t come out right. Cath tried again: “He’s, um … Levi.”
Levi held out his hand. “Mr. Avery, nice to meet you.” He was drawling. Maybe his accent was a nervous tic.
“It’s nice to meet you,” her dad said. And then—“Levi.”
“I’m really sorry about taking Cather out in this weather,” Levi said. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
Nothing registered on her dad’s face. He looked toward the windows. “Is it messy out? I guess I haven’t been paying attention.…”
Levi’s face went nearly blank. He smiled politely.
Her dad looked at Cath and remembered that he was going to hug her. “Are you hungry?” he said. “Is it dinnertime? I’ve been in a Franken-fog all day.”
“Did you guys get the Frankenbeans account?” she asked.
“Still pitching. Eternally pitching. So, Levi,” he said, “are you staying for dinner?”
“Oh,” Levi said. “Thank you, sir, but I better get back while there’s still some light.”
Cath wheeled around. “Are you kidding me? You’re not driving back to Lincoln in this.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Four-wheel drive. Snow tires. Cell phone.”
“No,” Cath said harshly. “Don’t be an idiot. We’re lucky that we got here okay—you’re not going back.”
Levi bit his lips and raised his eyebrows helplessly.
Her dad walked past them to the door. “Jesus,” he said from the porch. “She’s right, Levi—I’m just going to keep saying your name until I remember it, is that okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Cath pulled on Levi’s sleeve. “You’re staying, all right?”
He licked his bottom lip nervously. She wasn’t used to seeing him nervous. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.
“Okay,” her dad said, walking back into the living room, “dinner…” He still looked like he was in a Franken-fog.
“I got it,” Cath said. “You keep working. You look like you’re on to something.”
He smiled at her gratefully. “Thanks, honey. Just give me another half hour to sort through this.” He turned back to his concepts. “Levi, take off your coat.”