to a section in the back, started scanning the titles in the stacks. Outside he could hear the whoops and whistles of the tourists on vacation, but inside the library all was quiet and still. Keeping his eye on the girl, he fumbled through the magazine rack, scanning the covers of Time, Newsweek, U.S. News and World Report, Good Housekeeping, and Oprah. He had to move quickly when the girl headed back downstairs with three books in her arms.
The older lady at the counter didn’t even look at the girl as she processed the books. “Find everything you needed?”
“Yes, thank you,” Spook said so softly that Chris barely heard her. She shoved them into her bag and started back toward the front door.
“Hey,” Chris said as she walked past him, leaning up against the wall in what he hoped was a sexy pose. He forced a big smile on his face.
She stopped, looking at him. “Hey,” she replied. She searched his face for a moment, then turned and walked out the front door.
Feeling stupid, Chris started after her. Nice move, slick, he told himself as he turned to follow her.
She stopped and sat down on a bench, withdrawing a crumpled pack of Parliaments from her bag. She lit one.
Okay, big guy, this is your shot.
Taking a deep breath, Chris sat down next to her. “Those are bad for you,” he said.
She took a deep inhale, blew the smoke out through her nose, and looked at him without expression. “Are you stalking me?” she asked. Her voice was low, quiet, soft, and feminine.
He flushed, losing what little composure he had. “Um, no.” He stuttered a bit. “My name’s Chris.”
She didn’t answer, just kept staring, the cigarette burning between her fingers.
“What’s your name?” he asked, knowing that his face was surely as red as his T-shirt. He wiped sweat off his brow. Come on, come on, answer me, please!
She kept staring, then turned her head and pitched her cigarette into the street. “I don’t know why I smoke. They taste like shit.” She shrugged. “Kind of a stupid thing to do.”
“Well, then why do you do it?” What the hell am I saying? Smooth move, idiot. You’re lucky she doesn’t laugh in your face.
“Jessie,” she said finally, still looking at him. “My name’s Jessie Kaye.”
“Nice to meet you.” He held his hand out, but she ignored it until he finally let it drop back to his side.
“Yeah, whatever.” A group of shirtless men in their midthirties passed, laughing and joking.
“This place sure is full of queers,” he said.
She turned and looked at him. “Queers are people.” She tilted her head to one side. “Everyone’s got something about them that’s not normal.” She barked out a small laugh. “Trust me on that.”
“Oh, I don’t hate gay people or anything like that.” He shrugged, flaying himself mentally for coming off like a homophobic jerk. His parents had long made a point of preaching tolerance. Half of their colleagues were gay or lesbian, and Chris knew them all, even called one lesbian couple Aunt Pat and Aunt Sally. He started to feel again that Jessie might be gay herself. “It’s all good,” he heard himself say. “I just don’t understand it myself, but it’s all good.”
“Nobody’s asking you to understand. Nobody’s asking for anything—except to be left alone.”
Change the subject, quick, before she asks you to leave her alone. “So,” Chris said, “what’d you check out from the library?”
“You are stalking me.” A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. She was really pretty when she smiled. “Don’t you have anything better to do on a nice summer day? Like go to the beach? Rollerblade? Don’t you have a girlfriend or anything?”
“No.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Why?”
She sighed. “You’re cute. I’d think you’d be beating them off with a stick. Especially since most of the guys in town are gay, right? Hunky straight boys are in short supply.”
“You think I’m cute?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you stalking me?”
His heart pounding, he wiped sweat off his forehead. “What else is there to do?”
She shook her head. “You can’t find anything better to do than stalk the local freak show?” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you swim or sail or fish or all the other things guys are supposed to like to do?”
“No.”
She smirked. “Maybe you’re gay and you just don’t know it yet.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“I was joking. Not very quick, are you?”
“Guess not.” He turned his head and watched a sailboat on the bay.
She laughed. Her laugh sounded rusty, like she didn’t use it very often. “Well, Chris, I like that in a boy. Quick is way overrated.”
He relaxed a little, finally. “I’ve always thought so, too.”
“So what brings you to Provincetown for the summer? Since you’re not gay, I mean.”
He tensed, and then realized she was teasing him. “My parents bought a summer place here. Well, in Truro.”
“What do they do?”
“They teach at Boston College.”
“Oh.” She was distinctly not impressed.
They sat in silence for a minute, watching the tourists. Chris was trying to think of something else to say when she said, “So what do you want to be when you get all grown up into a big bad adult?”
He eyed her. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
She held up her right hand, and he noticed her fingers were stained with blue ink. “I swear.”
“I want to be on Road Rules.”
“Road rules?” She stared at him. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a show. On MTV.” He felt his face starting to turn red again. Why was he telling her this? He hadn’t told anyone; it was his deepest secret. He knew the kids at school would make fun of him if he said anything—and God forbid he tell his mother. She hated MTV—she hated television in general. He could only watch when she wasn’t around.
“They put like six kids in an RV and send them all over the place,” Chris said. “Like South America, or the Pacific Islands, or Australia or Europe. It’s always some place really, really cool, and they have all these really cool but hard missions, like bungee jumping or walking tightropes, or learning how to kickbox, you know, cool stuff that’s really hard to do. They have to face their fears, like heights or bugs and stuff, and if they complete all their missions they win prizes. It’s really cool. They have to learn how to work as a team and get along with each other, and they’re all complete strangers in the beginning, and they’re always really different types, and—”
Her face was completely blank.
“Don’t you watch MTV?” he asked.
She gave him a withering look. “I don’t watch any television.”
“Now you sound like my mom.”
“Maybe she’s on to something.”
Once again they’d hit a stalemate. Her cigarette was almost gone; Chris worried that she’d be getting up to leave.
“So what do your parents do?”