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Show All the Variables & Other Love Stories 6 Brandon had been a junior when we were freshmen, and he and Michaela dated for three years before Michaela broke up with him last summer. "I'm not in love with him," she had told me when we started seeing each other. "He wants so badly to be in love, and I just don't feel it. I love him, but I'm not in love with him. I don't know. I don't think everyone was meant to be in love. The whole idea doesn't appeal to me." "That's fine," I had said. "I don't care if you love me." My mother had warned me about girls like Michaela. So had my father, although he had been much more enthusiastic. We made out in my car until I started panting for it. "We better stop," I said. "No, don't." "I have to. If I don't now, I'm not going to want to." "Then you'd better stop," she said, pushing me off her. She cleared her throat and adjusted her bra. "Too bad." When I got home Brandon was waiting for me. "Where's Dad?" I asked. I needed a bodyguard. The house was dark, except for an end table lamp. I had no idea how long ago Mom and Dad had gone to bed, and I wondered how long Brandon had been waiting for me, how much time he had brooded here. He made me sit down and stood over me, the muscles in his neck flexing like a snake. "How's Michaela?" he asked. I sat straight backed, feet together, hands on knees, and stared blankly ahead. I didn't look at him; I didn't want to do anything to set him off, and it occurred to me not looking at him might set him off. "Good," I said, monotone as possible. "Find her birthmark?" |
