Project Seven - Chapter 6[part 2]

K O D Y

I  walked  back  to  the  booth  to  find  Alec  eating  from  a  plate  of  food  he  ordered:  bourbon-glazed  salmon.  I  was  surprised  but  pleased  to  see  my  own  food  sitting  opposite  from  him  and  still  steaming  hot.  Maybe  Alec  bribed(or  charmed)  our  waitress  not  to  serve  it  cold.  He  glanced  at  me  when  I  slid  into  my  seat,  and  swallowed  his  food  before  speaking.  

“Welcome  back,”  he  said.

I  looked  down  at  my  plate,  which  was  lobster  ravioli,  and  I  felt  my  stomach  growl  like  a  carnivorous  animal  spotting  its  prey.  I  grabbed  the  fork  then  shoved  one  of  the  ravioli  pieces  in  my  mouth.

Holy  shit.

Living  as  an  Indigent  meant  having  food  that  was  artificial,  nearly  rotten,  or  salvaged  from  the  trash  at  least  every  day  of  your  life.  A  fresh  meal  made  from  scratch  like  this  could  never  compare.

“Good,  isn’t  it?”  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  stared  at  the  brown-eyed  man  sitting  in  front  of  me.  I  nearly  forgot  Alec  was  there.  So  that's  what  it  feels  like  to  be  absorbed  in  good  food;  you  ignore  whatever  is  around  you  for  a  moment.

I  said,  “It’s  delicious.”  Then  he  nodded,  as  if  to  himself,  and  continued  eating.  It  was  almost  quiet,  until  Alec  spoke  again.

“How’s  school?”  That  kind  of  question  that  threw  me  off  guard  a  bit.  He's  a  journalist,  not  a  therapist.

“Could  be  better.”

“Do  other  students  bully  you?”

“Yeah—mainly  because  I’m  an  Indigent.  So  what?”  I  wasn't  caring  that  I  was  talking  with  my  mouth  full.

“Do  they  harass  you  for  any  other  reason?”

I  slowly  nodded.  “Because . . . I’m  not  like  them.”

He  pressed  on.  “In  what  way?”

“I’m  just  not  like  them,  all  right?  Don’t  bother  asking;  you  wouldn’t  understand.”

“What  if  I  said  I  do  understand,  K?  Or  at  least,  said  I  have  a  vague  idea  of  what  you  might  mean?”  That  caught  my  attention.  Alec’s  concrete  expression  didn’t  oscillate,  and  for  some  reason,  my  gut  told  me  that  maybe  he  knew  something.

“Meaning  they  are  other  people  like  me?  I  highly  doubt  that.”  I  avoided  his  gaze,  and  instead  continued  to  eat  and  take  occasional  sips  from  my  root  beer.

Alec  said,  “You  told  me  anything  was  possible.”

“. . . I  did,”  I  answered.  It  was  silent  between  us  again.

“What  do  you  do  when  you’re  bullied?  How  do  you  react?”  I  was  glad  Alec  changed  the  course  of  his  questions  a  bit.  At  least  he  didn’t  try  to  force  the  reasoning  of  my  answer  out  of  me.

“With  comebacks,  of  course.”  I  couldn’t  help  but  grin.  “You  know,  there’s  not  many  people  that  can  come  up  with  perfect  comebacks  on  the  spot.  I’m  proud  to  be  one  of  them.”

Alec  smiled  a  bit.  “I  see . . .  Do  you  respond  with  physical  contact?”

I  shrugged  and  answered,  “Sometimes,  but  rarely.  Depends  on  what  they’re  saying  and  what  they  do.”  I  finished  the  last  of  my  food  and  drank  majority  of  my  root  beer.  But  combined,  it  made  my  stomach  satisfyingly  full.  My  plate  was  already  clean.  I  looked  down  at  the  bourbon-glazed  salmon  Alec  ordered,  which  he  was  nearly  finished  with.

I  said  to  him,  “I  don’t  think  I’ll  have  dessert;  I'm  full . . .  By  the  way,  you  eat  like  a  bird."

Alec  sounded  amused.  “I  like  to  savor  my  food.”

“I  would  too  if  it  didn’t  mean  the  food  would  get  cold  in  the  process.”

“Good  point . . .”  Alec  used  his  knife  and  fork  to  cut  the  last  piece  of  salmon.  After  he  started  eating,  his  wristwatch  started  beeping.  I  noticed  his  watch  had  a  holographic  screen.  He  pressed  a  button  on  its  side,  then  the  noise  stopped.

“Well,”  he  said,  “our  ten  minutes  are  up,  K.  Just  like  I  promised.”  I  had  forgotten  about  that  earlier;  I  was  too  focused  on  the  food  to  worry  about  time.  “Unfortunately,  I  didn’t  get  all  of  my  questions  out.  So  I’d  like  to  continue  sometime;  preferably  later  than  sooner.”  Alec  revealed  a  small  white  card  from  his  pocket.  I  took  it  in  my  hand  and  examined  it.

In  bold  print,  the  card  read:  ALEXANDER  GOLDING - JOURNALIST.  Below  was  his  address  and  phone  number.  It  looked  legitimate  enough.  Maybe  he  was  a  journalist  after  all  and  not  some  stalker.  I  tucked  the  card  into  my  own  pocket.

“All  right . . .  You  said  you  had  exceptional  memory.  Are  you  sure  about  that?”  Alec  hadn't  said  anything,  but  the  expression  on  his  face  suggested  “yes”  though  he  didn’t  want  to  appear  cocky.
Modest  guy.
I  reached  down  into  my  boot—the  one  that  didn’t  hold  Slash  in  it—and  pulled  out  a  one  dollar  bill.

“I’ll  give  you  three  seconds  to  look  at  this  bill.  If  you  recite  the  serial  number  printed  on  it  correctly,  I’ll  make  sure  to  contact  you  again.  And  in  return,  I  can  eat  more  food  like  this.”

Alec  laughed  a  little.  “Creative  way  of  testing  my  memory.  I’ll  do  it.”

“Okay  then.  Three,  two,  one—go!”  I  flipped  the  dollar  over  and  made  sure  it  wasn’t  upside  down  from  where  Alec  sat.  “Time’s  up!”  I  said,  and  pulled  the  dollar  under  the  table.  “What  was  the  serial  number?”  Without  letting  Alec  see  it,  I  read  the  dollar  bill’s  serial  number  as  he  gave  his  answer.  My  eyes  widened.  He  got  each  digit  right  without  even  pausing—I  was  fairly  impressed  and  surprised.

“. . . Nice,”  I  mumbled  to  myself.

Alec  ate  the  last  piece  of  his  salmon.  “I  got  it?”

“Yeah.  That’s . . . kinda  creepy  how  you  did  it,  but  cool.”

Sadie  came  back  to  our  booth,  batting  her  eyes  at  Alec  with  a  bubbly  smile.  He  is  good-looking,  I  admit.  But  damn,  she  had  “desperate”  written  all  over  her  face.

“Just  came  to  check  on  ya,”  she  announced.  “Ya’ll  about  finished?”

“Yes,”  Alec  answered.  “The  food  was  very  delicious.”

“Got  room  for  dessert?”

He  shook  his  head,  throwing  in  an  apologetic  grin  on  his  face.  “No,  we’re  just  going  to  settle  for  the  bill  now.  Thank  you,  Sadie.”

“Mhm!  If  you’re  in  a  rush,  don’t  you  worry,  handsome—I’ll  come  right  back  with  that  bill.”  The  waitress  walked  away  from  us  once  more.

“Wow.  Somebody  wants  to  get  to  know  you  on  a  personal  level,  huh?”  I  said.  “I’m  sure  Miss  Piggy  over  there  is  sure  to  slip  you  her  number  or  something.”

“Well,  even  if  she  does,”  Alec  added,  “I  won’t  change  my  mind  about  the  relationship  I  have  with  my  girlfriend.”  From  his  wallet,  he  displayed  a  photo  of  him  and  a  strawberry  blonde  with  her  arms  draped  around  his  shoulders.  They  were  smiling  together—caught  in  mid-laughter.

“She’s  pretty,”  I  told  him.  “What’s  her  name?”

He  smiled  and  replied,  “Sonia.”  I  could  tell  by  the  way  he  said  her  name  that  he  was  serious  about  this  girlfriend.  Maybe  head  over  heels  in  love.

“Committed?”

“Yes.  I’ve  known  her  for  seven  years.  We’ve  been  dating  for  four  years.”

I  whistled.  “Wow.”

“I  know  there  are  men  who  don’t  wait  this  long  anymore  to  put  an  engagement  ring  on  someone,  but . . . I  don’t  consider  myself  to  be  the  type  of  person  who  would  act  out  on  ideas  so  quickly,”  Alec  responded.  He  looked  down  at  the  photo  he  showed  me  earlier,  and  was  grinning  to  himself.  The  love-struck  expression  in  his  eyes  crumbled  to  pieces  when  the  waitress  came  back.

“Here  ya  go!”  she  declared,  handing  him  the  bill  folder.  “You  have  a  good  afternoon,  all  right?”  Sadie  thankfully  walked  away  from  our  booth  for  the  final  time.

I  watched  for  the  expression  on  Alec’s  face  when  he  examined  the  receipt;  no  shift  of  emotion  at  all.  He  did  have  more  money  than  my  I  did,  so  I  didn’t  know  what  I  was  expecting.  But  if  it  were  an  Indigent  looking  over  those  prices  knowing  they  had  to  pay  for  it,  I’m  sure  they  would  have  a  heart  attack.

“Well,  it’s  been  nice,  Mr.  Alec.”  I  slid  out  of  my  seat  in  the  booth  and  stood  on  my  feet.  “And  thanks  for  the  meal—seriously!  But  I  should  get  going;  I  got  a  mall  to  crash  and  nonexistent  money  to  spend.”

An  amused  grin  teased  its  way  unto  Alec’s  mouth.  “Have  fun.”

“Maybe  I  will.  And  I  promise  to  contact  you  later.”  Just  when  I  took  two  steps  away  from  the  booth,  Alec  called  me  out.

“K.  Are  you  willing  to  share  your  real  name?”  I  hesitated,  but  now  saw  no  reason  to  hide  the  little  things  about  myself  from  this  guy.  He  passed  my  lie-detector  senses.  He  really  seemed  like  an  ordinary  guy.

“My  name’s  Dakota,  but  I  go  by  the  name  Kody.  I’ll  see  you  later.”

As  I  walked  out  of  the  Mermaid’s  Tail  restaurant,  my  mind  recalled  all  of  the  questions  I  was  asked  today  by  Alec  Golding.  None  of  them  regarded  politics,  recent  events,  or  the  government  system  like  I  thought  they  would've.  Those  are  typical  article  for  a  newspaper  nowadays.

But  the  questions  felt  directed  and  strangely  close  to  something  I  hid  far  away,  locked  inside  a  chest:  my  ability  for  telekinesis—the  power  to  move  objects  with  my  mind.  I  couldn’t  help  but  distinctively  remember  one  thing  that  Alec  asked  me:  “What  if  I  said  I  do  understand,  K?  Or  at  least,  said  I  have  a  vague  idea  of  what  you  might  mean?”.

What  if  he  did?

It’d  be  really  nice  to  have  someone  else  finally  understand  again.  The  result  from  that  little  memory  exercise  I  made  him  do  was  also  a  bit . . . odd.  Call  it  unlikely,  but  there  was  a  chance  Alec  could  telepathic.  He  could’ve  been  reading  my  mind  to  actually  recite  the  serial  number,  as  if  he  were  staring  at  it  like  I  was  at  the  time.

Either  that,  or  he  did  just  have  exceptional  memory.  Still,  I  promised  Alec  I’d  call  him  back.  Maybe  not  today,  but  definitely  tomorrow.  I’ll  ask  him  questions  of  my  own  too.