Train To Boston

I stood beside Professor Pops and took another plate he handed me. It was hot, and I hurriedly dried it.

"Not yet. My parents won't be back from St. Bart's for a while, so I'm not sure."

He didn't say anything right away.

I looked up.

His jaw flexed, and his eyes were scrunched as though he had to concentrate on washing the plate.

Professor Pops had thick gray hair. He was tall and lean.

I figured he'd probably been very handsome when he was younger. As it was, I'd say he was distinguished.

He had on a pair of tan slacks, a red and white checkered button-up shirt, and a tan sweater with dark suede patches at the elbows.

On his feet were loafers, and in his left breast pocket were silver wire-rimmed reading glasses.

He was the epitome of what I believed a Professor of Religion should look like.

Well, a professor of any kind, really.

After I put away the dried plate, I came back for the next one.

"It isn't a big deal. Maybe I'll invite the guys and Cindy over to watch a movie. That'll be fun."

He blew out a breath, and I deliberated if I'd made him mad.

"Professor?" I asked tentatively.

He dropped the plate in the soapy sink, letting it splash and turned to me.

Taking the towel from my hands, he dried off his and then placed it on the counter.

"Snow, I know I'm not your father, but I've come to look at you as an adoptive daughter over the years. I'm very fond of you." His eyes glowed as he spoke.

"I know," I said, my insides tingling with the sweet warmth of his genuine love for me.

But I was curious as to what he was getting at.

"I really appreciate that. Thanks again for making me breakfast."

We waved a hand dismissively. "I intend to call your father and stepmother," the words came out like they were laced with acid, "and ask their permission, of course, but if you let me, I'd like to throw you a birthday party at my place. Something big, grand, something that declares to the world what an amazing young woman you are."

At the last part, he squeezed my shoulders affectionately.

Unbidden tears crept into my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away.

What was up with me?

"That is very kind of you but you don't have to," I said, my voice trembling with emotion.

"I would be honored if you'd allow me to. This old man hasn't ever had the chance to throw an extravagant birthday party. All the boys ever want is pizza and some sort of activity."

"An activity sounds great," I inserted hurriedly.

I didn't want him to have to go to all the trouble.

"No, please. Let me do this. May I?" He took one of my hands and held it between his. They were soft and warm.

"Okay," I said, a little shyly.

"Excellent." He patted my hand. "Now, about Gabe."

I swallowed a lump I hadn't known existed in my throat. "Gabe?" I squeaked out.

"Yes." He nudged me over to the table, and we both sat. "The boy - " he began but couldn't finish.

The whole group forced their way into the kitchen, and one of the guys cleared his throat, interrupting whatever Professor Pops had been about to say.

Dorian spoke. "We were wondering if we could take the train into Boston."

Professor Pops released my hand. "That sounds intriguing." He looked from Salvatore to Bart. "Bathrooms must be cleaned first. Then you may go. Just be home before midnight."

Pop handed Dorian some money he'd pulled from the wallet in his back pocket.

"You have your cells if there's an emergency?" he asked though it was apparent he knew the answer.

They all nodded, and I hid a smile behind my hand.

They were men. The youngest were Gabe and Dorian, and they were both seventeen.

Four would be graduating from the academy this year, but they knew Professor Pops cared for them a great deal and would never intentionally disrespect him.

A twinge of longing surged through me.

"Want to come, Snowflake?" Gabe asked, eyeing me.

The guys all added their assent.

I searched Gabe's face.

Did he really want me to tag along?

It seemed that he did.

"Sure. Sounds fun."

"Cool."

The brothers took off, leaving Professor Pops and me alone again.

I wanted to bring up Gabe and ask him what he was going to say, but I couldn't figure out how.

***

After showering and blow-drying my short hair, I searched for an outfit that wouldn't embarrass the guys.

It frustrated me to realize I cared, and it was all Gabe's fault.

Before last night - before his words, and kindness, and his snuggling without trying anything, and kissing my cheek - before any of that, I hadn't given what I wore a second thought.

In the past, I just put on any old thing.

Not even the gorgeous Cindy Croswell and all of her helpful hints had done any good.

It. Was. Gabe.

He'd said I was sexy, and he'd made me feel sexy, so I wanted to be sexy.

I growled in frustration.

"Ugh, what's happening to me," I hollered at myself, throwing on a pair of baggy faded jeans and a vintage Def Leppard shirt.

At least the sleeves were a light blue that matched my eyes.

That seemed girly.

I didn't have makeup, but I did have cherry lip balm. I applied some after brushing my teeth again and fluffed my hair a little.

"Cindy would be so proud," I mocked my reflection in the mirror.

Adding a pair of black Converse and a black leather belt, I grabbed my wallet and headed next door to Adam Henry's house.

Calling Professor Pops' house a house - well, it was a downright lie.

The thing was a sprawling mansion.

An acre of land separated my house from his, but the mansion sat on ten acres.

The amenities included a tennis court, a basketball court, a heated swimming pool that could be indoor or outdoor, a three-hole golf course, a putting green, and the house.

My house looked like the servant's quarters.

Maybe it had been a long time ago.

I dinged the bell and waited.

You'd think a butler would answer the door, but no.

It was Salvatore. His shiny black hair was wet and pulled into a tiny ponytail.

"Rockin' the pirate look, I see," I said as I stepped into the foyer.

Almond colored eyes registered shock, as did his gasp and the way he dramatically put his hand on his chest.

I couldn't help the laugh that started in my belly and bubbled into my throat.

"Where's your poofy shirt and pantaloons?" I asked, following him into the kitchen.

He had on a getup similar to mine, baggy jeans, and a vintage shirt. His tee-shirt was black and had AC-DC across the chest.

Pulling open a door on the large side-by-side stainless steel refrigerator, he grabbed a soda and popped the top.

"You want one?"

"Um, duh," I responded, to which he grinned and tossed me one.

I flung up my hands in an effort to at least block the can, but a hand reached in front of me and grabbed the can from the air.

"Dude," Dorian grumbled. "Did you forget who this is?" he asked, pointing in my direction with a thumb.