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He shrugged.
I recalled one of my uncle Tyler's favorite rhetorical, philosophical questions. "If you don't like yourself, Duncan, why should anyone else like you?"
"I don't know if I like myself or not," he said. He looked at me intently, his eyes narrow, his face tight. "Like you, I'm still trying to find out who I am."
"Okay," I said. Whenever he became this intense, I felt myself tremble. "Let's just keep trying."
He said nothing.
I walked him out to his scooter. It was once again fully overcast. The air had the scent of impending rain. Way off in the distance, there was a flash of lightning.
"You'd better get home before it starts to pour," I said.
He nodded and got on his scooter.
"Any idea about what you're going to do for your first painting yet?"
I started to shake my head and then stopped.
"Yes, I think I do. It has something to do with a doe I once saw back there. I know that much, but not any more until I start."
"Sounds promising," he said and kick-started his scooter. I felt the first drop.
"It's starting, Duncan. How long will it take you to get home?"
"Twenty minutes at the most," he said. "I've ridden in the rain before. Don't worry"
"Not after being with me, though," I told him. It was almost a reflex to say it, and the words came out before I could stop them.
He stared and then nodded. "I thought you believed we both have to quit doing that," he said.
"What?"
He turned the scooter around.
"Thinking we're bad luck to everyone who has anything to do with us."
"You're right. I'm sorry. That was stupid."
"It's all right. Don't beat yourself up. You going to the cafe to work tomorrow?"
"No. I have the day off. My uncle wants me to get started on my art."
"Good."
He leaned forward to kiss me, and then he was off.
Like a curtain being lowered, the rain started to fall, the drops pounding on the leaves and the road as hard as the pounding in my heart. I hurried back into the house. Almost twenty minutes later, the phone rang. I lunged for it, hoping it was Duncan letting me know he was safe. Perhaps he had seen the concern in my face and heard it in my voice after all.
It wasn't Duncan. It was my father.
"Hey," he said. "How are you doing up there?"
"Good," I said. I wanted to ask him if Grandma had called him complaining that he hadn't called me, but thought it wouldn't be nice. Also, he might be doing it on his own.
"Your grandmother told me your decision. Are you sure you're doing the right thing? Leaving school just at the start of your senior year to start in a new place--"
"I never felt like I belonged back there anyway," I said.
