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“Even if everyone stares? Look around you.”
I do and find myself on the receiving end of several curious, pointed stares from idiots at other tables. I recognize Ms. Diane Sutter, the dean of the boys school I attended over a decade ago, eying Lyra and I as though we’re soaked in blood. When I glare back, she quickly returns her attention to the acquaintances she’s with and keeps chatting.
“I don’t feel comfortable here,” Lyra says.
“You should. You belong here as much as anyone else. These people around you—they’re some of the most useless people on the planet. And yet they lap in luxury and wear the most ridiculous prejudices as a badge of honor. They don’t realize they’re fooling themselves. They’re no better than anyone. Most of all you. I’d say it’s the opposite.”
My words are meant to uplift her; judging by the small smile she gives they do. But her uncertainty about the situation still remains.
“I don’t know what you want with me.”
My gaze is pulled back to her. “I want to get to know you.”
“Why?”
“Because…” I pause, thinking fast. “You interest me. I think you’re smart, and I find you witty. You’re a breath of fresh air.”
“But you said it yourself. You don’t know me.”
“So, let me find out. What is the worst that can happen? Do you think I’m going to do something wrong?” I ask reasonably. “Have I ever made you feel unsafe? Have I ever given any indication I don’t respect your wishes? Did I not immediately leave the other night?”
Her brows shift closer. “You did… I… I just…”
“What is it, Lyra?”
“I don’t know,” she answers, and then sighs and reaches for her water. “I’m so sorry if I seem like I’m flip flopping every other second. It’s a really difficult period in my life. I don’t want to unload on you, but I’m just focusing on setting myself straight. The last thing I’m looking for is any new men in my life.”
“What about a friend?” I ask.
She blinks long and slow from across the table. “We… we could do friends. Maybe. It depends.”
“On…?”
The corners of her lips tip up in a vague smile. “If you pass the vibe check.”
The answer is so unexpected, my next sip of water almost slips down the wrong pipe. I swallow harder than usual and set down my water glass, letting the humor of the moment reflect in my expression.
“Vibe check? Alright. Go ahead. Give me your best shot.”
“What do you like to do for fun?”
You don’t want the real answer, little lamb. You couldn’t handle it.
“I read. Often,” I answer. “Usually medical journals and scientific research papers. But I’m thinking that’s not cool enough to pass the vibe test.”
She cringes as a laugh plays from her lips. I have my answer without a single word. “It’s vibecheck, by the way,” she adds.
“I’m guessing calling it a test kills ‘the vibe’,” I tease good-naturedly. “What about hiking and rock climbing? Are those better?”
“Eh, marginally.” She holds up her hand and tips it left to right as if it’s become a scale.
“I was once a violinist. I was only third chair and quit by the time I was a fourteen. But I was once a musician like you.”
Now I have her attention. Her dark brown eyes glimmer and she sits up straighter with sudden perky interest.
“You play the violin?”
“Played. I haven’t touched one in almost twenty years.”
