Ninja at First Sight

Part 5: Why did the ninja cross the road?

Greg wanted me to do a backflip.

He didn't pester me about it, not at all. But he did mention it on more than one occasion.

I agreed, since it was simple enough, on the condition he would be the only person to see it. I didn't want anyone else to watch. My abilities felt personal to me now, and I didn't like the idea of sharing that part of myself with strangers—not anymore. But the ground outside was frozen. We were surrounded by several feet of snow. The only space big enough and warm enough for any acrobatics was the lobby of the dorm.

During the second week of March a plan was devised. We decided to meet in the lobby at 3:00 a.m., and I would show him a backflip.

That day we met after classes, grabbed dinner at the café on campus, tried to study but ended up debating the merits of Hong Kong returning to Chinese rule, then parted ways around 11:30 p.m. My alarm clock went off at 2:50 a.m., giving me just enough time to rub the sleep from my eyes, brush my teeth at my desk, and pull on a sweatshirt. I wasn't terribly surprised to find Greg standing outside the door to my suite. But I was impressed when he handed me a mug of hot coffee.

"I don't know what a xenophobic hermit requires in the morning, so I made coffee." His voice was hushed.

"Coffee works," I whispered and took a sip of the black liquid, found it magnificently strong, "as long as it was made with the tears of women and children."

Greg flashed me a grin that made my stomach do backflips. "Is there any other way to make coffee?"

I hid my smile with my cup and we walked side by side to the elevator. He pressed the call button, reached for my empty hand with his, and threaded our fingers together as we waited.

After Valentine's weekend things had settled down. In fact, they'd settled way down. No more games were played, which was great. We saw each other daily, ate together as much as we could. We went to the gym together, library, studied together—all good things...

We spend a ton of time together. Sometimes we'd kiss. But mostly we talked.

However, there was one change in particular about which I felt some confusion, and I didn't know how to bring it up as a topic for discussion. During our first week officially together, he'd made silly sexual innuendos, puns, and witticisms. The more I was around him, the more they seemed habitual, unconsciously done. I'd been flustered at first—mostly because of the mental imagery they'd conjured—but just as I was growing used to this habit, he'd stopped.

He still flirted with me—at least I thought it was flirting—and we still kissed, but gone were the porn jokes and rhymes about copulation and masturbation.

I didn't know how to broach this subject. Should I just say, Hey, you know what I miss? Your sex jokes.

So I waited, looking for a natural segue for the conversation.

"Are you nervous?"

I shook my head. "No. Just sleepy."

"We can try to go back to sleep after."

I considered the likelihood that I'd be able to go back to sleep after a cup of coffee and backflips.

Meanwhile, the elevator dinged. The doors slid open and I was surprised to see a group of girls revealed, all dressed in club attire. Among the pack was Gail, the blonde who'd been spreading false rumors about Dara having an abortion several weeks ago. She'd also been the one to tell me about Greg and Vanessa's break up.

As soon as the girls saw us, their chatter abruptly ended. Seven pairs of eyes bounced back and forth between us for a protracted moment, nobody making any move to leave the elevator.