Ring by Spring

2 - Ellie

"And Ellie," Bertie said to me, "that's Max." He ended his sentence with the slightest of chin inclines toward the boy - my age, blond-haired, and possibly nervous...but, no. He couldn't be disarmed by me. I had never been that kind of girl. Besides, he was the kind of guy who could never be impressed by average-pretty girls. He was much too cute. I was kind of angry at my brother for doing this to me, but was completely grateful at the same time. Now he kissed the top of my head and started heading back to the kitchen.

"Nice meeting you, Ellie," said Max, looking straight at me as he stood and shook my hand, obviously ready to follow Bertie, but my brother let out a little laugh - it was a long time since I'd heard that in public - and pushed on Max's shoulders with gentle force so he sat back down. Then he disappeared back into the depths of the kitchen.

Max's blush meant it was up to me to take the edge off, since only I could blame Bertie for putting us into this awkward situation - and in public, too! I almost hated him.

"Bertie - " Max started.

"I know. I'm sorry. I feel like I only know what he's thinking about 45% of the time."

"I don't think you have to be sorry for anything. He's interesting." That was a new one. Bertie's being an emotional porcupine made it difficult for many people to even want to get close. But that was the thing I liked about his working at Jehovah Java; he'd managed to find a small network of people who were willing to deal with his sarcasm, sullenness, and silence so they would get to see the sharp wit and sweetness beneath.

"Has he mentioned me at all?" I said, though the answer was probably no. But Bertie could surprise you. Fiercely passionate about - and protective of - me, occasionally, Ellie stories would spill over into the work small talk. I wasn't sure if Bertie had known Max long enough to do that yet, though. You practically had to hire a safecracker to get anything out about his past or personal life, unless you were family, like me, or close friends, like Andrew and Katya. I watched Max's face for answers and got a little spark of a blush in reply, along with a soft, apologetic,

"No."

"Well, I didn't think he would," I said, waiting for an odd look - he saw physical proof of our closeness - but Max just nodded.

"He doesn't talk much. What's his story?" I tried not to react too dramatically to his unexpected perceptiveness.

"What story?" Now his face flooded with a ruby hue.

"I'm sorry. I know I can't assume....It's just...I know some people, and...you look for it in everyone." I wanted to ask him, 'Look for what?' Was it possible we had more in common than Bertie even knew? He had to have a reason for this introduction behind the superficial, his quasi-friendship with this blond boy. Was this it?

"He's very guarded. But I guess you've noticed." I wondered how these two could be so bonded if they'd barely spoken - but that was the difference with guys, I knew. Female friendships were, more often than not, threaded through with sentences, sewn together with conversations that ranged from the trivial to the tragic. My brother and the other members of his gender approached that platonic connection between two people in a different way. They could do an activity together and not speak a word while doing so, and things still thrummed through the silence and strengthened that bond.

"It doesn't make a difference," said Max, although it had to. "What's his major?" That was when I decided I had to have a talk with Bertie, but I masked it and answered Max's question with,

"Business and music. How about you?"

"Marketing. And you?"

"Oh, I'm a broadcasting major." I was ready to tell him a little bit about my show, just to put in a plug for campus radio, since we worked so hard, but was then caught off guard by his strange contented smile.