The Charmer

4

She was so absorbed with her calculus homework that it seemed like she was waking up from a dream, when her mother called from downstairs. She stuck her head out her door, which faced the stair landing.

"Trini! Ano ba! I've been calling you five times already!" said her mom, frowning at the foot of the stairs.

"I was doing my homework!" she answered.

"You play your music so loud." Her mother had her hands on her hips, a sign she was close to blowing up. She quickly ducked inside to turn down Blind Melon.

"What is it?"

Her mom's face lost a bit of its irritation as she held up the handset. "It's a boy." She was definitely suppressing a smile.

Trini scampered to take the call from the phone mounted on the second story landing. "Okay, mom, I have it!" she yelled, waiting for the line downstairs to click. She could hear Jim chuckling on the other end of the line. "What?" she asked, sure that her mom wasn't listening on the other phone.

"You do play your music loud," he said.

"My Walkman ran out of batteries," she said, a little grumpy because she forgot they were all out at home as well.

"What were you listening to? Melon?"

"Blind Melon. No Rain?"

"What's it about?"

She thought for a moment about the music video that sometimes played on channel five. They didn't have cable or MTV, so channel five was her only source. But the kid in the bumblebee costume didn't seem to have anything to do about sleeping all day or complaining about the lack of rain.

"Depression, I guess?"

"Do you like sad songs?"

"Not really." She twirled the telephone cord around her finger. "I guess the people that make the type of music I like are sad, maybe?"

"Where do you find those bands?"

"NU107 mostly. What do you like to listen to?"

"Snoop Dogg, Warren G, you know. Hip hop and R&B."

"Pop kid music."

He laughed all of a sudden, a bright, musical sound. "Pop kid music? What does that mean?"

"It means the kind of music you guys play in the cars that you're not technically supposed to be driving yet, and so loudly that the bass shatters."

"Hey." She could hear his smile over the phone. "I hitch with Cap. Do you know he likes Bread?" She laughed, and he joined in. "And Audrey was her name. Cap is like a dad, really, down to his music."

"Does he know you call him dad?"

"Shh." It came out like a whirlpool in her ear. "Maybe you should make me a mix tape."

"Of Bread?" she cracked.

"Noooo." There was a small whine in that long 'o,' a child's petulance that made him, unbelievably, even cuter. "The stuff you like. Your favorite songs. So I can get to know you better."

It was a good thing he couldn't see her, because she'd slid down the chair and clutched at her knees like that was the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground.

"So what's up?" she asked, and if her voice sounded strangled from keeping from screaming, she hoped he didn't notice.

"Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you."

He really, really needed to be careful about these things.

At her long silence (because she was flailing), he followed up with, "Are you done with homework?"

That brought her down to earth. "No," she groaned. "Calculus is kicking my butt. And Ms. Flores isn't the best at explaining things. What about you?"

"I worked on it with my tutor, after I walked you home."

She almost forgot nearly all the varsity kids had a tutor deal with the elementary math teacher so that they would be able to keep their grades up. It was one of the things about their small high school that kind of bugged her—not that it hadn't been apparent in the huge school she attended before, but it was so much more noticeable when there were only 60 kids in one batch.

"You went quiet," he said, sounding worried. It was surprising how he seemed to pick up on her emotions even when he couldn't see her.

She cleared her throat. "I think I need to finish calculus."

"Oh. Alright."

"Bye Jim."

"We're okay? You're not mad?"

"Not at all." She forced a laugh to make him feel better, because he had sounded so worried. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay." He sounded a bit more like himself. "Tomorrow."

It was a miracle. Jim wasn't late to school the next day. He was at her locker as she came to get her notebook for English, the first class after homeroom.

"Trini," he said, unleashing a grin that was much too much first thing in the morning. He reached out and took her hand. Her mind was still fuzzy, because it took a couple of seconds for her to realize he was trying to put something in her palm.

She opened her hand to discover a pack of batteries—double A, just right for the yellow sports Walkman she used.

"Don't forget my mix tape," he said.