Paul Melko - The Walls of the Universe

“Yeah?”

“On McMaster.”

“Yeah, I know them. They go to my church. They’re over by the abandoned rock quarry. I’ve been there. The quarry, I mean.” She looked around the U outside the dorm. “Where’d you park?”

“Not too close. Sorry. You sure I can’t take your bag?”

“Yeah. Lead on.”

After a moment, Casey said, “So you’re Grace’s Johnny?”

“What? I’m not her… I mean we’re not…”

“She’s got a thing for you, Johnny.”

“She does not! It’s professional between us.”

“Uh-huh. You should hear her talk, and can she talk. You’d think you were Jesus Johnny Christ, but not a celibate one.” She smiled at him.

“She’s just my lab partner,” John said, exasperated. “Besides, I thought she and Henry were a thing.”

“You mean that guy who never talks?”

“That’s the one.”

Casey shrugged.

They reached John’s car. “Over here,” he said. He unlocked the trunk and took Casey’s bag.

“A Trans Am?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t picture you in a muscle car for some reason.”

“It was cheap. I rebuilt it this summer,” he said, suddenly defensive. “You don’t like my car?”

“It’s better than my car,” she said with a smile. “You gonna let me drive?”

John shut the trunk and looked at her. Then he tossed her his keys. “Sure.”

She smiled and ran around the car to the driver’s side.

“You’re a brave man.”

For a smile like that, he would have let her do anything.

“So you’re in physics? You must be smart,” she said as she accelerated onto I-75.

He shrugged, though she probably couldn’t see it from the driver’s seat. The engine growled as she edged the car in front of a semi. The truck had a flat front, like all the trucks in this universe, and reminded him yet again of the 1950s of his universe. Everything had a retro feel to it here.

“I’m in psychology, but it sucks. Boring. It sounded a lot better in the guidance counselor’s office,” she said, and he laughed.

She’d taken the car through a series of back roads, not going straight for the interstate. At one point she had the car up to 115 kilometers per hour on a small road in the middle of nowhere.

“Psychology could be fun,” John ventured, knowing he sounded like a fool as he said it.

“Yeah, whatever,” she said, sliding the car around a slower Olds. “I’m thinking of switching to premed. My biology class rocks. Speaking of which…” She turned on the radio and zipped through his presets. “Country, country, country, blues.” She glanced over at him. “Don’t you listen to rock and roll?”

John shrugged again. The truth was that the rock and roll of this world sounded like the golden oldies of his own. And the new hard reverb was impossible to appreciate. The only music that sounded decent to him was country. There was none of the heavy metal rock that he listened to when he was back home.

She rotated the dial to find the Toledo rock station.

“Bill and Janet seem like nice folks,” she said. “I’ve met them at church stuff.”

“Yeah, they’re real nice,” John said quickly, glad the conversation had turned away from his lack of taste in music. “I spent the last twelve months working the farm with them.” He’d gone to church with them too but had never seen Casey there. He hadn’t thought to look, maybe because he could never shake the feeling that this universe wasn’t real.

“Farm boy, huh. You got that look to you.”

“Do I? Don’t I look like a physicist?”

“No. Not at all. You look like you should be driving a tractor or a pickup truck.”

“Huh.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” she said with a laugh. “I knew lots of farm boys in high school.”

“Where you were a cheerleader and a flirt?” John asked, wanting to defend himself.

“Well, yeah. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. You know, I barely remember high school, and it’s been like six months. All my friends were saying, ‘Stay in touch,’ ‘Write every day.’ Bullshit like that. None of them write. None of them call.”

“They’re busy.”

“Having kids, getting married, working minimum-wage jobs. At least they can afford to buy cars. I have to bum a ride off a farm boy.” She looked at him slyly, and John realized she was making fun of him.

“And I have to give rides to flirty cheerleaders for gas money.”

“Touché.” She paused, then said, “So what’s this pinball device Grace keeps talking about? You guys are building it? I can’t understand what she’s talking about half the time.”

“We’re not-,” John started; then he shrugged. “It’s just a game I saw once. Played on a ramp with a metal ball. It’s a game of skill and luck.”

“Yeah?”

John spent fifteen minutes trying to explain how pinball worked. When he was done, Casey nodded and said, “Sounds cool. When you guys get it done, show it to me.”

“We’re not-,” he said. “Okay, I will.”

She fell silent after that, and John spent the next half hour super-aware of how close he was to her. Casey smelled good. She looked good. His body wanted to test all his other senses on her as well.

Three times he almost spoke up, wanting to ask her out, start the conversation again. The trip to Findlay was too damn short to waste it in silence.

Finally, forcing himself to say anything, he said, “Your roommate thought I was Jack.” He instantly regretted saying it because he sounded too damn needy.

She laughed, though. “Jack? That is funny. He’s some slobbery frat boy I gave the time of day to at a party. He’s from Findlay too.”

“Oh, then he’s not a boyfriend.”

She looked at John with her pale blue eyes, and he knew what she was thinking. He knew she dealt with such puppy dog affection like his on a regular basis.

“No, not a boyfriend. I’m unattached at the moment. I had a boyfriend back in Findlay, but he was a junior and long-distance relationships don’t work.”

“ Findlay and Toledo aren’t that far apart.”

“It wasn’t the physical distance, John.”

She took the Findlay exit, taking Bigelow into the north side of town. Her family lived in an older house, built in the 1800s. It had three stories and a widow’s watch. Two huge oak trees towered over the lawn.

She pulled up in front of the house and hopped out. John grabbed her bag and handed it to her.

“What time should I pick you up?”

“Tomorrow?” she asked with a smile.

“I thought we’re heading back on Sunday.”

“We are. But I thought you could come by on Saturday. Around eight?” She smiled and put the bag over her shoulder. On the porch, her mother had opened the door and was waving. Casey’s dog, a golden retriever, raced at her.

“Okay,” he said to her back.

He got back into his car, his heart pounding as fast as the engine. Saturday night. He had a date with Casey Nicholson Saturday night.

“Here,” Casey said, handing the baby to him. John Prime dropped his pencil to grab Abby.

“What?” he said. He realized Casey was dressed in slacks and was carrying a purse.

“I have lunch with Mom, remember?”

“I’m in the middle of something,” Prime said. “I have to talk with the lawyers tomorrow.” All his capital was still locked up in the Cube. If he could just work out a licensing arrangement with Rubik’s people… Prime had rolled over on the name, but now the sticking point was the license fees. They were staggering, and Prime doubted he’d make a cent at what the heirs wanted from the deal. He had taken the day off to run the numbers.