Chapter 4
So for those of you unaware, this is a short story, so things progress on a little faster than what they normally would in one of my regular stories. Beware.
A little while after seven o'clock we ended up going to a Mexican restaurant on the beach near the Navy Pier.
As we sit, waiting for our meal, I get to know her a little more, which is something I'm thankful for. I've spotted one newsperson so far, but we've only been dining for around fifteen minutes. I figured someone would tip them off about Tris and I being here, and I expected they'd be here within the hour. I'm slightly terrified about what they'll see when they arrive, which looks much like date. I guess it kind of is though, in all honestly. Tris may not consider it a date, but I do. Mostly.
"So," she says, taking a sip of her beer, "how'd you learn to play piano like that?"
I shrug and take a sip of my beer too. "I taught myself when I was fifteen. And since my dad wasn't home much, I'd have my mom come over and teach me a little bit. I mostly taught myself because she usually only came over once a week to teach me some little stuff about the piano. There was a music store just down the road from where I lived when I was a kid, so one day I decided to go buy a beginner's piano book that teaches you how to play. My dad had this old piano downstairs in the living room that was dusty as hell. So I figured why the hell not? And he was never home, so I played all hours of the day. I never told him about it. The fact that I play piano. He's had my future figured out for me from the moment I was born. He runs the Bee. You know. The newspaper I work for," I say bitterly. I see her mouth drop to a slight "o" and her eyebrows rise. "Yeah. I've never wanted to be an advice columnist, to be honest. But it pays well. Everything else sucks. All of it. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love writing. I'm actually writing a book right now. But advice-giving is not for me. But one good thing did come out of this job," I tell her with a smirk.
She gives a sad smile. "What's that?"
"You."
She chuckles. "Well-played. But if you don't want to be an advice columnist, then what do you want to be?"
I give her a sideways smile as I look out to the lake. "Guess."
"Guess?"
"Guess."
She shrugs. "I don't know. I could see you being a novelist as a side job. But for your main job I feel like you'd be good with kids. Maybe a piano teacher?"
I chuckle and turn back to her, sipping my beer. "Spot-on. I want to be an elementary choir director. For, like, sixth graders. Possibly fourth or fifth."
"I thought you had stage fright," she says.
I laugh. "That's because I do. A small price to pay to do what you love."
She scratches her head. "So why don't you quit?"
I breathe out. "I don't know. I feel like you and I are too deep into this rivalry thing. But I think I'm going to be quitting within the next two months. I've been looking for job openings in the surrounding area. But if I don't take a job now, then when? There's an opening at a local school about ten minutes from where I live. It's in a small outskirt just outside downtown. The opening starts after their Christmas break. And I think I'm going to take it."
Tris pretends to look happy for me. I can tell. She gives a smile and pretends she's okay with it. "That's amazing Tobias. I hope you achieve all happiness," she says, then sips her beer. "But I'm not going to lie. I'll miss you."
"Maybe we can actually go out and do things with out five photographers taking pictures of us." I grab her hand from across the table.
She smiles and takes my hand too. "Where at?" she asks, covering her curiosity so the photographers don't know she knows.
"One behind the tree," I say, chuckling, faking, smiling, "one at a table, one pretending to have a picnic with another girl photographer, one at the bar, and one sitting on the bench to your right."
She smirks. "Keen eye. And just remember"—Her eyes flick to our joined hands—"this is a publicity stunt." She winked.
"Stunts are dangerous… Wanna do something dangerous?" I ask with a glint of the devil in my eye.
"What do you want to do?" she asks with a hint of eagerness present.
"I want you to let me kiss you."
She almost chokes on her beer. "I apologize, I don't believe I heard you correctly."
I laugh. "I think you heard me just fine, dearest Tris."
She ponders the thought for a minute. "We'll see."
Our waiter sets down our plates in front of us, and we disconnect our hands.
I smile, rub my hands together, and say, "Let's eat."
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When we finish our meals, I'm eager to leave and go have a little fun at pier.
We leave the restaurant and decide to head to the pier to walk on the beach and go have a little fun at the arcade. Possibly ride the ferris wheel too. The thought of that makes me uneasy, but she seemed pretty excited about it.
"Where to first?" I ask. "Arcade, ferris—"
"Tobias! Tris! May I—!"
"Tris Prior of the Montrose Mirror!"
"Four of the Burnham Bee!"
"Please, a word?"
"What are you two doing together?"
The reporters are less than ten feet away, running toward us. Before, they were being discreet, but now they want answers. A mixture of these phrases ring in my ears, and the only thing I say to Tris is "run."
I grab her hand and we sprint toward the ferris wheel. The reporters and newspeople run faster than a bullet, attempting to chase us.
The doors to the ferris wheel are about to close and make a circle around the sky for a view of the Chicago skyline for the next five minutes.
"Wait!" Tris yells. "Please don't close the doors!"
The attendant to the wheel smirks, looks behind us, and then nods us to let us in.
"Big fan of you two," the man said to us with a wink. "Have fun and enjoy the ride."
The crowd is almost to the doors. They are about to close, and Tris stands close to my body.
"Live dangerously," she says, looking up at me, and then she kisses me. I heard the snaps of cameras and the shouts of shock from reporters. But it all blurred out as her lips connected with mine. The sounds became faint noises as the doors close, and when we're up in the air, she stands flat on her feet, no longer on her tiptoes. Her arms remain wrapped around my neck, and I give her a surprised smile. She reflects that same look. Suddenly, our smiles fade, and quickly lean down press my lips to hers. Her lips are like the galaxy's edge, and it's like I'm willingly diving into that black hole. Her hands travel through my hair, like if I was a drug and she was totally vulnerable to overdosing. It is as if she has to get her hands on me, as if she needed just a little bit more. Too much is never enough for Tris Prior. She wouldn't stop until she got enough.
Which, enough was never actually enough.
I press my hand against her cheek, and then pulls back, ever so slightly. And then she pulls herself away from my grasp. She stations herself on the other side of the gondola lift-type thing.
"That should not have happened," she says nervously.
"But it did."
She looks out to Lake Michigan.
Stepping toward her warily, I am careful not to make the balance of the gondola uneven. When I am near, I tilt her chin up to mine effortlessly, and then I gently kiss her, condensing the space between us.
Then, ever so faintly, I whisper, "Live dangerously."
