Chapter 11 - Last Push for Project

"Vanessa?" George's voice was hesitant, but I heard the irritation he was trying to hide. "Did you hear me?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I lost my train of thought for a moment." The project was nearly completed, so this would be one of the last study sessions in my house. Next week we would submit out project to the Siemens Competition, and then it was just left to wait to see if we'd be short-listed for presentations.

I was confident that we would at least be finalists and perhaps even win. Though early on Dad and Carlisle had expressed concern that I would give our team an unfair advantage, more than half of the work was Georges. I had no doubt that he could have submitted an entry on his own, so I'd gotten over the feeling that I was cheating anyone. We even had plans set up for redirecting my portion of the prize money to another needing student, should George and I win.

"So," said George, looking uncomfortable. "Did you think we should add this to the report?" He held out a hand-sketched graph that he had done the night before. It probably would be a good addition, but I worried that it was time to just wrap things up. At what point would we be going overboard, showing off, and drawing too much attention to us? It was a common refrain throughout our sessions. George even called me shy, which came as a surprise to me. I decided to give in without a fight this time.

"Sure," I said. "Let me scan it, and then we can come up with a caption." I got up from the table, and started to walk to Carlisle's office where he had a high-quality scanner.

"Okay," he replied to my back. As soon as I was around the corner in the hall, I moved at my normal speed. It took very little time to save the file, and upload to the cloud so we could access it on the laptop we were working on at the dining room table.

As I was heading back, I noticed a bit of russet color along the edge of the woods outside the window. I stopped and watched as Jake paced back and forth along the tree line. I knew he could see me, but I didn't wave. I guessed he was waiting for George to leave so he could come inside and start trying to talk to me again. I still wasn't even sure why we were fighting, but I didn't really want to be around Jake right now, even though I knew how much it was hurting him. Part of me was even glad that he was upset.

When I got back to the dining room, George had already grabbed the image and inserted it in our report. We agreed on a caption and he typed it, then hit save.

George's face turned up into one of his rare smiles. It eased the pain that had started in my chest when I saw the wolf outside our window.

"I think we're done, Vanessa," he said.

I returned his smile. "I think you're right," I replied. "It really came out great, didn't it?"

"Yeah." He scrolled through the pages on the screen. His smile faded, and I wondered if he had seen a mistake. But then his blush started, and I could almost guess what he was thinking. He whispered, "Thanks for working with me." It was like that whenever our conversation turned away from the technicalities of chemistry and catching typos. He seemed greatly embarrassed whenever he tried to express gratitude or say anything nice about me.

"Thank-you," I said. "You made it easy on me. Maybe even too easy," I kidded. It was a good idea to start laying the groundwork for making him believe he truly deserved the scholarship that I was going to do everything I could to make sure he got.

In the unlikely event that our team didn't win the Siemens, I was sure that my family could find a way to pay for his college. Mom and Dad seemed quite fond of him. Though they didn't talk to him much while he was in the house, they smiled at each other whenever I spoke about him. When I asked Dad whether George's thoughts were much different from what he said aloud, worried that George thought I wasn't pulling my weight with the project, Dad had replied. "No human says everything they're thinking, Ness. But George is always truthful with you."

I thought about that cryptic remark as George packed up his book bag. "We're done early," he said. "Would you mind if I stayed and worked on some of my other homework until my dad gets here?" Again, his cheeks reddened. I wished I had found a way to make him understand that he was welcome here and that he didn't need to ask permission to stay even though we were done working on the project.

"Of course not," I replied. "Do you mind if I do the same?" I pulled out a battered copy of Charles Dickens. My essay on a Tale of Two Cities was already finished, but I pretended to read and made a few notes while we waited for the familiar sound of his father's car coming up our driveway. I frowned at the book as I realized I had left my bookmark at the part where Lucie's suitors came to her father to ask her permission. That was my least favorite part. I still didn't quite understand what Lucie saw in Darnay, it seemed all he did was lie and go behind her back instead of expressing his feelings to her directly, like Carton did.

I snuck a peak at George to see if I could get away with turning to another chapter. Unfortunately, he was looking at me. "I had to read that for English, too," he said when our eyes met.

"Did you like it?" I asked, still surprised that we could converse so easily now. The ease had come very gradually over the several months of studying together. Though he would still occasionally clam up if I asked the wrong question, especially if I asked about his family, we could talk about most anything else. Literature was probably the most stress-free topic. He approached books almost as analytically as he did science, and I supposed I did too. Which was why it surprised me that he blushed at my question.

"I guess so," he shrugged, then looked down at his math textbook. He made no move with his pencil, though I could see that he had been in the middle of an equation.

The silence that followed was so complete; I could hear the heavy padding of paws out along the trees. It made me wish that George would stay longer. As soon as he left, I'd have either to face Jake or hide behind Rose and Alice, who were taking advantage of my distraction and weariness to declare victory in the battle of the prom dress. Rose was determined that the green silk gown fit me so perfectly that they insisted on measuring me over and over again. Every millimeter of growth was accounted for with redone stitches and occasional redesign of a flourish or detail. But even that torture was easier than trying to talk to Jake.

Every time I even looked at my friend, I saw him in a tuxedo with his arms wrapped around my mother. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. A way that I could make them understand how I felt. Despite my objections, eight prom tickets had been purchased for my parents, aunts and uncles, myself and an extra. I knew the assumption was that I would forgive Jake and he would go as my friend. I also knew that he wanted to go with me, even though he had said that the prom itself was a nonevent.

Well, what if I went, but I didn't ask him? How would he feel then? How would my mom feel seeing me in the arms of someone who wasn't in on all our secrets? Wouldn't it make her a little queasy to see me dancing with an outsider - seeing me in a situation that she couldn't understand? I realized I was staring at George and he was returning my gaze.

"What is it?" he asked.

What should I say? I couldn't ask him directly to go with me. Maybe if I hinted.

"I was just wondering," I began. Then a horrible thought occurred to me. What if I was too late? "Who are you going to prom with?" I blurted out.

George reddened, as I expected he would. But he also did something unexpected. He laughed bitterly. "I'm not going to prom," he said, his face turning into a grimace as his laugh subsided.

"Why?" I asked, surprised. It had seemed everyone at Bangor High was going. The way my family acted, there really wasn't any choice.

"Why do you think?" George replied, glowering now. Though I couldn't understand why, I had clearly made him angry. "Prom isn't for people like me," he continued. "Who are you going with?"

"I don't know," I replied. It was truer than I wanted it to be. I wondered what would happen if I tried to go without a date.

George turned away from me and stared out the window. "Too many choices, huh?" he grunted.

"I don't understand," I whispered. I wished silently that Dad would come in and help me navigate this conversation that had taken such an unexpected turn. I was sure that this was one time that George was not saying what was on his mind. My palms throbbed with unexpressed thoughts and questions.

Headlights appeared at the end of our driveway. Before the car was even halfway to the house, George walked away and out the door. He closed it behind him without even saying goodbye.

I felt smooth cool arms around me as I watched him walk to the edge of the driveway, standing for a few moments as he waited for his father's car to reach him.

"Nessie, dear," said my mother, pressing her cheek against mine. As her marble face pressed to mine, I realized that hot tears were rolling down my face.

"What did I do wrong?" I asked. She didn't reply.

I turned to face her and put my hand on her cheek, feeling my own tears still warm against her skin. I thought about the conversation I had just had and then played back every moment I had ever spent with George in high speed. I tried to see a pattern for what it was that upset him or embarrassed him, but the patterns didn't make sense. "What did I do?" I thought.

Mom's face showed concern. "You didn't do anything, dear. I know it's hard for you to understand."

"Understand what?" I asked.

"Bella, love," Dad called. I hadn't noticed that he was standing in the doorway of the dining room. "It's not time, yet."

Mom nodded. I wanted to scream at both of them, though I had no idea what the words would be.