Disclaimer: TC Williams High School and its environs belong to the city of Alexandria, VA. The original Titans, John Lennon and Evil Knievel belong to themselves, while the fictitious characters from the movie Remember the Titans belong to Disney. This chapter is titled after the 1971 John Lennon song. The Myth of Sisyphus belongs to Albert Camus and the Piggly Wiggly chain of stores to whoever makes money off them. Blue's "bucket of chicken" remark came from the movie To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar and Tamsin's "Et tu" remark from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. I only own Tamsin, her family, some of her friends and even some people who aren't her friends.
Technical Notes: Tamsin uses some strong language in this chapter. You have been warned.
Author's Notes: Boy, these chapters are getting harder and harder to write. Don't worry, though, I still fully intend to finish this story! Many, many thanks to my best friend Sabby for helping me with some sticky dialogue, to the repeat reviewers for their encouragement (Pyromaniacal Llama – thanks for sharing that bit of trivia! I just might use it in the Rev-centric prequel I've got planned…) and to you for reading :D Enjoy! ~ Ara
Chapter Sixteen — Give Me Some Truth
It seemed to Tamsin that the news of her breakup with Ronnie was not just all over school, but all over town as well. She had received many curious stares over the past week, and heard her name whispered more than once while she was browsing in the library, waiting in the checkout line in the supermarket, even standing at the bus stop. It was creepy, but she knew she had to learn to live with it because in football-crazy Alexandria, the Titans were celebrities. The locals couldn't help but take an interest in their comings and goings.
At least no one had come up to Tamsin and straight-out told her she was crazy to break up with Ronnie. (Sheryl Yoast's blatant snub in the Piggly Wiggly didn't count because the little girl hadn't actually said anything.)
"That's because I'm not crazy," Tamsin said to her mother over the phone that Sunday night. "Ronnie understood why I wanted to break up with him. I don't see why everyone else can't."
"Just ignore them, sweetie," Diana advised her. "You are doing the right thing: you're meeting new people and broadening your life experiences. Everyone has a right — nay, an obligation — to live their lives to the fullest."
She grinned. "You're not about to have another of your 'soapbox moments,' are you, Mom?" Her mother liked to deliver impassioned lectures about life every once in a while. Tamsin didn't mind, though. The lectures were fun to listen to, as long as they weren't about something bad that she had done.
"No," Diana replied. "I'm just saying that life is short and I want you to be happy as often as you can within the time that you are given."
"I am happy, Mom. I was happy with Ronnie, and I'm happy with Michael. We have so much in common. Michael is sensitive, intelligent and artistic—"
"—just like you?"
Tamsin laughed. "Yeah, just like me."
Her mother laughed, too. "And does he also have a healthy opinion of himself?"
"Actually, he does, kind of," she admitted, "but then he's entitled, isn't he? And it's not as if he lords it over everyone or acts like a know-it-all. I wouldn't tolerate him if he were like that. We also have similar backgrounds," she went on. "He grew up without a father, too, and his mom is really cool."
"Is she as cool as me?"
She stuck her tongue out at the telephone receiver. Her mother could get really blatant when she was fishing for compliments. "Oh, Mom, you know no one's as cool as you!"
* * *
Like Tamsin, Michael also brought his lunch from home instead of buying it. "My mom's suspicious about the kind of stuff that goes into cafeteria food," he said as they strolled down the hall toward the cafeteria, brown bags in hand.
"Plus it just doesn't taste good," she added, making a face. "I like to think I have a pretty adventurous palate but I still have my limits."
As they pushed through the swinging double doors, they ran into Eddie and Big Julius, who were on their way to the food line. "Hi, guys," Tamsin greeted them.
The two boys nodded to her. "Hey, Tamsin," Big Julius said. He gave Michael a small nod, too. "Mikey."
"Hey," Michael replied politely, even though Tamsin knew he hated being called anything other than his proper first name.
Behind them, several yards away, she could see the rest of the Titans at their usual table, craning their necks to watch the proceedings. She jerked her gaze from Ronnie to look back at Eddie, who was grinning cheekily at her. "On your way to buy lunch?" she asked.
"Yeah," the dark-haired boy told her. "We have to do that now because no one's sharing her scrumptious home cooking with us anymore."
Tamsin laughed. "Well, you'll just have to deal with it."
"Are you going to Sharon's party next weekend?" Big Julius asked then.
"Oh, yes." She nodded. "She called up and invited me yesterday afternoon."
"Cool. You'd better show up, now. Sharon will be mighty hurt if you don't."
"Michael and I will be there."
The big black boy glanced briefly at Michael and grunted. "Good. See you there."
After Eddie and Big Julius had moved on, Tamsin and Michael went out the back door and into the side courtyard. The air was still damp from the last of the melted snow and the lawns were slowly becoming greener with new grass. Students were scattered about here and there, eating lunch and talking. Some were even sneaking forbidden cigarettes in a hidden spot behind the tool shed.
Michael bummed a cigarette from one of the smokers and Tamsin followed him to a concrete bench set behind a tree. They each took one end of the bench, leaving enough space between them to spread out their lunch. "I'm sorry about Eddie and Julius," she said before biting into the substantial steak sandwich her uncle had packed for her.
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
"Well…they called you 'Mikey.'" And that was only the beginning, she thought. They had barely spoken to him at all in the cafeteria. In fact, they had completely ignored him after that stilted hello.
Michael shrugged. "It's OK. It's not like they know — or remember, assuming I had told them — that I prefer to be called 'Michael.'" He smiled dryly. "Besides, I don't think those guys have forgiven me for stealing you away from one of their own."
Tamsin covered her face with one hand and groaned. "Oh, my God."
"Hey, it's only to be expected," he told her with a chuckle. "Jocks are the same the world over: highly possessive, as well as possessing a herd mentality. Want some?" he asked, holding out the container of curry he was having for lunch that day.
She shook her head. The first (and last) time she had tried some of Annette's curry, her tongue had curled up from all the spice. Apparently, smoking had dulled the woman's taste buds.
It was on its way to dulling her son's, too. After wolfing down his lunch, Michael lit up and blew a thin stream of cigarette smoke into the air. "You sure you don't mind?" he asked, gesturing with the cigarette.
Tamsin shook her head even as she wrinkled her nose. "I don't mind," she said, opening the paperback she had brought with her. "At least we're outside, and I'm sitting upwind from you so I don't have to breathe in the smoke."
He smiled. "You are so easy to be with."
She smiled back, thrilling at the compliment.
When Tamsin opened her book, Michael leaned in to read over her shoulder. She snuggled back against him. Although she didn't like cigarette smoke, the scent of it on his clothes reminded her of her mother and of New York.
She turned a page, appreciating the peace and quiet. Not only was the air much fresher outside the cafeteria, there was no Petey grabbing her book out of her hand and starting a game of keep-away. There was no Gerry rebuking her that it was rude to read at the table, no Blue forcing her to listen to his latest Momma joke. Unlike Ronnie, who was almost always surrounded by Titans, Michael had very few friends. It's hard, Tamsin thought sympathetically, to find people to hang out with when you aren't on the same intellectual wavelength as the rest of humanity.
* * *
A drop of water splashed on his nose.
Ronnie winced and swiped at his face with his sleeve. He used the monkey wrench to tighten the joint. There was another drip, but it was smaller than the one that went before, and then there was none.
"How are you doing in there?" his father asked from outside the kitchen cabinet.
"All done," he replied, easing out from underneath the sink. He blinked at the sudden brightness of the kitchen light.
Col. Bass eyed his son's rumpled hair and water-splotched shirt. "You'd better take a shower and change those clothes before you go out tonight."
"I will," Ronnie said. He sat up to return the wrench to the toolbox, then turned to see his father looking at him closely. "What?"
Blue-gray eyes just like his own looked back at him. "I was just wondering how you were doing."
"I'm OK."
"Looking forward to your friend's party?"
"Yeah. All the guys are going to be there, so it should be fun." Ronnie shut the toolbox and drummed his fingers on the scratched and peeling lid. Bits of red paint stuck to his fingertips. "I heard Tamsin's going to be there."
"And how do you feel about that?" Col. Bass wanted to know.
He shrugged. "OK," he said again. "I'm kind of nervous because it's the first party since we, uh, you know, stopped seeing each other…but I'm getting used to seeing her just as a friend, so I think everything will be all right."
"Good. I don't think you'll have any serious problems, since you and Tamsin decided to remain friends, but all the same, it's important to keep cool."
"I know, Dad."
Col. Bass's advice was rolling around in Ronnie's head as he walked up to the Williamses' house that evening. He was going to be OK, he told himself. All his friends were going to be there. They would keep him company. And Tamsin wasn't the only girl in the world.
Big Julius answered the doorbell on the first ring. "Hey, Sunshine! Good to see you!"
Ronnie slapped his friend a low five as he walked into the foyer. "Hey, bro. What are you, the bouncer?"
"Yeah, so you better be nice to me or I'll throw you out."
Presently, Sharon appeared in the hallway, carrying a platter of sandwiches. Petey came next with two big bowls of party snacks.
The pretty black girl smiled when she saw Ronnie. "Hi, Sunshine. Glad you could make it."
"Glad to be here," he replied with a smile of his own. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Here, you take this," Petey said before Sharon could answer. He shoved a bowl of pretzels into Ronnie's arms. "They ain't all for you, though."
They followed their hostess to the Williamses' recreation room, where the party was being held. After setting down his bowl with the rest of the food, Ronnie looked around to see who was already there. Besides the Titans and their girlfriends, he saw most of the guys he remembered from basketball games at the Burg as well as several people he didn't know. "Dennis Currie's visiting from college and he brought along some friends of his," Petey said enthusiastically as they joined the Titans and their girls. "How's about you take the redhead and I take the hot mama in the green miniskirt?"
"Petey!" Liz cried. "You can't just divvy up people that way!"
"Good choice, my man," Blue said approvingly, as if the dark-haired girl had said nothing at all. "Mm-mm-mm, she got more legs than a bucket of chicken!"
"Now there's something else we didn't need to hear," Emma said as Liz and Cat rolled their eyes.
Gerry grinned at her. "Come on, sugar, let 'em be. Boys will be boys, after all."
Indeed, even Liz's own brother joined the discussion. "But Alan says he likes the redhead," Eddie remarked.
"No," Alan told him. "I said I don't like redheads. You're welcome to go after her, Sunshine."
Ronnie laughed uncomfortably. "I don't think I'm up to talking to any girls tonight, guys."
Blue groaned. "Are you still hung up on Tamsin? Man, how're you gonna get over her if you don't make an active effort to forget?"
"Blue's right," Rev put in. "It's all up to you."
"If you don't want the redhead," Ryan suggested, "how about that brunette who just walked in?" He turned to get a better look at the girl, then turned back to Ronnie, eyes wide. "No, forget that," he said as the other Titans began to laugh. He and Petey stepped in front of the blond boy to block his view of the door. "You don't want the brunette. Trust me, you don't want her."
"Why?" Ronnie asked, trying to see around the two boys. "Who is it?"
As if on cue, Emma jumped up. "Oh, Tamsin's here," she said. "Let's go say hi."
"That's why you don't want the brunette," Eddie told his teammate with a wry smile as the girls walked over to the brunette in question, who was saying hello to Sharon with Michael at her side.
Ronnie answered with a wry smile of his own. "Look, you guys, I have not sworn off girls forever. I just don't want to get back into a relationship so soon after breaking up with Tamsin. Tell you what, Petey — I'll talk to that redhead, but only to make friends, all right?"
"All right," Petey said, relieved. "At least it's a step in the right direction."
The redhead's name was Tania, and she was from Wisconsin. She was actually pretty nice and introduced him to some of the people Ronnie didn't know, both boys and girls. The girls teased him about how cute he was "for a younger man," the boys talked football, and they all gamely answered his questions about college life.
Ronnie had to admit he had a pretty good time. Not only did he get to hang out with his friends, but he had met some great new people, too. And he hadn't moped about Tamsin once. He had been nice to her when they had wound up at the food table at the same time, and he still couldn't help stealing glances at her every now and then, but he hadn't moped.
Dad was right, he thought. You just have to relax, enjoy the ride, and take each moment as it comes. You just have to keep cool.
* * *
"It was really nice hangin' out with you again at the party," Emma said to Tamsin as they visited the girls' room with Cat and Sharon that after lunch that Monday.
Tamsin nodded as she ran a brush through her hair. "I had a great time hanging out with you guys, too. Thanks for inviting me and Michael, Sharon."
"Anytime," the tall black girl replied with a smile. "I hope Michael had fun."
"Oh, he sure did. I'll admit it was kind of hard at first because he didn't know anyone that well so I had to baby-sit—"
"Baby-sitting." Cat laughed. "That's a great way to describe it."
"I saw him talking to some of the Burg kids," Emma said, "and he talked to me, too, for a while when I went to get food for me and Gerry. He was pretty nice."
Tamsin beamed. "I'm glad you think so."
"I found him to be kind of serious," the blonde girl admitted. "But maybe I'm just not used to his type."
"Yeah," Cat agreed. "We're more used to—" She looked embarrassed. "Uh, never mind what we're used to."
"You can say Ronnie's name in front of me," Tamsin said. "We're still friends."
"We didn't want you to think we were comparing Michael to him."
"That's OK," the dark-haired girl replied with a wry little smile. "We're used to it."
Sharon frowned in concern. "Aw, are people givin' you a hard time about Michael?"
Tamsin shrugged. "No one's actually said anything," she said, "but I know people are watching us when we're out together. I've seen the looks on their faces. They're comparing him to Ronnie and it's obvious that Michael never measures up."
"How is Michael taking it?"
"He ignores them." She hugged herself and scowled. "I'm trying to ignore them, too, but it's just so aggravating. Sometimes I just want to…" Sometimes I just want to turn around and tell them to fuck off, she thought, because they are so very wrong. You can't compare Michael with Ronnie. They're like apples and oranges — two very different people.
Cat patted her shoulder sympathetically. "Forget them, Tamsin. They just can't see Michael the way you do."
Tamsin looked up at her friends. "How about you?" she asked. "Can you understand why I like him so much?"
The other girls were quiet for a moment. "Well, unlike all those other people, we know you," Sharon finally answered. "So, yeah, we know what you see in Michael."
"You two have so much in common it's scary," Cat piped up.
"But more importantly," Emma added, "we see that he makes you happy. And if you're happy, we're happy."
Tamsin managed a smile. Her friends obviously thought that Michael was odd — they had had trouble answering her question about whether they understood her feelings about him — but she decided to ignore that in favor of the knowledge that they genuinely cared about her, too. "Thanks."
* * *
Dinner had been perfect. The food turned out just as Tamsin had planned: spinach salad to start, followed by a rich, flavorful curry featuring crunchy chunks of shrimp and an array of condiments, nutty brown rice (bought from Homegrown & Organic, of course), and a tart Key lime pie for dessert. Michael and his mother ate well, praised everything, and said they had a wonderful time.
The only damper on the evening was Uncle Jon. He was perfectly polite and sociable, but something was missing. Tamsin pondered it for a moment before finally putting her finger on the problem: her normally gregarious uncle had not appeared as comfortable as he had been with the Basses.
Maybe he was just preoccupied, she told herself after the Cardinals had left. Uncle Jon had sent off the first draft of his book two weeks ago, and his editor still hadn't gotten back to him with comments. He had to prepare for midterms, too; they were coming up soon.
But she had to know. "How did you like Michael's mom?" Tamsin asked casually as she wrapped up the leftover pie and put it in the refrigerator.
Uncle Jon looked up from rinsing the dirty dinner plates. "She was OK," he replied before turning back to his task.
"How about Michael? How do you find him outside the classroom?"
"He's OK."
"'OK'? That's all you can say?"
Her uncle straightened up from loading the dishwasher and sighed. "Just what is it you want to know, Tam? Do you want to know whether I like Michael as a boyfriend for you?" He gave her a wry little smile. "You actually care what an old-fogy adult has to say?"
"Of course I do," she said with a slight frown. "I've always come to you or to Mom for advice." Her frown deepened when it became apparent that Uncle Jon was hesitating, the way Sharon had in the girls' room the other day. "I'm not going to like what you're going to say, am I?"
He held up a hand in a silent request that she hear him out. "I know you like Michael a lot, sweetie, and I can see why — he's intelligent, artistic, and fairly good-looking, after all. But…let's just say I have a few misgivings about him, all right?"
"What kind of misgivings?" Tamsin wanted to know.
Her uncle grimaced. "Well, you've got to admit his family background isn't very good."
"He grew up without a father," she said. "Just like me."
"That doesn't mean that he turned out just like you, sweetie. Michael's a bit more…antisocial."
"He's on a different intellectual wavelength from the average person, that's all." Her frown developed into a full-fledged scowl. "And didn't you always tell me to be friends with all kinds of people?"
"Being friends is fine, Tam, but I don't know if I want you to be more than that him." Uncle Jon frowned slightly. "I just have this feeling that I shouldn't leave you alone with him."
She sent him a baleful look as she began to wipe off the tabletop with a damp sponge. "Nothing has happened, is happening and will ever happen, Uncle Jon. He's not that kind of guy."
"Perhaps he isn't now, but what about tomorrow? I know all about teenage boys, you know, having been one myself."
And yet you sound like you've forgotten what it's like to be young, Tamsin thought rebelliously.
"If you want to know the truth, sweetie," he told her in a gentle voice, "I must admit I kind of prefer Sunshine."
Et tu, Uncle Jon? "Everyone prefers Ronnie," she grumbled. Why? she wondered. Is it because Ronnie was a "good" boy? Is it because he's popular? A jock? The poster boy for the Big Men On Campus Club? Just because Michael doesn't subscribe to convention doesn't mean—
"You asked me for my opinion, Tam," her uncle reminded her.
Tamsin flung her sponge into the sink. She didn't want to hear any more. "Yeah, well, I did it because I thought I could count on you for some support."
* * *
Thump-thump-thump.
Someone was tapping a pencil on his or her textbook.
Ronnie tried to tune it out, but the sound had always driven him crazy and the fact that he knew it was there was distracting him from Mr. Graham reading Camus' The Myth of Sisyphus aloud to the class.
"You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the absurd hero. He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of this earth…"
He heard someone snort. Thumpthumpthump.
Ronnie finally looked up from his English book to search for the offender. The people seated on the grass around him (Mr. Graham was conducting class outdoors that day again) were bent over their books, the afternoon sun streaming through the trees and casting dappled shadows on their heads. None of them seemed to be holding a pencil, much less making that annoying noise.
A couple of the girls smiled at him when they realized he was looking their way. He smiled politely back (he couldn't very well ignore Josie Morello, because he had asked her out just the day before) and continued his search.
Then his eye fell on Tamsin, sitting a few feet away. She was scowling slightly as she looked down at her own book, eyes following the words as Mr. Graham read. She was also drumming her pencil on the open page.
"Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn…"
Tamsin's mouth twisted wryly. Ronnie watched her give a small nod, the way she always did when she heard or read something she liked, and underline a passage in the reading.
She then went back to thumping on her book, but he barely noticed it this time. Ronnie was more preoccupied by the fact that she looked like she was really angry about something. She had practically slashed at her book with her pencil, her posture was tense, and she was still frowning. Either That Time of the Month was near again, or Tamsin was in a very foul mood.
"I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy," Mr. Graham concluded, and looked back up at the class with a smile. "There! How did you find the essay?"
"I couldn't understand a thing," Ray complained. Big surprise, Ronnie thought.
Gerry raised his hand. "Mr. Graham, how can Sisyphus be a hero?" he asked. "He didn't do anything special. He disobeyed the gods and now he's stuck rolling a rock up a hill for all eternity. Where's the glory in that?"
"The glory," Tamsin said without bothering to raise her hand and wait to be called upon, "lies in the fact that he got to do what he wanted. He beat the gods."
"But he got punished," Rev protested.
"Well, he's beating his punishment, too."
Quite a few of the people around her had puzzled frowns on their faces. "Could you run that by me again?" a black girl with long, curly hair asked.
"Sisyphus," Tamsin said, "is the absurd hero because his passion for life led him to revolt against death and against the gods. And in a way, he found freedom.
"Sisyphus is scorning his fate. He is 'stronger than his rock' — he isn't dwelling on his punishment. Instead, he's thinking about his extra time on earth. He got to be alive again. He got to have good times and bad times. He had an adventure. And he did something no one else had ever done, or done again since, and to the gods, too — beings that an ordinary person would never dream of defying.
"Sisyphus got what he wanted, even for only a short time, and he's proud of himself." She jabbed a finger into the air in front of her for emphasis. "That's why he's a hero. That's why he's happy."
There was a short pause, and Michael started to applaud.
Something was definitely wrong, Ronnie thought as he and some of the other students started applauding, too. There had been an extra vehemence in Tamsin's words, like she had been talking about more than just the essay. And unlike Mr. Sensitive Artist, who was doing nothing more than clapping like a trained seal, Ronnie was going to find out what was bothering her.
There was nothing wrong with that, he told himself. He and Tamsin had agreed to stay friends.
He approached her cautiously after Mr. Graham dismissed them for the day. Michael had gone up to the teacher, no doubt to ask another one of his ultra-intelligent suck-up questions, and she was noisily stacking her books, one on top of the other. "Hey, Tamsin," he said.
She stood and smiled briefly when she saw him, but her expression remained shuttered. "Hi."
"That was quite an answer back there. You know, about how Sisyphus is a hero and all that."
"Thanks."
Ronnie gave her a small smile. "You really meant it, didn't you?" he asked, thinking back to the afternoon just like this one many months ago, when he had first asked her out.
"Yes, I did." Tamsin didn't smile.
"So…what's up?" he asked casually, sticking a hand in his pocket. His strategy was to first ask about her general well being; and if something seemed off, he was going to zero in on it.
"Nothing."
His brows drew together. Now that had sounded off right from the get-go. "It sounds to me like nothing's up because everything's down," he observed.
She shrugged and looked down at her feet. "Things…just haven't been going my way lately," she finally admitted, hugging her books to her chest.
Aha! "In what way exactly?" Ronnie wanted to know.
At his question, Tamsin stiffened and the barrier went right back up again. "No way in particular," she replied in the same distant voice she had used to say that nothing was up just a few minutes ago.
"Hey, come on, if something's bothering you, you can talk to me about it. That's what friends are for, right?"
"But nothing's bothering me."
He knew she was lying. "Tamsin…"
"Look, Ronnie," she told him wearily, "I appreciate the gesture, but really, nothing's wrong. I'm just not in a very good mood right now."
"Well, is there anything I can do to help?"
Tamsin smiled — really smiled — for the first time since they had begun the conversation. It was a strained, sad, tired smile, but a genuine one nonetheless. "No. I just need to tough it out, that's all."
"You can do it." There was something bothering her, all right, but Ronnie doubted if he was going to be able to get it out of her just yet. What was important at present was that she knew she had a friend. "And if you need, like, anything…I'm here for you."
She blushed. "Thank you," she said, just as Michael walked up to them.
"Hi, guys," the dark-haired boy said with a mild glance in Ronnie's direction. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Tamsin said again.
"Ready to go?"
"Yeah." She smiled at Ronnie. "See you around."
Ronnie thought she looked a lot happier now than she had a while ago. He was sure Michael's presence had a lot to do with it, but he liked to think he had made a small contribution, too. "Yeah, see you," he replied with a smile of his own.
Michael nodded politely to him before walking away with Tamsin. Ronnie noticed that she was still carrying her own books.
* * *
People started shuffling to their feet as the bus trundled further down the sun-splashed street. Presently, the bus stop at Gartner and Vine came into view.
"Well, there's my stop," Tamsin murmured.
Michael leaned over and kissed her goodbye as the bus slowed down and finally came to a stop. His lips tasted faintly of coffee. "Ask your uncle, OK?"
"I will."
"I'll call you," he said when she got up to leave.
"Great." She smiled at him, then turned to see that a girl she knew from her Calculus class was riding the same bus and had been watching them with a perplexed look on her face.
Not again. Tamsin's smile faded, to be replaced by an icy look. The girl looked away quickly, blushing when she realized she had been caught staring, but the damage was done. Tamsin swept scornfully past her and out of the bus, onto the street.
"It's Michael and me against the world," she murmured to herself as she strode briskly down Gartner Street toward her house. God, that is so cliché, she thought with a bitter snort. But it was true.
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed the new-growing scents in the air, the robin's egg blue sky and the warm sunshine (Don't think about him, Tamsin thought), but that day she was taking it all as a personal affront.
How could the world look so right when everything was in fact so wrong?
No one understood about her and Michael. No one. No matter what her friends said, everyone thought she was crazy to dump Ronnie for someone who wasn't fit to tie the golden football god's exalted shoelaces, but they didn't know anything. She saw Michael differently, just as she had seen Ronnie differently. There was much more to both boys than what they could see.
"I don't care what they think," Tamsin muttered rebelliously as she stomped across the porch and pulled out her key. "I don't. But if I see anyone looking at us cross-eyed one more time, I swear I am going to erupt." She had been successful at keeping her temper to a slow simmer all through and well after midterms, but even the most patient person (Ronnie came to mind yet again) would get sick of all the slighting, pitying, and appraising glances she and Michael were being forced to endure.
The hallway was dim and cool when she let herself into the house. The sounds of Uncle Jon working and John Lennon singing drifted out to her from the study.
"Tam?" Uncle Jon called from the study, raising his voice to be heard over the record player. "Is that you, sweetie?"
"Yes," she called back flatly. No, she didn't care what they thought. Never mind if Uncle Jon was one of them.
The click-clack of the typewriter stopped and her uncle emerged from the study. "You're back early."
Tamsin tossed her jacket onto the coat rack. "I didn't want to ride the bus at night."
"Did Michael see you home?"
"Yeah, he took the bus with me."
Uncle Jon nodded. "I'm sorry I couldn't lend you the car, sweetie, but you know we had that emergency faculty meeting this morning."
That sounded like the perfect opening for the idea she and Michael had been discussing on the way home. "Since we're on the subject of transportation, Uncle Jon, you know Michael has a perfectly good motorcycle he could use to take me home."
"Uh…" He pretended to ponder for a moment, then shook his head. "No."
Anger — an emotion she had been feeling much too often as of late — flared up inside her. "What do you mean, 'no'? All I said was that he has a motorcycle!"
"You also said he could use it to take you home and I know what that means," he replied. "I'm sorry, Tamsin, but the answer is no."
"Why not?"
"It's not safe."
"But we're going to use helmets," Tamsin argued. "You've seen Michael ride. He uses a helmet. He promised Annette he would before she agreed to get him the bike."
"Even then, sweetie, I'm not going to let you ride that thing."
"But he's not Evil Knievel, Uncle Jon."
"Still, the answer is no."
She scowled. She was so sick of this. "You just don't want me to go out with Michael," she accused.
"I promised your mother I would take care of you," Uncle Jon told her evenly, "and taking care of you means that I will feed, clothe and shelter you, as well as do anything else necessary to keep you alive."
"You call not allowing me to live my life 'keeping me alive'?"
His lips thinned slightly. "Keep the philosophy out of this, Tamsin. You know what I'm talking about. You are my responsibility."
"Well, I hereby release you from your responsibility." She was eighteen, after all, Tamsin reasoned. If people her age could be sent off to war, then they certainly should be allowed to make their own decisions!
Her uncle's eyelids flickered. It was a sure sign that his temper was starting to rise to dangerous levels, but she didn't care. "And I'm afraid you can't do that."
"Why not?"
"You just can't."
What kind of an answer was that? "I thought we were supposed to keep the philosophy out of this!"
"I'm not being philosophical, Tamsin. I am just stating a fact: you are my responsibility and you cannot release me from that."
"Who would have thought someone so cool would turn out to be so uptight?"
Uncle Jon finally scowled. "You will not speak to me in such a fashion, young lady," he told her, sounding every bit as uptight as she said he was. "Apologize."
"Why should I?" Tamsin screamed. "You're not my father!"
"I AM YOUR FATHER!"