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“The same as us?” I liked grouping myself in his category. It was disturbing to realize how much I wanted to be the only one in it besides him.
“No.”
“So there are other people who have … special … things they can do?”
oidance I was a master.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’m sure I would be more comfortable with this whole situation if I knew more about you.” There. He couldn’t argue with that. And I really did want to know more about him. A lot more.
Michael placed his hands on the table. His fingers were long, his nails squared off but a little longer on his right hand, making me wonder if he played the guitar. He wore a silver ring on his left thumb.
“I have a sister; her name is Anna Sophia. My mom is in real estate, high-end historical homes, very successful—a lot like Thomas. She’s also my hero. My dad has been out of the picture since I was eight or so.” He gave me a small smile. I wondered about the rest of the story. “I grew up outside Atlanta, and I’ve been working for the Hourglass for almost a year.”
Since my Internet research returned void, I knew nothing about the Hourglass, but the mental image in my brain involved Marlon Brando in the back room of an Italian restaurant surrounded by cigar smoke and heavily armed men named Paulie and Vito. I needed a clearer picture. Or at least a less frightening one.
“What does the Hourglass do, exactly?” I asked.
“Consulting jobs, mentoring.”
“How did you find them? Or did they find you?”
“They found me. I was assigned a mentor, who helped me learn about my ability. When I came here for college last year, I started doing small consulting jobs. Talking to kids who needed a friend, gathering information, stuff like that. Then things changed. When my mentor died”—he paused, taking a deep breath—“I asked for more responsibility. I wanted to give back what I had been given.”
Michael’s eyes and the set of his mouth expressed pain and something else, maybe anger. I could only guess how much emotion was swirling underneath the surface.
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
“Life is about gains and losses,” he said, the pain winning out over the anger in his eyes. “You know that firsthand.”
Except my life was too heavy on the losses. “What kind of job am I? Consulting or mentoring?”
“Part of what I do is talk to people who are struggling to accept themselves. I listen.” He shrugged.
“Like you’re listening to me.”
“You’re different.”
“I am?”
“Yep.” He grinned, and the butterflies in my stomach were sucked up into a hurricane. “I’d listen to you anyway.”
I stuck my face in my tiny cup again. After I took another sip of coffee I asked, “So you’re already in college?”
“I’m getting ready to start my sophomore year. What about you?”
“Thomas’s plans are to enroll me at Ivy Springs High School for my senior year. I only have a semester left because I’ve done summer school the past two years. Really, I just want to take my G.E.D. and get it over with. But Thomas won’t let me.” I laughed, but there was no joy in it. The last thing I wanted to do was go back to the scene of my public mental collapse. “I wish he would. I need a break.”
“My guess is that if anyone deserves a break, it’s you,” Michael said, his voice full of understanding. “Maybe you can find another alternative for school that you and Thomas can agree on.”
“Maybe.” But doubtful. “Anyway, I’ll try to get myself straightened out as soon as possible. So you can move on to keggers, football games, and sorority girls.”
“I don’t drink, I prefer professional baseball, and sorority girls aren’t really my type.”
I bet they wished they were.
“And Emerson,” Michael said, resting his forearms on the table and looking into my eyes. “Just to be clear. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Uncomfortable with the sentiment and his proximity, I looked away. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I disagree. No offense.”
