Now I'll Tell You Everything (Alice) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor Page A

turned around and came back where I was standing.“Where’s home?” she asked. We’d both bent down a little to hear him.
    “Seattle,” the guy replied.
    I wondered if he had AIDS. I looked at his hands, dangling listlessly from his knees, but he didn’t have any telltale blotches. His knees could have been bony beneath the worn jeans; I couldn’t quite tell.
    “So what do you need?” Abby asked.
    “Eight dollars more.” It seemed an effort for him to get the words out.
    I wondered how much I could ask. “Does anyone know you’re coming?”
    That faint smile again. “They’ll know when I get there, but I . . . really got to get home.”
    I think we all agreed on that. I slipped my bag off my shoulder and found a five. Abby added another.
    “That’s too much,” the man said quickly, and reached toward the bills in the cigar box.
    “Keep it,” Abby said.
    “And good luck,” I added.
    He thanked us and slowly got to his feet. “Do you know the way to the bus depot?”
    “I think it’s back that way,” Abby said, pointing. “You’d better ask. We’re from out of town too. What’s your name?”
    “Christopher,” he said, and then he gave us an almost full smile. At least his teeth looked good. He took good care of those. “Thanks a lot.”
    “Our good deed for the day,” Abby said as we headed back to Jayne. “That was my last five. We’d better make a good profit on those pecan bars.”
    *  *  *
    I was both surprised yet half expecting it when I got a phone call from Sylvia telling me that Les and Stacy were getting married at Thanksgiving. They’d set a date.
    “Wow!” I kept saying. “Can you plan a wedding in five months?”
    “Well, they have. They’ve taken care of all the arrangements, and Les sounds as sure and happy as he’s ever been. We just wanted to let you know in case you were making other plans for Thanksgiving.”
    “I’d cancel anything to be at Lester’s wedding. Tell him that. This is terrific,” I told her, and ran to tell Abby and Jayne the happy news.
    *  *  *
    One June night, I was half wakened by a noise somewhere in the room. I felt a breeze from the window and perhaps a curtain blowing about. But then I heard just the lightest step, and my eyes opened wide in the darkness.
    I could make out Abby’s figure in bed, so knew she wasn’t walking around. Jayne—tiptoeing in to get something? A second later I sensed that someone was in the room, and was afraid to turn my head. The footstep again, and instantly I thought of Jared, following me here and wanting revenge. And just as I moved to turn over, he was on top of me.
    I screamed with every muscle in my throat, and then he licked my face. Spirit!
    Abby tumbled out of bed, trying to reach the floor lamp and knocking it over. Noises in the hall, and there was Jayne in the doorway, one hand on the light switch.
    Spirit was curled up beside me, and I lay with one hand on my chest, afraid my heart was bursting through.
    “What in the world?” said Jayne, her hair half covering her face.
    “Spirit,” I said. “He jumped up on me, and I thought . . . I thought . . .”
    “Post-traumatic stress, Jayne,” Abby explained. “She thought it was a guy.”
    “Well, he is a guy,” I said, patting Spirit’s head. “A rather hairy one. I’m sorry, everybody.”
    “You guys must have left your door ajar. He’ll do it every time. Come on, Spirit,” Jayne said. “Pick on someone your own size.”
    After they were gone, Abby asked, “You still think about him?”
    “No more than I have to,” I said. “Let’s get some sleep.”
    *  *  *
    Dave and I were e-mailing more. We didn’t do much of that on campus, and now that I was clear across the country, it felt strangely intimate to see our thoughts on a screen.
    He’d gotten that construction job in Pennsylvania for July—would be finished by August.
    I want you back, he wrote, and those four words said a lot.
    That night before I