A Song for Julia

And you dress like you mean business. I’m thinking you don’t relax much … you don’t get out and play much. Only child. You’re from … California or maybe Oregon, based on the accent. Your father’s … an executive? With a bank, maybe? You’ve never smoked pot. And that stud in your nose was a major act of rebellion.”
    I giggled. Oh, God. Giggling, seriously? He was just ridiculous. “That’s it?”
    “Hmm … I’m guessing you’ve never missed a day of school in your life, unless it was for something life threatening. But inside, there’s a part of you that wants to break out … and do something crazy.”
    He grinned and said, “Okay, how did I do?”
    “Well, I’m not from California, or anywhere really. But I guess it counts, because my family lives there now. I’m definitely not an only child; I’ve got five sisters. Carrie’s a senior in high school, Alexandra is twelve, the twins are six, and Andrea is five. And … no, I’ve never smoked pot. My dad’s a retired ambassador, so I spent most of my life all over the world. And … rebellion’s never been my thing. I’ve got a pretty good life, there’s nothing to rebel against.”
    It’s amazing how you can say a lot of words that are all true, and completely obscure the truth at the same time. I was an expert at that. I spend my life spinning a web of half spoken truths; an armor weaved of words that do nothing but hide who I am.
    He grinned and very gently shook his head. “Nothing to rebel against? Nothing at all?”
    “Nope,” I replied. Except maybe my mother, who controlled every moment of my life. But that’s more than I was willing to say.
    “That’s sad,” Cranks said. “Everyone should have something to rebel against.”
    I frowned, scrunching my eyebrows together. “I’ve never heard anything that crazy in my life. How can you say that?”
    He shrugged, leaning far back in his seat with his hands in his pockets. “The things you rebel against are the things that define you.”
    “That’s kind of an adolescent attitude, don’t you think? I’d rather define myself.”
    He gave me a fierce grin. “You aren’t the first girl to call me adolescent.”
    “Why am I not surprised?”
    He narrowed his eyes and then said, “You get off on insulting me.”
    “I do not.”
    “You clearly do. Trust me, baby … Harvard isn’t the only way to a happy life.”
    “Call me baby again and my drink will end up in your lap. And I never said it was,” I replied, suddenly defensive. Was I being condescending? I didn’t think so. Yes, I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. But it’s not like I don’t know there’s a big world out there, and a lot of different ways to live. If anything, lately I’d been thinking more and more that I needed to find a different way. The closer I got to graduation, the more I felt my life closing in on me like the jaws of a trap.
    “I can see it,” he said. “You’re mentally comparing me to some suited monkey, aren’t you? Some future CEO or Senator.”
    I replied, sharply, “It’s better than being compared to some tart or groupie.”
    “Ouch,” he said, then took a big drink of his margarita.
    “So I guess that makes it my turn to guess.”
    He smirked. He was an ass. But a hellishly attractive one. Damn him. In a twisted sort of way this was fun. In Boston, I had to be so careful, because the people I spoke to were going to be around the next day and that meant I had to hide.
    “Okay,” I said. “You put up a big front. Black leather and crazy t-shirts and angry lyrics. But I’m guessing you’re really from a nice family in the suburbs. You did okay in high school but weren’t motivated to go to college, and you started a band to pick up girls. The look—the hair and tattoos—all flow out of that. I’m betting you’re a nicer guy than you let on.”
    He grinned fiercely. “Wrong, wrong, and wrong. I’m from Southie, broken home and all. I got kicked out of school for fighting too much, and I am not a nice guy.”
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “Why not what ?”
    “Why aren’t you a nice guy?”
    He sat back in his seat and studied me without answering. As his eyes roved over my face, I felt my cheeks heat up and redden. It felt like he was sitting there and imagining me with my clothes off, and I began to breathe quickly, because that kind of look usually made my skin crawl. But right now, it didn’t do that at all. In fact, my body was betraying me: my