Part 2 (1/2)

Worse, the laugh has disoriented me all over again. ”Oh?” becomes my dorky uncontrolled response. I suddenly have hundreds of questions about how his room might have looked.

”Yeah,” he goes on as though he can read my mind. ”I draped my walls with these ugly tan sheets to make the desert lands go on forever. It was more of a fire hazard than anything good.” His gaze is now glued back on my face as though he's looking for something, waiting for me to do something.

But what?

I glance down and fiddle with the zipper on my bag, hoping he hasn't deciphered that I'm in absolute unfamiliar territory here. By now, even the toughest kids would be running in the other direction. At the very least they'd be pulling the silent treatment on me. Maybe I'll have to take this on the direct. I could try: There is no reason we need to talk to each other. So let's just stop. As in. Forever. Don't talk to me, I won't talk to you. Deal?

He clears his throat as though he's signaling my turn, but when I refuse to engage he continues, ”Anyhow...Twilight, The Hunger Games. Those books were read by thirty million girls and their moms. Guys who admit to being into romance c.r.a.p are lying or whipped. Major whipped. How's that for boy-speak? And those movies? You have to admit they were awkward.”

I make the mistake of looking up just then, prepared to blast him for the *romance c.r.a.p' comment and he stuns me stupid. He's in the middle of a total-entire face involved-eyes crinkling-happy grin. Grinning and happy at me, I guess?

”Tatooine, huh? So awesome you know Star Wars facts,” he adds nodding. ”Do you ever watch the animated stuff?”

Grin. Grin. Grin.

I'm seriously at risk of an old-style faint. Holy-WTHECK? My neck and cheeks are volcano-hot. My entire chest swarms with an uncontrollable b.u.t.terfly attack.

b.u.t.terfly riot.

b.u.t.terfly ma.s.sacre.

Person slaughtered: Me.

Method used: Dimple.

The guy has a dimple. Of course he does. To match the Hollywood chin divot. To make the lump on my forehead pound even harder.

Points for Gray Porter: 3,000,000-bajallion, trillion to the millionth power.

Say something, Jess. Say anything.

And just when I'm about to think of what I should say next, my mouth goes into whacked overdrive like I'm possessed. ”The graphic art in Clone Wars is my favorite,” I say. ”I love how they drew the characters. You know-how everything looks so angular and-”

My words tangle and freeze when my brain finally arrives to shut it down.

Say something but NOT THAT, you psycho!

”Clone Wars. Love it, do I? Yesss.” He's actually responded in a Yoda voice!

I blink.

His eyes are kind, sparkling with laughter and still, all too green. Yoda green!

Am I losing my touch? Why won't this guy act like everyone else?

I want to giggle and smile back at him. It takes every ounce of my strength to tamp that urge away and revert to glaring. At a loss, I turn away to shove all of my product samples into my bag as a grey-haired oompa-loompa looking guy stumbles through a door behind the reception area.

”Good, good. You're both here,” the man says, pausing to right his gla.s.ses. ”I was worried you'd have wandered off.”

”No sir, Mr. Foley. Not a chance. Nice to see you again.” Gray steps forward and shakes the man's hand.

My heart feels like cards have just been shuffled under it. I recognize my instant disadvantage. How does Gray already know Mr. Foley, the CEO!?

I reach up to make sure my bun is holding and take a couple steps in their direction while I staple on a confident smile of my own.

Mr. Foley saves me by speaking first. ”You must be Jessica Jordan.” He shakes my hand. ”I heard you had quite an interview yesterday. My product development manager says you're fantastic. She hasn't been this fired up about new products since we put unbreakable Plexiglas on the Dragon-Fire Sword replicas! Can't wait to get a look at your geek-girl book b.u.mper stickers. I hope you brought them back.”

I shoot Gray a smug smile. ”Of course. It's an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Foley.”

”Yes. Good,” Mr. Foley says and seems to be giving me the once over.

I hope he approves of my carefully chosen Geekstuff.com outfit: the Ultimate Long-Safari-Skirt. Color: Puce. Sale price: $42.95. I've combined it with the Peter Pan Office s.h.i.+rt, color: bright-white. Price $34.00. An item that has never been marked up or down for the past two years. A point I can't wait to bring up during my interview.

Mr. Foley's smile and small nod shows he's recognized that I'm not only an interviewee, but a valued customer, as well.

Let my points roll in. Fifty-zillion for me. Take that, Porter!

”Do you two know each other?” Mr. Foley gestures between us.

”Oh yes,” Gray says in what sounds like a sarcastic tone.

”No.” I blast Gray with a look. He better cut the games, now.

”So you do, or, you don't?” Mr. Foley asks again, scratching the top of his balding head.

”Sort of,” I say.

”Yeah...that's what I meant,” Gray says. He breaks my gaze and flushes.

”We're in the same school,” I add.

”Good. That makes what I have to tell you less awkward.” Mr. Foley smiles.

I have to force myself not to roll my eyes.

If this morning gets any more awkward, I could easily self-combust.

Mr. Foley continues, ”Our order fulfillment servers went down and I'm helping Q.A. review a temporary hack. It's why I'm so late. Might take awhile before I can get to the interviews. Can you hold here until the fire's out?”

”No problem.” I nod, hoping my expression is a perfect mix of concern and absolute hire-me, NOT HIM, sparkle.

I risk another glance at Gray and note he seems supremely uncomfortable about the new plan. We've sort of exhausted all bizarre topics possible. I'm guessing he's not looking forward to the next round of being alone with me.

Hanging with him is not at the top of my list either, but I'm not going to let anyone know that with a c.r.a.ppy poker-face. If Mr. Foley notices Gray's reaction, I'll simply gain another point for my side.

I shoot Gray a taunting, deadly smile as I continue, ”I have all day, Mr. Foley. Please take your time.”

”Yeah, as long as you need,” Gray says.

Gray responds to my challenge with a head-shake and an odd half-smile. The guy is whacked, that has to be it.