August 1989
This year at the fair it’s just the two of them walking around exchanging wary glances and usually arm in arm, which at this point just feels very mature to Nick.
Their senior years and firm plans loom on the horizon. For reasons Nick can’t pin down he floats this,
“Had you thought of starting out at the twig?”
This earns him a slight grin and what we’ll call an expectant eyebrow,
“Well it would screw up the scholarships…”
“Oh.”
“...well, and, I guess to be honest – and this sounds horribly cliché, but…”
“You need to find yourself?”
Deej answers with a knowing stare that reminds him why they seem to keep in touch like this.
“Hmm.”
“Well, it’s better than bumming through Europe, and…<sighs>...I think you know why a lot of folks want to head to a campus, so it’s not like a party central, hell they are even pretty strict about upperclassmen living off campus.”
“Have fun.”
This gets a pretty accurate and equally hard sneaker to his right buttock.
“Thought so.”
She pulls him in for a conciliatory peck on the cheek, not that he really knows what she means by it.
From there he talks her into letting him treat for lunch, he gets plenty of hours at Rad Shack and is starting a nest egg for gas money to get to said Twig, and maybe for some wardrobe here and there since Bain gives in to the corporate dress code, better safe than sorry. But to Nick this is just another form of outward maturity.
On the subject of romance they’re both characteristically vague. Nick has been laying low as usual, with the exception being when he tried a tender moment with Marci which just made her blush and avoid eye contact best she could. Oh, except there was his off and on lab partner in Earth Science, but she was more of an amusing gigglebutt than anything.
Gradually Nick notices more folks noticing them than usual, who’s this ginger-ish drink of water with Swanson? Guess it just adds to his mystique. Another twist is this tall drink of water has been doing the high bangs with it conspicuously straight everywhere else – but Nick isn’t about to ruin the mystique and ask if she irons it.
At one point he avoids running dry, “How’s Sam?”
Deej rolls her eyes, “I love her but she’s weird.”
“Good, it builds character.”
“Dork.”
They don’t speak a whole lot as they eat, but then again, at this point, yeah.
The embrace at his car goes on a bit too long for his comfort, but maybe that’s the idea.
On the way home he fights the need to hear Deep Purple’s Highway Star, then gives in, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking of her at random moments whenever that classic track fills his head.