Inside the Mind of Gideon Rayburn (31 page)

happily ever after

He's been with Molly for about two months now, and Gid hasn't looked at another girl once. Pilar gave him ample
opportunities to look down her shirt, but he didn't even notice. He's so enraptured with Molly
—with her broad
cheekbones and wide, sarcastic Irish mouth, her humor, her wit, the way she makes him feel so stupid and smart all
at once—that no other girls seem to exist. At some point in the not too distant future, his attention will wander. Maybe
not forever. But it will. But right now, if you told him that, he wouldn't believe you. Molly really gets him, he thinks. It's
amazing. Almost miraculous. That league stuff. Well. It's not like it doesn't make any sense, but in a way, it doesn't
make any sense.

He's thinking this one day as he hustles down the fire escape after one of his many illegal visits to her room.
Moby-Dick
is long over, now they're reading
For Whom the Bell Tolls,
which is so easy he finished it in one night,
sitting on that ratty basement couch, with, of all people, Mickey Eisenberg. In Art History the other day, he said
Renoir idealized girls so much it seemed like he may have hated them, and the teacher told him this was a very
interesting and original point. Cullen and Nicholas are his friends, but they're not his everything. They can still be
mean, but it's easier to ignore, also, much easier to retaliate.

Most important, his girlfriend is pretty and funny.

One cold January afternoon, he and Molly cross the quad together: She's headed to a yearbook meeting, he's off to play some foosball with Devon Shine. They're not overtly groping per the standards of behavior both adhere to
but still pleasantly knocking hip joint, elbow, knees, and he's filled up with a sensation of happiness and perfection.
He's not so in his head anymore. He feels good. Could it be that the bad part is just over, and now, it's all going to be
fun from now on?

"Don't bet on it," Molly says.

"Excuse me?" Gid says.

"I said, don't bet on it," i say, and parting from him, walk quickly up the stone steps to my yearbook meeting.

I never did figure out how Gid got into my head. If I had to venture a guess, I'd go with those wacky
Journal of
the Zen Hut
mind games Gid was playing when he and Jim Rayburn first drove onto campus. No one hates to admit
this more than me, but some of that stupid hippie shit is surprisingly powerful.

The question now, of course, is how am I going to get him out?

Naturally, I was pleased to know that the first time we did it Gid thought I looked luminous. Because I totally did.
Still, it was one thing when i was yearning for him, and needing to know his every move. Now that we're in love and
everything is so perfect between us, well, I wouldn't mind being a little less well informed.