Up Over Down Under (16 page)

Billie watched helplessly as Parker scanned the computer screen on which he'd called up her article, and now read it, half aloud and half to himself in such a way that made her feel extremely self-conscious.

“You said to bring it by this arvo,” she pointed out needlessly, feeling compelled to fill the awkward space between them. “I know you said before five, but I had it ready, so…” She trailed off awkwardly.

“What?” Parker turned away from the computer, clearly having heard none of Billie's jabbering.

Heather, sitting at his side as she'd been the other day, poked him in the ribs. “Zombie. The girl wants reassurance.” To Billie, she sighed and said, “He goes spacey when he's in editor mode.”

“No worries,” Billie replied, immediately feeling more at ease. She was liking Heather even more.

“Sure, yeah, five, sorry,” Parker said, snapping back into the here and now. He abruptly fixed her with a pointed stare. “The article's good,” he said. “I can run it on Friday.”

“But?” Billie prompted, sensing Parker had more to say.

“Well, weren't you going to do a piece encouraging people to spearhead volunteer efforts for cleaning the bay? This is well written, but it's much more…general.”

Billie's shoulders slumped. “I know. I caved. At the last minute, I couldn't bring myself to write something that could potentially go against Mr. Ritter. The hand that feeds you and all that, you know?”

“So, you do support a volunteer movement while the EPA focuses funding on other programs?” Heather waggled an eyebrow knowingly.

“Could be.” Billie wasn't going to say any more about it. Not just yet. Maybe not ever.

“No big deal,” Parker said. “We can run this. I like it. But don't be shocked if kids don't immediately start driving solar-powered cars and stuff,” he warned her.

“Yeah, it's weird,” Billie said. “Back home, my friends are big greenies—um, I think you call them ‘crunchies' up here. I thought for sure, with the internship, and Mr. Ritter, that I'd be in for some real action in D.C.”

Parker laughed shortly. “Yeah, you're going to have to lower your idealism flag to half-mast. Almost everyone at Fairlawn is the daughter or son of some urgent left-winger. Which, of course, makes us all want to rebel against our parents and throw ourselves into something angsty and emotional like art. So, you know, it's not that we don't care about politics, but more like…” He paused, fishing for exactly the right word.

“You've got other things on the agenda for right now,” Billie supplied.

“Exactly,” Parker said.

“So you're telling me my article won't even get read?” Billie asked. “Should I be feeling like writing it wasn't worth my time?”

“Well, you believe in what you wrote about, right?” Parker's eyes glittered with intensity again.

“'Course.” Billie shrugged.

“Then it wasn't a waste. Besides, Prop Seven is a really hot issue right now. You can't be the only person who's been thinking about this.”

“That's very comforting,” Billie teased. She did think it was nice of Parker to try to make her feel better, but that didn't make the situation any less frustrating.

“I'm sure,” Parker said, picking up on her not-so-subtle emotional vibes.

For a brief flash, Billie felt that there was maybe some connection forming between the two of them. He was still focused on her with all kinds of eye contact, and suddenly it seemed his Abercrombie-polo'd self was crying out for, if not a hug, then at least a clap on the back.

He was sweet. And he wanted to help her. That was also sweet.

“Are you doing anything after school?”

“What?” Billie had been so preoccupied thinking about what may or may not have passed as chemistry between the two of them that she'd completely missed what he was saying.

“After school? Do you have plans?”

“Oh, er…” Was he asking her out? On a date? Eliza's boyfriend?
Was
he even Eliza's boyfriend, for that matter?

“A bunch of us are going to get coffee in Adams Morgan,” he continued. He jerked his head in Heather's direction. “Heather'll be there.”

Heather nodded. “True story. Good times.”

A bunch of people. Right, so—not a date, then.
Bunches of people were not usually dates. At least, not especially romantic dates.

Not-a-date was good, though. Not-a-date was less confusing than the alternative. And this way, maybe she'd also get to know some of her other classmates.

“I'm in,” she said. “What the heck? I need to celebrate the fact that I'm now officially a fair dinkum journo.” She decided that she wasn't going to let anything rain on the parade of having written her first article for the school paper.

Parker shook his head. “Meet us at the front entrance to the school at three-thirty. And…bring your Australian-to-American dictionary. The abridged version.”

 

 

Adams Morgan was officially considered to be the “funky” D.C. neighborhood. It was located only two miles from the White House, and easily accessible via the Metro. As Billie and the others stepped out and into the sunny afternoon, she immediately noticed the bright, colorful cafés dotting the streets, and took in the sea of ethnic restaurants. It reminded her a great deal of Brunswick Street back home.

“Tell me we're not going to Starbucks,” Billie pleaded. There
had
to be more interesting places to get coffee in this part of town.

“Give me at least a little credit,” Parker replied, rolling his eyes. He pointed to an awning halfway up the street. “That's it,” he said.

“Okay, enough playing tour guide. We have to get there ASAP, or there won't be any couches left!” Heather winked at Billie to show that she was kidding…sort of.

Heather, Parker, and another news-writer friend of theirs, Kenneth, apparently took their “coffeehousing” (they'd even somehow managed to create their own verb) very seriously. As Parker explained, they met once a week after school to head to Adams Morgan to write, drink fancy coffee drinks that didn't taste much of caffeine, and tap away at their laptops or scribble ideas into tiny spiral-bound notebooks. It sounded very literary, and Billie was all for hanging out. Today she brought a book with her to read, since she'd come to school with neither a special writing journal nor a computer. Talk about unprepared.

“Does it get very crowded at the shop?” she asked.

Parker nodded. “Georgetown students love to camp out on the couches and pretend like they're slumming.”

Billie laughed. “Really? That's so bogan. Er, I guess you'd say, ‘trashy,'” she amended, seeing Parker's confused expression. It wasn't a perfect translation, but it was the best she could do.

Ahead, Heather quickened her pace, and ducked into the café that Parker had pointed out. Parker, Kenneth, and Billie followed shortly after her.

Parker held the door for Billie, bowing at the waist with a flourish. “After you,” he insisted.

Billie quickly discovered that she was delighted by the extremely indie coffee shop. It was nothing like a Starbucks at all. For starters, it was twice the size of any chain coffeehouse, and despite Heather's concerns, it looked like there was ample seating. The floor was cluttered with so many overstuffed chairs and sofas that walking became a bit of a maze challenge.

Heather immediately flopped down onto a love seat in a quiet corner, tossing her books onto the couch that sat kitty-corner. “I'll guard the seats,” she said. “If someone will be kind enough to grab me a café mocha. Extra large, extra chocolatey, please.” She smiled, flashing white, even teeth.

“That sounds good,” Billie chimed in. Normally she was a black-coffee sort of girl, but when in Adams Morgan… Anyway, what could it hurt her to branch out a little bit now and then? “I'll have the same. Stay put,” she insisted, waving at Heather. “I'll fetch them for us.”

“No, Billie, this is your maiden coffeehousing voyage,” Parker protested. “You have to sit and take in the atmosphere. I'll get the coffees.”

Billie could see there was no point in arguing with Parker. Chivalry was apparently alive and kicking. “Good on you,” she said. “I'll get the next round.”

As Parker went off to forage for sustenance, Billie allowed herself to sink back into the squishy, smooshy couch cushions. “I like it here,” she decided aloud. “Sort of social, but quiet at the same time.” It was a place where she could be alone with her thoughts—and still be with other people, she realized. Normally, when she was alone with her thoughts she was just that: alone. It was a lot to be offered by one small coffeehouse. She was a little bit impressed.

“Yeah, welcome to the club,” Heather replied. “I'm serious,” she continued, when Billie did little more than to smile by way of response. “I was welcoming you.”

“I got that,” Billie assured her.

“Oh, good. I can be really sarcastic sometimes, and then people don't take me seriously when I'm being sincere. Or so I'm told.” She rolled her eyes—sarcastically, of course.

“We're good,” Billie insisted. “So, are you guys the only regulars from Fairlawn here? What about the other newspaper people?”

“We are the other newspaper people,” Kenneth said. “Or, I mean, we're kind of the
only
newspaper people. Not that we mind, but we're kind of a skeleton crew.”

“What about Eliza?” Billie asked. “Did she ever come here with you guys? Um, you know—like, seeing as how she and Parker were together?”

If she'd been trying to hit a casual and breezy tone, Billie realized, she'd missed it by a few dozen kilometers. She wasn't sure what about the subject made her most uncomfortable: feeling like she was snooping around for dirt on Eliza, who, even if only a pen pal, was someone she was growing closer to every day; the gossipy nature of her query in general; or—and this was the possibility that really threw her insides for a loop—the strange little fluttery feeling she got at the back of her throat every time that Parker smiled in her direction. But uncomfortable or not, there was no turning back now.

“You mean ‘are' together,” Heather corrected her. “Don't let Parker hear you suggesting otherwise. It's sort of a sore topic.”

Billie made a face as her suspicions were confirmed. That at least ought to help with her inner flutters. The plot thickened. “Ugh. How come?”

“Well, there was a whole drama. Eliza told him she wanted to take the semester off, so that she could be in Australia with no strings attached.”

“But Parker liked strings,” Billie guessed.

“Well, Parker
liked
Eliza. In the end, I think she agreed to ‘try' to stay together. Parker is pretending like that means that nothing's changed.”

“You don't trust Eliza?” Billie filled in.

Heather shrugged. “I don't really know her well enough to say. Don't get me wrong—I do think she cares about Parker. I mean, he wouldn't have ever been with her to begin with if there weren't something there. But Eliza spends so much of her time in the public eye that sometimes I think what she likes most about Parker is how good he looks in the spotlight. He's the kind of boy you
can
bring home to Mama.”

Billie nodded as knowingly as she could.

“But, you know, I'm just speculating. It's not like I really have any inside information. And I'd never tell Parker my suspicions about what Eliza is
really
up to over in Australia—it's not my place.”

“Well, it's certainly not mine, either,” Billie said, mentally promising herself that she'd avoid the topic of Eliza entirely, going forward. Her last e-mail from Eliza had waxed enthusiastic about attending a uni formal with a cute bloke she'd met, information that Billie was fairly certain Eliza had kept from Parker. But that was for Parker to deal with, not Billie.

Their conversation trailed off just in the nick of time. Parker wove his way from the counter and back to the crew, barely managing to balance four mugs in his hands.

“Should we toast?” Heather asked, lifting her mug to her lips, but not actually sipping just yet.

“Too right!” Billie replied, raising her mug enthusiastically. “To…er…” She thought for a moment.
To book nerds who love to write? To awkwardly defined relationships? To international exchange programs?
None of those sounded quite right, even inside her head. Then she smiled. “To coffeehousing!”

“To coffeehousing!” her new friends echoed, clinking their mugs together and taking long sips.

 

“Today, you four will be archiving.”

Iris seemed particularly pleased to be passing along this news to the interns. Her smile was tight and smug.

Billie nearly tossed her notebook across the room. Unfortunately, as she was in the Ritter campaign conference room, the walls were very widely set apart, and hurling a notebook would probably not have the desired effect. Not to mention, doing so would likely result in a scolding and subsequent embarrassment. Instead, she rammed her hands under her legs so as to ensure that she didn't accidentally go ripping her hair out at the root, she was so frustrated.