Dreams

People were all the same, if you knew how to read them. They averted your gaze if they were lying, examined the floor if they were ashamed, and if you knew where to look, you could tell if their smile was genuine or not. It wasn't complicated, really, but my mother was a psychology and sociology professor at a nearby college, and she had certainly taught me well.

Nevertheless, I could tell what someone was thinking regardless of their body language. There was just something in a person's eye – a connection, if you will – that helps me understand them better. Maybe it was the way they they looked at me, or maybe it was just how they looked at everything in the room; but somehow I just...knew.

I wasn't psychic, not by any stretch of the imagination. I wasn't a genius or anything else of that nature – I was a daughter of a genius, if that helped any – but really all I was, was an eighteen-year-old girl enjoying her last summer before going off to Dartmouth.

Some people might think of my connection, for lack of a better word, a nuisance, but really it helps me get to know a person's habits and antics quickly and thus helps me create a better relationship with them faster – that is if I think they are worth it. I'm not mean, just picky, but many people get the two confused. I have a few good friends, but only one I know I can trust.
I've known Brenna since we were both in diapers. Our mothers were old friends from college, and somehow they both ended up in Charleston, South Carolina and found two houses in a nice neighborhood just off of the Mark Clark Expressway. And like our mothers, Brenna and I are the friends who, at first, everyone assumed were sisters because of our similar looks and how close we were. We enrolled into preschool together and somehow both of us has managed to get accepted to Dartmouth. Call it coincidence or call it fate, but it happened.

However, before she was accepted to Dartmouth, a few weeks after my own acceptance letter, she was always saying how she would get rejected, how this would be our last summer together forever because once I left, I would never remember the girl who was my best friend.

“Yeah, right,” I always told her. “You'll get in and you know it.”

Once Brenna received her letter from Dartmouth, she came running into my house, smiling and flailing the envelope around like it was a million dollars or a sign from God. I just shook my head, saying, “You never believe me.”

Now, it was a few days after graduation, and the realization still hadn't hit both of us – and probably won't until the end of summer when we're packing for college.
College. Such a weird, familiar word.

I pushed the thought away as I sat on my bed reading my battered copy of Sense and Sensibility while Brenna sat at the window seat flipping through a new issue of Vogue. It was a gorgeous eighty-degree weather day, but neither of us had wanted to spend anytime outside so we left the window open, turned the fan on high, and relaxed into our usual hang-out spots.

“So...” Brenna said, flipped a page of her magazine and glancing up at me, “It is official.”
I sighed and looked at her, “What's official?”

“That we need men.”

I suppressed a laugh and began reading my book again,“And how did you decide this?”
“Well,” she snapped her gum and sat up a bit straighter, meaning there was an interesting explanation to follow. “We're leaving at the end of the summer, but until then, we need people to make our last summer more fun. So, I decided these people should be boys.”

“I guess,” I said hesitantly. There was always a larger plan behind her ideas. “There are a lot of parties during the summer.”

“Yup, and since our mom's have been pressuring us to get summer jobs, I think we should get them at the mall. It's like helping people shop, while...” She smiled, proud she thought this through, “Shopping for men!”

I rolled my eyes and sighed, “And what happens when the end of summer rolls around, and we leave our supposed boyfriends?”

She tapped her fingers on the windowsill, obviously becoming impatient with me. “We'll tell them beforehand it's just a temporary summer fling. And besides,” Brenna threw her magazine into the pile near my closet door, “It's not like they're going to stay here after the end of the summer, either. They'll have to go back to school, too.”

I shrugged and put my book on the nightstand. “Okay, I guess.”

She stood up and flopped herself onto my bed, “No. You've gotta be committed to this because if it doesn't happen, I'll be pissed at you.” Brenna smiled jokingly, and stuck out her pinky finger, “Promise you'll try?”

I rolled my eyes, but curled my own finger around hers anyway. “You know you'll get the better guy anyway,” I muttered. “You always do.”

I've envied Brenna since the first day of junior high. She has that perfectly-cut, light blonde hair, bright hazel eyes lined with thick lashes, and clear, tan skin all year – characteristics that have gotten her noticed just by walking down the school hallway. Then you look at me in comparison, and it's like the sun next to the moon – one's shining and beautiful, while the other is slightly glowing and quiet.

That's how it's always been, too.

She's gotten the cute football players, while I settled for the decent-looking math geniuses. She's been Homecoming queen and I've been labeled “Brenna Howard's friend” because everyone else can't seem to remember four simple letters – Sara.

Brenna always tells me that she wishes she had my smarts or my big blue eyes, but even then I can't help but think: If our mothers had never become friends, Brenna would never have become my best friend.

What if...what if...what if... These words always seem to change your perspective on things.
“I will not get the better guy,” Brenna said now, scowling at me, “You know I always get the jerks and you actually get the sweet, caring guys.”

“But I want to change that,” I replied, playing with my fingers, “For once.”

Brenna smiled gently, “We will. C'mon.” She took my hand and dragged my off the bed toward the stairs.

* * * *

Northwoods Mall was about a thirty-minute drive abiding by the speed limit, but with a teenage girl behind the wheel – especially Brenna – we can be there in twenty-four minutes flat. The windows were rolled down all the way and I closed my eyes while music blared from the radio. A warm breeze played with the tips of my gold-blonde hair and music blared from the radio – all the feelings and sounds of summer.

“So I was thinking we could look in Hollister for a second because I need some new shorts and shirts,” Brenna said.

“You just went shopping last weekend.”

“So?” She replied, changing gears, “That was to get a sundress. Not shorts nor shirts.”

“Fine,” I sighed, “I'll look around for jobs while you do that.”

She nodded approvingly, “Sounds great.”

An hour a half had passed by the time I was done looking for possible jobs, but Brenna was still shopping in Hollister. I had gone in and found her browsing in the mens' section for her “brother,” but really she and a guy who worked there were already flirting.
I should have guessed.

“Can I help you?” A guy asked behind me as I turned to leave. His eyes traveled from my flip-flops to my blonde hair – slowly, deliberately. He smiled a perfectly white smile that would have swooned every other girl's heart – besides me. I didn't like boys who were over-confident, who thought they were the coolest people alive and could do anything they wanted because of it. “I'm Chad,” he said, his voice husky and his eyes dancing with flirtation.
Now Brenna seemed to notice me and she smiled, approving of Chad and his dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, and million dollar smile.

Of course.

I rolled my eyes, then turning back to Chad, I smiled politely and said, “And I'm...just leaving.”
His smile grew and I could tell by the look in his eye, he was already thinking about sliding his arm around my waist and kissing me – like he has with so many other girls. “C'mon,” he said, trying to be alluring, “Just a name.” Obviously he wasn't used to being turned down.
“No, I already have a boyfriend, so I'm not interested,” I answered.

Chad rolled his eyes, “Well he doesn't have to know...”

“I said no,” I replied a bit louder over the booming music.

He put his hands up in mock surrender, “If you say so.”

I huffed under my breath and looked over at Brenna who was blushing wildly at something the other guy said to her. I knew it would be a while until she left so contemplated shopping for myself while waiting. Then I looked over at Chad was of, of course, still eying me with an amused expression. I felt my frustration building so I just left.

Once outside the store, I sat on a bench, clearing my mind of guys and concentrating on possibly job offers – American Eagle, Walgreen's, Macy's...not many. But it's not like getting a summer job was especially appealing right now anyway.

I sighed and checked my phone – no messages and it was two o'clock. I glanced over the railing and noticed an artist drawing someone's caricature – a large nose and eyes while the rest of the portrait closely resembled the person's actual appearance. Then, I thought about how the picture emphasized a person's traits, and it made me realize that people can learn new characteristics about themselves they never knew they had.

It was weird how my brain made these connections.

“It's interesting to watch, isn't it?” Someone said next to me.

I jumped slightly, putting a hand over my chest, “Oh, I didn't notice you there.” A guy around my age smiled back slightly and I looked over him: dark, curly hair that reached just past his ears and eyes the color of caramel. He watched me size me up, but his eyes seemed...amused. Weird. Most people when they watched my judge them seemed offended. Apparently this guy was different.

“I can tell.” I smiled slightly and turned back to the artist below us. “You see,” they guy continued, “It's about noticing people's facial details and emphasizing them in the portrait. Take this lady for example.” He pointed to the woman wearing pounds of makeup and somewhat large ears. “Now Stan there –.”

“Stan?” I interrupted, confused.

“Yes, Stan,” He smiled easily, not becoming even the slightest bit frustrated by my outburst. Again I couldn't help the feeling that he was different than most of the guys I've met. Guys like Chad. “He's the artist.”

I nodded, “I knew that.”

“I know you did,” he replied winking at me. “But anyway, he's going to draw big ears and small eyes – to show that it's just makeup making her eyes appear bigger and her ears are well...naturally enlarged.”

“That's nice of you to sugar-coat that,” I said, smiling
.
He nodded, “Thought you might appreciate that. You don't seem like the insulting type.”
I rose my eyebrows, “I'll take that as a compliment?”

“You should. No one wants to be stereotyped as an insulter.”

“I guess not,” I agreed.

He looked at me suddenly and asked, “Do you want to get an ice cream with me at DQ?”
I felt my face flush and laughed, “I don't even know your name.”

He opened his mouth to answer me but just then, Brenna came charging out of Hollister, two bags in hand with a large smile planted on her face. “Guess. What.”

I sighed but smiled anyway, “What?”

“That guy is amazing. So his name is Ben and that guy you were talking to – Chad? – they're brothers. Ben asked me out and since we saw you and Chad kind of hitting it off,” I swallowed uncomfortably realizing where this was going, “We were going to double-date! Doesn't it sound amazing?”

“Well...” I said slowly, trying to sugar-coat my hatred for Chad much like what's-his-name had done for the caricature woman. Then realizing I still don't know they boy's name who was sitting next to me, I turned toward him and asked, “Wait, what's your name?”

He looked at me, and although his easy-going smile hadn't faltered, his eyes portrayed something else. He knew his chance to ask me out was gone and in Brenna's book, there was only room for Chad and his confident attitude.

“Conrad,” he answered, not realizing I practically just read what he was thinking.

I nodded and turned back to Brenna, “You see...Chad's good looking and all but really...I can't stand him.” Then I realized I was saying this more for Conrad's sake than Brenna's. Looking back at him, his eyes had gained a bit of hope back and I smiled to myself.

“Oh well,” she shrugged, “It's already planned so there's not much we can do about it. Maybe you'll get to know him better and learn to like him. Chad seemed pretty into going with you.”

“Because I had already told him no,” I sighed, “When is all of this happening anyway?”

“Tonight,” she smiled, taking a seat next to me. “Isn't this exciting? I mean, Ben is just simply perfect for me...” And she went on and on about how they got talking and realized that – surprise, surprise – they had fallen for each other. I mhmed and awwed in all the right places, but really, my mind was watching Stan draw portrait after portrait, wondering where Conrad could have disappeared to when I wasn't looking, and if there's a chance I'll ever see him again.