It was one of those backpacks that had every color of the neon rainbow; one of those that would be hopelessly impossible to try to draw because of the sheer number of things that made it up. There were buckles and straps of some sort or another all over, an orange waterbottle stuck out of one of the pockets, and the pouch was filled with glitter pens, pencils, white out, sticky notes and half-used erasers. Looking down I noticed, trying not to chuckle, that her shoes – converses – were also blatantly ignoring the rules of the color wheel... but it worked. She was wearing old blue jeans - they were faded and frayed near her feet and she had a flier sticking out of one of her pockets. It looked like she had tried to stuff it in, but since girls jeans are so tight it had only gotten half way down. Still, it was in no danger of coming loose. From the side I could read the words 'Pirate Club' across the top in bold. I was starting to contemplate this when she stopped abruptly and said, “You're following me.”
I realized with shock that I was. In fact I had been turned around somehow and we were now back in upper-campus. “Wouldn't it be easier just to say hi?” she continued, turning around, “I'm Jill” she flashed a smile and thrust out her hand.
“Andrew.” I said, catching myself after a stunned second of disbelief. Her green eyes brightened and she smiled again.
“That's my brother's name! Though our last name is Campbel so we call him Frost because his initials are A.C.” she said.
“Well, my last name's just Sanders.” I said, a little taken aback by this sudden injection of information. “So unless you like articles, they don't make for interesting initials.” I shrugged; she looked confused. “I mean the part of speech, not the stuff in newspapers... 'As'? It's...nevermind.” I gave up, seeing that I was getting nowhere.
“It's okay, I like it all the same.” She paused and thought for a second. “It feels good to say: Andrew Sanders,” letting the difference between my names slide together on her tongue. “So why were you following me?”
I pointed behind her. “Your backpack.” Though I realized as I said this that there was nothing especially different about it. It was colorful and but not really unique as backpacks go. I might have seen dozens in the past and not have looked twice at them. “I guess I was just trying to figure you out.” I admitted. She frowned. “I mean, not in a creepy way! Have you ever heard of people watching?”
“No.”
“Well, it's exactly what it sounds like and entertaining when you're bored walking to class.. You watch the people around you to try to find out things about them.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I think I get it. I actually have to do a lot of that kind of stuff for my job.” We began walking again. “Well, not really a job...” she corrected herself, “more of a... well, not really a hobby either. I mean, I suppose I could call it an avocation but that seems to lose the excitement of it all. I mean, it really is like a job I guess, just without getting paid.... at least not in money.” she decided cheerfully. “Would you like to see it? It's not far from here.”
“See what?”
“Where we work.”
“Wait, who's 'we'?”
“Well, all of us. I'm really just a small part of it”
“Of what?”
“Of the organization” she giggled, skipping out ahead of me. Her backpack crunched as it bounced on her shoulders. “You don't catch on very quickly, do you?”
I had to run to catch up with her, not even sure why I was doing it. Listening to what she had said, however, I thought before speaking again.
“So there's a reason you're not telling me.... well, anything about any of the stuff you just said. Either that or you're crazy and I'm crazier for chasing a crazy girl I just met.”
“Sounds likely.” She was staying a stride or two ahead.
“But if you're not crazy then you won't keep running if I decide to walk.” I slowed down and so did she. “And if you're not telling me something but leading me on, it must be because you won't tell me yet.”
[Sorry! no conclusion yet either. Stay tuned! -John]
