Harp Un-strung

She is Claudine Anna Marie.

I pore over the near-endless list repeatedly. In earlier projects, I had to choose what more to add so that I didn't fall short of the required pages. Now I have to decide what to ditch so that I can compile this huge thing on time.

I also realize that I don't have Mike's number. I didn't insist, and he didn't tell. Part of me says it was a deliberate move on his part because he doesn't seem like a callous person.

I wait for the recess before I can approach him. He's scribbling something, and it isn't until I clear my throat that he even notices me. He covers up his shenanigans and looks up at me with unfocused eyes.

"Have you talked to her?" I ask.

"Yes," he says with a curt nod. "She'll have all the relevant files delivered to me. We can work it out from there."

"Will she agree to an interview?" I ask. "That'll seal a full A plus for us, you know."

He nods again slowly, and I can see a hint of tiredness that obscures his usual alert self. There are dark spots around his eyes. What has he been up to?

"Umm...are you okay?" I ask.

"Huh?"

"You look tired."

I don't care what he feels like. I just don't want him messing up with my...our project.

"I'm fine," he says and shrugs it off as if it's nothing.

He's a terrible, terrible liar.

"I can compile the notes today and plan it out if you're not feeling well. We can start from tomorrow."

"I said I'm fine!" he snaps.

He pushes back his chair and stands up. I step back in reflex. Looks like I came close to pissing him off.

Perhaps I already did.

"Be at the Northern Greens at four o'clock today. She'll be there," he says, and walks out of the door.

Northern Greens is about ten minutes away from where I live. It's easily one of the best places in this town at any given time of the year -- full of idyllic sceneries and a giant, shallow, man-made lake in the middle.

I haven't visited the park in years. The last time I did, it was with my brother who wanted a safe place for me to experiment with his mini bike....and as always, it brings back depressing memories.

It's a weekday, so the park is mostly empty except for a large gathering of children near the forested area. Their shouts and shrieks of laughter are so loud that I can hear them even from this distance. A few uniformed caretakers mill around the perimeter, keeping a watchful eye on them.

Slipping my hands into my front pockets, I walk towards the group. I can't see Lehane anywhere. A few children take notice of me, but they don't pay much attention. A little girl, probably three years old, was busy doodling on a paper when I approach her.

"Hello," I greet with a friendly smile.

She looks up at me in surprise. With her soft blonde hair and baby blue eyes, she's awfully cute. I can easily cuddle her to death.

"Do you know where I can find Michael Lehane?"

"Mike?" she asks.

So cute.

"Yes," I reply with a smile, "Mike."

She stands up and leads me towards the lake where a lone couple sits by its shore with their back towards me. The child runs the last few meters, yelling her lungs out.

"MIIIIIIIIIIIKKE!"

I hear a distinct 'ooomph' as her body connects with his neck.

"You'll break my neck, Breanne!" He laughs, and then he asks, "What is it?"

"Someone wants to see you."

He turns around and notices me.

He looks happy, content, free and...different. No kidding, but he doesn't look the same as he did in school earlier today. I wonder if it's the same grumpy guy I was acquainted with just a few hours ago.

"You said she'd be here," I remind him.

"Oh!" he exclaims but doesn't get up. He turns towards the woman sitting beside him and says, "Claudine, meet Claire. She's the one I was talking about."

She's sitting here -- just like this?

Claudine half-turns and beckons me to sit down beside her. I swear my knees are shaking of their own accord. I approach her and sit down at a respectable distance on the soft grass.

"I don't bite, Claire," she says, laughing.

I laugh with her...or try to, but it's a strangled squeak that comes out. Up this close, she looks even more attractive than the glossy magazine covers and more intimidating to my scared brains.

"I-I heard s-so much about you," I stammer. "I can't even talk right."

She laughs. Michael smiles knowingly, but doesn't say anything.

"I really thought you'd summon me into your office," I confess. "I didn't expect this."

"Relax," she says with a kind smile and pats my back gently. "Ask whatever you want to."

A constant, gentle breeze blows from across the lake and caresses my face with a warm touch. I can see why she must like this place so much.

"Would you mind if I record?"

"No, not at all."

I already had my smartphone at ready. With a single swipe, it starts recording.

"So, Miss Marie --"

"You make me feel like an old hag, Claire. Call me Claudine."

"Okay, Claudine," I repeat with a grin, "Could you tell me what motivates a person like you to..."

We laugh, crack jokes, and compete for the crown of unofficial self-deprecating humor contest. It's the first time in years I have had so much fun.

She minces no words and speaks from her heart. Her passion, her belief, her confidence and her knowledge shines through her eyes as she narrates her goals for life and the Trust. I just sit there, jaws agape and listen to her with my undivided attention.

"Your childhood must've been a big influence in what you are today."

"Of course, everyone's childhood influences them in one way or the other. Either you take it as a motivation, or you mope about it."

So true. It makes me wish for a different set of parents right now, or at least for people who'd care whether I live or die. She glances at her wristwatch, an intricate golden band with sapphire dials.

"Oops," she says. "You must be getting late."

"What?"

I look at my phone, and gasp. A full hour flew by without me even realizing it.

"Time to go, dear," she says and stands up. "You can ask me more if you feel something has been left out."

"I don't think anything has been left out," I say happily. It's more than I could ever ask for.

"Mike?" She turns towards him. He has been sitting silently all this while, a comatose Breanne draped over his legs.

"Can you hand Breanne over to Freya? I don't want her to wake up now."

"Sure," he says. Lifting Breanne up as if she's a feather, he stands up and slowly walks over to the area where the caretakers are assembling and doing a headcount. As soon as he's out of earshot, she turns towards me.

"So, how long have you known Mike?"

The sudden change of topic takes me by surprise.

"We didn't meet until we were paired up together for this project," I say. "He doesn't talk much."

"How does he behave at school? Does he socialize now?"

She must really care about him.

"He sits with his cousin's friends, but otherwise, he doesn't do anything."

She sighs out in relief. "God bless Warner," she exclaims. "At least he's doing something for his cousin."

"If you don't mind, can I ask something?"

"Shoot."

"How did you two meet?"

"I knew his Mom. We were very good friends. Mike has worked with me for the last two years. I wanted to help him, but he ended up helping me instead."

"What help?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

"He didn't tell you?"

"Tell what?"

She shakes her head, refusing to answer anymore. "It's up to Mike. You should ask him."

Interesting.

I stand up, and help her up with me. We dust our backs, and head back towards where the children lined up. Mike is busy helping to contain the errant ones in the line.

"Are you done with your interview?" he asks.

"Yes," I say happily. "Thank you so much."

I give him a hug.

Not the awkward-cum-sideways hug, it's a full-blown bear hug.

It's not a show for Claudine or others around me, because I mean it. It's my own way of saying thanks. His body scent -- a light, tangy lemonade flavor -- permeates my senses.

Then it hit my thoughts.

Given his...anti-social stance, he probably isn't used to such closeness. I separate just as quickly, noticing his wise-eyed expression. My brain races to bring something out to make me look less stupid.

"Thanks," I repeat in a small voice.

"Uh, it's okay I figured out how much you'd like this so, uh, it wasn't --"

I try hard not to guffaw at his flustered face. He looks adorable when he desperately tries to hide his insecurities.

"Thanks anyway," I repeat. "I really appreciate it."

"Okay."

"Can we do a follow-up on today's work?" I ask. "There's still enough time for us to write an entire section based on today's conversations."

"Sure," he says, "but the library is closed for renovation. We'll have to do it somewhere else."

"How about your place?" I ask. "I mean, if it isn't a problem for you. My place is too far away from here."

"No problem," he says understandingly. "My house is a five minute walk from here."

He gives me the directions.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," he says and walks back to help the wardens.

I hum a long forgotten song as I drive through the narrow road, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel with the beat in my head. There's this big smile pasted on my lips that refuses to go away. I don't know where all this happiness is bubbling from. I just know that I feel happy...and relaxed.

After three minutes, I reach an upper-middle class neighborhood. Driving through the rows and rows of beautifully made homes, I reach his supposed abode. Parking my car at a respectable distance, I climb up the small flight of stairs and press the doorbell.

No response.

After waiting for another minute, I ring the doorbell again.

"I hope you haven't been waiting for too long," he says from behind me.

I jump, but recover quickly.

"Sorry," he mutters, and proceeds to open the door. Inserting a key into the hole, he unlocks it.

"It's okay. I guess your parents are out on an errand."

He turns around and looks at me, considering me for a few moments. His eyes aren't clear, but I can sense his sadness. He wants to say something, but hesitates.

"They won't be back for a long time," he says and opens the door to his house.

~ Company ~

I enter the house and drop the keys on a nearby table. With the flick of a switch, the warm lights bathe the entire house. That's the least I can do to make this house look less creepy.

"Nice place," she comments.

"Thank you."

Snuffles is nowhere to be seen, so I'm hoping he's out somewhere else causing trouble. I settle down my notebooks and files on the huge dining table as she puts down her bag on the opposite side. The dining room is an ideal place for us to work in. Definitely more spacious than my study desk. And besides, I don't want her sneaking inside my room.

"So, where do we start from, Mike?" she asks. That's the first time she has called me Mike, instead of Michael.

I like it.

"From the beginning," I say, "the very beginning."

My thoughts regarding Claire are...mixed.

My friends filled me in about her the same day we were assigned as partners. According to them, she's a Grade A bitch, very goal-oriented and mean as hell. She wasn't a person I would want to mess with.

"Never piss her off," Dan whispered conspiratorially. "I say you should ask the Head to swap partners while you can."

"She might be beautiful, but stare at her face and she'll bite your head off," Nathan joined in. I would've taken it seriously had he not been grinning like a maniac. The jolly fucker couldn't stay serious for a minute.

I knew they were messing with me, but a part of my heart said it was true. I gauged a lot about her character when we met the first day. And I still remember that leer.

It still gives me the shivers of the wrong kind.

"I'll be fine, guys," I said with a shrug but apparently, it wasn't convincing enough.

Nina remained silent throughout our chatter. She hadn't said a single word since I announced the name of my would-be partner.

"What do you say, Nina?" I asked her, and took a sip from my bottle.

She shrugged and went back to poking her lunch with a fork. Dan quietly shook his head at me and I got the drift. After my friends were done hyping her bitchy status, Sam spoke for the first time in minutes. Like Nina, he had been quiet all this while.

"Do you think she's hot?" he asked, without any sort of preamble.

I almost spat out the water.

"What?" I sputtered.

"Oh dear," Nathan groaned in mock despair. "He likes her."

"I never said that!"

"Denial isn't the key to happiness, Mike," Dan chipped in with a serious look.

"I know, Pope Pervert."

While they laughed themselves silly, Sam was still waiting for my answer.

"I think she's pretty," I conceded. "But I don't see her in that light."

"We aren't going to razz you up if you like her," Sam said with a shake of his head. "We're just asking you to be careful. Her ex-boyfriend was in hospital for a semi-fractured toe."

Couldn't blame her, really. I was guilty myself of busting someone's knee cap.

"Especially stay clear of her friends and you won't burn yourself. You can thank me later."

Fast-forwarding to the present situation, I still don't think she's evil.

Grade A Bitch? Probably.

Goal oriented? Definitely.

But evil?

I don't think so.

There's a reason behind every thing we do. Every motive, every intention has a cause. I'm sure she has her own reasons, but I'm not too concerned about it.

I just don't care.

Chances are we won't speak after we finish this project from hell.

She's diplomatic, though. She knew that I'd be pissed off at the sight of her, so the first thing she did was to break the ice. Admittedly, her sugar coated words and meekness got the best of me. Even though I could see right through it, I fell for it like a deluded sucker.

I think she dislikes me for some reason. She doesn't know me. Judging by the way she looks at people -- trying to figure them out and everything -- I'm damn sure she's pretty frustrated by me.

I caught her a few times staring at the back of my head. I found it a bit creepy -- okay, a LOT creepy -- to have someone looking at me like that, but I can live with it. As long as she doesn't pester me about things, she can stare all she wants.

I'll pretend not to notice.

As we sit on our seats doing our projects, I check her out on the pretext of thinking something through. She has a habit of chewing her lips lightly when she ponders over a difficult question. A pink tongue darts out to wet her lips as soon as she finishes a chewing session.

Cute.

"Should we include more about her childhood?" she asks. "I think it's interesting."

She knows the answer to this, probably asking me out of courtesy.

"Substantial materials are more important. We can use Claudine's back story as good filler material once we finish the project."

She smiles briefly and gets back to her scribbling.

Did I pass her test?

We work for an hour, debating on the procedures and passing around ideas until we settle on one. She's really passionate about something once she sets her focus on it. She's much better at it than me, so I let her do most of the visionary work.

"That'll be enough for today," she says after an hour and a half.

"Yes," I agree. "We can finish it within a week if we keep up this pace."

"That'll be wonderful!"

She raises her arms above her head and then stretches some on her seat. Her pert breasts push out against her T-shirt, hinting at the shapes of two lovely globes of...damn, I shouldn't have looked. I avert my eyes and focus on the mahogany in between us.

Too late. The damage was done. Mike Junior awakes from his slumber in my pants, wondering who the heck woke him up.

"We'll continue tomorrow from where we left off. Same place, same time. Is that okay?"

"Uh...yeah, sure," I say, concentrating on mental images of spider shit and dead monkeys.

Down boy!

Claire pushes back the chair and stands up. I follow suit after I'm sure that my semi-flaccid dick won't be making an embarrassing tent in front of her. Opening the door for her, I let her outside. She turns around on my doorstep.

"Good night, Mike," she says with a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Good night, Claire," I reply.

As soon as she is out of sight, I slam the door shut and run to the bathroom as fast as I can. Unbuckling my belt and zipping down my pants, I push my jeans and underwear down in a single fluid motion.

My penis jumps out, hot and ready for some action. The picture of her luscious breasts pushing out against her tee pops into my head and my dick jumps up right on cue.

"I'm sorry, buddy," I whisper, "I can't do this."

I take a deep breath and feel the knots in my groin loosen after a few moments. My cock finally goes down, figuring out that it won't be the part of any action tonight.

I don't masturbate that often, but the luscious sight of her breasts woke up my libido from its coma. The reaction took me completely by surprise. Thank God, I abstained. I would've felt guilty for giving in to my dick about...her.

Claire doesn't come off as a sexual person. She doesn't give the inviting looks, nor does she wear anything provocative. It's always the right, proper clothes that any self-respecting teenager wears these days --designer form-fitting jeans with a complementary, usually dark, expensive T-Shirt.

Yes, she's beautiful, but I have a feeling that she desperately tries to hide her sex appeal. That fact compounds the guilt when I think of her like that. It's childish and juvenile and...hot.

I shake my head again to clear my thoughts. As I don my headphones, the doorbell rings.

Who could it be at this ungodly hour?

The peephole reveals Claire. An unsightly frown mars her beautiful face.

Did she somehow divine that I was about to sacrifice a few million sperms in her name? I've never had the opportunity of meeting people right after devoting dirty thoughts to them. It's the weirdest feeling I've had in a while.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door.

"Claire?"

She has been crying, tearstains still visible on her cheeks. I open the door further and quickly usher her inside.

"What happened?" I ask as she sits down on the edge of sofa. She's very tense.

"Can I bunk at your place for the night?" she asks. "Please?"

No way.

"Of course, you can," I assure her. "But...what happened?"

"My parents are back," she says, "and I don't want to go back home."

I would've given an arm and a leg to be with Mom and Dad right now, and here she is -- running away from hers. Tomorrow is weekend, so I could easily host her until then.

"Okay," I say and gear up mentally for the inevitable. "Just call your parents and say you're staying at your friend's house, or at least call someone who'll inform them of your whereabouts. I don't want to be booked for kidnapping."

"I will." She smiles. "Thank you."

"I'll see what I can do, okay?"

"I'll call my people and let them know."

I turn towards the kitchen, but she calls me again. "Mike?"

"What?"

"Thanks again."

A smile finds its way on my face. It has been a long time since I was anything but alone in this house.

"Don't mention it," I say, and leave her for a bit of privacy. Despite the distance, I can hear her angry voice over the whirr of the kitchen chimney and the noise of chicken strips being fried to perfection.

“What do you mean I can’t stay out tonight? I’m not a little girl!”

My ears perk up against my own will.

Okay, sue me. I’m nosy, but I can’t help it if I can peek into someone else’s life.