“I apologize for bothering you.” Mary’s face was crestfallen and her voice quavered. She pushed her chair back deliberately and took her leave.

Nora stared after her. Mary was unlike anyone she’d ever met—vibrant, confident bordering on brash, and alluring. Alluring? Where had that come from? Maybe you really are working too hard. She cleared her place. She would run over to the Pilot Facility and find Jane. Jane certainly didn’t make her feel the way Mary did. She would find safe, nice, reliable Jane and talk numbers. Yes, that’s exactly what she would do.

Nora propped her pillow against the wall and sat up in bed. She opened the journal to a fresh page and sat with her pen poised for a long time before she began her entry.

Dearest Diary,

I’m not really sure where to start. My feelings are a jumbled mess. Perhaps it’s the stress from work, which is enormous, but somehow, I don’t think that’s it. As much as I’m loathe to admit this, even in the privacy of these pages, it’s about a girl, and it’s not Anna. Her name is Mary.

What can I say about her? She’s petite and pretty as can be, self-possessed (especially for one so young), outgoing, and effervescent. In other words, she’s my opposite in nearly every way. Still, there’s something magnetic about our connection, and I sense that’s true not only for me, but for her too. When I’m near her, I experience this queer feeling in my body, unlike anything I’ve known before.

With a word or a glance, she flusters me, leaving me floundering and tongue-tied. I’ve had crushes before, dearest diary (at least that’s how I would categorize them), but nothing compares to what I feel when her eye catches mine. It’s as though I’m rooted to the spot, without the slightest desire to move. I find myself lost in the depths of her gaze.

I know I’m prattling on, dear diary. I wish I felt an eighth for Del, who makes his interest plain even in his restraint, what I feel for Mary. Why must I feel this way about a girl? And what I am supposed to do about it? Nothing, that’s what.

Now, I’m answering my own questions. Truly, I’ve gone stark-raving mad. Time to lose myself in a good book, dear diary. More soon.

Ever faithfully yours,

Nora

CHAPTER FIFTEEN