Ch. 11: Preview #3

Theo tried to be furtive and only steal brief glances when she was definitely preoccupied with driving.  But too often, his brief glances stretched into lingering stares and then outright gawking.  ‘Impressive’ didn’t adequately describe her right now.  The outfit was so disarming.  It’s like she wanted to prove she could still slay when covered up.  And be an absolute f*#&ing badass you didn’t want to mess with.  Confidence and vitality radiated off of her more and more the closer they got to the studio.  He couldn’t pinpoint what made him think that; he could just could feel it, as if a day of intense observation had made him subconsciously attuned to even minute subliminal cues.  Which was honestly kind of scary.

Little did he know that Jen had grown attuned to his cues too.  How stiff he sat compared to usual; not as slouched.  How conspicuously still and silent he was, with almost none of his usual shifting and sighs.  Her occasional glances confirmed that, yes, he spent almost the whole car ride looking right at her.

Rather than odd, it already felt like the new normal.  His eyes had been on her basically all day, so why should now be any different?  She was thrilled, actually, that he’d grown this comfortable around her, that he felt fully free to watch her without embarrassment.  That’s how a Mouse should feel, around his Mighty.

She parked at last and turned to him.  “You’re cute, you know that?”

He reared back, endearingly uncomprehending.  “’S…’Scuse me?”

“Just proud of you, is all.”  With a cheerful beckon, she was first out of the car and heard his feet pattering to catch up.  As a little experiment, she opened her palm.  He put his hand there almost immediately!  Yet another reaction without thinking.  He had made SO much progress.

“Wait.  We didn’t see Brandi,” he said aloud, looking back.

Bahahaha!  “You just realized?”  Dang, he really had been focused on her.  “I took the other gate in.”

“Oh.  Why?”  A few steps later: “Are we meeting Alice?”

Lollll, his thoughts were transparent.  Well, he’d earned a bit of honesty.  “I decided they’d be too distracting for you.”

She felt a tug on her hand.  “They wouldn’t.  It wouldn’t impact me for the show.”

Why was he putting his foot down now, of all times?  “Um, sorry,” she explained levelly, “but it would.  I think that’s obvious.”

Another tug.  “I can handle it,” he insisted.

Jen blinked.  Where was this coming from?  “You’re gonna need to trust your Mighty’s instinct on this one.  I’ve already arranged it with Alice – I’m taking you myself when it’s time.”

She tried to say this as nice as she could, but as she reached for the door of the studio, she heard him gripe, “Ugh, it’s so unfair!”

Jen twitched.  Too often, her Mouse would say something that made him sound one-third his biological age, if not younger.  Tone, diction, the whole works.

This was one of those times.  Yet until just seconds ago he’d seemed calm and reasonably mature.  The heck happened?

She responded the only way she could think how: with a firm hand squeeze and a sharp tone.  “Little teammate, this is not the time to start acting up.  I’ve been feeling great about your behavior.  Don’t do anything to change that.”  Her voice hardened.  “You won’t like it if you do.”

He should have been plenty worried about that, but he seemed almost more worried by what he saw past her shoulder.  Jen turned to see two women, clearly employees here based on their large size and attire, waiting behind them to come in.  She watched her Mouse seethe with self-consciousness – which was utterly absurd.  Who cared what these women had heard?  She was the only thing that should matter to him.

“Go ahead,” Jen clipped cordially, pulling him back to make way.

“Thank you,” said one.  “Is our little star getting cranky?”

The tugs on her hand grew urgent, insolent.  “Yes,” Jen replied in blunt honesty.  “I hope he gets over it soon.”

“Well, good luck tonight.”

“Thank you.”

Jen’s Mouse shot her a scandalized stare as the women passed by.  But she refused to apologize for just speaking the plain truth.  “Come on,” she gruffed, putting a little more speed in her step as she led him through the halls.  Soon he was so focused on keeping up with her that he didn’t have time to pout.  Much better.

She didn’t stop until they were outside his bedroom door in the contestant’s area, the same bedroom he’d used last time.  “Look,” she identified, “I know you’re nervous and getting stage fright again.  I think that’s why you’re acting out.  Just stay here a while and get a hold of your nerves.  You’ve made so much progress and I don’t want to see you lose it now.”

He puffed his lip.  “I’m not nervous.  I …”

Jesus.  He was acting more and more childish, denying obvious truths.  She stooped and opened the door for him, the flimsy balsawood flying open at just a slight push.  “Sit and think it over,” she instructed.

He cringed the second he peered inside, puckering his face at the gaudy colors and mouse-covered walls.  “In there?”

How could he react so negatively?  Mousehood should be in his blood by now, down to his very core.  This reaction was majorly concerning.  “Don’t so much as open the door until I’m back,” she emphasized.  “I mean it.”  She had to literally herd him and shut him in.  If only this door could lock…

But maybe the immersion would do him good.   She really hoped so.