Managing Expectations

We met for the first time, we three, in a small, dingy bar in some small town with no name that really mattered, somewhere in Kentucky. When I walked in, he was already there, sitting at a high top, staring at the table and looking nervous. He jumped a little as I sat down, then brought his eyes up to meet mine.

"I guess… I guess I was expecting you."

I simply nodded and leaned back, propping myself against the wall as I nursed my beer and waited, examining him. Somewhat mousy, with a faded, baggy button-up shirt and an unflattering haircut, but not in terrible shape under it all. A small leather briefcase sat in his lap, his fingers clutching and twisting at the handle just to have something to do.

She walked in just a few minutes later. Short and petite, with close cropped hair, blue on black, a nose ring on one side. She sat in the last chair and I gestured at my beer.

"Need me to get you one?"

"I expect they don't really ID here. But no, I’m good." She rolled her eyes at me.

I shrugged and grinned. "I expect you're right. I also expect your parents didn't much care for…" I gestured at my hair and tapped the side of my nose. She rolled her eyes at me again, but flashed me a bright smile, before finally turning to take in the man in the other seat.

"Angie." She said, lazily pointing at herself. I mentally winced at my social ineptitude.

"Dylan." I hastily followed.

With a slow nod, the man responded. "Mike."

"Time to get started then," I said, relaxing and rolling my shoulders a little. "I came into my powers as I hit puberty. Already an awkward time for little boys, it just made it that much worse. The expecting of things to happen, the seeing it, seeing how my actions would change it. It got to the point where I was trying to expect. Every. Little. Thing. I developed a stutter from seeing how my words would affect the people around me."

I wasn't exactly popular before the stutter, and I'm sure you know how kids can be in middle and high school. So I retreated into books, fantasy and sci-fi. I got good grades, between studying and expecting what would be on a test, or how hard it would be. That didn't make me any friends, either. Not real friends, at least. I was setting myself up for a lonely life, expecting everything, no surprises or joy, shaping the world around me into something safe and boring. You can't exactly force others to do what you want, but the effect is often the same. And then, a few years ago, during our senior year of high school, she moved into town.

I was sitting on the bleachers, reading Dune when I met her. I heard the gaggle of teenage girls sit behind me, a little ways up, then move down, row by row until they were right behind me, their voices soft and, to my ear, full of that special brand of menace peculiar to teenage girls. I tensed my shoulders as I expected the first insult to come, addressed as a comment to one of the other girls. Instead, I felt a foot plant itself firmly in my back and push, so I went head over heels into the next row. It startled me so much, to have my expectation so thoroughly subverted, that I didn't even think. I just came up swinging.

The football coach separated us. I can still hear his slow drawl "Now come on, boy. You don't hit a lady." I could see her out of the corner of my eye, standing there, and I expected a smirk, a little hair flip, for her to get off scot-free. But she surprised me again.

"He can hit anyone who hits him first, and I definitely started that. Plus, he didn't even give as good as he got." And there was the smirk if expected, as the football coach shook his head and took us both to the front office. She was right, too. Between the tumble and the punches she'd thrown back at me, I was definitely in a sorrier state than she was from the few I'd managed to land on her. My lip was split and I could already feel one eye beginning to swell shut.

They suspended us both for a week, told us we had to do community service. Together, as though that would magically make us friends. I went home and my parents raised holy hell about their good boy getting in fights and hitting girls and getting community service likeacommoncriminal, and what was the world coming to, and how had their sweet little boy changed so much, so fast. I skipped dinner and went to my room, retreating again into the warm embrace of the sands of Arrakis.

My mom dropped me off the next morning at the community center. She was already there, in a fetching yellow safety vest, with a black garbage bag in one hand and little mechanical grabbers in the other. As I signed in she was suddenly there, looking over my shoulder.

"So, your name's Dylan, is it, Stutters?" She said as she dropped the arm with the garbage bag around my shoulder.

"Oh, fuck off!" I bristled, surprised by her once more. The old lady that was handing me my own vest and bag and grabbers scowled.

"Language!" She snapped.

"He's 18, he can say whatever the fuck he wants." The girl replied, arm still around my shoulder, already maneuvering me to the other side of the parking lot. "So I guess you don't stutter if you're angry enough, huh? Or did everyone lie to me about you?" It was all conversational, as though we weren't both bruised from the day before. She saw my incredulous look. "I've got three older brothers and a single mom that has no hope of keeping us all under control. I wouldn't be talking to you if you hadn't tried to hit me back. Spill the beans, Stutters. Where's your namesake?"

I shook my head as I finally succeeded in shrugging her arm off my shoulders. It was true though, while I was with her, I couldn't see, couldn't expect what was coming next. I couldn't second guess every word that left my lips. And so I responded without a stutter for the first time in nearly 7 years. Beautiful words, a true wordsmith. "I dunno."

She laughed at that, and then again as I sullenly put on the safety vest. "Looking good, Stutters. Come on, we can work together. Better than working in silence."

"No one calls me that!" I protested.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "I do. Way better than Dylan, if you ask me. More personality." I just sighed angrily as we began to pick up trash from around the edges of the parking lot and road, the hawk-like glare of the old lady following us from a safe distance where she wouldn't be exposed to any additional colorful language from the likes of us teenage reprobates.

I didn't like her, by the end of that first day together. Or, perhaps more, I didn't trust her. I didn't know, couldn't know what she'd do next, and that made me nervous. For a week, we met each morning to get our vest and bag and grabbers, and each morning she'd walk up the road with me, talking, poking me with the grabber anytime she wanted a response from me and I didn't immediately say something. On the last day, after we'd turned in our equipment, she gave me a quick hug.

"It's been good to get out! It's a madhouse at home, what with my brothers and their friends and everything. So, thanks for that!" She was grinning at me, her hazel eyes laughing, like they always seemed to. Hard to tell if it was with me or at me, most of the time. "I'll see you at school in the morning?" She said, beginning to turn away, but still watching me out of the corner of her eyes.

I mumbled some generic response, a halfhearted confirmation. I didn't need to expect anything to know that tomorrow would come and she would be back with her posse of girls. If I was lucky, I'd be ignored. If not, the remainder of my senior year would be pure torment. She was the new girl, pretty and popular, and I was… Well, I was Stutters. I knew how the world worked. I saw it played out, over and over again, a million different ways a million times a day.

And yet, at lunch the next day, as I sat alone, a tray slapped down next to mine and there she was. The other members of her retinue drifting in more slowly, hesitantly. It was like she didn't even notice though. One hand on top of my head, she mussed my hair. "Everyone, this is Stutters. Stutters, this is Megan, and Katy, and Sam, and…"

There I was, in the middle of this group. Not all girls, mind you. Guys would drift in from the periphery, hoping to date her. She was pretty, like I said. Gorgeous, really. Tanned brown skin, chestnut hair, as cliche as that is to say. Tall and lithe, like an athlete, though I never saw her play any organized sports. So, inevitably, these guys would drift in, and they'd chat her up, and she'd integrate them into the group while she introduced them to Megan, or Katy, or Sam, or… and they'd end up dating one of the other girls. Once she even introduced two of the guys vying for her attention, and last I heard they got married out in California earlier this year.

It was hard, the rest of the year, to find any time to myself. It seemed like we were always together, her group surrounding me at lunch, or her dragging me with them somewhere after school. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, the prank to end. That was what I expected. But even with that, slowly, I found myself attracted to her. More than just physical attraction, I mean. She was gorgeous, and I was a teenage boy. Of course that was part of it. But beyond that, she was funny, quick to laugh, full of surprises. Something no one else could manage. So yeah, I fell for her, hard. And the shoe didn't drop. The other girls and guys even warmed up to me. And being around her, I stuttered less, and learned to rely on expectations less, so I slowly stopped stuttering. The nickname stuck though.

One day, at the end of the school year, she dragged me to her car after class. I protested, end of the year, exams coming up, need to study, blah blah blah. But she didn't listen to me at all, and suddenly we were driving, up, up into the hills, well outside of town. We must have driven for a few hours, though it was hard to tell as she kept up a steady stream of conversation, like usual. She parked the car on the edge of a forest road and struck off into the woods with me following her. No trail, all the trees looking the same, I had no clue where we were going. And she hadn't said, and I hadn't even thought to ask in the hours of conversation during the drive. Then we were out of the trees, on a little beach of tiny, tiny rocks, more like big grains of sand, with a creek running past. She stopped there and kicked off her shoes, grabbed the bottom of her shirt before looking back at me over her shoulder.

"Turn around, pervert!" And there was that smirk, those signature laughing eyes. I immediately turned around, eyes scanning the trees as I felt a blush creep up across my cheeks, then my whole face.

"Come on, we're going for a swim. You better get undressed too, cause I'm not letting you back in my car soaking wet and I'm also not letting you back in unless you go for the swim." I didn't know I could blush with my whole body, but I felt like I was on fire, the hot, still summer air not helping at all as I slowly started to undress.

"Where are the others? When will they be here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from cracking or stuttering or just plain giving out on me.

"Just the two of us today, Stutters. You can turn around, now." I carefully took off my underwear, folding them and putting them on top of my other clothes, all perched delicately upon my shoes. I expected that when I turned around, she would be there, tanned and naked and tall, with that smirk and those laughing eyes, and that we would have awkward, fumbling sex on that rough beach.

Back in the present, I raised my eyes from looking down the barrel of the beer bottle and fixed Angie with a faux paternal glare, the effect somewhat ruined by my only being 22. "Terrible idea, by the way. Sand gets everywhere you don't want it to. Beds are a lot more comfortable too. And save yourself for marriage, young lady."

Again with the eye roll and a smirk that lacked the electric charge of the one from the girl in my story. "I'm 19, you're not that much older than me. And who said I'm a virgin? I expect we're nearing the end of your story. Hurry up, I'm next."

I rolled my eyes right back at her as I tried not to blush and settled back in, glancing at the man to make sure he was paying attention.

When I turned around, I discovered I was only right about one thing. Those laughing eyes peered up at me from just above the surface of the water. The sunlight's hot beams through the leaves provided perfect camouflage across the surface of the water, and, in that split second of trying to catch a peek without seeming like that was exactly what I was doing, I discovered there was not a chance in hell I was going to see anything she didn't want me to. Her head rose from the water just enough that the smirk became visible. "What were you expecting, hmm?" And her laugh burst out, echoing across the woods around us. She quirked an eyebrow as I hastily attempted to cover myself.

"Little late for that, big boy." By now she was outright cackling, and I hurried into the water, blessedly cool up in the mountains. Exactly what I needed in that horrifically embarrassing moment.

"And we swam and dressed and drove back to town and I don't remember a second of it, I was such a bundle of nerves. And then it was exams, and graduation, and I expected for sure that it was the graduation party she'd actually been waiting for, but she didn't even show up. She texted me the following day about one of her brothers pulling a stupid stunt and having to take him to the hospital, and then her family moved again, without warning. We texted for a while, but by then we were living different lives in different parts of the country. I was going to college, she was working various jobs to help out her family. We drifted apart, slowly stopped texting. And that was that. But, in that year, she taught me not to rely on the expectations. They're a tool for you to use, not for you to become a slave to. They don't hold all the answers. And we wanted you to learn that lesson the easy way." I shrugged, finishing lamely as I watched Mike for his reaction. He blinked at me, then turned to the girl. I did the same.

"You know, I wanted her to be you." I gestured at her with my beer bottle. "I wanted someone to talk to about the expectations, and what they meant. I even thought about trying to find you to talk, like we're doing now. But I didn't have a car, and my parents were always watching me, and then, by the time I could have done anything, when I went to college, I'd learned from her and gained some confidence."

She stretched, looking at me evenly. "True. And it would have looked pretty sketch for a college student to show up looking for a fifteen year old. Even if we were the same age, you couldn't have handled me. Hell, doesn't even sound like you could handle her. Did the two of you even date?"

I frowned at that. "What do you mean, of course we did. She never dated any of the other guys or introduced me to anyone. I mean, I'm sure we did." My frown deepened. "You'd just have to ask her other friends. We all knew."

She just shook her head with something bordering on mild disgust. "You can give a man super powers and he's still useless. You never even asked her, did you? No wonder she didn't fuck you. The lesson she should have taught you is that it's not enough to expect something. You have to work for it too. Write that down, Mike. Whatever, it's my turn."

I jolted, shock coloring my face, the same thing mirrored on Mike's face. "Not to fuck you! Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with the two of you?" She shook her finger at us, openly glaring at me. "Story time, pervs."

"I've had the powers for as long as I can remember. I think it's a bit different, growing up with them. No stuttering for me. Or maybe I'm just more decisive than Mr. No Balls, here. Point is, like he said, the powers are a tool, and like any master craftsman, you've gotta learn to use them. I was a master craftsman, or craftsgirl or whatever, by the time I entered elementary school. I could get almost whatever I wanted, within reason. I mean, I was still a little girl, but, for instance, when I expected that the teacher was about to turn on the TV and a buncha little tykes were about to watch the plane hit the second tower, I was able to steer the situation away from that. We played tag instead. Fuckin' love tag." She was leaning forward, getting into it. Did that mean she had expected Nine fucking ELEVEN? But she'd been polite and hadn't interrupted my story, so I tried to relax and let her continue.

Instead, she rolled her eyes at me. "Expectations, remember? You don't even have to actually interrupt." She looked at Mike and went on in a lecturing tone. "I could not have prevented 9/11. Too far removed, not personal, not close. Plus, I was a Little. Fucking. Kid." Each of those last words was punctuated with a glare at me, before turning back to him. "Point is, I could get little things. Trade around lunch items with a bunch of kids, expecting exactly what each wanted in order to get whatever I really wanted. I was like a king in my little schoolyard fief." She was glaring at me again "Newsflash, I read too, fucko! I can use words like fief! And outside of chess, kings were historically way more important than queens. Fuck off with that bullshit."

I raised my hands up, wardingly. "I wasn't going to say anything. I didn't even think it this time."

"Well, some version of you out there in the multiverse is a snide asshole, and he can fuck right off. I was powerful, in my scope. I could do what I wanted. More power than any little girl should have, to be honest. And then I got to second grade and she was there, in the after school program. Just like with him," she pointed at me, "I couldn't read her. Expectations in general go fuzzy. Like there's a million versions of her out in the multiverse for every one a normal person has. And the real one is the only one making a choice that none of those millions did. I fuckin' hated her guts. She torpedoed my goddamn lunch scheme so many times. 'Oh, you'll trade your fruit roll up for my pudding? Sure!' I needed that goddamn fruit roll up. It was the goddamn keystone of my whole goddamn operation!"

By this point she was ranting, voice rising. The bar was empty, had been the whole time we'd been there, other than the bartender at the other end of the room. Still, she stared at me for a moment, took a deep breath and waited a few extra seconds before continuing in a quieter voice.

"Unlike loverboy over here, I never really became friends with her. But even back then, she was pretty and popular. I saw that she got what she wanted most of the fucking time, and she didn't have a power like me. Just social skills. I mean, hell, she got him fuckin' naked." Once more, she pointed at me, and I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. "Guess even she failed to get him to make a move though." At that she sniggered, and I could feel myself flush with embarrassment. "I'd gotten too used to manipulating situations without that kind of deft touch. I got what I wanted, but people didn't necessarily like me. I guess what I'm saying is, the power is a tool. Don't abuse it. If the power was a hammer, not every situation is a nail. Sometimes you need a saw. Took me a long time to build up a repertoire of other tools and not just take a swing at every little thing. She was good for that though, since I couldn't hit her with a hammer anyway. Real or metaphorical." She finished with a crooked grin.

Mike looked back and forth between us, then swept a hand through his thinning hair. "They just started, the expectations. Little things, like expecting that I needed to be here, this afternoon. But thanks for the tips. You think I'll meet her too?"

Angie and I looked at each other, considering. She shrugged, and I turned back to Mike. "Probably? No telling, of course, with her. Never know what to expect. But you'll have a couple of years, develop your powers, fall into some trap of your own devising, then she'll show up and inadvertently teach you some kind of lesson. That seems to be the way it works."

Angie tentatively nodded at that. Mike hesitated, mouth half open like people do when they don't know if they should ask a specific question or not. Angie waited for only the barest of moments before her patience snapped. "Spit it out! I'm not gonna say it unless you actually fuckin' ask!"

He snapped his mouth shut, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he opened his eyes, he asked "What's her name? So I know her when I meet her. It's the same girl in both your stories, right?"

One more time, Angie looked at me and rolled her eyes. Simultaneously, we turned to Mike and said it. "Madison Cawthorn." He blanched, immediately, face completely white, like he'd seen a ghost.

"Already met her?" I ventured. He shook his head, opening his mouth to respond, when the door of the bar jangled as someone else entered. We each turned to look at the entrance, the expectation overwhelming, like nothing I'd ever felt before. And there she stood, casually taking off her sunglasses.

"Sup, bitches?" She smirked, those laughing eyes visible even in the dim room. "And dad. We finally meet."