Chapter 5: Wrong way, right place, right time.

Saturday morning. A quick glance at the clock revealed that it was just before seven-thirty. I shook my head, trying to clear out the cobwebs and remember why I'm awake at this unholy hour. As the knowledge slowly percolated through my brain (assisted rather rudely by the sunshine in my face), I groan loudly, and crawl out of my bed for my monthly BME.

BME stands for 'Book-Movie Extravaganza.' Once a month, instead of lounging at home or going out with friends, I bury myself in the local Borders to catch up on some reading, with a four- or six-hour movie break sandwiched in between. Today, I figured on catching 'Mission Impossible II' and '100 Girls.' One action, one romantic comedy. One big-budget, one indy. Ying and yang, if you would.

Fast forward to late afternoon. MI2 was about as expected, while '100 Girls' was somewhat disappointing. Cute plot (boy meets girl during blackout, boy falls for girl but has no idea what girl looks like, boy spends semester trying to track down girl), but the actors were disappointing. Characteristic of teen flicks, I guess. In any case, I was going to grab a bite, then head back to the bookstore to start another novel. Exiting the movie theatre, I went around a trio of young women, and dashed down the 'up' escalator. The way the mall was set up, one had to walk to the other side to take the 'down' escalator, then back around to reach the exit. Going down the wrong way had become almost second nature to me--assuming no one was coming up, of course.

Halfway down the escalator, I heard screams behind me. "Maddie! What are you doing!? Come back!" I stopped my headlong rush, and took a quick glimpse back. Two girls were standing at the top of the escalator, hands over their mouths in shock, while a third was running lithely down behind me. Not being fond of getting trampled, I continued down to the bottom before I turned around again, making sure to get out of the way.

Now, I was wearing tennis shoes, and I do this on a regular basis. She was wearing pumps, but still managed to run down the escalator at about the same pace, without a single misstep. Still, I was ready to catch her--the step off the escalator was rather treacherous. I needn't have worried. She stumbled slightly when jumping off, but easily kept her balance. After taking all of two seconds to get her breath back, she turned to me and said, "Well?"

I was ready for that one. "The form of the final combination plus the footwork was executed flawlessly," I pronounced in an affected pompous voice. "The dismount was slightly hesitant, but did not detract greatly from the overall performance. The judges have scored it as a nine-point-nine-five, which moves Madeleine-" I arched an eyebrow.

"Leydon," she supplied.

"-Leydon into first, and assures her of at least a silver medal." I stopped to take a breath, and was rewarded with a musical laugh, reminiscent of ringing bells. Switching off my Olympic announcer voice, I said, "So, why were you running down the wrong escalator?"

"Why were you?" she countered.

"I was in a hurry."

"So was I."

"But I'm by myself. You, on the other hand, have to wait for your friends to come down the slow way. Why bother?" I pointed out.

She thought for a second. "It looked like fun. Besides, I didn't know anyone other than little kids who did that anymore." Before I could defend myself, she continued with a twinkle in her eye, "And I don't see you running off in any big hurry."

She was good. "Touché," I conceded. Quick pause for mental imagery. The young lady in question looked like a college freshman. Which meant that she could be anywhere from fourteen to twenty-four--I was notoriously inept at guessing ages. In addition to the two-inch pumps I noted earlier, she was wearing dark green jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt. Shoulder-length wavy auburn hair, and bluish-gray eyes at about my eye-level. Hmm... that would make her around 5'9" sans heels. Heart-shaped face, with no obvious makeup.

Just for reference, I have short wavy black hair (thank you, mom), and dark brown eyes. Nothing to write home about, unless you go for the cynical, world-weary type.

She extended her hand. "As you already know, I'm Maddie." I shook the proffered hand as I replied, "I'm Jordan."