Free Crystal by V. C. Andrews

slammed the drawer closed. "I thought you would be interested and even excited about it," he said.
"I am! Really, Bernie, I am," I cried.
He looked at me sideways, his eyes narrow with suspicion.
"I mean it. I'm sorry," I said.
He hesitated and then opened the drawer again. "You want to see anything else?" he asked.
"I'd like to see a brain cell."
He brought it over and set it up in the microscope. Then he stepped back, and I looked.
"You know there are about ten billion of those in your brain," he said as I studied the cell. "The brain controls every vital function of our bodies and even controls our emotions like hate, anger, love."
This time, I did laugh.
"What?"
"My mother, Thelma," I said, looking up at him, "asked if we could see love in the heart cell."
'That's an old medieval belief that love is centered in the heart. I told you. It's all in the brain," he corrected. "And you can't see feelings."
"I know. It was just a silly little idea."
"Right. It is silly," he said. He started to put away the slides. "Do you know what you want to be?" he asked me.
"Maybe a doctor. I like writing, too. I might even be a teacher," I said, and he grimaced. "You wouldn't want to be a teacher?" I asked.
"Hardly," he said, turning back to me. "I couldn't put up with giggly girls and jocks and all their problems."
"But good teachers are important," I said.
"I'm not going to do that," he insisted. "Pure research is what I want to do. I don't want to put up with stupid people."
"But why do it if you don't care about people?" I asked
"I care. I just don't want to be. . interrupted and annoyed."
"Not everyone will be annoying," I insisted.
He stared at me. "You like to argue, don't you?" "No, but I don't mind having a discussion," I said.
He finally smiled, a small twitch of his lips in the corners and a brighter light in his green eyes.
"You hungry?"
"No. I just finished supper, remember? Didn't you eat your supper?"
"No. I got too involved with my new slides and forgot. The maid left me something to warm up. You want to watch me eat?" he asked.
"Is it as much fun as looking at the slides?"
He laughed. "You're the first girl I've met who's easy to talk to," he said.
"Thanks, I guess."
"Come on," he said, and I followed him to the kitchen. It was three times the size of ours and had appliances that looked as if they belonged in a space station.
"What is that?" I asked, pointing at a machine on the counter.
"That? A cappuccino machine. My mother likes her cappuccino after dinner. Whenever she eats at home," he added. He opened the giant refrigerator and took out a covered plate. "Lasagna," he said. "I just have to put it in the microwave for a couple of minutes."
I watched him do so.
"How about something to drink? Lemonade, iced tea, soda, milk, beer?"
"Beer!"
"You never had it?" he asked skeptically.
"Not really," I said. "I'll have whatever you have."
He poured us both some iced tea. There was a place setting all ready for him at the dining-room table. It was a large, oval, dark oak table with thick legs. There were twelve captain's chairs set around the table, and above us a large chandelier dangled on a gold chain. Behind us, the wall was all mirror. Against the far wall was a grand hutch with matching wood, filled with dishes and glasses that all looked very expensive.
Bernie brought his food out and set it down. "Our maid is a good cook. Otherwise I'd starve," he quipped.
"Your mother doesn't cook?"
"My mother? She couldn't boil water without burning it," he said.
"You can't burn water."
"It's a joke. At least, it was supposed to be:' "How often do you eat alone like this?" I asked. He paused and thought, as if I had given him a difficult question to answer. "On the average, I'd say four times a week."
"Four!"
"I said average, so you know that there are weeks when it's more," he lectured.
"You should be a teacher," I said. "You like pointing things out, and I bet you love correcting people." He gazed at me a moment and then smiled. "You