Beginning, Section II

Chapter 1

Posted on 2011-06-08

March 2008, Punta Gorda, Florida

The mercury was climbing to 80 degrees, and there was nary a cloud in the sky. This was the type of Florida morning that would typically send the Elliots cowering indoors, for God forbid that they should get a patchy tan, or worse, freckles! Anne, though, was an Elliot in name but not in spirit, and so she had no reservations about soaking up the balmy Florida sun. In fact, she relished it. Anne always planned her pilgrimages to visit her father and sister such that her trip would end with the Florida International Air Show, such that the Air Show could serve as an enticement to get her through a week at the Elliots' Florida condo.

Perhaps "sufferance" would be a better word to describe the yearly visits, for the Elliot lifestyle was completely not Anne's cup of tea. At nearly sixty years of age, Walter Elliot was still an incorrigible dandy with his baby-white Botoxed face; perfectly slicked hair with never a strand out of place; and skin-tight Zegna and Armani outfits. Amongst the circle of wealthy retirees in which the Elliots moved, it was often rumored that Walter Elliot was gay, never mind that he did have three daughters. Elizabeth, her eldest sister, was tall, willowy and blonde – everything that Anne was not – and an entire bedroom in the condo had been fashioned into a giant walk-in wardrobe for her endless array of clothes, handbags and shoes. Current-season Versace, Dior, Chanel... it was like stepping into the latest issue of Vogue magazine. Depending on Elizabeth's whims, Anne would either be dragged along on her endless facials and hairstyling sessions, being coiffed, primped and preened until the real Anne became invisible, hidden away within a solid shell of makeup and hairspray; or she would be simply left to her own devices at the condo, forgotten, while the pair went on their society rounds. Anne infinitely preferred the latter, for her wallet protested less that way. Most of the time when Anne was dragged along to the preening sessions, it was because she was expected to foot the bill for all three of them – and afterwards, they would invariably parade her around the Florida country-club set, trying to pair her up with some kind of namby-pamby scion or other.

The Air Show was always a welcome breath of fresh air after a stifling week with the Elliots. Every year, Anne contacted local nonprofits to lead a group of high school students on a tour of the show site, where she would expound to the students the background stories behind each aircraft, both the old and the new, displayed at that year's event. Finding ways to get youths excited about aviation was the least she could do to pay forward the way in which the sky had served as the canvas for someone who had been – and still was – very special to her, to weave his biggest dreams. She especially had a soft spot for teenage girls – being bookended by two vapid sisters sapping away at her time and energy all her life, she felt it all the more important that girls should be encouraged to consider options beyond "housewife", "stay-at-home mom", and "arm candy" for their future. This time, she had ten high school girls with her, and they were camped outside waiting for the highlight of the day – the US Air Force Thunderbirds aerobatic display.

Shading her eyes with her hand, Anne looked up toward the sky in anticipation of the day's signature performance. A deafening rumble rolled through the general hubbub, and the crowd fell silent as six white Lockheed Martin F-16 aircraft rushed into view in a perfect straight line, and then swept out in curves as they fanned out in different directions directly overhead above the captivated audience.

If she blanked out the constant roar of the engines, Anne thought, the aircraft had the grace of kites – actually, kites on steroids – floating about in the sky. The F-16s soared, swirled, and dipped in the air, leaving snow-white lines, shapes, patterns in their wake. No matter how many times she'd watched it before, this precisely timed, intricately choreographed aerial ballet never failed to re-ignite Anne's excitement about aviation. She always chose to bring high school students to the Air Show because she believed that no other magic bullet could be more effective to spark their enthusiasm.

It was time for the final formation. Two aircraft swooped down in mirrored arcs, forming a heart shape in the air. The last cadenza of the display was the whoosh of a third aircraft as it wheeled around and shot upward into the sky, right through the middle of the heart shape. The aircraft's trajectory traced out the image of Cupid's arrow, piercing right through the heart.

Anne did not even have to see the number painted on the aircraft to know exactly which one it was. It was #5, Lead Solo, piloted by Major Frederick Wentworth. He would have to be the one who performed the most fearless gravity-defying stunts of the whole bunch. Even though Frederick was medium-sized compared to the others, he naturally stood out amongst the line of pilot photos that ran across the top of the Thunderbirds poster because of the drive and fire evident in his facial expression and the way he carried himself.

As the aircraft receded out of view, the spell lifted and the milling crowd slowly came back to life. A line of people, mostly children and teenagers, but also some women in their twenties and thirties, quickly formed before the reception table where the pilots would gather to give autographs. Ditching their picnic lunches, Anne's group of girls scrambled up and made a beeline for the autograph queue, posters in hand.

Having landed and parked their aircraft, the pilots entered in single file and assembled before the snaking line to sign autographs. From Anne's vantage point, she could see Frederick in profile like an Adonis, his relaxed, confident posture displaying how much he was enjoying the attention. He fairly soaked up the adulation as the girls and women jostled and clamored for his autograph. All they know about him is just the external shell, Anne thought, while I, I was there behind him all the way as he grew from just a raw boy into the man they see. Yet now, I am no closer to him than they are – in fact, I can never even be as close as them, for he must never know that I am here and I could never approach him directly again. But there was no place for bitterness, for Anne knew full well that their current estrangement had been completely her own doing.

The girls were skipping back to Anne with their signed posters.

"Major Wentworth is a fox and a half!"

"Wooh, Freddy boy! Sex-y!"

"Miss Elliot! I got an extra poster for you! It's got Major Wentworth's signature. See, see, see? Isn't he the cutest of them all?"

Anne wished to heaven that all the tittering and ogling would stop. The irreverence in the way they referred to Frederick – her former best friend and soul mate – irked her to no end. So much for her noble intentions of inspiring girls about aviation – it just had to be the pilots, not the planes or even the visual impact of the flying display, which became the primary source of excitement for the girls. In fact, the entire affair made a mockery of her high-flown aspirations to challenge gender stereotypes, Anne thought.

"C'mon everyone, let's get going." Anne had allowed herself enough time for woolgathering. Now, she'd better get down to business and round up everyone to the static display. The collective groan only further reinforced Anne's irritation at the girls' obvious interest in nothing but the pilots. Especially since she felt like she'd explode if she heard anything more about the charms of one particular pilot.

To keep her mind fixed to the task at hand, she reminded herself of the line she used every time she needed to fend off those misguided matchmaking attempts on the part of Walter and Elizabeth: "Well, looks like it's time for me to come out with my true inclinations - I'm a jetrosexual. Every day, I spend my day surrounded by airplanes and that's enough for me."

It would have to be enough for her - for now definitely; perhaps even forever.

Chapter 2

Posted on 2011-06-10

November 1996, Cambridge, Massachusetts

Sleek. Fast. Lean. To Frederick, the effect was perfect. A slim, white cardboard aircraft, stripped bare of all extraneous trappings, not even encumbered with the weight of colored paint, shot forward as straight as William Tell's arrow and landed neatly at the other end of the room, inches away from the opposite wall.

Their freshman engineering design course had culminated in this little show-and-tell: a competition where each student designed, built, and demonstrated a launching mechanism for a projectile of their choosing. And nobody did show-and-tell, at least the "show" part, better than Frederick Wentworth. Every inch of him radiated with confidence and self-satisfaction as his creation performed exactly as it was designed to do. The image was complete by the fact that he'd volunteered to go first, just so that he could open the session with a bang.

This was Frederick at his best – hungry, restless, and addicted to the thrill of flight. Ever since he had learned to crawl, Frederick had never been content just sitting still. As a little boy barely starting school, Frederick had already roamed all the parks in his Detroit suburban neighborhood, finding the best – which usually meant the highest - obstacles from which to launch himself on his skateboard. Getting air was the way he escaped the stuffy atmosphere of the house with its perennially quiet, hushed tones. Nobody was allowed to make any sound inside, because his mother was always ill. Back then, he hadn't understood the nature of cancer; he had just wanted to get out of the house, far away so that he could do his own thing without his siblings saying "Don't" over his shoulder all the time. Being airborne provided a welcome release to all his pent-up energy; and he had an uncanny ability to always land on his feet. He would trudge home filthy, scuffed, and scraped; but in all his years of going to the skate park, he never got any injuries more serious than that – it was as though he was a cat with nine lives.

Amongst the three Wentworth siblings, Frederick was somewhat a misfit – with their parents being both university dons, academic inclination had been a basic expectation of a Wentworth kid. But when Frederick was growing up, his mother was already fighting her battle with cancer; and with everyone caught up in looking after her and the household at large, there was very little time for anyone at home to mentor or teach Frederick. The issue wasn't really Frederick's grades per se, for he was a bright kid and always managed to perform respectably at school no matter how little time he appeared to be spending at his books. But unlike his bookish brother Edward, action interested him more than theory; and he had too much energy to be cooped up in the house for any length of time. And so every day after school, he wandered farther and farther away from home with his skateboard.

By the time he was thirteen, Frederick knew the all the skate parks in metro Detroit like the back of his hand. He'd bought a BMX bike with the money he earned from his paper route, and it served not only to expand his radius of exploration, but also as another platform for performing stunts. On that fateful day, though, he hadn't gone far. With his mother having been hospitalized for six weeks on end, he'd known the situation wasn't good. The last few days, she had already fallen into a coma, but nobody could predict exactly when the moment would come. So he stayed close in order to be there when it was time to say goodbye; only that when he finally did, he wasn't sure if she could still hear him anymore.

Still, with their mother they'd had some advance warning; when their father's heart gave out, it was swift and sudden, and it had happened right in the middle of a tennis game, no less. The sea change in their lives came when they vacated their house to rent it out – their mother's treatment had sapped the family's savings, leaving the orphaned Wentworth kids asset rich but cash poor – and moved to a tiny apartment in a hollowed-out Detroit slum. Still only twenty, his eldest sister Sophia dropped out of college, working as a receptionist to support the family; while Edward and Frederick had to brave the hostile environment of inner-city public school and establish their social pecking order amongst the kids in the 'hood.

Though Frederick knew that remaining on the path of the straight and narrow was the only hope he had to reclaim their former lifestyle, he wasn't like Edward, who was completely impervious to all the social ostracism that came with being classified as a geek. "Higher Ed" was just the tamest name the kids threw at Edward, in the mocking way that only high school kids could; the names and the bullying got worse every day and it still rolled off Edward like water off a duck's back. Not so for Frederick, though. Appearances and image mattered to him too much.

Surviving, fitting in, that was his skill. He was a cat with nine lives, after all. Frederick had all the accoutrements of just any other kid in the 'hood – the knitted skullcap, the baggy sweatshirt and jeans, right down to the oversized sneakers. His sandy hair was perpetually overgrown, hanging into his eyes on purpose so nobody could remember what his face looked like. In this way, he went on – quietly slipping out of the less desirable activities that he wanted no part of, yet trying to blend in perfectly so no one would notice. He also used his prowess with the skateboard and the BMX to distract his peers from the fact that he had a different set of aspirations from them. At that point, though, he had no idea what kind of tangible form those aspirations would take. Most white-collar jobs were staid and boring, and he couldn't imagine himself sitting at a desk all day without feeling stifled. So although Frederick knew that not going to college was not an option, he had no idea what he would do after that, or even how he would be able to afford college in the first place. With the future being so uncertain, it was more convenient to just live in the present, so he spent day after day getting air at the skate parks, getting by one day at a time. Trying to do well enough in school to go to college, while trying not to let anyone see how hard he tried.

Yet without even trying so much, somehow he managed to emerge tops in Michigan for the American Mathematics Competition 10 during sophomore year. He resented it – that was a surefire way to fly the freak flag, or rather (and worse), the geek flag – but it just happened. That exploit earned him an appointment with the guidance counselor. Despite all his efforts to stay under the radar, Frederick was forced out of hiding.

Mr. Raftery had absolutely no idea what type of kid to expect in his office that morning. Kids from inner-city public schools like this just didn't win math competitions – not when they were put up against their peers from far more affluent backgrounds; kids who had been hot-housed for success from a very young age. The name of Frederick Wentworth was not familiar to him, which might not be a bad thing in itself – it meant that this kid had managed to stay out of trouble so far, and he had to admit, it wasn't often that a kid got his notice for any good reason. Perhaps this kid would be some kind of precocious Doogie Howser, chattering on a mile a minute; or maybe he would be a skinny, awkward geek with big plastic-framed glasses.

Whatever it was, Mr. Raftery was actually slightly disappointed with the kid who finally slouched and shuffled into his doorway. This kid didn't look like anything out of the ordinary – he could have passed hundreds of kids in the hallway, and this boy was so underwhelming in his appearance, he would have faded right into the background.

"Good morning, Mr. Raftery, sir", the kid mumbled, but didn't take a step forward. He remained standing in the doorway, looking at the floor. His face was hardly visible behind the too-long bangs that obscured his eyes. Though the kid had clearly been brought up with some concept of manners, it was equally obvious that he was more frightened than anything else.

"Good morning, Frederick. Come in and have a seat," Mr. Raftery tried to keep his tone as friendly as possible. He extended a hand to the kid, and tried to look him in the eye. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir." The kid took the proffered hand and shook it, but didn't look up.

"Frederick, you may wish to know that you're the first student from our school to ever win the AMC at a statewide level. That's an honor. And it means a lot of new opportunities will be open to you. For starters, you'll be invited to take the US Junior Mathematical Olympiad examination, followed by the American Invitational Mathematics Examination, and the USA Mathematical Olympiad. If you do well there, you could qualify for a summer program to prepare you for the International Math Olympiad team. I strongly encourage you to take the JMO – we’ll try our best to give you the coaching you need. That will give you the exposure to a much higher level of math training and competition than you can get in your regular classes here. The fact that you've been able to hold your own, even against others who have benefited from more coaching and more resources, shows how strong a potential you've got. I'd be happy to work with you to make the most of that potential."

"Sir -" the kid gave him a flickering glance - "thank you, that's very kind of you. But I ... I don't know if that's really what I want to do."

"Why? Then, what do you want?"

"I don't know." The kid slouched in his chair, his eyes wandering all over Mr. Raftery's desk. "But I ... sitting at a desk doing math all day ... I'd be bored. And miserable."

"So what do you like to do? What do you do in your free time?"

"Um ... getting air. On my skateboard," the kid hastily explained. He looked like he wished he could just bolt out of the room any minute.

Suddenly, the kid's eyes focused on something on the desk. It was an ROTC brochure. For the first time in the entire interview, the kid looked up and faced Mr. Raftery directly.

"Sir? May I borrow this, please? About the Olympiad – I'll think about it and get back to ya. I promise."

"Sir." It was a very different Frederick Wentworth who walked in the door one week later. The kid seemed to be almost reborn - he had a clear sense of purpose and self, and he showed it. "I've made my decision about what I want to do with my future, and I'd like to tell you about it. Do you have some time for me now?"

"Sure – come in."

The kid – no, Frederick – for now that he had finally found his identity, his name was indelibly stamped on him – sat down smartly. He had taken the effort to comb his hair in a parting and slick the bangs over to one side with gel – never mind that after this meeting he'd probably run to the bathroom and wash it off all over again.

"Sir, I know I have to go to college. It's the only way I can get myself out of this neigh– um, I mean, how I can build a better life for myself and my family."

"All right, and what do you plan to study in college?"

"Engineering. Aeronautical engineering. It'll help me when I go into the Air Force. I've thought it all out – I'd die of boredom doing those kinds of work where I'm parked at a desk all the time. I need a job that gives me a kind of kick, like how I feel when I'm on my skateboard, y'know? So flying, it's like the same feeling, only even more exciting. That's what I wanna do."

"So you won't be doing the Math Olympiad then? Can't I at least try to change your mind? It seems to be such a waste – it's not easy to find kids like you around here. You would do our school proud."

"No, I won't. I'm sorry. But I will be trying for college, and for the ROTC scholarship. See, they even pay for your college. The military, that is. And in the Air Force, I could do our country proud."

"Well, then. I guess you've made up your mind. But at least, you could shoot for one of the top colleges. For aeronautical engineering ... hmm ... let's see ... you could go to MIT, or Stanford. You at least owe yourself that, to do proper justice to your talent."

"Yessir. I'll try."

"Do you know what it takes to get into a good college?"

"I have to study hard, I guess. I've got a 4.0 GPA now and I'll try my best to keep it up."

"Well, you'll need more than just a 4.0 GPA to distinguish yourself when you're competing against kids from all across the country, the entire world in fact. A 4.0 is a dime a dozen out there. So you have to build up some special achievements, if not in math, then in some other area. It'll help you not only for college, but for the ROTC scholarship as well."

"Like, how?"

"For one, the military needs people with good leadership skills. So you need to find ways to show you can be a leader. You like action – say, why don't you ditch the skateboard some of the time and join a team sport in school?"

Frederick beamed. For once, he felt like they were both on the same side.

"Thank you sir, I'll do that. I need to go to class, so I've gotta be going." Standing up, Frederick pulled out the ROTC brochure from his backpack and handed it to Mr. Raftery with both hands. "Here's your brochure."

"Keep it, son. And good luck."

From then onwards, Frederick relegated the skateboard to being a hobby, rather than being an obsession. Taking Mr. Raftery's advice, he tried out for the football team and ended up playing quarterback in junior and senior year. In that way, he established his status as a jock, which actually enhanced his popularity, while also giving him something else to round out his resume with.

From then onwards, whenever he did go to the skate park, Frederick embellished his moves a little more each time. He honed his showmanship skills carefully, all the while dreaming about a future when he wouldn't be just getting air on the skateboard, but getting truly airborne in his fighter jet.

From then onwards, Frederick cropped his hair into a spiky, close-cut style with the top combed flat. Now that he had a clear goal he could wear on his sleeve, he could start to show his face to the world again. He had already proven his ability to survive – now that he had successfully blended in, he could finally afford to stand out.

And once Frederick stopped being ashamed about having ambitions, he would settle for nothing less than perfection. That was how he got himself into MIT.

Now that his job was done, Frederick watched the rest of the proceedings from the back of the classroom, arms folded, wearing a satisfied smirk on his face. There were various flimsy editions of paper planes, none quite as sleek or sophisticated as his. There were bow-and-arrow contraptions, Ping-Pong balls, and some idiot had fashioned an imitation of a cannon, using a squash ball as the cannonball. The ball dropped to the ground with a feeble plop and came to a stop after rolling about four more inches on the floor. Duh, didn't that guy have any idea how heavy a squash ball could be? What an anti-climax. Frederick felt smug.

Class was nearly over, and there were about twenty projectiles strewn across the floor, none quite as far along as Frederick's. There was just one more demo left to go before Frederick would be pronounced the victor of the bunch.

"Hi everyone, I'm Anne Elliot."

Before Frederick could even figure out where the voice came from, a round hot-pink blob traced a long arc through the air, hit the opposite wall with an audible thwack, and then slid down vertically, landing exactly at the foot of the wall.

And so the final ranking emerged: Anne Elliot, #1, 5.0 meters; Frederick Wentworth, #2, 4.88 meters; and Peter Chen, #3, 4.72 meters. Still stunned at the suddenness with which his victory was snatched away, Frederick wandered to the other end of the room, picked up the offending pink blob, and turned it over in his hands.

It was a replica of a pig, of all things. And its creator had obviously taken a lot of care to make sure that everyone knew just what it was intended to be. The body was made from a balloon, probably to save some weight, but encased within a foam-board frame from which the ears, legs, snout and tail were carved. It seemed the pig's snout had absorbed most of the impact with the wall, as the foam-board had squished in. The pig had a ridiculous cross-eyed expression, with big round cartoon eyes drawn on the balloon with Magic Marker. How this thing, which wasn't even aerodynamic, and which carried so much unnecessary weight, could fly farther than Frederick's lean, mean machine spoke volumes about the power of the mechanism that launched it.

A hand sneaked into Frederick's field of vision. Of course, it was the owner of the pig, demanding the return of her rightful property.

The girl – Anne Elliot, her name was? – was actually laughing at him. At close range, he could see the red-dyed highlights in her seemingly mousy brown hair. She was tiny, coming only up to his shoulders, but from this distance, at this time, she had so much presence that he couldn't imagine how it was possible that he had gone through almost an entire semester without noticing her before. With her short pixie haircut, earth-colored canvas parka, leather messenger bag and military-style leather black boots peeking out from under her skinny straight-cut jeans, this girl exuded a subtly edgy kind of charm. Man, this chick is actually cool, Frederick found himself thinking.

"A pig? Why a pig?" Lost in his thoughts, Frederick blurted out the words before he knew it. He cursed himself for sounding so stupid.

Anne looked amused, more than anything else. She actually looks quite pretty when she smiles, thought Frederick.

"Oh, that." She chuckled. "It's a tribute to Pink Floyd. I know the song they use the flying pig for is from Animals, but I was actually thinking about their song Learning to Fly when I did this. Do you know the song? It's from A Momentary Lapse of Reason. 1987. Go check it out."

"Oh." Frederick seemed to be temporarily robbed of the power of speech. He was totally befuddled – there was a real, explainable concept behind that ridiculous pig?

"And by the way, can I have my pig back, please?" She plucked the item out of his hand and walked out of the room, leaving him standing dumbly there.

The fact that Frederick actually bought the album was testimony to the level of his curiosity about Anne Elliot and the inspiration behind her project. Normally he never wasted any money on CDs. He preferred to listen to the radio and record the songs he liked onto cassette tapes. That way, he could compile tapes with only the songs he liked, without throwing away good money on forgettable songs that had no purpose except as boring filler material.

Frederick had never even bothered to invest in a CD player, so he played the album on his computer CD-ROM drive. The song was the second track on the album:

Into the distance, a ribbon of black
Stretched to the point of no turning back
A flight of fancy on a windswept field
Standing alone, my senses reeled

There's no sensation to compare with this
Suspended animation, a state of bliss
Can't keep my eye from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit, I

The lyrics spoke to Frederick in a way that no other song had ever done before. To date, his musical diet had consisted largely of heavy metal and rap – Metallica, Korn, Tupac Shakur and the like. It was part of his way of fitting in with the other kids at school. But those songs were largely about violence and hate – and he had seen firsthand how anger, coupled with a sense of hopelessness, could drive impressionable kids down the wrong path. For someone like him, who wanted to write a different story for himself – well, he couldn't identify with those songs at a personal level, so they were all just rhythm and sounds to him. This song, though, perfectly captured the feeling of joy and freedom he'd derived from getting airborne since the very first day he could stand up on a skateboard. It also spoke to his yearning for a sense of belonging for him and his siblings, not just social survival at school, but to make their mark and reclaim their position in society at large. Yet, unlike other songs of disenfranchisement, there was an element of hope as well. That spoke to his desire to move upward, to help create a better life for himself, Sophia, and Edward.

For Anne Elliot to dedicate an entire project to the song, it had to mean something very special to her, too. And Frederick was determined to find out how the same song could speak to the both of them so powerfully, whether it was in the same or in different ways.

"Anne Ell-i-ot. Do you have anything on for Friday night, by any chance? If you're still free, I was wondering if you could grace me with your company for dinner." Frederick leaned on the doorjamb, trying to show off his graceful, athletic figure to his best advantage. He deliberately threw Anne a Cheshire-cat type of grin, lending a farcical air to the entire invitation.

Anne did not trust Frederick Wentworth, because in general, she did not trust any guy who was too handsome and too conscious of it. And boy, did Frederick flaunt it – the too-cool-for-school attitude at that Monday's project demo session being one of the prime examples of late (if she excluded this little performance unfolding before her). She felt quite satisfied with herself for taking a little wind out of his sails with that one. His dumbfounded expression when she snatched the pig back from his open hand had been priceless.

Ever since she'd been old enough for guys to think about asking her out, Anne had had to contend with guys asking her out for reasons that had nothing to do with any kind of real liking for her as a person. There was no end to the stream of preppy boarding-school boys who asked her out for dates, dripping with gentlemanly politeness, sometimes even putting on the sweet shy-boy act, only to ditch her in favor of Elizabeth the minute they were able to secure the introduction – through her, no less. The more handsome the boys were, the worse it got. Jocks were no use either – usually, they'd be again looking for some kind of arm candy, and mostly if they looked for her, it was either for the bragging rights of dating an Elliot girl at the times when her sister was taken by somebody else, or out of whatever harebrained dares or bets they'd made amongst themselves. As far as she, Elizabeth and boys were concerned, the concept of "the heir and the spare" was alive and well. And their youngest sister Mary, now a freshman in high school, would probably be joining in the fray before long. Anne had been naive too many times in high school, and now she'd learned her lesson. With Frederick Wentworth being both handsome and a jock, and strutting around brimming with cockiness at that, he couldn't be up to any good trying to ask her out. It was just an open invitation for her to prick his ego a little bit further.

"I'm sorry, but I already have plans for Friday," she replied, with a studiedly nonchalant air. "But if you really want to hang out with me sometime over the weekend, you can join me for a run on Sunday morning. Meet me at 6 a.m. at the Massachusetts Avenue junction along the Charles River."

To Anne's surprise, Frederick wasn't intimidated. He actually agreed, and if he was at all shocked that she would challenge him to an early morning run, when November was fast turning into December no less, he did a very good job of not showing it.

Wait and see, thought Anne gleefully, he has fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Disclaimer: "Learning to Fly" belongs to Pink Floyd.

Chapter 4 - Gump

Posted on 2011-06-15

On that Sunday morning, Anne got to the junction at 5.55 am. So when Frederick showed up at 6.00 sharp, Anne was already in the middle of her warm-up exercises. It was already early December, the week just before finals, and on that clear, cold morning, the temperature was somewhere in the 30s, but Anne was comfortably snug in her fleece top and running tights. That gave her a psychological advantage already.

Sun Tzu's Art of War said: "Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories."

As a consequence of living in an all-girls dorm, the "know thy enemy" part was relatively easy for Anne. Within weeks from the start of semester, Anne had already been fed with more gossip about the male denizens of the MIT Class of '00 than she ever cared to know about. Until now, that was. For this mission, all the snippets of information about Frederick Wentworth were getting to be quite useful. She knew he was an Air Force ROTC cadet, and that he had played football in high school. She also knew he was living in a frat house, even though he was also a freshman. This led her to two conclusions: he was probably too much of a party animal to have any above-board intentions towards her, and that it would take a good deal of strategy to fashion a physical challenge where she could best him. At least on the second count, she was correct.

Anne knew herself, too. In an out-and-out challenge of strength or speed, undoubtedly she would be absolutely no match for Frederick Wentworth, not by a long way. But there was one area where she could possibly poke through a chink in Frederick's armor: endurance. Football players, after all, were trained for short bursts of intense activity. Meanwhile, Anne knew she could hold her own against many guys in long-distance running. In fact, Anne's petite, slender physique was the perfect marathoner's build.

Truth to tell, Anne had chanced upon cross-country running as a complete fluke. Junior year at high school was when she'd gotten her big break – for one, Elizabeth had finally graduated, releasing Anne from the obligation of being a perpetual hanger-on to the group of popular girls where Elizabeth had been the queen bee. Although Anne was good with one-on-one friendships and had her own set of close friends, Elizabeth had dragged her around for as long as they were in school together – after all, shouldn't her kid sister be one of her group of followers? Anne was too serious and too good at math and science to be seriously considered as one of the popular girls, and so the clique had made her life totally miserable in freshman and sophomore year at boarding school. With Elizabeth gone, Anne could finally find her own set of friends, interests and activities, and cross-country suddenly came to her naturally, especially since she lost her baby fat that year as well. Not only was it an outlet for her to release her frustrations, it also gained her new-found respect, even amongst the popular clique that Elizabeth had once ruled. Where they had previously teased her mercilessly for being Elizabeth's gawky, geeky little sister, now nobody dared to say a word when she could outrun all of them.

When Anne had brought home her cross-country trophies from boarding school in the summer after high school graduation, though, the reactions from her family couldn't have been more predictable.

"Anne, for heaven's sake, have you been running? You really shouldn't – it makes your legs too muscular, and that's not at all attractive in a girl. Maybe you can sign up for Pilates classes – that'll help to undo the damage. If you don't stretch your legs properly, all the muscles will turn into fat. Fat legs! God!" Walter shuddered.

"You run cross-country? Like Forrest Gump?" Elizabeth probably didn't realize how ugly she looked when she curled her lip into a sneer like that.

Just cool it, Anne told herself. Be the bigger person and let it go, because there's no way you can win an argument with Elizabeth using reason. Zen … Zen … It would have worked any other time, but Anne was too passionate about cross-country to ignore this particular barb.

"For your information, I don't run across the country like Forrest Gump. In case you don't know, cross-country is a specific genre, with a specific distance, which is three miles." The minute the words left Anne's mouth, she regretted letting her emotions get the better of her brain.

"Anne dear, whatever happened to your sense of humor? Do you have to take everything so literally?" Indeed, Anne had made it too easy for Elizabeth.

"Taking words literally is a symptom of Asperger's Syndrome. So is going on and on, in great detail, about a specific subject. Shouldn't you see a shrink and get yourself checked out, Anne?"

"Mary, do you have to come up with a fanciful name for everything? Forrest Gump is a retard, period."

This time around, Anne did succeed in keeping her mouth shut, and leaving Elizabeth and Mary to it. She knew exactly what her sisters would be calling her all summer long – and all too predictably, her guess had proven to be absolutely right.

"Today, we'll be running up to that bridge over there." The bridge Anne was pointing to was well within visible range, even in the pre-dawn light. "Then, we'll cross over to the opposite side of the river, and come back to Massachusetts Avenue. And the route ends right here, at this spot."

The pace was easy and relaxed, definitely quite manageable to Frederick since regular physical training was an integral part of his ROTC program. So this chick wanted to run, huh? He'd humor her by jogging around for two or three miles. Elementary, my dear Watson.

"Say, have you watched Space Jam?" While they were at it, he might as well make some small talk. It would be the polite thing to do on a date, if running along the Charles River on a chilly winter morning could be considered a date at all.

"Shh. I don't talk when I'm running. It breaks up my concentration," Anne hissed. She didn't drop the pace or even turn her head to look at him. It amused Frederick that Anne should take herself so seriously when she was running – she was the image of complete focus.

Half an hour later, Frederick wasn't so amused after all. They were on the Harvard Bridge, approaching the same junction on the MIT side where they had met. Somewhere along the way, Anne had gradually, imperceptibly upped the pace. And she showed no signs of stopping at the junction, either. Seamlessly, they passed through the junction and embarked on another round of the same route.

And so it went, for another three more rounds. By this time, Frederick was visibly shivering – he hadn't counted on being out here so long, and even though they were constantly on the move, he also wasn't moving fast enough to keep warm with just a thin tracksuit on. But he couldn't stop right in the middle; it would be too much like admitting defeat. Especially when Anne was making it amply clear who was boss on this run. She dictated the pace, and the distance, all the way.

Finally, Anne ground to a stop at the junction. They had been running for almost two hours. And Frederick had never felt more cheated in his life.

"No fair. You said we were going to end right here, at this spot." Since when was Frederick Wentworth reduced to whining? In the one week since he'd become acquainted with Anne Elliot, this was the second time she'd made him look like a total idiot.

"And so I did. I said the route ends right here. But I never made any promises about how many laps we would run, did I?"

"So what was the distance we covered today?" If Frederick had anything to say about it, it felt like they had run an ultramarathon.

"About 12 miles, I believe. Four laps of three miles apiece." Anne shot him a pitying look. "You look like you're about to freeze to death out there. Care to join me for breakfast and coffee at McDonald's?"

Over coffee and hot cakes at McDonald's, Frederick finally got round to broaching the subject of the song.

"By the way, thank you."

"Huh? For what?"

"For the song. It was great – I don't set much store by most rock songs nowadays, they're too cynical. For that matter, I don't care much for those PC Disney nonsense either – too idealistic for my liking. This song was real, yet hopeful. It's not easy to find songs like that."

"My sentiments exactly," Anne was impressed by the frankness and sincerity of Frederick's appraisal of the song. "That was the main reason why this song is my favorite, too. I identify with it in a lot of ways. It gives a voice to my greatest wish – to have the freedom to chase after my dreams."

"And what would that be? You're not thinking about flying, are you?"

"No, definitely not – much as I believe in equal opportunity, I still believe that flying is very much a man's job. I could never reach the controls, for one thing." Anne smiled self-deprecatingly. "I guess I'm lazy, 'cause I appreciate flying more as a passenger after all. When I was younger, Father used to bring us – my sisters and I – travelling all around the world. Flying was a very different experience back then – now, people don't think twice about going up an airplane in their bermudas and flip-flops, and I think that's really sad 'cause just about ten years ago when we were kids, flying used to be really a special occasion. People actually dressed up to go on an airplane.

"To me, taking an airplane was part of the whole excitement of going to someplace new. And nothing fascinated me more than seeing all the different types of airplanes. When I was little, Father told me the Boeing 747 was the biggest aircraft in the world. And I actually thought there was only one 747 in the entire world. So when we took the Pan Am to go to Japan, I was so thrilled to be in the world's only 747. And it was so cool, with the spiral staircase inside and all.

"That was when I started paying attention to the different types of aircraft. I wanted to know why some airplanes had two engines while others had three or four; why some of the engines were below the wings and others at the back of the aircraft; why some aircraft have T-tails. That's how I ended up here, I guess. How is the experience of flying?"

"I have no idea – not yet, anyways. I haven't been in an aircraft before."

That was too honest, Frederick realized belatedly, for if Anne heard what he'd just said carefully enough, she'd rightly draw the conclusion that not only had he not flown an aircraft as a pilot before, in fact he had never even ridden in an airplane. True, the experience of actual flying would have to wait, for he wouldn't be allowed to start applying to fly until junior year. He didn't particularly want to admit, though, that he wasn't even sure if he'd ever been in an airplane, as his family had stopped travelling since he was very young, too young to properly remember.

"That's OK – I'm sure you'll get the chance soon enough."

Regardless of whether she was consciously making an effort to deflect the topic or that it simply didn't occur to her, Frederick was grateful that Anne didn't make a big deal out of it. From her genteel manners to the fact that she'd travelled extensively as a child, it was obvious that she came from a much more privileged background than he. But wait, how did she know that he was aspiring to be a pilot in the first place? He had to satisfy his curiosity, so he asked her.

"Word gets around." The reply was as cryptic as it was cool, and it unsettled Frederick that she probably knew more about him than he did about her.

"Where are you headed to for winter break?" He figured it was time to change the subject.

"I live in the suburbs near Detroit. My father is in the auto industry."

This was a gross understatement, but Anne still felt guarded about saying that she lived in Grosse Pointe, to be exact, and that the Elliot family had grown magnificently wealthy through the automotive business. Elliot Machinery Systems Co (or ELMSCO for short) had been supplying steering components and subsystems for automobiles since the days of the Model T Ford, and Walter Elliot was part of the third generation of this Elliot dynasty. But Walter hated to get his hands dirty, and so he mainly played the role of a passive investor, leaving the running of the company to a distant third cousin, William Elliot. As for the Elliot girls, Walter didn't care if they never worked, either – as long as they did him credit amongst the circles of America's rich and famous he mixed with, all the better to eventually secure a trophy husband. But Anne was interested in neither, and so she maintained a respectful distance from Walter. He would never be "Dad" to her, always "Father". Only Elizabeth, who was virtually crafted in his image, would ever be close enough to him to call him "Dad".

The fact that they came from the same hometown gave Anne and Frederick something new to talk about, and Anne had enough of a down-to-earth perspective to relate to the wider Detroit outside of Grosse Pointe. Unlike her father and sisters, she had never been in favor of wrapping herself up in a glass bubble, just because they happened to be born rich.

"And are you going back to Detroit for winter break as well?"

"Nope. I'm staying put right here. My sister just got married over the summer, and she and my brother-in-law are now living in Guam. He's in the Navy. And my brother's studying over in the UK." He modestly omitted that Edward was actually studying at Oxford on a Rhodes scholarship.

"How about your parents?"

Frederick looked away.

"It's just the three of us now, actually. Four, if you count my brother-in-law. So there's nobody left in Detroit to go back to. Cambridge is my home, or at least the only home I've got in the US."

So that could be why he was living in the frat house, instead of in a dorm. Just in the space of one morning, Anne had found quite a few reasons to challenge her previous assumptions about Frederick Wentworth.

"Well, it's kind of similar for me. It's just Father and my sisters at home – and my grandma. I hardly knew my mom, and my baby sis Mary never knew her at all."

Maybe it was sympathy, or maybe it was just the fact that they had more in common than they'd previously realized, but from then on, the conversation flowed nonstop, until they realized that it was practically lunchtime, and nearly half the day was gone. With finals coming up the following week, they both would have to return to their respective residences to get some studying done. Still, Frederick insisted on walking Anne back to her dorm.

"That was fun." Frederick tried to sound as casual as possible, while trying also to stave off the moment when he'd have to leave Anne at the doorstep of McCormick Hall. "Let's do this again sometime. Maybe after winter break."

Anne took full advantage of his ambiguity. Even though her attitude towards Frederick Wentworth had softened somewhat, one conversation, no matter how wonderful, would not be enough to convince her fully of his sincerity as her friend, rather than using her as a conduit to her sister as so many other guys had. He would still have to prove himself over time.

"Sure. One of my goals is to run the Boston Marathon before graduating from college. And I could definitely use a training buddy. Are you on, or not?"

"I'm on."

Whatever Anne may have thought, Frederick was fully aware of the magnitude of the challenge. Yet he didn't have to think twice before saying it.

Chapter 5 - Gasoline

Posted on 2011-06-19

December 1996, Grosse Pointe, Michigan

"Nice haircut, Anne." It was only the second day of winter break, but Charles Musgrove wasted no time in showing up at the Elliots' porch in his souped-up Honda Civic.

"Thanks. I haven't cut it this short since you took it upon yourself to cut my hair, way back when we were little kids."

They laughed, remembering that long-ago incident. Walter Elliot had considered it a necessary rite of passage for each of his girls to get a perm for the first day of first grade. Elizabeth had loved showing off her Shirley Temple ringlets, but when it came to Anne's turn, she'd dreaded the thought of the curling iron. Charles had chivalrously offered to spare her from the whole business by snipping off her pigtails, but after the event, he'd realized the shorn tufts of hair he'd produced weren't quite the effect he had been looking for. Terrified, Charles had run blubbering to his mom, begging her to salvage the situation. In the end, Lucy Musgrove had tidied Anne's hair into a chin-length bob with bangs, a la To Kill A Mockingbird. Anne had loved the style, even though Walter hadn't.

The auto-repair chain that Henry and Lucy Musgrove owned was one of the biggest customers of ELMSCO's aftermarket parts. Usually, Walter kept away from any direct dealings with ELMSCO's automotive business contacts; the auto business bored him to death, and he had no desire to expose his ignorance about the auto industry either. But in the case of the Musgroves, Walter found it convenient to associate with them. Firstly, Henry Musgrove was easy to befriend with his warm, approachable nature, and it suited Walter's grandiose notions to have an "inferior" friend to boost his ego from time to time. Secondly and perhaps more importantly, Walter could see the potential for a match between Charles Musgrove and Anne.

The Musgroves might not be at quite the level of status he would target for Elizabeth, but even when the girls were small, Walter could already see the potential difficulties in getting Anne, with her mild manners, understated tastes and intellectual bent, to conform to the usual socialite mold. So for Anne, Walter would be satisfied to settle for Charles as a backup choice; the Musgroves were certainly wealthy enough even if they didn't show it. They didn't like the pretentiousness of the country-club set, so they'd chosen to live in a middle-class suburb instead. Charles and Anne had been classmates in private school from kindergarten through junior high, and Anne had spent many afternoons playing at the Musgroves' home after school. That arrangement had suited Anne very well – she'd liked the homey atmosphere at the Musgroves', where Lucy was always baking something or other, much better than the cold, formal feel that Walter contrived at his large, historical mansion.

Charles had been a short, pudgy kid with always-unkempt hair and round metal-rimmed glasses; on top of that, he'd always been something of a mommy's boy, having been an only child until the twins Henrietta and Louisa came into the picture when he was fourteen. He had been the kind of kid everybody liked to make fun of – the bigger boys bullied him, the girls teased him, and the adults liked to pinch his cheeks. Being an easy-going, good-natured kid, mostly he'd just laughed it off. And through it all, Anne had never stopped being kind to him.

On the first day of kindergarten, Charles had promptly burst into tears once his mommy disappeared from the crowd of anxious parents by the window. Upon seeing Charles in distress, Anne had scampered all the way across the classroom to comfort him, ending up bawling in sympathy herself.

During first grade, there had been a period of time when the bigger boys threw Charles' lunch into the mud every day. Afterwards, Anne had always come to Charles to share her lunch with him. And Charles, in gratitude, had told her that he would marry her when they grew up, wrapping a worm around her finger as an engagement ring.

In second grade, Anne had convinced their teacher to put on An American Tail for the school play, and to cast Charles in the lead role as Fievel. Naturally, Anne had played Tanya, and the chemistry evident in their rendition of Somewhere Out There had brought the house down. Every year after that, they had reprised the roles until they outgrew them.

As they grew older, Charles had learned how to look after Anne a little, too. He'd badgered his parents to always keep a set of his old play clothes for Anne, so she could change out of those ridiculously fancy dresses and heels that Walter made his girls wear to school when she was at the Musgroves'. On some afternoons, Charles had brought Anne to join Henry at their Detroit garage, instead of going home. In exchange for Anne's help with his homework, Charles had introduced Anne to the Musgroves' extensive collection of classic and sports cars, which included a 1940s Bugatti, a '50s Cadillac Eldorado with the trademark tail fins, a Mercedes 300SL with the gullwing doors, and a spanking new Porsche 911 Targa, amongst others. At school, Anne had always failed art because she used too many lines and not enough colors; yet by the time they were in fifth grade, Anne could draw a detailed reproduction of just about any car in the Musgrove garage, and add her own original design details to boot. If she hadn't gotten interested in aircraft, Anne would definitely have ended up in the automotive business. After all, the Elliots had started out with gasoline in their blood, and in the current generation, all of it had gone to Anne.

"Let's watch a movie," Charles suggested. "I know The People vs. Larry Flynt would be right up your alley, but since that isn't out yet, why don't you humor me with Jerry Maguire?"

Anne shrugged. She wasn't particularly in the mood for a romantic comedy, but it didn't feel right to brush Charles off when coming to see her was practically the first thing he did for winter break.

"OK, but on one condition. I still haven't properly seen this baby of yours yet." Anne gestured at the Civic, though they both knew very well what she meant. "After the movie, can we go to the garage? It'd be great if you could show me your latest handiwork."

That was how they ended up lying side-by-side on the garage floor, looking up at the undercarriage of the jacked-up car as Charles explained the various modifications he'd made. Over the years, they had done this many times before, and it had all been perfectly innocent. Yet this time, Anne felt that things were different, uneasy. Perhaps it was because they were older now, or perhaps it had something to do with how she was suddenly conscious of just how tight a space they were in. Somehow, it didn't seem quite so innocent anymore, and Anne wasn't sure she liked that feeling.

High school and college had done Charles plenty of favors; somewhere along the way, he'd shed the pudgy look and become fairly good-looking in a laid-back kind of way. Berkeley suited him well; the relaxed hippie culture appealed to him, and to the Musgroves' consternation, he hadn't cut his hair all semester, so it was long enough to pull back into a stubby ponytail. California being a hotbed for the swing revival of the '90s, Charles had also been fully swept up by the swing and jitterbug craze. It didn't take him long to look up the local swing clubs; by the next time he visited the Elliots, he'd put together a series of swing events to take Anne to over winter break.

Anne was no stranger to dancing; she couldn't possibly be when Walter had deemed it appropriate for each of his girls to have a debutante ball when they reached the age of sixteen. But Anne was starting to find the whole business of partner dancing stressful rather than enjoyable, especially when combined with all the social dynamics of the high school and college dating scene. At eighteen going on nineteen, Anne still wasn't sure if she knew what she wanted in a life partner just yet, and though she knew her thinking was conservative by today's social norms, she wasn't comfortable with getting too intimate with anyone unless she was sure she wanted to be serious about the relationship. Dancing in itself might be simple, but one thing usually led to another and especially where Charles was concerned, she didn't want to start giving him ideas. It could ruin their friendship, perhaps forever, if they entered into a dating relationship before they – she, at least – were ready.

All the tension between Charles and Anne came to a head the first time they went for swing together. To start with, Charles was disappointed when Anne asked him to let Mary tag along. After practicing all the swing and Lindy steps with her friends at boarding school, Mary was more than eager to show off her newfound skills. But Charles didn't like the idea of adding a whiny fourteen-year-old to their party at all. This was to be his special time with Anne, and it would be all too short before they both went back to college again.

The event kicked off with a simple dance lesson to orientate everyone to the basic steps of swing and Lindy Hop. Charles led Anne to a corner of the room – he wanted to be the one to show Anne how to swing, so much for the instructor. That left Anne with her hands full between trying to subtly maneuver Charles into following the instructor and paying less attention to her, while also getting the feel of the rollicking beat of swing music, which was unlike the more structured classical partner dances she was used to. It was easy enough to do the one-two-rock-step of basic swing, but when it evolved into the complicated Lindy Hop, Anne decided she'd had enough.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I guess I'm just not cut out to do swing. Why don't you dance with Mary for a change? You'll have more fun with a partner who's closer to your level of ability, and I'm sure she's probably tired of sitting at the sidelines."

Talk about Hobson's choice – if it wasn't Mary pouting, then it was Charles, since Mary wanted to dance, period, and Charles wanted to dance with Anne. Still, Anne resolutely sat out the rest of the evening. Mary could have her fun, and as for Charles, he'd been doing swing all semester without her, so he should know what to do. To everyone else, the couple on the dance floor was perfect – Charles and Mary had perfect technique, perfect timing and at least as far as their physical movements were concerned, both of them were completely in sync with each other.

One-two, three-and-four; five-six; seven-and-eight. Charles and Mary whirled around and around, faster and fancier as the night wore on. It was only Anne who noticed that far from paying full attention to his partner, Charles was taking every opportunity to sneak a glance at her.

For all the subsequent times Charles went for swing that winter, Anne begged out, and Mary was more than happy to take her place instead.

It was an Elliot family tradition to invite the Musgroves over for Christmas dinner every year. Walter relished the opportunity to showcase his hospitality and the fineness of the Elliot home, while Anne and Mary welcomed the extra warmth and activity that chased away the emptiness, making the Elliot mansion feel more like a real home even if it was only for one day every year.

Every year, they would tuck into a sumptuous spread, then open the presents over dessert. Being the only kids left in the Elliot and Musgrove families now that even Mary considered herself quite grown up, the twins were the first to launch into the pile under the Christmas tree, leaving a colorful trail of torn wrapping paper across the floor. They were at the age when everything had to be pink, frilly and princess-y, so Anne got them pink-and-purple matching ballet tutus, which the little girls insisted on wearing immediately. With Hetty and Lulu happily trotting around smearing chocolate from the log cake into their tulle skirts, it was time for Charles and the Elliot girls to exchange their gifts.

Anne had been apprehensive at first when opening the fat package from Charles, but when she saw the hippie-style fringed leather vest inside, she was delighted.

"Thank you," she breathed. It was the easiest moment she'd had with Charles in the past couple of weeks.

"I'm glad you like it. I wanted to bring a piece of Berkeley to you."

Charles couldn't wait to rip the wrapping paper off the flat, boxy package Anne handed to him. It was the current edition of the NASCAR Playstation game. He clapped Anne on the shoulder in a brotherly gesture.

"Holy cow! I've been waiting for this for ages. Anne, how do you always know exactly what I'm looking for?"

In that moment, things went back to what they'd been before, with the same easy camaraderie they'd had growing up almost as brother and sister over the years. They were Fievel and Tanya again. Anne was relieved – she wasn't sure she was ready to cope with anything more from Charles just yet.

Chapter 6 – Anne vs. Elliot

Posted on 2011-06-22

When spring semester started, it didn't take long for Frederick to become a regular fixture at Anne's dorm. If anyone asked him, he could come up with any number of excuses for spending most of his time with Anne: they were taking many of the same classes, so there was synergy in doing homework together; their marathon training was a heavy, time-consuming process; and anyway, hanging around in a girls' dorm was all the better for treating himself to some eye candy, right? All those reasons were true, to varying extents. But the real reasons that Frederick conveniently refused to admit, even to himself, were that he enjoyed Anne's company more than anyone else's, and that there were times when he found the constant partying at the frat house too distracting, so he needed someplace else to escape to in order to focus.

Anne's floor mates were pretty quick on the uptake to notice the new addition to their community, and they never let go any opportunity to tease her about it.

"Say, did I just see Hunky Freddy around here again? Anne, I had no idea you knew magic! What kind of spell did you cast, anyway, to turn our humble abode into a hangout for him?"

"Well, Fred's a hot one for sure. Reckon there's any chance he'll ask me out for a date?"

"Nat, don't be daft. Anyone can see he only has eyes for Anne."

"Nonsense. He's just a friend." Anne brushed the whole matter away, even though the others looked skeptical.

Everybody saw them as an item way before they started admitting it; and when Anne and Frederick finally acknowledged they'd somehow graduated from being "just friends" to being something more, they couldn't pinpoint an exact moment or incident when it happened. It could have been many instances, yet it wasn't precisely any one of them.

It could have been the instance when Frederick stopped denying that whatever he was doing with Anne actually constituted dating.

"Dude." Frederick felt somebody elbowing him. "Since when did you start hooking up with the Elliot bird? Going up-market, huh?"

"Her name is Anne," said Frederick tightly. "And I'd thank you not to talk about Anne like that ever again."

"Hey, why so uptight, man?" Everyone within earshot turned to stare at Frederick as though he'd suddenly sprouted two heads. Such ribbing was commonplace in the frat house, and for the most part everyone took it with good humor, knowing that for the most part, no malice was intended. And if anyone was going to start acting priggish about it, Frederick Wentworth was the last person they expected to do so, cool cat that he was.

Frederick himself didn't know which offended him more – the slightly lewd connotations of the term "hooking up", or the insinuation that he was dating Anne because of her family money. The truth was that he really didn’t care all that much about whether Anne was rich or poor; in fact, he respected Anne all the more after he found out that she was actually putting herself through college.

"Your dad must be really proud of you," he'd said to her one day, with no idea of the minefield he was stepping into.

"Father? I don't think so. Maybe if I was a boy, it'd be different. If I wanted to please him, I should've gone to a women's liberal arts college and come out as the perfect Stepford wife to somebody. In fact, when I told him I wanted to study engineering, he totally flipped out. He said if I wanted to be ambitious as a woman, there wasn't any reason why a liberal arts education shouldn't be good enough for me – after all, Hillary Clinton went to Wellesley College and look where she is now.

"And what he totally doesn't get is that it's not even a question of what's good or not good enough – far be it from me to make a value judgment about that. All I know is what I want to do about my future, and I definitely don't want to waste four good years of college doing something I'm not passionate about."

"Well, you're here. So I guess your dad must've finally come round in the end."

"Nope. He never did."

"Then how did you end up getting here?"

"I got a scholarship. You can't possibly see anyone giving financial aid to the daughter of Walter Elliot, could you?"

Frederick ignored the continued jabbing and prodding from the guys in the frat house. He might be offended, but he wouldn't let them have the satisfaction of getting more of a rise out of him than they had already. And it finally dawned on him that no matter what the others said, he couldn't bring himself to say outright that he and Anne were not dating.

It could have been the point when Frederick and Anne merged seamlessly into each other's groups of friends.

Although she'd never had a thing for basketball in the past, Anne found herself tagging along to Frederick's Saturday games on campus. Sometimes the guys would let Anne join in, ignoring the imbalance in numbers since Anne was too short to give Frederick and his team much of an advantage anyway. But Anne knew all too well that she'd only be in the way if she played, so she never played for very long and spent most of the time at the sidelines.

The one or two occasions when Anne and her girlfriends found time to go downtown to Boston during the weekends, Frederick parked himself in a cafe with a book and nursed a single coffee for the whole afternoon while the girls scrounged in Filene's Basement for bargains. It was a good way of sneaking in some studying without being seen by any of the frat boys. And he'd join the girls and their boyfriends for dinner afterward. Conscious of his efforts to save money, Anne would steer everyone towards diners or Chinese food rather than fine restaurants, and MIT was an egalitarian enough community that nobody really minded; after all, most of them were living on student budgets anyway. To Anne, that was a refreshing change from the preppy, highbrow environment of boarding school.

Most of the time, the girls would call in pizza and eat in on Friday nights, and Frederick would drop in to have his fill. Anne often joked that he was eating them out of house and home, but he knew better than to take it too seriously, especially since he always paid his own way, covering Anne as well while he was at it. He knew the real cue for him to leave was when the girls popped a DVD into the player and started sprawling around in the lounge to watch some soppy chick flick or other.

Of course, college life in Boston wouldn't be complete without going to Fenway Park to watch the Red Sox, and that was one of the things the guys and girls could all do together. Every time they went to a game, Frederick would buy just one corn dog, and there was an unspoken understanding that Anne was the only one entitled to take a bite out of it.

It could have been the time when Frederick declared that his allegiance was to Anne, and not to the Elliots.

The weekend at the start of spring break, Anne let Frederick into her dorm on Friday night after everyone on her floor had left either for home or for their respective vacations, and smuggled him into the girls' bathroom. Their job was to douse the entire bathroom with water, and then scour every single surface thoroughly with disinfectant.

"Can you tell me why we're doing this, again? Don't you guys have a janitor or somebody?"

"It's Mary." This had to be the umpteenth time Anne repeated the story ever since her sisters had first hatched the idea of spending spring break in Cambridge. "Ever since she was little, Mary's always been afraid of catching some bug or other. I guess it's got to do with how insecure she's been, growing up without Mom. Anyways, she won't go into a bathroom unless it's totally spotless. Just one black spot and she'll freak out." Anne gave a resigned sigh. "Well, they're family. And they're coming tomorrow morning, so it's a little late for me to do a Houdini and vanish into thin air."

Elizabeth had been the one to put together the entire scheme in the first place, back when they'd all been at home for winter break.

"Anne, I never knew you were so sneaky. We all thought you were either stupid or crazy to go to a monastery like MIT, you know. But it looks like you were the one who had the best ideas after all. How could you be so selfish? You totally have to introduce us to all the geeks you met over there – you can't possibly keep them all to yourself! Who knows when they'll make it rich – look at Bill Gates! I know – I'm going to visit you for spring break. After all, you won't have any other plans, so there won't be any problem for you to play host to your dear sis, right?"

"If you're going, I want to go too," Mary had whined. "You always have all the fun, and nobody ever remembers about me. Don't give me that look, Liz. You always say I'm too ugly to ever get a boyfriend, but you just wait and see!"

That was when Anne knew all her hopes of doing anything exciting for spring break had been dashed to pieces. She'd have no choice but to play host to not just one, but two sisters for an entire week.

Preparing for Elizabeth and Mary's arrival was the business of an entire night, for after the bathroom was done there were also Anne's dorm room and the common lounge on the floor to tackle. Anne's roommate Lorin Smith had kindly agreed to let Anne borrow her bed while she was away for the week, so Anne busied herself giving the bed frames the once-over with furniture polish and dressing the twin beds with hotel-grade linens sent especially from home, while Frederick pumped air into a blow-up mattress on the floor.

"Won't you join us, like maybe for dinner tomorrow night or something?" Anne hoped that having Frederick around, for some of the time at least, would provide some variety and relief for her. The prospect of spending a solid week with nobody but her sisters for company was extremely daunting.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Entertaining Elliots has never been my cup of tea, so I'll give it a pass."

"Ouch. Have you forgotten my last name or something?" Anne knew exactly what he meant, but she deliberately put on her best crestfallen look to provoke him into apologizing.

"You're different. I think of you as Anne, not an Elliot. Sorry, OK?" He teasingly gave her a light peck on the tip of her nose and she wrinkled it in mock disgust.

After they'd worked into the wee hours of Friday night cleaning up the dorm, after Anne had gone all the way to Boston Logan Airport to receive her sisters in a limo taxi, and after she'd given them a thorough walk-through of the MIT and Harvard campuses, as well as driving them all around Cambridge, it was Elizabeth and Mary who did the Houdini act. By Sunday night, they'd checked into a five-star hotel in downtown Boston, leaving Anne alone in the dressed-up dorm room.

Frederick came by as soon as he saw Anne's email telling him that her sisters had left.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Too many things. Depends on who you ask. Liz can't sleep on any bed smaller than a queen size, Mary can't stand the smell of the bathroom, both of them want a bathtub and won't use the shower stalls. And of course, it's easier for them to start building up their summer wardrobe at Filene's than to pick up the next tech billionaire by hanging around Harvard and MIT during spring break."

"Well, at least you have your bed back." Frederick started squishing the air out of the blow-up mattress. Anne still looked so forlorn that he couldn't resist giving her a hug. "And you still have me."

"Yeah," Anne hugged back, tighter than she realized. "I have you."

Or to Anne at least, it could have been the moment when she figured out the Lindy Hop without any real need for an instructor.

It was one of those times when everyone had a lot of pent-up energy after a whole week of being cooped up studying for midterms. With Anne's 19th birthday coming up the following week, they'd all decided to have an early celebration over the weekend, with a trip downtown for dinner followed by a swing party.

Anne wasn't sure where Frederick got his swing skills from, since this was the first time they'd ever gone dancing together – they'd simply had too many other things to do. Most likely, he'd picked it up at the frat house. But any jealousy Anne felt towards whichever girls Frederick might have danced with before was relatively short-lived, since that night they were so naturally paired that nobody else dared to even try supplanting Anne as his partner.

Before long, they were actually doing the Lindy Hop. Anne knew her footwork was probably garbage, but it didn't matter anymore. All she cared about was the thrill of whirling around and around, with no one but Frederick in her consciousness.

Chapter 7 - Pacts and Persuasion

Posted on 2011-06-28

As summer drew near, Frederick was looking forward to the experience of flying. He'd decided that instead of going to summer school, he would head down to Texas to get his private pilot license. To earn the money to pay for his flight lessons, he was planning to get himself a part-time gig pumping aviation fuel for private planes. It wasn't just that he was hungry for the experience of getting airborne; he also wanted to maximize his chances of getting a pilot slot, and clocking in some flying hours of his own would be helpful.

Though they knew it was a childish practice, Anne and Frederick ended up making all kinds of pacts before they parted for the summer. They promised to send each other email every day; to keep up with their respective running distances; for Frederick to bring Anne's pig, now reduced to a sagging frame of foam-board, up with him when he did his first solo; and so on.

"Do you want to spit in your hand and shake on it?" Anne grinned.

"Naw. Didn't you outgrow all that by fourth grade already?"

When Anne saw Frederick off for the summer, he was sporting a new bumper sticker on his creaky rust-brown '86 Pontiac, a gift from her. It read: "I love the smell of jet fuel in the morning."

Charles was all too eager to welcome Anne home when she finished summer school in August. They'd have even less time together than during winter break, for the fall semester would be starting in less than three weeks. There was something he wanted to say to her, and he'd been gathering up his courage for months on end to bring up the subject. It proved unfortunate, though, that he chose his own front porch as the place to bring it up.

"Say, Anne, um, do you … have you ever thought it possible that we could be more than friends?"

"Charles, I'm sorry. We'll always be the best of friends. In fact you're the best brother I could ever have. To my mind, we'll always be Fievel and Tanya. But that's the thing, you see - there's somebody out there, someone whom I love, not as a brother. Charles… I don't know how to say this, but - I already have a boyfriend." She could barely get out the last few words, and it was almost like a whisper when she said it.

This was the last thing that Charles had expected to hear. After all, hadn't he been the guy who'd been closest to her up until they went to college? Still, he had to fashion some kind of a response for civility's sake, lame though it might be.

"Who… who is he?" Charles knew he probably looked and sounded as deflated as he felt.

"Um… someone I met in college." Anne rarely mumbled, but this was one of the most uneasy conversations she'd ever had, especially with Charles.

Their awkward silence was broken by two small figures shooting out from under the porch, and running right past them into the house. They could hear Louisa's voice yelling, "Mommy! Mommy! Guess what? Anne has a boyfriend!"

"Well, isn't that sweet." Lucy Musgrove appeared in the doorway. "Anne, dear, why don't you tell us about him? And are we going to have the honour of seeing him soon?"

Before Anne could reply, the twins, who had been trailing behind their mother, cut in with their sing-song voices, "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a golden carriage!"

It couldn't have been a worse time for that interruption, though Anne reminded herself that Mrs. Musgrove probably had no idea of the situation she'd just walked in on, and that the twins were probably too young to fully understand the conversation they'd been eavesdropping on.

"I - I'm sorry, but maybe it'd be better to talk about this some other day. You see, I… I haven't told my family about him yet. And - no, he isn't in town. He's got a summer job in Texas, pumping aviation fuel. It's to pay for his flight school."

For the longest time, nobody said anything. Mrs. Musgrove could sense that definitely, there was more to the situation than met the eye, for Anne was as white as a sheet and Charles just slouched there, speechless, with the most pitiful hangdog expression on his face.

Finally, Anne stood and made to leave. She was relieved that this time, she'd come from somewhere else and driven there by herself, rather than the usual practice of Charles picking her up from her home. At least that spared Charles from the awkwardness of having to see her home, after all that had transpired between them that day.

"What a joke, Anne! I never pegged you for playing such a brilliant prank - imagine, you having a fling with some guy working in a gas station? That's a hoot if there ever was one!"

There had never been any point in explaining or reasoning as far as Elizabeth was concerned, and Anne knew that now was definitely not the time to start. And unlike all those past times when she'd lost it at Elizabeth, she now had the maturity to act on her knowledge that walking away was the only way to get out of such situations with her head held high. It was lucky that Mary was spending that summer at a school friend's summer house in Martha's Vineyard; at least she had only one sister at home to contend with her over the issue.

"It's not like that, and you know it. In any case, I'm not going to discuss the situation with you any further."

"Anne! Whatever happened to your sense of -"

By the time Elizabeth found her tongue to come back with her standard retort, she found that Anne had already left the room and she was talking to thin air.

"Anne." Walter hated giving fatherly lectures, or in general, dealing with any kind of disciplinary matters pertaining to the girls. So when he summoned her to his study, Anne knew it had to be serious.

"It has been brought to my attention that you have been flirting around with some young punk working in a gas station. Is this true?"

"No, Father." Anne hesitated. "I mean, yes, I am seeing somebody. But it isn't like that. He's in my year at MIT, and also planning to major in aerospace studies. And he's an ROTC scholar."

"I see. And what is this young man doing for the summer?"

"He's going to flight school in Texas, so he can clock up more flying hours to improve his chances of becoming a military pilot."

"Then what is this whole business about him pumping gas? Can you possibly offer any explanation for the rumor that's going around?"

"Well, Frederick is pumping gas - but... but it's not what Liz thinks it is. He's working at an FBO¹ over the summer. And yes, his job is to refuel private planes. It's to pay for his flying lessons."

"Frederick, is it now?" Walter fixed Anne with a long, hard stare full of disgust and derision. "Well, well. I hope I do not need to remind you again of your duty as a member of the Elliot family. If you must have your fun, see to it that you don't ever disgrace the Elliot name. If you get pregnant, you're out. And I don't want to hear any more rumors. You are going to end it, and end it quietly. I don't want to hear a single word about it from anyone. Is that clear?"

"Yessir." Anne just wanted to end the entire conversation, though she had no intention at all of doing what he said.

"Anne, child. Tell me about your young man."

If there was anyone in her family that Anne thought of as safe, it would have to be Grandma Stevenson. Ever since their mother had died in childbirth when Mary was born, Grandma had been just like a mother to the Elliot girls. Grandma lived in a smaller house near the Elliots' home in Grosse Pointe, and when the girls were growing up, Grandma had been the one who'd dropped them off and picked them up from school; fussed over them whenever they were ill; blown over scraped knees; and oohed and aahed at their little art projects and the A's that Anne had scored in school. And Grandma was the only person in the family who had a soft spot for Anne, because Anne was the one who reminded her most of her late daughter. To Grandma, Anne was like Elizabeth Elliot nee Stevenson reborn; and she loved Anne most because of it.

"Well, where do I start? His name, I guess. His name is Frederick Wentworth. And he's in my year at MIT, and he's really smart. In any math course, he beats me hands down, and he's been giving me a good run for my money in design and mechanics class. We started out as rivals, and then we were friends - and then, well, Frederick's the only guy out there who likes me for being me, you know? So among all the guys who've asked me out, well, he's the only one I ever really wanted to be with."

"And what about dear Charles, then?"

"Charles? How did you know?"

"Mrs. Musgrove had a word with me about it when she dropped by day before yesterday. Poor boy, he's really upset about the whole thing. Anne, are you sure you won't reconsider?"

Although Anne felt sorry for Charles, now that she knew just how cut up he was about the whole thing, she couldn't help also feeling a little irritated with him for telling his mother about it. After all, nothing had ever started between them, and if he hadn't told, the matter would have remained strictly between the two of them without anybody else having to know.

"Grandma, you know I've always thought of Charles as a brother. And I don't know - it wouldn't be fair to him for us to get together, and then for me - or for him - to find out that actually we wanted something else, or someone else. We were still young, I guess. And besides, he didn't actually ask me to be his girlfriend until now, and - and I'm already with Frederick."

"Well, you're still young yet. And you still have your whole future ahead of you. There's no guarantee that things won't change in a year, or in a few years. It won't be long before you have to start thinking about how you'll be carrying on the Elliot legacy. And no matter what anyone else says, you must believe in yourself that you can do the Elliot name proud.

"This young man, is he financially stable? I hear he's been taking on a summer job to finance his flying lessons?"

"Yes. That's true. And I don't think that's anything to be ashamed of. After all, he's earning an honest living, and not all of us were fortunate enough to be born with the resources to chase our dreams. In fact, I admire him all the more because he hasn't got anything handed to him on a platter - no parents, no family wealth, nothing. Everything he's got so far has been earned through his own hard work, and that's really an achievement. Not many people have that kind of independence, especially when they're just 19 years old. Every day, I look at Frederick and I think about how blessed I am to not have those kinds of worries - that even if I am funding my own studies, at least I have the security of a home, a family and a business to fall back on."

"But have you thought about what will happen to you after college? Someday you'll graduate, and you'll have to make a decision about your future. You've had so many advantages when you were growing up, Anne, and it'd be a waste to throw all of that away. Everything we've got today is only possible because of the hard work your grandfather, and your great-grandfather before that, put in to build up ELMSCO. So you have a duty to come back, and to carry ELMSCO on for the next generation. And the reason why I never said a word about you studying engineering is exactly because you're the only one of your generation with the potential to really make a difference to ELMSCO. You're intelligent, capable and responsible.

"I'm not questioning your young man's character, or honor, or whatever you young people want to call it these days. Of course, now it's easy for you to say, you're still in school and being together is easy for you when both of you are living on campus. But after graduation, can it still be the same? If you come back to ELMSCO, can your father accept Frederick? Once you marry someone, you marry their family - and this applies to Frederick as well as to you. So you also have to ask yourself if Frederick can accept your father - you know already how your father feels about him.

"And if you don't come back to ELMSCO, what kind of a life can Frederick provide for you? Whatever standard of living he can achieve, especially in the beginning, will be a far cry from everything you have been used to here. Think about that - and whether you can accept it."

All this was totally new to Anne - marriage had been far from her thoughts, even after she'd started officially going out with Frederick. At their age, weren't they entitled to live in the present, after all? Still, none of what Grandma said, legitimate though it might be, could change Anne's mind about sticking with Frederick. She knew that she had never been more in her element than after she went to MIT and met Frederick, and no number of obstacles they might face in getting started with adult life would change the fact that it was all worthwhile.

"I have every faith in Frederick. He's driven enough to give himself a realistic shot at achieving his goals, and as for his career, the Air Force will take care of that. He's on an ROTC scholarship, after all."

"Then you have even more to think about. In the military, he could be posted somewhere that you can't go to, and then you'll have to cope with the household, even children maybe, all on your own. And you can't be sure if he'll ever come back. That also means for sure that you can't join ELMSCO and be with him at the same time.

"I'm not asking you to make a decision now. But you're still young, and it's wise to keep your options open. Don't rush to tie yourself down, because when you're older, more options will come your way. So all I'm asking you to do is to keep an open mind so you can take advantage of those options when they come up. You're right about one thing - you grew up very lucky indeed. Don't negate all the advantages you grew up with - it wouldn't be worth it."

By the time she was due to return to school, Anne was thankful she'd driven her car home from Cambridge instead of flying back. It wasn't just about saving money - the drive, which she spaced out over two days, allowed her to escape all the lecturing, chiding and prodding a little earlier.

Besides, Anne was desperate to go back to Frederick. She'd never felt this alone in her life before - in the past, Grandma had always been on her side, but now it seemed that nobody at home was at all in favor of her relationship with Frederick, not even Grandma. Anne now knew that if she and Frederick were to have a future together, she'd have to be financially independent from Walter, and she'd have to start thinking about how she could strike out on her own after graduation. It was a new thought, but one that she doggedly clung to. All of it would be worthwhile in the end, she was sure.

And while making that resolution to become independent of her family, Anne resolutely kept silent about Frederick. She'd make sure that until they secured their future together, her family members would never hear the name of Frederick Wentworth again. That way, they couldn't pour more cold water on her, or on them.

¹An FBO (Fixed Base Operator) is a facility catering to the needs of private aircraft. Typically, it provides space to park, service, and re-fuel the aircraft, as well as lounge and conference facilities for the passengers and private aviators.

Chapter 8 - Unladen, Empty, Hungry

Posted on 2011-07-02

Fall 1997 - Spring 1999

Summer and sophomore year changed Anne and Frederick in ways they couldn't have imagined before. They both returned from the summer with a new level of gravitas; Frederick because he felt more adult than ever now that he had his private pilot license, and Anne because she felt a new kind of hunger with her recent resolution to carve a path for herself outside the Elliot family.

To add to their adult feeling, sophomore year was when both of them moved to their respective off-campus apartments. Even before Walter's threat about Anne getting pregnant, she already knew that the consequences of an unplanned pregnancy would be pretty dire for both of them; consequently, she insisted on not living with Frederick, and he respected her too much to argue on that point. So, Frederick moved in with his buddies Thomas Harville and James Benwick, while Anne lived with her freshman roommate Lorin Smith, as well as Jenna Anderson and Natalie White from their floor. For Frederick, it was actually a relief to be able to move out of the frat house, because his ROTC commitments were piling up - for one, he had to study for extra tests to qualify for the officer course in junior year, as well as to compete for pilot slots. Anne was eager to help Frederick by offering him the type of home support he'd missed out on in his teen years - she taught herself how to cook, and made extra portions for him so he wouldn't have to worry about meals. She offered to do his laundry and housework, even ironing his uniforms, but he flatly refused.

"A man needs his dignity," he protested.

Slowly, the carefree aura that had pervaded their freshman year faded somewhat over the course of their sophomore and junior years. The weekend pick-up basketball games and teen flick movie nights gave way to more serious pursuits as they started spending increasing amounts of time in the lab and the machine shop. But in spite of their mounting workload, they still seized every opportunity to enjoy and experience life.

The first time Anne went to a military ball as Frederick's date was also the first time he saw her in something that wasn't running gear, wool, canvas, leather, cotton or denim. Clad in a floor-length ivory cocktail dress, simple yet elegant in its design, Anne looked beautiful in her own unique way. Previously, Anne would never have thought herself pretty by any stretch of the imagination - after all, she didn't have the kind of leggy, buxom model-looks that Elizabeth had. But when she stood in front of the mirror that evening, she realized that looking good wasn't an all-or-nothing game. That if she took away Elizabeth as a yardstick, she could actually appreciate her own finer points - the fact that even if she was petite, her figure was perfectly proportioned; and that her features were attractive in an understated but refined kind of way. She might not be the type of girl who turned heads the moment she stepped into a club or a bar; but she could be the kind of girl that people would imagine dancing the role of a fairy queen in the ballet, when she was decked out as she was that night. In the way they complemented each other perfectly - Frederick being the picture of energy and vigor, set against Anne's gentle but dignified bearing - there were already hints of the couple they could become in the future: the dashing, daring military officer accompanied by his regal, queenly wife. Whenever Frederick thought of that image, he puffed up with pride; superficial though it may be, it suited him all the more that they looked so good together.

Spring break was an opportunity for them to explore those places off the beaten track that they wouldn't ever be able to entice their families to visit. Of course, some of the places on their wish-lists, like Europe, were out of the question from a cost point of view; but with a little creativity and the right sense of adventure, they could still put together trips which gave them memories for a lifetime. In sophomore year, they hiked a section of the Appalachian Trail with their friends simply because it was exciting yet nearby; in junior year, they decided to venture a little further and fly budget to LA, then drive to Las Vegas, deliberately making a detour to pass by the aircraft boneyards in the Mojave Desert. The idea of going to Vegas came out of Frederick reaching his 21st birthday; he celebrated his coming-of-age by gambling away $20 just because he could, then walking off because he didn't think it made sense to lose any more money like that. There were so many things they wanted to do, ranging from small-scale adventures like visiting the New England countryside towns to larger-scale ideas like mountain biking down the slickrock trails of Moab, and never enough time or money to do them all.

No matter how much time they spent together, Frederick never ceased to be intrigued by the many faces of Anne Elliot - the heavenly fairy queen at the military balls; the intensely focused competitor when she ran; the creative mastermind giving a wacky touch to all their design projects; and the free spirit who enjoyed nature because she was an artist at heart - Frederick could hardly believe that all these personae actually belonged to the same girl. She was sassy, spunky, sometimes too smart-mouthed for her own good; yet sweet, considerate, always graceful and tactful; full of passion and the love of life. She broadened his horizons more than he could ever imagine by challenging him, yet complementing him at the same time - she thought of ideas he'd never have come up with on his own, while also being behind him all the way in his quest to achieve his goals.

Meanwhile, Anne was also fighting her own battle. After spending her formative years steeped in the Elliot lifestyle, coming to MIT was like stepping into a whole new world, whose value system matched hers more than the Elliot way ever had. In this world, people were judged by their passion and ability, rather than by their family pedigree or wealth; people were challenged to push boundaries, often achieving more than they ever thought they could, rather than being hemmed in by endless outdated traditions. Having had a taste of this world, she wanted to spend the rest of her life this way, and she had to start thinking about her own future beyond college to make it happen.

More than once, Anne found herself wishing that she had the single-mindedness of Frederick, who'd homed in on his profession for life when he was sixteen and never looked back. She'd majored in aerospace engineering out of a vague curiosity to learn about the thinking behind how different aircraft were designed, but when she delved deeper into dissecting the industry, she found that there was no end to the hierarchy of systems and sub-systems that make up an aircraft, and that whatever she ended up doing as an engineer, she'd probably be working on only a tiny part of whichever system it was. It motivated her to think of the big picture - working on designing a minute part was boring, until she was able to place how it influenced the overall performance of the aircraft it was intended for. That led her towards the idea of getting a job with an airframe manufacturer.

Getting summer internships served double duty for Anne - not only did the stints help to improve her career prospects, they also minimized her time in the Elliot world to just a fortnight-long sliver of summer in August. She went to Lockheed after sophomore year, and to Boeing after junior year; and at the end of that summer, she was so full of the Boeing 747X and Sonic Cruiser¹ concepts that she finally knew exactly where she wanted to go after graduation, if only they would have her.

Much as they would have wanted to spend whatever time they could together, Anne and Frederick came to accept that their summers apart were a necessary step towards achieving their dreams. After all, every time they could fall back on the secure knowledge that they'd enjoy their respective new challenges for the summer so much that it wouldn't seem long before fall came around, and then they'd become a central part of each other's lives again.

Whatever time Anne spent in the Elliot world became more bearable now that it was relatively short, and that the matter of Anne's relationship with Frederick had been conveniently forgotten by everyone in the Elliot household. Anne took care to say absolutely nothing about Frederick to anyone at home - even if it was a lie by omission, it was convenient to let everyone fancy that it had been a passing fling that was now not worth mentioning.

By the summer after sophomore year, Charles had gotten over Anne, too. It wasn't in his nature to brood about things for too long; he went back to Berkeley and his swing dancing, and soon came to terms with the reality that he and Anne couldn't possibly have worked out, even if Anne had been single. Even as children, Anne had always been the one with the ideas; she was more driven, more curious, more adventurous at heart; and over time, it became clear that his life and Anne's were taking completely different directions. He'd never thought of doing anything after college except to go home and work in the family business; it was in his nature to do whatever was comfortable. He liked having company, and though he wanted to settle down someday but not just yet, it would have given him a sense of security to think himself attached to a girl from home, someone he'd grown up with. Based on their past, Anne had seemed like the natural candidate. Yet just one year on, it was clear from the excitement Anne showed about her internships and her new life in aviation that she wasn't ever likely to be satisfied with confining her life to the Musgrove home and garage, even though she said very little about exactly what she planned to do after college.

Anne never regretted her choice of Frederick over Charles. Close as she and Charles had been in childhood, Charles didn't inspire her the way Frederick did. There was something magnetic about Frederick's hunger, energy and drive that made everything she did just a little bit more exciting when she did it with him; it was as though some of his energy rubbed off on her as well. Even though they'd been long aware of their different family circumstances and the Elliots' disapproval of their relationship, all that made no difference to them; they'd met as equals, and in their life at MIT, the only life that mattered to them now, they always were equals. The new life Anne had built for herself since she'd gone to MIT was inextricably linked with Frederick, and that was the way she wanted it to be forever.

Training for the Boston Marathon wasn't easy, because of the strict qualifying times. Just because they could run 12 miles in under two hours didn't mean that they'd be able to run 26 miles in four hours; and even if they could meet the four-hour marathon mark, a respectable standard from an amateur standpoint, they still had to shave off a considerable amount of time from that performance to meet the bar for the Boston Marathon, which was set at 3 hours 10 minutes for men, and 3 hours 40 minutes for women.

Soon enough, Anne and Frederick realized that they couldn't possibly do exactly the same runs together and both qualify. They worked out a system where Frederick either gave Anne a head start or covered more distance in the same time; but even though they didn't start together, they always made it a point to finish together. It didn't take Frederick long to see why Anne was always so focused when she ran; the discipline they needed in monitoring their split timings was critical when they had such specific milestones to meet.

In October of junior year, they ran the Bay State Marathon as a qualifying event for Boston. The atmosphere was electrifying - an entire legion of people milling around in the morning light, the loudspeakers bellowing announcements, peppy music streaming from the PA system - even at the crack of dawn, the whole world was more than alive, it was raring to go. For Frederick, this being the first road race of this scale he'd attended, it was easy to get caught up in the excitement of the moment. He'd planned to follow the measured pace of the 3:10 pacer, but with all the energy he soaked up, what was the point of restraining himself when he felt that he could do more? Letting himself flow with nature, he edged past the pacer and surged ahead. The feeling was exhilarating.

10 miles later, Frederick was lost. He hadn't kept track of his split times, having simply gone with the flow at every point in the race up until then. To him, he'd been coasting along, but he had totally no idea of the pace that he was running at. It wasn't until Anne, who had been following the 3:20 pacer, picked him up that he realized he'd been so distracted, he hadn't noticed when he let 3:10 slip past him somewhere along the way.

Anne did just the same thing she'd done on that long-ago first run by the Charles River - she upped her pace bit by bit, and Frederick didn't need words to understand that he was expected to follow her. Mile by mile, Anne steadily paced them to shave off more than one minute per mile from their previous pace, until Frederick was reunited with 3:10, with 6 miles left to go.

Since there was no 3:30 pacer, the strategy Anne had originally planned for herself was to follow 3:20 at the start, and then allow herself to fade back a little about 18 or 19 miles into the race, knowing she'd still make the cut as long as she didn't see the 3:40 pacer getting ahead of her. Getting Frederick back to 3:10 took too much out of her for that to work, though, and she just had to take it easy to recover, even if it was just for a little while. That little while proved to be a little too long - she was still chugging along at a too leisurely pace when she saw the 3:40 pacer pass her. She tried to pick up her pace to follow, but she was always just that little bit behind. Eventually, she crossed the finish line at 3:42 - so near, yet not enough to make the cut when there was virtually no wiggle room allowed.

"You were close." Frederick tried to offer some comfort; he wished he could do more, since it was because she was helping him that she'd failed to make the cut. "There'll be other qualifying marathons you can run. Since I've qualified already, I can pace you the next time."

"I doubt it. The Boston Marathon fills up within days of the 18-month timeline for qualifying. Even if I did run again and clock a new time, it'd probably not be in time to qualify for Boston in senior year. But that's OK - I guess I don't have to do everything on my bucket list before graduation. So what even if it's after college? We'll still be young, and there'll still be plenty of time to make our dreams come true."

¹The 747-X is now the 747-800, and close to coming into service first as a cargo aircraft before passenger versions come into service. The Sonic Cruiser was a concept that Boeing had in the late 1990s and early 2000s, before it evolved into what is today the Boeing 787 Dreamliner.

Chapter 9 - TriStar

Fall 1999 - Spring 2000

"Fred. Did you know the idea of the superjumbo came way before the A3XX²? I'm amazed, but it says here that Douglas came up with the concept almost 35 years ago as a possible design for the DC-10." Anne looked up from Destination Disaster, one of the supplementary texts they had that semester for failure analysis class.

"It's so strange, almost like they could predict the future. Look, they even came up with the idea of having stuff like private suites, nurseries and dining rooms in there. It reminds me of that A3XX picture I saw in the newspapers a few years ago - you know, the idea they had of putting shops and lounges and kids' play areas and even bowling alleys in the plane, so people could walk around and keep themselves busy while they were flying.

"Say, what d'you think it'd have been like if Douglas had been successful in designing the DC-10 as a superjumbo all those years ago? With three engines? Maybe we should do that for our project - what do you think?"

For senior year aircraft design class, they had to come up with a "paper airplane" - a set of specifications, such as calculating the engine size and thrust; the dimensions of the wings and tailfin; the size of the fuselage³; and the interior configuration of the aircraft, arranging seats, galleys and lavatories - to fit one of three possible design concepts. At the end of the class, they'd make a physical paper airplane with the dimensions they'd created, and the course would end off with yet another launch-fest. As with all the projects that they had to do in pairs, Anne and Frederick chose to partner each other, even though they weren't fully in agreement about which concept to choose for this one.

"Don't be daft, Anne. There's no way that thing could fly. Can you imagine how huge the engines would have to be? That engine at the rear would eat up your entire tailfin." Frederick flipped the book. Normally he thought most of her ideas were cute, but this one was so way out, and he never minced words, not even with Anne. By now, she was used to that. "And it says here the concept was based on a four-engine aircraft anyway. There's a reason why all the new aircraft have either two or four engines - you know that as well as me. So why waste time re-inventing the wheel when it means we'll end up tanking our project anyway? Besides, I gave you your way about the whole superjumbo thing - if it was all up to me, I'd have chosen to do the supersonic concept. Anything flying below Mach 1 is too boring."

"What's boring is the way all the new aircraft look almost exactly the same. It's as if nobody had any imagination anymore. I always liked those old trijet designs, like the 727 and the Lockheed TriStar. The way they design aircraft nowadays, it's like the total concept of aesthetics has gone the way of the dinosaur. It's sad. So before I actually go out there and have to work on real aircraft that look like they've been stamped out by a cookie cutter, I want to create an aircraft in the way I'd like to do it. Something with a bit of nostalgia, a bit of art, and a bit of the romance from the days when flying was a novelty. Even if it means doing double work, I don't mind doing two concepts - one your way, with the four engines, which will be everybody else's way anyways; and another one to honor the time when rolling out every new aircraft was like gambling; back when they didn't test and simulate everything until it was foolproof before it rolled out of the hangar and took to the air. And I know you don't have the time for that kind of extra work, so I really don't mind if you don't help me on the second concept. I'll just do it on my own."

Doing two designs instead of just one did indeed generate a lot more work, and Anne found herself pulling many all-nighters to work on her DC-10 superjumbo concept while trying to also pull her weight for the A3XX-based one she was jointly doing with Frederick. But even though she'd told Frederick that he didn't need to help out, he ended up helping indirectly. He still didn't agree with the idea; the years of struggling for survival left him with a hard sense of practicality, so he didn't approve when airy-fairy ideas stood in the way of achieving real-life deliverables. He knew, though, that this was something Anne felt she had to do, so he supported her in whatever way he could. Despite his extra workload from ROTC, he quietly took on more for their other joint assignments to pick up the slack, accompanying Anne on the all-nighters they pulled in her apartment without any complaint.

When the two-course aircraft design series wrapped up at the end of senior year, they had two paper planes: the standard one that, like all their classmates' designs, converged to roughly the same design as the A3XX, which was at the time still a paper airplane itself anyway; and Anne's redesign of the DC-10 trijet as a superjumbo. To balance off the heavy empennage⁴, Anne had to add more weight into the front of the aircraft, making the entire plane larger than life. Just like the A3XX concept, it had two full decks; but the difference was that with all the extra space, she could draw a layout with all kinds of facilities in the lower deck as if the airplane was an ocean liner - with a cafι, a souvenir shop, a bar, a children's playroom, a karaoke room, and so on. It was technically a stretch, probably a safety hazard if it ever were to be built, and definitely not commercially viable. But it showed beyond doubt the closet artist that lived in Anne Elliot the engineer.

In April of senior year, Frederick ran the Boston Marathon. Barely meeting the qualifying time of 3:10 was already a challenge for him, so the idea of breaking further ground was not really on his mind, what with all the other priorities that had consumed him in the run-up to the race. The knowledge that he had already secured his pilot slot and was well on the way to graduation and being commissioned as an officer, though, was a load off his mind. With the race of surviving college almost done, he could now afford to be more motivated than he'd originally expected going into this other race.

Anne was there to cheer him on from the sidelines; in fact, Anne's role was much more than to just cheer him on. They'd driven along the course to identify the points where Anne would meet him, and devised a set of hand signs to communicate to him whether he was on track, ahead, or behind his target split times. The idea was that he had to either match, or if he could, improve upon his 3:09 qualifying time.

Frederick crossed the line in 3:05, a new personal best for him. This was the one dream Anne had carried into college without being able to fulfill within the four years there. And for Frederick, the smug satisfaction he got from breaking his own record, though still a major factor, was no match for the consolation he derived from having fulfilled the dream for her, on her behalf.

With graduation coming up, the thought of the time when he would not be able to see Anne every day weighed heavily on Frederick. It wouldn't be long before their life at MIT would become a thing of the past, and he'd have to ship off to a base in Texas to start his pilot training. Determined to be self-supporting, Anne had been putting heart and soul into her job search throughout senior year, and she'd finally gotten her big coup also with Boeing. So come summer, Anne would be heading to Everett and Frederick to Texas, and this time around there wouldn't be any more fall semesters to bring them back together by default again.

Though Frederick knew they'd still be staying in touch often and regularly, he yearned for a more binding promise than that to keep them together. For almost four years, Anne had been the closest thing to family he had, and he dreaded going back to the solitary lifestyle he'd led before Anne. Soon, he'd have to spend one full year in an Air Force dorm with very limited contact with the outside world before being sent to God knows where, and he wanted, needed a piece of Anne with him to tide him through the tough times that he knew lay ahead.

Many times, the idea of proposing marriage to Anne ran through Frederick's head, yet he tried his best to nip it in the bud every time. He knew that fresh out of college, they wouldn't be as stable as they should be; if they married after a few years of working life, with a basic nest egg of savings under their belt, they'd be better placed to weather whatever opposition the Elliot camp might dish out to them. Also, he wasn't sure if Anne was ready at that point; all this time, she had been so thrilled about her job, about starting her aerospace career, that he didn't want to spoil it all for her right now by making her promise herself to a life on base as a pilot's wife, not just yet. It was a constant battle of head versus heart, and in the end, he wasn't sure if he could let the matter drop without at least saying something about it to Anne.

In the end, Frederick settled for dropping a hint. The gift was one of the more extravagant ones he'd given Anne to this point, but he wanted to do something special. He'd gotten Lorin to let him in one day while Anne was slaving away on that DC-10 superjumbo design, and surprised her by sneaking up and hugging her from behind.

"Turn around, baby. I've got something for you."

"What's the occasion?" Anne was perplexed - after all, it wasn't her birthday, or Christmas, or anything special.

"Nothing. I just wanted to get you something to remember me by, before we graduate."

The gold-wrapped box sitting on the dining table was definitely too big to have come from any jeweler's shop. Anyone else would have been perplexed, but Anne knew instinctively what it was; she just didn't know which one it would be.

Frederick grabbed her hands and stopped her before she lunged towards the package. "Not now," he explained. "I want you to open it tonight, when you're alone, in total privacy."

He'd gotten her a collector's model of the Delta Lockheed L-1011 TriStar, the 1:100 scale kind of model that was mounted on a mahogany stand and had landing gear which could actually move. But what really brought the tears to Anne's eyes was the little card enclosed in the box. It read:

Dear Anne,

Ten years down the road, I don't know where this model is going to be. Maybe it'll be sitting on a bookshelf in the living room, and maybe by then, hopefully, I'll be sharing that living room with you. Or maybe it'll be on your desk in your corner office at Boeing. But no matter which way it is, I just wanted to tell you everything that's on my mind, before we start off on our separate ways in the summer.

You know, we've been together for years, and still it took me so much time to figure out which aircraft you like best of all. I know you like the 707 because it flew as Air Force One for over 30 years; you like the 747 classic model because you think it's an icon of the majestic and brave age of early commercial flight; and you like the Ilyushin IL-62 because you think it's a wacky idea for anyone to mount four engines on the tail of an aircraft, but it's exactly the same flavor as the wacky and cute ideas you come up with. But at the end of the day, this is my guess, and I bet I'm probably right.

Your favorite aircraft is the TriStar, because of the way it combines functionality, safety and design in one neat package - it's the kind of aircraft that you would have designed if you had a free hand. It doesn't matter that commercially, the TriStar was no match for the DC-10 - this is an aircraft for purists, and I haven't seen anyone who was more of a purist -not just about aviation, but about life in general - than you. I got it for you in the Delta livery, because of the time you told me about your first ride in the Lockheed TriStar when you were ten, and your father took all of you to Disneyland. I want this to be a symbol of all the nostalgia of your childhood and youth, to carry with you when you grow up, maybe even when we grow old. So you can remember the times when we were young and everything was a new experience, the times when we were together and believed everything was possible.

And last of all, I hope our time together won't end up being put away just like an item of nostalgia, just to be taken out as a happy memory once a year or something like that. I hope our time together won't be over the minute I get on that plane to San Antonio right after commencement. I hope we'll have many more happy days together to come.

I know we don't have any answers now, and I have no idea how we're going to get there. But all I know is that I won't give up hope of getting there when we're ready, and I hope you feel the same way too.

Love, Frederick

²The A3XX was the codename given to the concept that is now the Airbus A380 at the beginning of its development. The name "A380" was only given at the official launch of the program in December 2000, whereas at this point, we're in fall 1999, hence the use of the "A3XX" name still.

³The fuselage is the body of the airplane.

⁴The empennage is essentially the rear end of the airplane - it consists of the tail fin itself, and also the two stabilizers at each side of the tail.

Author's Note: I'm not sure if the aircraft design course is exactly the way they do it at MIT - please excuse my creative license and liberties with this one. It is, though, based on an actual course that I did in college.