It was only when they touched hands there in the gathering twilight, with a subconscious pulling—when they felt warmth and strength each in the other—that Chuck associated the girl’s costume and recent events. “Ye gods!” he cried, letting go of her, “a Geigerman!”
She nodded serenely, a little impishly. “Isn’t it becoming?” She pirouetted like a model.
“Yellow,” she went on, “is the fall color. The material is simply amazing. Not only weatherproof and mothproof, but fire-resistant too. Absolutely dustproof. No common chemicals can damage it. The hood”—she pulled it farther over her face and drew down a green, transparent visor which sealed her from view—” provides adequate protection from the elements, all the elements, including their radioactive isotopes!” She broke off, pulled down the hood, disclosed blue eyes, tumbling dark hair, raised, crimson lips. “Oh, Chuck! I’m so glad to see you! Kiss me.”
He tried to kiss her cheek and she made that impossible. She held the kiss, besides, for a long moment and when she settled on her heels she whispered, “Welcome home.”
He dissembled his feelings, pointed. “How come?”
“This?” she looked down at the radiation safety garment. “Spite.”
“Spite?”
“I’ll explain. I’ve got to take off in a sec—South High. Want to drive me there?”
“‘Whither…’ and so forth,” he answered.
She stared at him, shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe him real. “Come on, then. We’ll take my Ford.”