The Missing Piece

by Jessica Baxter

  “No.” Mr. Miller looks at me and taps his clip board. “I’m sorry, Emily. You need to stick with your partner from the cave. If I let everyone switch partners the buddy system would fail.”

  I nod and then walk towards Ian, sheepishly.

  Did he hear my conversation with Mr. Miller? If he did, he doesn’t show it. He’s smiling when he asks what trail I want to take.

  “I’m up for a challenge,” I say.

  It’s been a while since I’ve been on this vigorous of a hike, but the open sky and fresh air will help calm my nerves. Ian runs his hand through his hair, a trait I’ve started to associate with his nervousness, before heading towards the trail marked Canyon Peak; the toughest trail which reaches 800 feet.

  The trail progresses slowly up the canyon and then juts sharply to the right after half a mile. The sun is beating down on us as we make our way up the canyon. A light breeze whips through my hair as we hike. The sky is baby blue and cloudless, birds are chirping in the trees and California Poppies mark the walkway.

  The wind ruffles Ian’s hair and I catch a whiff of his cologne. I bet his hair would feel great as I wrap my fingers through it and kiss him. Horrified by my thought, I stop walking. Hells Bells. I barely know him, but, oh boy, I really want to kiss him.

  I suck in a deep breath.

  Do I like Ian?

  He meets my gaze and my cheeks flush. What is he thinking? Is he thinking about what I said? Is it possible that he likes me too? No, I shake my head. I need to get Wonder Boy out of my mind.

  I have a boyfriend, he has a girlfriend. End of story.

  Ian clears his throat. “So, what you said back at the cave. Did you mean it?”

  I can’t look at him. “Uh, you know I think all the dry heat is getting to me.”

  “Oh.”

  We hike in silence until we arrive at Inspiration Point—a bench overlooking the scenic view of Los Angeles. The bench is old, worn and is completely covered in carvings claiming who was here last. I run my thumb across the word ‘Love’ that someone has carved into the bench.

  Do I love Mason? Or do I just love the idea of being with him? I always thought he’d be my forever, that we’d date throughout high school and college and eventually end up getting married.

  Now, I’m not so sure.

  Part of this has to do with the gorgeous English boy sitting next to me, but it’s not entirely his fault.

  Ever since Mason found out about his dad’s new job, things have been a little rocky. We’d go on a date and it was like he wasn’t even there. He would always be on his phone playing the latest version of Angry Birds instead of talking to me. With Ian things are different. He focuses on me and I like that.

  It’s quiet up here—like the world has stopped. Ian taps my shoulder. “Can I borrow your camera?”

  “Sure.”

  When I pull it out of my backpack my Disney princess lanyard falls out, too. Ian picks it up, his face breaks into a smile as he flips over my student ID. “Cute ears.”

  I snatch my ID from him. Why? Why did I insist on wearing my Little Mermaid Minnie Mouse Ears for my student ID? The teal sequence on the ears sparkle in the light, the Dinglehopper (fork) lays across a giant purple bow.

  My reaction sends him reeling with laughter. When he catches his breath he asks, “Did you make them?”

  I nod. “Do you like them?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  I really hope he does because the more he gets to know me the more he's going to realize how Disney-obsessed I really am and I hope that doesn’t scare him away.

  “My sister loves Sleeping Beauty.”

  “You have a sister?”

  Ian nods and then walks to the edge of the cliff. He starts taking pictures of the city below us. I can just barely make out the Los Angeles skyline and the Pacific Ocean on the horizon. “Her name is Sophie.”

  “Who’s older?”

  “Me. She’s three years younger than me.” Ian says, turning around to face me. He starts snapping pictures of me like his life depends on it.

  “Stop it!” I squeal, hiding behind my hands. When I feel it’s safe to emerge from hiding, I walk over to Ian and stand next to him. The view is spectacular—it takes my breath away. “It’s so beautiful.”

  Ian flips through the pictures he’s just taken. I stand on my tiptoes so I can see too. He stops when he reaches a picture of me; the sun is shining against my hair, making it more vibrant than normal and my head is thrown back in laughter. I look happy.

  Is it wrong that Ian makes me so happy?

  “Yes, it is,” he says, focused on the photo. He stares out at the horizon and slowly exhales.

  “Emily.” His feet shift until he’s facing me. He reaches out towards my face and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You are beautiful.”

  His fingers brush lightly across my cheek, which flushes crimson in response. I fidget with my necklace but don’t move his hand. “Uh. We should get going . . .”

  His fingers linger on my face, his thumb slides slowly across my cheekbone. My heart accelerates. He leans towards me, his face inches from mine. Then he whispers in my ear. “Okay.”

  My heart hammers in my chest as we make our way back down the canyon, and it’s NOT because of the treacherous climb. I’m finding it hard to focus on anything but Wonder Boy—who thinks I’m beautiful—walking next to me.

  Chapter Ten

  My heart skyrockets whenever I think about Ian and the field trip. In the past hour, I’ve reorganized my Jim Shore Disney figurines by year and height, finished my AP English essay on Lord of the Flies and worn the floorboards from all of my pacing.

  What should I do? I ask myself for the millionth time as I pass my desk again.

  Maybe calling Mason will help calm my nerves. It’s still a little early in Nigeria and school doesn't start until 7 AM, but he’ll probably be up getting ready. Mason likes to be on time. In fact, he likes to be on time so much he usually arrives everywhere thirty minutes before he actually needs to be there.

  When we first started dating it took me a while to get used to his punctuality, but I caught on quickly after he left me to catch the bus because I was five minutes behind schedule.

  I flop down on my bed, type his number in and hold the phone to my ear. The phone rings five times and then the automated voicemail message starts to play. I hang up and try again, but the same thing happens. Is he still showering? I close my eyes and start humming, waiting for a few minutes to pass before calling Mason again. The phone rings three times before sending me straight to voicemail. I sit up, flinging my arms across my chest.

  Why won’t he talk to me?

  Granted, I ignored his calls this morning, but he waited a week to call me back.

  I’m just about to grab the picture of Mason and me off of my desk when my phone buzzes on the bed beside me. A message from Mason appears a picture is attached. I slide my finger across my phone, unlocking it and the message fills the screen.

  Sorry, I’m at a school function.

  The attached picture shows Mason sitting on a yacht, a girl with dark brown hair has her arms flung around his shoulders and is making kissy faces at the camera. My stomach churns, my phone slipping from my fingers. I walk over to my desk and pick up our picture from junior prom. We look so happy and carefree.

  What the hell happened to us?

  The following morning, I call my mom. When it comes to solving problems she’s the master. I would have called last night, but when I got Mason’s text it was almost 1 AM back in Ohio and my dad would have shot my left eye out if I woke mom up from resting, not that she’d mind.

  I’m lying on my bed, hugging my stuffed Winnie the Pooh to my chest. My mom laughs on the other end as she tells me how Sammy tried running out of the house the other day wearing just his Batman underwear. Her laughter is light and carefree.

  I’ve missed her.

  My eyes close and I pretend she’s sitting on the bed next to me. Th
is is the first time in a month that my mom’s had enough strength to talk on the phone.

  When her laughter subsides she sucks in a deep breath. “Enough about us. How are you, Emily? What’s California like?”

  “Hot and very dry. I feel crazy admitting it, but I think I actually miss the snow.”

  She chuckles. “Have you gone to the beach yet? I always wanted to see the ocean.”

  “No, I haven’t been yet, but I promise to go soon and send a million pictures and then we’ll road trip out here next summer and go together.”

  “That would be wonderful,” she says, and I can almost see the smile in her voice.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, sweetie.”

  “Um.” I clear my throat. Ever since I got home last night I’ve been trying my hardest not to think of Ian, with no success.

  I sigh.

  Mason is treating me like crap, yet a part of me—granted it’s a very small part—still wants to be with him. It might not be the most logical feeling, but I can’t deny everything we’ve been through. Mason knows me and I know him. There’s no second-guessing when it comes to him . . . at least there never used to be.

  Queasiness rises in me as I picture the brown-haired girl on the yacht blowing kissy faces at Mason. I think of all the things they’re probably doing while I’m stuck in Los Angeles miles away. She gives him a coy look, he gives her a playful grin and then their lips are crashing together.

  Why does it hurt so much to think of Mason being with another girl? And, why can’t I get of Wonder Boy out of my head?

  I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the images from my mind. Am I just missing everything about Mason? Am I falling for Ian because I miss Mason? Or, are these feelings something else entirely different?

  “Mom,” I say again, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Is it possible to love two people at the same time?”

  “No, honey, I don’t think you can,” she says, slowly. “When you love somebody they’re the reason you wake up with a smile on your face. They’re the person you feel most comfortable around, the person you’ll spend hours talking to on the phone about nothing in particular. They’ll be on your mind all the time. They’ll be the reason you can’t sleep, and maybe you don’t want to because what you feel is better than any dream.”

  “Oh.” I wring my shirt in my hands.

  The mattress squeaks on the other end as my mom repositions herself. “Is there something wrong between Mason and you?”

  My eyes land on my prom picture again. I crush my stuffed Winnie the Pooh to my chest, squeezing it tightly.

  How can I make him see me again?

  When I don’t answer her question my mom asks, “Did he hurt you?”

  Lying to my mom breaks my heart, but I do it anyway.

  “No, he didn’t.” Mason’s refusal to speak to me hurts, but my gut tells me the pain my mom worries he’s afflicted is more physical than emotionally damaging. “Things have been so different since he’s gone to Africa.”

  “Well, change doesn’t always have to be a bad thing, honey. It can be refreshing living in a new city with new friends, don’t let Mason keep you from experiencing that.”

  Before I can stop myself the words are tumbling out of my mouth. Part of me worries I’ll regret filling my mom in on everything that’s been going on these past few weeks of school, but it feels good to finally admit everything I am feeling like a weight has been lifted.

  “There’s a boy,” I say. “His name is Ian. I really like him, but he has a girlfriend and I have Mason. I think he likes me back, but I’m not really sure what to do."

  “Okay, take a deep breath.” My mom tells me. “What do you like about this boy?”

  A smile erupts across my face. “He’s so sweet mom! I’ve only known him for a couple of weeks, but it feels much longer than that. When we were on our field trip he told me we were in the original Batcave because I told him Sammy loves Batman. “

  My pulse is rushing and I know my cheeks are flushed. Tingles run up my spine and warmth courses through my bones as I remember the way it felt to have his arms wrapped around my waist. I close my eyes.

  “He listens to me when I talk and doesn’t make me feel like I’m some kind of pest.”

  The other end of the line is silent for a few minutes. I bite the inside of my cheek expecting a rebuke from my mom, instead, her voice is soft. “Does Mason make you feel like a pest?”

  “I-uh—”

  I tug on a loose strand of hair that’s fallen out of my ponytail. My vision blurs, hot tears welling in my eyes; I quickly blink them away and compose myself.

  “Sweetie,” my mom says, her voice is gentle and laced with concern. “Do you remember how we used to stay up late on the weekends, curled up on the couch watching The Princess Diaries?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice cracking. I feel like a little child again.

  “Joe tells Princess Mia that ‘nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent.’ Mason will only make you feel bad about yourself if you let him. He doesn’t have to have that power if you don’t want him to.”

  I suck in a deep breath. “Are you telling me to break up with Mason?”

  “Emily,” my mom says. “Mason isn’t good for you. He doesn’t treat you like you deserve. He’ll only bring you down.”

  And, even though I can hear the worry in her voice and there’s a small part of me that thinks she might be right, I can’t help but let my temper get the best of me.

  “I’m not breaking up with Mason!” I shout, my voice is sharp and harsh.

  “Honey, I just think—”

  “No,” I scream, little waves of fury shaking my body. “He is not TOXIC mom. Mason loves me and he would never hurt me.”

  My mom sighs, defeated. “Just promise me you’ll be care—.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and hang up before she can finish lecturing me. Isn't she happy I’m dating someone she knows? Someone she can trust?

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s Monday, geology class has just let out and I’m waiting in the hall for Danielle so we can walk to Life Skills together. I stand on my tiptoes, scanning the crowd and see her long dark hair bobbing towards me.

  “What do you think we’ll talk about today?” She asks as she reaches me.

  “Maybe they’ll teach us CPR?”

  Every day Danielle and I try to guess what we’ll learn in Life Skills, assuming they’ll teach us the grand secrets of life only to find out they’ve given us the period for homework. That doesn’t stop us though, we’ve imagined lessons on everything from budgeting to the importance of punctuality.

  “I still think they should teach a cooking class,” she says as we walk down the hallway. “I can barely make toast without it burning.”

  I laugh.

  “Well if all else fails, at least you know you could audition for Worst Cooks in America.”

  She pushes my shoulder lightly and laughs. “I’m not sure I’d even make it on that.”

  We walk into the Life Skills classroom and I’m shocked. The desks are pushed together into different rows so they make a maze. Plates with whipped cream are scattered across the floor along with a few dozen neon jacks and a few throw pillows.

  Mrs. Merrill stands at the front of the room a placid smile on her face. “Alright, class. Today we’re going to do an activity to test your uh . . . communication skills. As you prepare to graduate and um . . . enter the workforce it will be crucial that you can listen . . . and follow the instructions.

  The class will be split into groups of two. One of you will stand at the end of the classroom and guide your blindfolded partner through the obstacle course. You can uh . . . offer them any advice you want, but you can’t like physically help them across the course. After the blindfolded student reaches the back wall, you’ll switch places. Good luck.”

  I volunteer to go through the obstacle course first. Danielle ties the blindfold around my head. “Can you see?
Is it too tight?”

  “No, it’s fine. Don’t let me step in the whipped cream.”

  She laughs as she walks away and my stomach drops.

  “Okay, Emily,” Danielle calls from the other end of the room. “You’re going to want to sidestep to your left and then take three baby steps forward.”

  I reach my hands out in front of me, step to the side and slowly walk forward. Ian is consuming my thoughts entirely, making it hard to focus on Danielle’s directions. I try taking a deep breath to calm myself, but it doesn't work.

  This past week his absence in our little group has hit a new high, ever since he taught me to play rugby in Adam’s Park he’s been gone more frequently. The distance between us is physically numbing, it feels like my soul has been torn into a thousand different pieces; the way I imagine Tom Riddle felt when he split his soul.

  Ian is a nice guy. He gets along with everyone, and everyone likes him. And, why wouldn’t they? He’s smart and friendly and polite. He’s the kind of guy who will never leave you—and, not in the creepy I-live-in-my-parents basement way. And, well, yes he’s ridiculously attractive, but he’s so much more than that. He’s the boy who pays for your lunch if you don’t have money, the boy who brings you flowers just because, the boy who stays up late listening to you vent.

  But, there’s the whole we're both in relationships. Should I just force Wonder Boy out of my head and move on? I'm sure that's what a sane person would do. Besides . . . this is probably just puppy love and nothing more.

  Yet, there's just something about Ian that I can't seem to forget: those deep blue eyes, his one-sided smile, and that beautiful British accent.

  Sighing, I take a deep breath. Why can’t Mason be here? Why can’t Ian be miles away, and not right in front of me every time I turn around?

  Ian being around less is for the best. If he's not here I can't pine after him, which means I might actually have a chance to work things out between Mason and me.

  It’s better this way, really, it is.

  Danielle clears her throat. She sounds a lot closer than before. “Emily, did you hear me? You need to take a giant step like you’re leaping if you don’t want your foot to land in whipped cream.”