* * *
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I ask Braden as I gather my stuff.
He opens the door. “I’m sure.”
When Braden finished eating, Becca told me I could head home, even though there was still cleanup to be done. Normally, I wouldn’t take her up on it, but she insisted when I told her Braden offered to drive me.
Outside, the sun hangs low, splashing the sky in golds, pinks, and blues. I take in a breath, relishing the cool air. I beat Braden to his car and lean onto the passenger door, admiring the evening sky. Instead of unlocking it, Braden leans next to me.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
He turns to face me. “Hadley?”
I want to catch his voice and keep it in a jar by my bed.
Wow, okay. This guy is turning me into a legit psychopath.
I can’t think when he’s so close.
“Shit.” He turns away. Is he laughing?
I’m frozen. “What?”
“The way you’re looking at me…” He shakes his head. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Fear pulses through me. “How am I looking at you?”
He searches my face. “No. It’s good. I…I like it.”
With a strange mix of urgency and courage, I slide my hand to the back of his neck, pulling him into me. I can’t fight it any longer.
He slips his hands into my open coat, wrapping an arm around me and pressing his fingers against the small of my back. The other hand sits at my hip, gripping a handful of my T-shirt. His fingers graze bare skin at my side. For a desperate moment, I’m completely lost.
“Wait, Hadley,” he whispers against my lips. Still tangled together, Braden presses his weight against me, against his car. Our chests rise and fall against each other. For a moment, the only sound is our rapid breathing as he studies me with wild eyes.
Finally, he laughs.
I cover my face with my hand.
“What even…?”
My heart is still hammering. Thank god he feels it too. “I don’t know,” I tell him, “I’ve never—”
His brows scrunch together. “No, me either.”
It’s like we remember at the same time that he’s still got me pinned against the car, and he takes a few steps back. The air rushes in, sending a chill up my spine.
“Should we…,” he starts to ask. “Should we talk about what you said the other night? I don’t want you to think I wasn’t listening.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s the last thing I want to talk about right now.” Not yet. Just let me enjoy this for a minute. We can sort it out later.
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely.”
“So this, right now, this is okay?”
I nod. “Very okay.”
“Good.” He looks me over. “Because I really don’t want to take you home yet.”
I take in the sight of him against the backdrop of colorful sky. “I actually have an idea,” I tell him. We’re cutting it kind of close, but I think I can make it work.
“Perfect.”
“I didn’t even tell you what it is yet!”
“Doesn’t matter, as long as we get to hang out longer.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Braden pulls into the empty parking lot of the local state park. When he turns the car off, he asks, “So what are we doing exactly?”
“I haven’t taken your portrait yet, for the yearbook profile. And the light is perfect.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. Come on. I’ll show you.” I open the door and grab my camera. I start on the path into the woods, gesturing for him to follow me.
Slowly, the forest unfolds at our feet. The dirt is blanketed in dry, fallen leaves, and the dark lines of the trees climb and web, reaching for the low sun. It should be ugly, dying, but without most of the foliage, there’s just enough space for a golden glow to come through, haloing the branches. In the less dense parts of the woods, the light shines unobstructed, streaking the air in long, delicate lines. The sun makes it all come alive.
“Wow.” He exhales.
“Cool, right?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“It’s the golden hour, when the sun looks like this. And I’ve taken photographs here before.” I start to change my camera settings, lowering the shutter speed.
“It’s the golden hour right now?”
“Yeah, after sunrise or before sunset. It’s never actually a whole hour, though.”
“Do you do this kind of thing for all your yearbook subjects?”
“No.” I snap a shot of the landscape and quickly review the exposure. “I don’t.” I’m going to need to steady my hands, but if I can manage it, these pictures are going to turn out beautifully.
“So who did you photograph here before?”
“Just the trees.”
He smiles in response, and I snap a shot.
“Hey! Wasn’t ready.”
“Too bad. Come on, we’ve got to move fast.”
“How long does it actually last?” He looks around. “Like this.”
“It’s hard to say. It’s all about the angle of the sun at the horizon, and the types of particles that the light passes through in the atmosphere.”
“So you never really know?”
“Right. You just know that it’s temporary. And awesome. And to make the most of it while you have it.” I walk him over to a tree, closer to the small pond. “Here. Lean against that.”
“That’s it? Lean?”
“That’s it.” I frame my shot, opting to keep the sun in the background of the frame, letting the light spill behind him.
My god.
He shifts his weight. “This is kind of weird. Should I look at you? Smile?”
I keep my camera pressed to my face. “Am I making Braden Roberts uncomfortable?”
“Come on, cut me a break.”
Getting under his skin will never get old. I answer his question, “Neither, actually. Just sort of stare out in the distance….Okay, except don’t act fully pissed.”
He laughs.
Click.
I love it before I even check.
“Okay, now actually turn around and lean on the other side. I’m going to have you face the light for a couple.”
“Wait. Before we take more of me, can’t I take a couple of you?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Not the way this works, Roberts.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s too hard for me to be objective when I’m in the picture. I promise, I’ve tried. But it throws me off.”
He looks at me doubtfully.
“Can you just follow a very simple direction, please?” I ask.
“One day, I’m taking your picture,” he says.
“All right, one day.”
And then, with a pointed gaze, he does as I ask, putting a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun.
“Oh, sorry. Yeah. You can keep them closed. I’ll tell you when to open.”
My footsteps crunch as I approach him, and he blindly reaches out to me. I let his hand settle on my waist and touch my fingertips to his jaw. I marvel at it, hands on one another so casually. “This way, just— Yeah. Like that. Perfect.” I take a step back, and his hand falls away. “Can you cross your arms?” I zoom in. “Okay, all set. Open your eyes.”
I snap as quickly as I can. Because wow.
While I’m reviewing the images, Braden moves beside me. “Are they any good?”
I tilt the screen. Braden looks exactly how he’s been making me feel all day long, like he’s shining from the inside out.
Looking down at the camera, his face is filled with such surprise that I find myself wondering if I missed some
thing. “What is it?”
“Nothing…um—”
“You don’t like it? It’s not a big deal; I can delete it. Perks of digital.”
“No.” He takes the camera from me. “I like it a lot, actually.”
“Then what’s with the weird look?”
“I’m not—”
I reach for my camera, but he wraps an arm around me, keeping it out of reach.
“Are you blushing?”
“I did not blush,” his says.
“I swear I saw a little pink.”
“It’s just that light you love so much.”
I play along. “Oh, the light. Okay.”
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
He leans his head into my shoulder, words muffled. “I like the way you see me.”
“You’re not exactly hard to photograph.”
He lifts his head, a questioning look on his face.
I laugh. “That’s all you’re getting from me.”
“I’ll take it.”
But there’s still something there, something I can’t quite place. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” He looks a little nervous. “I’ve just never seen myself like that. And I don’t know how you did it, but it looks like…” He exhales deeply. “It looks like you like me. The same way that I like you. And with everything you said the other day…I just—I guess I didn’t expect that.”
And my stupid heart, the one that’s meant to be locked away, softens. I take a step closer to him. “You thought it was less?”
He shrugs.
And then, for today, for right now, I decide to give in. I take his face in my hands and say, “Maybe I should do something about that.”
I push the metal lever to the lowest setting on the KitchenAid and start to mix the dry ingredients in without really looking, because I can’t pull my eyes away from the truly hideous color of the fondant Becca is making. I wrinkle my nose. “Becca, I hate to tell you this, but that looks like pee.”
Tyler barks a laugh, looking up from his bowl of Mom’s spaghetti. By the time the two of them got here, our family had already eaten dinner, but Mom can’t help feeding everyone who visits. Ty’s so used to it, he didn’t even wait for her this time; he just fixed himself a bowl.
Becca shoots Ty a vicious side-eye, and he grimaces. “Sorry,” he mutters. When she looks away, he risks a glance back at me, nodding.
“Come on, back off my cake, guys!” Becca flashes her phone in front of us. “It totally matches the picture.” Then she sets it down, clearly defeated. “Ugh. Maybe I should have just made Jell-O.”
I immediately feel guilty. “No, I’m sorry. This is a great idea. It’s just not done yet. He’ll think it’s hilarious.” Hilarious is pretty much Greg’s highest praise.
“Chocolate cake over Jell-O every single time,” Ty says.
I nod.
Becca shrugs, still unconvinced, when Mom walks into the kitchen. Her hair is in a neat ponytail, and she’s wearing a lavender sweater. Her feet are bare, and she has a perfect, dark pedicure. Sometimes, when I look at her, I wonder how we can be related. Like Remy, she’s always so put together, and I’m pretty sure I have pee-colored frosting on my face.
“Hey, guys!” she greets us.
“Hey, Mia, thanks again for letting me borrow your mixer.” Becca looks around. The counter is covered with scattered utensils, spilled flour, and egg cartons. “And pretty much your entire kitchen. I promise we’ll clean up.”
“Oh, honey, it’s no problem.” Mom opens the fridge and pulls out a Tupperware of cut strawberries, then sits on a barstool at the island. “Hadley said you’re making a cake for Greg’s birthday. I can’t believe you kids are turning seventeen.”
“Well, I’m not,” Becca sighs. “I hate being young for my grade.”
“One day you’ll be grateful for being young.” Mom looks at each of us. “So what’s going on tonight, other than baking? Just hanging out?”
My parents have always had an open-door policy with our close friends, so Ty, Becca, and Greg never really need a reason to be here. We spend a lot of time at each other’s houses, doing homework, watching movies, whatever.
Ty looks at Mom. “Yeah, we’ve hardly seen Hadley at all this week.”
“I’ve seen her at work,” Becca says as she stirs her frosting. She sounds like she’s trying too hard to contradict Ty, and I feel a twinge of guilt for neglecting my friends for Braden.
Becca glances back down at her fondant. Seemingly satisfied with the color, or maybe she’s just given up, she covers it with plastic wrap.
Mom eyes the frosting. “So what are you going for, Becca?”
Becca takes the other bowl, which is filled with batter, and pours it into a greased cake pan. Her fingers are stained green and yellow. “Okay, so you know how Greg is obsessed with The Office?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “In one of the first episodes, Jim plays a prank where he puts Dwight’s stapler in Jell-O, and I’m basically trying to recreate that, but in cake form.” She shows Mom the picture.
“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Mom laughs, unself-consciously loud. “What are you going to do about the stapler?”
“I bought a new one that I’m going to wash and set on top, then write Happy Birthday, Greg! next to it.”
“You guys are so creative.”
“Thank you. Nobody else seems to appreciate my vision.” Her widened eyes make her look like a sad woodland animal. “They said my frosting looks like urine.”
We turn to the frosting.
It still looks like pee.
All four of us burst out laughing.
Mom eyes the group of us with a chuckle. “I’m sure it will come together when it’s done.”
She puts the lid on the Tupperware, gets off her chair, and puts it back into the fridge. “All right. I have book club. Clean up after yourselves when you’re done, okay?” She smooths my hair and presses a kiss onto the top of my head. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Then she does the same thing to Becca and Tyler, partially to make them laugh, but also because it’s true. It makes Ty blush, but he doesn’t pull away. The sight tugs at my heart. I feel a surge of guilt and gratitude that my mom gets to be here with us.
“Bye, guys!” Mom grabs her purse, fastens her heels, and walks out the door.
* * *
I’m not sure what wakes me. It’s still dark outside. I turn to check the time and notice that my phone is lit up and Braden’s name is written across the screen. I roll into my pillow to hide my sleepy smile, sliding my finger to unlock the text.
It was sent six minutes ago: I can’t find any rocks.
I read it again. What?
His reply is instant: You know *tap, tap, tap*
For a second, I’m confused, and then I start to connect the dots. My fingers fly: Are you here???
Come outside and see.
My heart starts to hammer in my chest.
He’s out of his damn mind.
So am I.
I run to my bathroom and check my reflection in the mirror. I feel like I’m still dreaming. I quickly brush my teeth and run my fingers through my hair. I throw on a pair of shorts over my underwear, settling for the first thing decently clean I can find on the bathroom floor, then go back into my room.
I reach across my desk, pausing briefly with my fingers on the window latch. With a creak, the night opens in front of me. I climb up and plant my feet firmly on the chilly shingles of the roof. The air licks up my exposed legs, across the back of my neck.
I see him.
Here’s here. He’s really here. Moonlight shining off his hair, off his teeth, and he’s smiling like a happy fool. A light inside my chest explodes. I reach inside, grab my camera from my desk,
and lift it to capture him like that forever.
Evidence that this is real.
I set the camera back and look down at him, raising my hand in silent greeting.
I’m feeling so much, and trying to mask it all is like shoving too many things into a box. Every time I push one feeling down, another jumps out. If my parents find out that this six-foot-something boy is breaking into their house, they’ll kill both of us. I know, because I’ve seen them do it to Remy. She was grounded for more than a month once. But honestly, I want him here so badly that I decide that it’s all okay. What’s a month, anyway?
I whisper down to him, “If you can get yourself up here, I’ll hang out with you for, like, ten minutes, max. But if I hear even the tiniest sound that somebody is coming, I’m pushing you off and pretending you were a robber.”
We’re both beaming like idiots. “Oh, I’m here to steal, that’s for sure.” He’s wearing dark jeans with a hoodie under his jacket, and he looks so good that I almost tell him he can take whatever the hell he wants.
Braden begins assessing the side of the house leading to the roof. “So I was kind of thinking that maybe you’d come down. You know, use a door? Like a human being? But if you want me to come up…”
He takes a couple steps backward to get a running start. Then he leaps off the ground and grabs onto something on the side of the house. “Braden. Shit. Be careful!” My voice is louder than it should be.
There’s a hollow sound of something—someone—hitting the drainpipe, and seconds later, he’s pulling himself onto the small, flat roof outside my bedroom window. One final pull and he’s sitting next to where I’m standing. He breathes a little heavy, rubs his shoulder, and gives me the most self-satisfied look. It’s totally obnoxious. I love it.
“I still might push you.”
“No, you won’t.” He’s sitting right at the edge.
“You really should have that shoulder looked at, you know.”
“You can take a look if you want.” He reaches his fingers out to mine.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. Come here.” He pulls me toward him.
Braden moves like he’s going to kiss me, with his face only a breath away from mine, but he pauses a fraction of an inch away. Parting his lips slightly, he lowers his gaze to meet my eyes. I feel his breath against my lips. I fight the urge to lick them.
Coming Up for Air Page 10
