by Alex Flinn
“We could still do something,” he said. “I could buy you ice cream.”
“Next time.” I realized I was admitting there would be a next time. I thought of Lisette, at the party with the cops coming. Would she get arrested? Would she be okay? Why did I even care? Lisette certainly wouldn’t have cared, if it was me. Besides, nothing bad ever happened to Lisette. The girl led a charmed life. She’d get out of the party, no problem.
I got a jagged rock stuck in my shoe, and I leaned down to pick it up. Then I walked toward the water.
“What are you doing?” Warner said.
“The stars are so pretty. And the water. If you hadn’t brought me to that lame party, we wouldn’t be here, looking at it.”
“That’s true.” He followed me. The air was silent except for the sound of wind in the palmettos and our feet crunching against the coral rock. Warner’s hand brushed mine as we walked. I was still clutching the rock. We reached the seawall, and I raised my hand to hurl it into the water. Warner grabbed my elbow.
“Wait!”
I stopped, surprised. A chill ran up my arm where he’d touched me. “What?”
He pointed out at the still, dark water. “See that?”
At first I didn’t see anything. Then I noticed the dark blob in the water. “A manatee. Cool.” I dropped the rock and stepped closer.
“Did you know that in West African folklore, manatees are considered sacred?” When I shook my head, Warner said, “It’s true. And in days of old, sailors used to mistake them for mermaids.”
“Sailors must have been pretty hard up for female companionship, huh? I mean, no offense, but they’re a little … chunky.”
Warner laughed. “I guess maybe you see what you want to see. But I like them.” He gazed out at the huge, still creature. The water rippled around it. “When I was a kid, we used to go to my grandma’s place in Fort Lauderdale. There were these two manatees in the canal there, and my brother and I would give them lettuce. My mom called them sea cows and said they were ugly, but Grandma said they were angels, docile creatures that would never hurt anyone. That’s why we had to watch out for them, she said, as they watched over us. I asked my mom what that meant, and she said that sometimes, older people said things that seemed a little strange. Then my grandmother moved into an assisted living facility, so I didn’t see her anymore. When I was ten, she died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I was really sad. We were close, so I had a hard time getting over it, but the weird thing was, the next year, I went to Vero Beach with my cousins. We were swimming in the ocean and having a lot of fun bodysurfing when suddenly this huge wave swamped me. I felt my head hit bottom, and my mouth was full of water and sand. I couldn’t see anything. I honestly thought I was going to die.”
“Wow. That must have been scary.”
“Yeah. But then, all of a sudden, there was a manatee. It came out of nowhere. It got under me and nudged me to shore.”
“They can do that?” The manatee in front of us moved slightly in the moonlit water.
“I guess. I mean, they’re supposed to be really smart, but when I ran up to tell my aunt what had happened, she said she didn’t see a manatee. I went back to the water, and I looked and looked, but I couldn’t find it either. It was almost like…” He shook his head. “It sounds crazy.”
“You think it was your grandmother.”
“I know it’s crazy.”
“No, it’s not. I absolutely think it’s possible. I’ve had things happen that were unexplainable like that.”
And recently too. I thought of Kendra, just showing up at the exact right minute to save me from the party. It was like she could stop time. Like that.
“Really? I never told anyone that before. I figured they’d think I was nuts.”
“I wouldn’t.” I looked at the manatee again. It seemed to have moved closer. “I believe that things happen for a reason. Like that time at the hoedown, when I hit all those targets. Remember?”
Warner nodded.
“Can I tell you, I have never hit a target in my life. I’m completely uncoordinated. But that day, I think it was a sign. I was supposed to talk to you.”
A breeze rippled across the water and through the palmettos. I shivered, suddenly cold, and Warner moved closer. He slid his hand down my arm. “So this was supposed to happen? Tonight?”
I looked up at him. “Maybe.”
“Just maybe?”
His voice was a whisper. He took my hand. His felt callused on one finger, and I wondered if it was from writing. My hand was the same way. I moved in closer. “Definitely.”
I knew he was going to kiss me, and suddenly I didn’t want him to, not because I didn’t like him. I did. I always had. But because I wanted to preserve this moment, this slice of time when the night was cool and bright with reflected moonlight and the possibility of a kiss hung between us, full of unspent promise. Every event in my life after this would be different because I would have been kissed. Was I ready?
I decided I was.
I leaned toward him, and he said, “I like you so much, Emma.” I said nothing, not wanting to hear my voice, because in that moment that our lips met, I wasn’t Emma. I wasn’t dorky bookworm Emma, Emma who wrote stupid poetry and couldn’t hold a candle to her sister. I was some other girl.
I was some girl boys wanted to kiss.
5
When I got home, I was pretty sure I was in love. Pretty sure because it wasn’t like I knew Warner really well, and it sounded cheesy to say I loved him. Maybe he was just this character in my fantasies, no more real than Dobbin or Mr. Darcy or Rochester, those guys I loved in my books. No more real than Lisette that first day, when I thought we’d be like sisters.
But Warner was becoming real. At least, I thought so. A real boy with calluses and flaws, a boy who made bad decisions and clung to childhood friends who’d outgrown him, a boy with bony shoulders, who’d kissed me to the music of the pounding surf.
I went into the bathroom between Lisette’s bedroom and mine. My side was unlocked, for once, and to my surprise, so was Lisette’s. I reached to close the door. I could see her lying on her bed, asleep, so I knew she hadn’t been arrested. She slept on her back, which I once read meant you were narcissistic. They got that right. The article said it was the easiest position from which to take a bow. I wondered if she’d really liked that boy she’d been with at the party, liked him the way I liked Warner. Or was he just someone to make her feel wanted, make her feel less lonely with herself. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t decide whether to envy or pity her.
I ended up doing neither because, at that moment, the phone vibrated. Kendra never texted. She said that letter writing was a dying art and she wasn’t going to hasten its demise by texting. Since it was Saturday, I knew no one would text me about school or the newspaper, and my mother was in bed. Which meant…
I dove for the phone. Warner!
I forced myself to click on the text slowly, careful not to delete it. I’d kept the other text he sent me, and I knew I’d keep this one too, on my phone forever, and even transfer it to the SIM card when I got a new phone. Someday, I’d be eighty with some kind of space-age version of a cell phone that read your every thought and answered texts for you, and I’d still have Warner’s text.
Assuming it was nice.
Assuming it was even from Warner.
It was. Both things.
SORRY TO TEXT SO LATE BUT I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU. I CAN’T SLEEP.
Definite keeper.
With shaking hands, I composed my response.
ME NEITHER. I’M SO GLAD YOU CAME BACK TO MIAMI. IT’S LIKE DESTINY.
I deleted the last line. Too corny, and he might think I was a stalker. His reply came almost instantly.
IT’S LIKE DESTINY.
OMG!
I texted back.
OMG! I WAS THINKING THAT!
I held on to the phone. I wanted to get dressed
for bed, then lie in the darkness with the moonlight streaking through the curtains and read Warner’s texts. But it was hard to change clothes if you couldn’t, absolutely could not put down the phone. And I couldn’t. I didn’t want to miss anything. So I tucked the phone between my chin and my neck.
I was rewarded for my vigilance with a text.
OF COURSE YOU WERE. IT’S TRUE.
I texted back.
CAN YOU SEE THE FULL MOON FROM YOUR WINDOW?
I rushed to get undressed, not bothering to hang up my clothes. I only had time to strip and put on my nightgown before he texted back. I chose a long, white old-fashioned one that made me feel like a princess. I glanced in the mirror in the dimly lit bathroom. Then I did a double take. The girl who looked back at me was someone I didn’t recognize, not skinny but somehow still beautiful in the half-light, like a Titian Madonna.
When I heard the message tone, I slipped under the covers to read.
YES. I CAN SEE THE MAN IN THE MOON REALLY CLEARLY.
I looked out. I could too. I texted back.
PEOPLE USED TO SAY THAT THE MAN IN THE MOON WAS A THIEF WHO WAS BANISHED FOR HIS CRIME.
Would he think I was dumb? The message tone went again.
I’VE ALSO HEARD CAIN.
Oh, God. He was as big a geek as I was!
I texted back:
IT MUST BE LONELY UP THERE.
Lonely. Sitting in the dark, with his text, I allowed myself to acknowledge how lonely I’d been these past two years, how I’d yearned for someone, not even a boyfriend, but just someone who got me. I tried to think of something else to say, to keep the conversation going. I knew I’d keep answering his texts as long as he kept sending them.
Before I could think of anything, he texted me.
TELL ME 3 THINGS YOU’VE NEVER DONE.
Three things? Three things. Try a million. I texted back.
I’VE NEVER HAD A DOG OR CAT, ONLY RALPH.
I’VE NEVER SKYDIVED BECAUSE I’M AFRAID OF HEIGHTS.
UP UNTIL TONIGHT, I’VE NEVER BEEN KISSED.
I hit send, then typed,
YOU?
It took a minute for his replies. I listened to the sounds of the house. The air conditioner turned on and off. The ice-maker downstairs filled with water after spitting out ice.
Finally, the tone sounded.
I’VE NEVER CHEATED IN SCHOOL EVEN WHEN EVERYONE ELSE DOES.
I’M NOT AFRAID OF HEIGHTS, BUT I’VE NEVER WANTED TO GO TO NYC BECAUSE CROWDS
FREAK ME OUT.
I’VE NEVER KISSED ANYONE EITHER.
We stayed up texting until the numbers on my digital clock may have said 4:00, but I was too bleary-eyed to be sure. I fell asleep with the phone in my hand.
I was definitely in love.
6
You know how romantic comedies have those montage things, where they show the couple falling in love? Picture one of those if the two people involved were both total nerds. Like, instead of the part where they playfully feed each other ice cream, picture Warner and me making pies for Pi Day (March 14, if you didn’t know, for 3.14, the value of pi). Instead of the scene where the cute couple plays touch football and falls, kissing, into a pile of colorful leaves, picture Warner and me taking fencing classes to prepare for next year’s Renaissance festival. We watched Jeopardy every night, and we both planned to take the online test for the Teen Tournament. For the first time since I’d lost Daddy, I had someone who got me.
And I got Warner. On our second date (taking the train downtown to the big library), Warner told me they’d moved back to Miami because his parents were splitting up. His dad had a girlfriend, and they were getting married as soon as the divorce was final. “So that’s why I got the car,” Warner said, “as if that somehow makes up for it.”
I told Warner my sad story too; well, most of it, about the father I’d never known, the stepfather who only cared about his “real” kid. It felt good, finally saying it all aloud. But I didn’t tell him Lisette was my sister, and I kept him away from the house so they wouldn’t meet. Lisette had said she wouldn’t move in on him, but really, since when could I trust her? Warner probably thought my parents had a meth lab or something, based on how hard I worked to keep him away from my house, my family. Lisette and I had different last names, and the three of us had no classes together. Making sure their paths didn’t cross in the halls or the cafeteria was a little like trying to outrun a tornado, but I tried. If Lisette met Warner, I knew she’d ruin it.
But one day in early April I finally invited him over to study. Lisette had gotten a big part in the spring play, and as the date grew closer, they had rehearsals every day. I figured it was safe.
I pointed out my tree house on the way inside. It looked sad now, with falling planks, the once-green paint faded to a mottled gray-brown. Daddy had taken down the ladder the year before because he said it wasn’t safe.
“That was my tree house,” I told Warner. “I used to study there all the time.”
Warner looked up. It was a windy day, and the leaves rustled. “We could fix it.”
I felt the callus on his finger again, as it brushed the back of my hand before our fingers intersected. “I don’t know anything about construction.”
“I do, a little. I made stuff with my dad when I was a kid.” He frowned. “How hard could fixing a tree house be, if it’s important to you?”
I smelled the orange blossoms in the air, and I pulled him closer. “I love you.”
It just popped out. It was bound to, considering I thought it all the time—when we were texting, when he opened the door of his car for me in the student parking lot, when he said he’d actually enjoyed Wuthering Heights, unlike every other boy in the tenth grade. But I didn’t want to say it first. The girl wasn’t supposed to. Besides, what if he didn’t say it back?
What if he didn’t say it back?
“I love you too, Emma.”
I exhaled. “Whew!”
He laughed. “Did you think I wouldn’t say it? Of course I love you, Emma.”
Of course.
He kissed me, and I felt a warm breeze across my arms and shoulders.
“Maybe we can go to Home Depot after we’re done studying,” I said a minute later.
“Sure. It will reward you for your good work habits.”
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I led him up the steps to the door. Instead of ringing the bell, I used my key to get in, giving myself an extra minute before Mother was there, assessing Warner. Mother and I had become allies in our war with Lisette. Still, I feared her assessments of me and, by extension, Warner. I also worried she’d embarrass me.
When I shook the key out and pushed the door open, Warner breathed a big mock sigh of relief.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“We’ve been together a month, and you haven’t had me over once. I was worried there’d be a dungeon or something.”
“Who says there isn’t? You haven’t seen the whole house yet.”
“Then show me.”
I closed my eyes, steeling myself by remembering Warner’s words. He’d said he loved me. He loved me. I put my hand on Warner’s waist and led him into the dragon’s lair (by which I meant the kitchen).
But it didn’t go badly. Mother didn’t seem disapproving, nor was she embarrassingly gushy, like she’d never expected me to bring a boy home. She only used the word “finally” once, and when I said we were going to my room to study, she didn’t act like we might possibly be filming a porno in there. She just told me to leave the door open. Lots of moms did that.
Later, in Warner’s car on the way to Home Depot, I asked him, “What if there had been something terribly wrong with my house?”
He laughed, then saw I was serious. He took his hand off the wheel and caressed my elbow. “What do you think? I’d love you anyway. I’m just glad you have a happy family.”
I didn’t correct him, though I wondered, could
someone love you if you didn’t tell him the whole truth?
“Oh, by the way, Ms. Meinbach asked me if I could cover the school play next Friday for the paper. They’re doing Into the Woods. It’s supposed to be good. Wanna go?”
Lisette’s play! Calm down. He wouldn’t know it was Lisette’s play. It was just any old newspaper assignment for him.
“Um, sure. I guess so.”
“Well, think about it. It sounds like your kind of thing—a bunch of fairy tales, like a mash-up.”
I knew that. Lisette was playing Cinderella.
“… and she wants me to interview some cast members, like a feature. There’s this sophomore girl, Lisa something, who’s supposed to be super-talented.”
Deep breaths. He doesn’t know who she is. He loves you.
“She’s playing Cinderella.”
Still, the twangy guitars and “Stand by Your Man” rang in my ears, and I said, “Sure, I’ll go. Sounds fun.”
Warner didn’t even seem to notice that my voice was shaking.
7
In the next week, Warner and I said “I love you” a hundred times. It was like some portal or Pandora’s box had opened and everything was rushing out. We said it mornings as we parted for class, wrote it on notes left in lockers, texted it to each other, mouthed it across classrooms behind teachers’ backs and in crowded hallways. We said it when we made out in Warner’s car, and we whispered it into cell phones last thing before bed at night. Yet, every time I heard it, I felt the same, like fireworks were shooting from my head or like Jack, the Pumpkin King, when he discovered Christmas Town in The Nightmare Before Christmas. Someone loved me! I felt reborn, like I finally had something of my own after years of nothing. It was nice but scary too. Warner loved me because he thought I was strong and smart, but my terror of losing him told me I was neither. I was weak and needy. At least, that’s how I felt a lot of the time.
