by Laura Miller
Her eyes dart to mine. They don’t look angry or upset necessarily—just curious, I guess. I glance at her but then look away.
“I’m pretty sure you’re never supposed to say never,” she says.
She’s smilin’ when I look back up at her, and for some reason, I can’t help but cast my eyes down again. I think there’s somethin’ about her smile. I can only take it in little spurts. I feel as if I’ll explode otherwise.
“Never?” she asks, regaining my attention. The happy in her face has all but disappeared, and her eyes look kind of sad all of a sudden. Her new expression distracts me so much that I forget what we’re even talkin’ about.
“What? Gettin’ married?” I ask.
She nods.
“My uncle says love and gettin’ married only tie ya down—take away your freedom,” I say. “That doesn’t sound like somethin’ I want taken away.”
I fiddle with the bill of my cap. I don’t know why I do it; it just feels right. The truth is I ain’t never given the marryin’ thing much thought—well, past the decidin’ that I’m just not doin’ it part. But I really can’t imagine Brooke takin’ away my freedom. I’ve been havin’ the time of my life ever since she showed up. Maybe somethin’ is just wrong with Uncle Joe. Come to think of it, I’ve never questioned anything he’s ever done—including the one year he made a golf cart into a portable hunting blind and drove that contraption all around the woods for two days straight lookin’ for deer. Why did I never question that?
“River?”
My eyes catch on hers. Maybe it’s about time I start questionin’ my uncle’s advice.
“I’d marry you,” I blurt out.
She just stares at me for a few heartbeats, then stands, dusts off her backside and starts down the little dirt path along the creek bank.
I sit there like a bullfrog on a log, until I realize I should probably breathe. I suck in a breath and just watch her walkin’ away from me. Does she want me to follow her? Did I make her mad? I’m frozen and wordless until I notice somethin’ strange.
“Hey,” I call out after her. “There’s a Kansas City Royals emblem on the back of your shirt.”
She doesn’t stop walkin’. “Yeah,” she calls back to me over her shoulder. “And there’s one on the front too.”
I’m speechless again and for no real reason, except for the fact she doesn’t seem the least bit ashamed of her choice of shirt. It takes a minute, but eventually somethin’ comes to me. “I just ain’t never seen anybody wear a shirt like that.”
She stops and gives me a funny look, then starts walkin’ again. I follow after her this time.
“People are Cardinals fans around here. Don’t you like the Cardinals?” I ask once I catch up to her.
“Mmm,” she hums. “No.”
I freeze. And for a moment I actually wonder if I’m crossin’ some kind of line hangin’ out with this girl. My dad always warned me about gettin’ into anything bad.
She must notice me stop because she stops too and eyes me up and down once. “You comin’?”
Well, hell, this can’t be that bad, right? It’s not like she kills puppies for fun or anything—I hope. It’s only a shirt and some misguided loyalty to some god-awful team. But I’m not gonna lie, her morals are in question from here on out.
I catch back up to her and notice she wasn’t lyin’; the same damn ugly emblem that’s on the back of her shirt is also on the front too. How did I not notice that before?
She catches me lookin’ at her chest, and immediately I toss my eyes to the ground and nervously refit my cap over my hair.
“You like baseball?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m a pitcher.”
She just smiles at me, and we’re both quiet again.
“It’s my Kansas thing,” she says, breaking the silence.
I slowly lift my head and give her a funny look.
“The Royals,” she explains. “I take something from every state I’ve ever lived in. It makes me feel like I’m home everywhere I go—because I’m not really sure where home is exactly, you know?”
I nod my head even though I don’t really know. I’ve always known where home is for me. It’s right here; it always has been. “So the Royals are your Kansas thing?”
She shows off a wide grin, revealing her straight, white teeth—no braces.
“You do know they’re from Missouri, right?” I can’t help but ask.
She shrugs her shoulders. “I know, but if you’re from Kansas, you’re a Royals fan.”
I just furrow my brows. “Couldn’t you have just named your dog Toto or somethin’?”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“You don’t have a dog?” I know I sound surprised. Every kid should have a dog. I gnaw on my bottom lip. She just shakes her head.
“Well, then,” I go on anyway, “what’s your Nebraska thing?”
“The Huskers...and steak. We ate steak every other night when we lived there. It’s like it grows on trees or something.”
She laughs, and this time, I just nod. The steak part doesn’t sound half bad, but this girl literally grew up on the wrong side of the tracks when it comes to sports teams. I almost pity her.
“And Iowa?”
“I call soda pop. I know it’s soda, but I’ve retrained myself to call it pop.”
I laugh. This girl is somethin’.
“So what are you takin’ from Missouri then?” I immediately cringe at my words. I don’t want her takin’ anything because that would mean she’d have to be goin’ somewhere else.
She finds my eyes and just smiles the sweetest smile. “I don’t know yet.”
Then I watch her climb onto a big flat rock, look out onto the creek and then sit down before patting a spot on the rock next to her. I sit down, and for the first time, I notice a mist of little freckles on her shoulder—and on her other shoulder too—nowhere else from what I can tell, just on her shoulders.
“They’re from the sun,” she says, eyeing me with those green eyes. She must have caught me lookin’. “There’s nothing I can do about them.”
I feel my eyebrows squish together. “Why would you wanna do somethin’ about ‘em?”
She shrugs her shoulders.
“I like them,” I say. And I do like them. On her shoulder closest to me, there’s a pattern of little freckles that reminds me of the constellation my grandpa’s always pointin’ out to me. It’s like he only knows one. Aquarius.
She smiles bashfully. “You like them?”
“Yeah,” I confirm. “They’re like bees and honey.”
“What?” she asks.
“Like bees and honey,” I repeat. “They go together; they fit you.”
She sends me a curious stare.
“It’s a good thing,” I assure her.
Her eyes fall from mine, and she giggles to herself. Hearin’ her giggle makes me want to do somethin’ I’ve never done.
“Brooke.”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
She stops and squares her shoulders up to me. Then she gives me a half-questioning, half-silly look and then stands up again and starts walkin’. I don’t think that’s an answer necessarily, so I get up and follow after her.
“I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before,” she says so softly I almost don’t hear her.
“That’s okay. I haven’t either.”
She stares me down until I break and smile, then she playfully shoves my shoulder. “Naw,” I say, “I ain’t never been anyone’s boyfriend either.”
She stops walkin’, and her face turns soft again. “Okay.”
“Okay, you will?” I ask.
She nods. “Okay, I will. I’ll be your girlfriend.”
I wanna do my happy dance or pump my fist in the air or shout somethin’ really loud, but I just try to play it cool instead with a simple smile.
“But that means you might have to marry me someday,” she says
before she takes off walkin’ again.
I just stand there and think about what she said. Marrying Brooke doesn’t sound half bad. In fact, it doesn’t sound bad at all. It actually sounds pretty darn good.
“I ain’t got a problem with that,” I say, workin’ to catch up to her again.
“Good,” is all I hear her say. And we keep walkin’ down that little dirt path, side by side. And I just smile—‘cause life doesn’t get any better than this. In fact, I’d find out soon enough that that very moment with Brooke would be one of the greatest highs of my life. But then, I’d also find out that with every high, there must come a low. And in that low, I’d learn that as much as one heart can feel great joy, that same heart can feel just as much sadness.
Chapter Five
Be a Daisy with Me
“River!”
I start runnin’ toward her because I think somethin’s wrong. But when I get to her, she’s smilin’.
“Look at all the flowers,” she exclaims.
I stop and look at the little field covered in daisies. It’s just a small patch of earth, and it’s always been this way—always been covered in the white and yellow flowers about this same time of year.
“Where do you think they all came from?”
I shrug my shoulders. “They’ve always just been here. My grandpa said that Johnny Appleseed put them here because he ran out of apple seeds.”
She laughs, but she keeps her eyes on the field for a little while longer before takin’ off runnin’. She gets to the center of the field. Then she plants herself in the middle of all those flowers.
“Come on, Riv. Be a daisy with me.”
I just shake my head. This girl’s wild—in a larger than life kind of way—but I think I love her. I don’t think I’ve ever thought that about anyone before—the wild or the love part. It feels kind of heavy, but it also makes my heart kind of dance a little.
I make my way over to her. And when I reach her, I lie down next to her little frame and let the quiet and the blue sky take us both away.
“River?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s your happy?”
“My what?”
“Your happy?” she asks. “What’s the one thing that makes you happy—every time?”
She tilts her face my way. There are daisies and green grass pressed under her cheek.
“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it,” I say.
She smiles at me and then returns her gaze to the sky. “Mine’s the sky.”
“The sky?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s always doing something different—always holding onto something—whether it’s snow or sun or secrets.”
“Secrets?” I ask.
I watch her make a box with her fingers and her thumbs. Everything this girl does works to captivate me somehow. I hang onto every move she makes.
The colorful bands around her wrists bunch together as she puts the box she’s made with her hands to her face and looks through it. “The sky goes on forever,” she says. “And it holds stars and moons and planets.” She lets her hands fall back down to her sides, and then she turns her face to mine again. “There’s a lot of stuff we don’t know about the universe. That’s a lot of secrets it knows that we don’t.”
I smile at her. “I suppose so.”
She’s quiet then, and I am too—for a couple beats at least.
“River,” she says, quickly breaking the peaceful silence.
“Yeah?” Immediately, I can tell somethin’s wrong. I always thought my mom was magic or somethin’, but I guess you really can just sense when somethin’ is wrong in a person sometimes.
“I’m moving, River.”
I sit up fast and force out the breath I had been holdin’ since she first said my name. “But you just got here?”
She looks at me with a set of sad, pretty eyes and then tugs at my arm with her hand. I do what she silently asks, and I lie back down next to her.
It’s the words I knew would come someday. I tried to remind myself every day that they would come—so I’d be prepared. I just wish they hadn’t come today—or ever. I just figured out I loved her, and I haven’t even got the chance to tell her yet.
“When?” I ask.
I watch her shoulders rise and then gradually fall. “A couple weeks maybe.”
“A couple weeks?” I blurt out.
Her green and gray eyes just stare back at me. They’re sad, but they’re also strong-like, if eyes can be strong.
“That’s awful fast,” I say. I wish we had more time. I wish time were all we had.
“That’s how it always is.” She lets go of a sigh, while my eyes find a big, fat cloud and follow it out of sight.
“You can’t convince your parents to stay?” I ask, looking her way.
“I’ve tried.” Her lips fold into a frown.
“Well, maybe I could talk to them. Maybe I could tell them how nice it is here.”
“It won’t change anything, River. It’s just the way it is.”
It’s just the way it is? I’m quiet then. I really don’t know what to say. I don’t want her to go. There’s got to be somethin’ I can do.
“I’m gonna miss you, River.”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, Brooke, just because you leave doesn’t mean I’m never gonna see you again.” It can’t mean that.
I watch her draw a breath and quickly force it out. Her chest rises and then falls as she does it. Then she leans into me. I can feel her hot breaths on my ear. Somethin’ fiery and prickly runs up my spine and makes my heart start racin’.
“I love you, River,” she whispers. She pulls away but keeps her eyes lowered.
“Brooke,” I say. She doesn’t move, so I take my hand and rest it on the side of her face and gently force her to look at me. “I love you too.”
She smiles a sad smile again and then buries her face into my chest. My breath hitches for no real reason, except for the fact that now her body is pressed against mine. I hesitate before puttin’ my arm around her because I’m tryin’ to think if that’s what I’m supposed to do or not. What do they do in the movies?
I feel her pullin’ on the end of my tee shirt, and then she goes to twistin’ the cotton around her fingers. It pulls the shirt tight and exposes a piece of my stomach to the light. And soon, I can feel her soft skin touchin’ that piece of my skin, and it sends shivers down my spine. And I say to hell with what I’m supposed to do, and I just do what feels right—I put my arm around her, and I squeeze her tight.
I’m the happiest boy in the world being this close to her, feelin’ like we belong to each other. But I’m also the saddest—because now, it’s as if somebody has just turned over one of those damn sand timers. I just found her, and now, when the sand runs out—which is always too soon—I’ve gotta let her go.
I hold her there for a few minutes, a few hours, days maybe—I’m not sure. I hold her until the clouds gather in dark waves above us and even then, I’m scared to say anything. I don’t want to let her go. I’m scared that with a word, this moment will disappear forever—that she’ll disappear forever.
“Brooke.”
She nudges her head into my chest.
“I think it’s about to rain,” I say.
She tilts her face up at me and then up at the sky. And instantly, a thin smile works its way into her expression. It’s that sad one—the only smile she’s got that breaks my heart.
“Let it rain,” she softly says before she settles back into the muscles in my chest.
I squeeze her closer and look back up at the heavens. The clouds are even darker and lower than they were only a minute ago.
“Let it rain,” I whisper, repeating her words, almost darin’ the heavens to open up and do their best.
And they do. Within minutes, one drop turns into two, and then two turns into ten and then ten into hundreds. But like the daisies around us, we don’t move. We just stay where we’re planted, and we take the rain.<
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“It’s so cold!” Brooke sings after a few moments. She rolls over onto her back but stays resting on my arm. And she stares up into the sky, eyes closed, mouth open, laughin’ the whole time. I watch her catch the rain on her tongue, and I promise myself that I won’t lose this girl. No matter what, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her. Besides, my heart aches for her so much already; I don’t know what it would do without her.
Big drops soak my hair and roll down my cheeks. I wipe my eyes with my free hand and notice Brooke is smilin’ at me. Her clothes are clingin’ to her skin. Little goose bumps are now fillin’ up her arms, but it looks as if she has no plans to run for shelter anytime soon. I pull her closer to me and press my lips against her forehead, and I taste the salty raindrops on my tongue. She settles back into my chest and wraps her arm around my waist. Then she goes to tracin’ little circles on my arm. I love the way her wet fingers glide against my skin. It’s calming somehow, yet exhilarating, and it forces me to suck in a rushed breath. And I notice the air is soaked with the smell of rain now. With the breath, I taste its dampness. And here we lie—just two daisies among the daisies—as the cool summer rain washes over every piece of our warm bodies. And soon, a little thought comes to me and burrows deep into my heart. And all of a sudden, I know what my happy is. It’s Brooke Sommerfield. She’s my happy.
Chapter Six
Still to Come
We spend our last couple weeks together the best we know how. We explore this whole creek bottom. We explore each other. We take turns askin’ each other every question under the sun, and I think we hit on all our favorites. Hers are blue, summer, six and strawberry ice cream. I tell her my favorites are green—like her eyes—fall, nine and my grandma’s coffee cake. And she teaches me how to swim—how to really swim, like all technical and stuff. I even learn how to do the butterfly. I don’t really know what use it’ll ever be, but she said every good swimmer should know the butterfly, so I learn it. And I teach her how to throw a curveball, and I tell her about all the rules in baseball. And I teach her how to fish. I tell her everyone should know how to fish. She’s a natural at it—probably already better at it than me.
