“Oww!”
He clamps his other hand to my mouth and holds me still against him. “Don’t move,” he murmurs in my ear. “Don’t even make a sound.”
The urgency in his voice shocks me still; my complaint dies on my lips.
“What?” I whisper back. He jerks his head in the direction we were heading and I turn, following his gaze into the trees ahead of us.
A bear is loping slowly through the forest.
I stop breathing.
“Stay calm,” Reeve whispers, his mouth against my ear. “It hasn’t seen us yet.”
The animal is huge, easily bigger than me, and it paces along with a strange rocking gait, black fur dark even in the dim light. My heart races as the rain keeps pouring down on us. I don’t know much about bears except that they kill, and maim, and oh, yes, kill. I think of the half-finished energy bar in my pack with a twist of fear.
Oh, God.
I tremble, Reeve’s arms locked tight around me. I can feel his heart beating quick against my back through our soaked, thin clothes. We stand frozen, watching the bear sniff and paw at the undergrowth. Every moment stretches into forever as I try not to imagine a dozen grisly ends.
I don’t ever think about death. Not really, no more than a flicker of anxiety when I’m trying to merge on the highway or watching a news clip about some unfortunate girl my age. Even then, those are vague, passing ideas — not forty feet away with razor-sharp claws and angry teeth. But standing here, shaking with fear, I suddenly grasp the truth of it: the blood racing in my veins, the sharp tingle of my chilled skin, the intensity of every breath.
This is my life.
I don’t know how long it is until the bear lopes out of sight. No more than ten seconds, maybe, but it feels like hours to me.
“Wait a while longer,” Reeve whispers, still holding me. “Give it time to get clear.”
I nod, adrenaline rushing through my system. Finally, I feel Reeve relax.
“It’s gone,” he says hoarsely, loosening his grip on my arms and turning me to face him. I still don’t move. “Are you OK?”
“I think so. . . .” I waver, and he pulls me back against him, holding me steady. I look up. His eyelashes are wet, water running down his face.
“I’m sorry.”
I blink, slowly emerging from my daze. “How . . . I mean, that wasn’t your fault.”
Reeve shakes his head. “I should have been more careful. I should have made us go back hours ago. I saw the clouds changing.”
Maybe it’s the endorphins still singing in my blood, or maybe I’m just plain thankful I’m standing here and not lying in a bloody, mauled heap. Either way, I look straight at him, suddenly reckless. “So why didn’t you?”
Our eyes meet for a long moment.
“I didn’t . . .” He pauses, moving one hand to brush away the strand of hair sticking to my forehead. I feel a rush that’s nothing to do with the near-death experience. There’s something in the space between us. I can’t be imagining it — this isn’t wishful thinking.
Reeve glances away. “I thought, maybe . . .”
And then before he can make another sound, I kiss him.
Our faces are cold from the storm, but I still feel a burst of warmth as I slowly press my lips against his, uncertain at first. I reach my arms around his neck and pull him down to me, kissing him with a bravery I don’t think I possessed until just minutes ago.
This is my life.
I don’t want to sit around, listening to Olivia’s adventures — I want some of my own. All this time, I’ve kept quiet, stayed in, turned down dates with nice enough guys because I’ve wanted to really feel something. And now that I do, I want it to be mine.
After a heart-stopping moment of panic, he kisses me back.
Pulling me gently against him, Reeve takes my face in his hands. Breathless, I find myself clutching at his shoulders, his neck, overwhelmed with the intensity of his mouth on mine, his teeth grazing at my lips . . .
Oh, God.
I’m not sure how long it is before I break it off. I don’t even know why I do it, except . . . it’s too much. I pull away, unsteady, tugging at my soaked T-shirt, which has somehow risen up around my bra.
“We better get back,” I say, when words finally manage to form in my brain.
“Back. Sure. I mean . . .” He straightens up his own twisted shirt, clearly flustered. I’m gratified to see that he needs to recover, too. At least I’m not alone in feeling overwhelmed by this. After a moment, he picks up his bag.
“The rain’s stopped,” he says, sounding anything but casual.
“It did?” I look up. The pine trees around us are thick with dewdrops, but there are no more showers or thunder. Instead, there’s a heavy silence stretching through the forest. “I didn’t notice.” I look at him shyly, and to my relief, he grins back — conspiratorial and happy.
“C’mon, before you freeze to death.” He holds out his hand, and I take it, feeling completely invincible.
He doesn’t call.
It’s been three days since the hiking trip. Three days since Reeve kissed me like we were the only people in the world, and my giddy elation has faded to anxious insecurity. He still hasn’t called me.
“Will you stop that?” Fiona snaps as I reach to check my phone for the thirty-fifth time this afternoon. “Who are you waiting to hear from, anyway?”
“No one,” I answer quickly, snapping the display shut. I try not to sigh. “Just . . . Olivia.”
“Your little eco-friend?” Fiona expertly stuffs a down pillow into a crisp pillowcase, gives it a swift pummeling, and then tosses it on the pile. Finally, we found a job to suit her. “What’s up with her? You don’t drone on about her the way you used to.”
“Nothing,” I say, a little defensive. “She’s just . . . busy. I am, too.”
“Sure you are.” Fiona smirks at me. “Those sheets won’t fold themselves.”
I keep folding. Despite what I told Fiona, I’ve been feeling Olivia’s absence even more these last few days. She’s not answering her cell, and I’m sick of leaving messages only to get a three-word text in reply. Moments like this are when I need my best friend the most, to tell me everything will be OK with Reeve, that this is just a stupid boy thing, and not proof that he regrets it all and never wants to speak to me again. Or, worse still, doesn’t even care.
My cell phone starts to ring. I leap for it.
“Hello?” I answer excitedly, but my enthusiasm quickly fades. “Oh, Mom, hey.”
“Is this a bad time, sweetie?”
I look around at Fiona and the stacked laundry room. “Nope, it’s cool.” Leaving the sheets in a warm heap, I wander out into the hallway, barefoot. The screen door is propped open, so I sit down on the step, looking out at the rhododendron bushes in the yard. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing new really. I just wanted to check and see how you’re doing.” There’s a strain in her tone, as if she’s tired, but it’s still nice to hear her voice. It’s the first time I’ve been away from her for so long.
“I’m good. Things at the B and B are really coming together, so everyone’s working flat out.” I pause, picking at the nail polish on my big toe before asking, “How’s Dad?”
“Your father’s fine. Isn’t he e-mailing you?”
“Yes. Well, kind of.” I don’t want to tell her how much he’s raving about Swedish food, Swedish art, and all those freaking fjords. But maybe she already knows, because she suddenly changes the subject.
“Your grandmother sends her love. She’s out getting her hair done at the moment, but you should call back later. She’d love to hear your voice.”
“OK.”
“We went out to dinner last night at that Italian place here. Do you remember it? The one with all those actors’ photos on the wall, and . . .”
As she chats, I tell myself I’m being completely paranoid about this whole “summer apart” thing. Her replies are perfectly normal; it d
oesn’t seem like anything’s wrong.
“How are the kids, in your classes?” I try to sound cheerful.
She laughs. “A handful to say the least. But I’m enjoying it. I might take up some part-time work when we get back.” She pauses. “How would you feel about that?”
“Sure, that sounds cool. What does Dad think?”
There’s silence. “Your father is so busy, I haven’t mentioned it yet.”
“Oh.”
They used to talk about everything.
“Anyway, honey, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Her voice drops, suddenly serious. “About next year. We’ve got to be prepared for some, changes . . .” She trails off, nervous, and there it is again: fear, low in my gut. I can only imagine what kind of changes she means.
“Sorry, Mom — I’ve got to go!” I say brightly before she can say another word. “Things are . . . busy around here, and I’ve got plans. Talk soon!”
“OK.” She pauses, sighing slightly. “You take care. I love you.”
“You too.”
I close my phone slowly and then leap up, restless. I don’t want to sit around, folding laundry and waiting for a call that’s obviously not going to come. Reeve has stayed away so far, so how about I go looking for him?
Or maybe not.
As I cycle slowly down Main Street later that afternoon, the old lady at the gas station shoots me a strange look. I don’t blame her. This is my fourth loop around town, and there’s still no sign of Reeve. There’s barely a sign of anyone at all.
I pull over by the patch of playground and climb off, abandoning my bike and collapsing onto one of the kids’ swings. I can’t help but feel like an idiot. Reeve must have a good reason for not getting in touch yet: maybe something’s happened with his mom, or he’s been pulling extra shifts. And here I am, practically stalking him through town in a pair of denim cut-offs and my cutest blue shirt because of one stupid kiss.
OK. One amazing, earth-moving kiss.
I hang on to the swing and lean back, closing my eyes to the looming mountains and green valley stretching up around me.
“Hey, Jenna.”
Startled, I nearly fall off the swing. Struggling to keep my balance, I turn to see Ethan sauntering toward me in that awful plaid shirt of his. Grady and Reeve follow, a few paces behind.
Reeve!
“Hi!” I exclaim breathlessly, my pulse picking up right away. “How’ve you guys been? What’s up?” I quickly smooth my hair back and make sure my shirt isn’t gaping open. Even as I do, I tell myself to stay relaxed, not make a big deal over this. But I can’t help it: even the sight of him with that old red baseball cap jammed low over his eyes is doing strange, fluttery things to my stomach.
And I thought the nervous crush phase was bad.
“Nothing much.” Ethan gives me a look, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything about my weird behavior. I recover, forcing myself to act casual.
“Cool . . .” My gaze slides over to Reeve. He gives me a quick smile but then turns away, looking down the street. My excitement slips.
I turn back to Ethan, trying to seem unconcerned. “So, did you want to get started on the next DVD marathon, maybe tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Grady agrees, kind of quickly.
He elbows Ethan, who says, “Yeah, count me in.”
“Reeve?” I ask, letting my eyes drift. Despite my best efforts, there’s a whole lot of hope bound up in that one word.
“Nope, can’t make it.” He finally turns back to me, but his expression is unreadable.
My heart sinks.
“More overtime?” Ethan asks, leaning against the jungle-gym frame. I try to keep a smile fixed on my face.
Reeve nods. “Yup. I figure I should take it while I can.”
“Good call.”
“Anyway, I’ve got to go.” Reeve jerks his thumb toward the gas station, already edging away. His eyes flicker back to me, just for a moment, and I think I see a private look, but I can’t be sure. “Catch you all later.”
“Bye . . .” My voice trails uselessly after him.
As I watch him walk away, something clenches in my throat. All this time I’ve spent replaying that kiss, going over the whole day, and it doesn’t mean a thing to him. It was just the moment, the adrenaline — he got caught up. And I was expecting . . . I don’t even know what. God, I’m pathetic.
“Want to grab a soda?” I realize Ethan’s talking to me. Grady has bailed as well, off down the street on his skateboard, so it’s just the two of us left.
“Sure.” I nod weakly.
“And you’ve got to hear the new Devon Darsel tracks; I downloaded them last night.” He picks up my bike and begins to wheel it toward the store. I’ve got nothing better to do than follow him, aching a little inside.
I wallow for the rest of the day, running over every look and conversation until I’m not even sure what’s real anymore — and what’s a product of my overactive imagination. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t figure Reeve out. Are stormy, near-death hook-ups such a regular occurrence for him that this one didn’t even register? Or does he think Ethan still likes me and doesn’t want to go behind his back? There are too many possibilities, and none of them makes me feel any less insecure.
A text comes through, lighting up my phone. It’s from Olivia. Where the wild things R=awesome movie! Xx.
I stare at it in disbelief. That’s it? I pour my heart out to her voice mail about my parents and Reeve and I get a one-line, nonsense response!
Even though it’s got to be at least one a.m. out there, I hit my speed dial. By some miracle, she answers on the second ring.
“Olivia, it’s me.”
“Wait, who?”
I stop. “It’s me, Jenna.”
“Hey!” Her voice is high-pitched, and there’s laughter and noise in the background. “I was totally just talking about you!”
“Did you get my messages?” I sit, very still on the edge of my bed, hugging my comforter.
“What?” I hear her cover the handset and say something to someone there.
“My messages.” I swallow back the lump in my throat and try again. “About Reeve, and everything.”
“Uh-huh! See, I told you he liked you, all this time!”
“No, that was Ethan.” I grit my teeth. “He’s gay, remember? This is Reeve. You know, Reeve.”
I must have sent her dozens of texts and e-mails over the past weeks: spelling out in tiny detail every look and touch and smile that’s gone between us. The first thing I did when I got back from the hike was call Olivia up and leave a giddy message so she could share in it all. But she doesn’t even remember.
“Right, sure, Reeve!” she says quickly, her voice hard to make out over the background noise. “You guys got together — that’s so great.”
“Sure it is.” My voice is flat. “Except we didn’t.”
“Uh-huh.”
I know that tone. It’s the one she uses when she couldn’t care less about what’s being said — not even enough to register what you’re talking about “Where are you, anyway?”
“What?”
“I said, where are you?” I speak louder.
“We’re in Chicago!” Olivia exclaims. “Setting up camp. We got in this evening to protest the Climate Committee meeting!”
“Wait, what happened to the collective?”
“It didn’t work out. They were way too fixed in their rules . . .” Her voice begins to fade out. “So we went . . . Cash says . . . more free-form . . . until . . .”
“Olivia, are you there?”
“With the system, so you . . . overthrowing . . . in the end.” I listen closely, but I can’t make out more than a few words among the static and laughter. Then Olivia’s voice comes back, suddenly clear.
“Here I am! What’s up?”
Suddenly, I’ve had enough.
“You know what? Don’t even bother!” I tell her angrily. “If you can’t even pay attent
ion to anything I tell you . . .”
“But Jenna —”
“No! I haven’t heard from you in forever — and I really needed you this week!” My voice catches on that last part. I sniffle. “It’s not like I’m asking much, but with everything going on with Reeve . . . I don’t know what to do. I miss you!”
There’s nothing but background noise for a moment. I wait, picking at a hangnail, and then I hear her voice again, awkward. “Uh, Jenna, can I call you back tomorrow? It’s just, we’re about to —”
I hang up on her.
Flopping backward onto my bed, I stare up at the ceiling and despair. I’ve never hung up on anyone, ever! But God, the way she just brushes me off now . . . I know she’s off doing her own thing this summer, and so am I, but that shouldn’t mean she can just put our friendship on hold. A slow tear trickles down my cheek, and I wipe it away angrily. Right now, I feel completely alone.
I’m still lying there hours later, clutching the soft throw. The house falls silent, as Fiona turns off her music to sleep, and Adam and Susie lock up and make their way to bed. I should turn in, too, but somehow the effort it would take to find PJs and brush my teeth is beyond me. Maybe I could just fall asleep right here. . . .
Suddenly, there’s a rattle at my window. I sit up. There it is again. Crossing the room, I look out, checking that a branch hasn’t gotten trapped in the shutters again, or —
“Hey, Jenna!” There’s a loud stage whisper from down in the backyard.
“Argh!” I let out a squawk of shock, banging my head against the frame. “Ethan, is that you?” I squint to make out a shape in the dark. “What are you trying to do, scare me half to death?”
“No, it’s me, Reeve.”
As I lean out of my window — face red and blotchy from crying, chocolate staining my shirt from where I comfort-ate a half-pint of ice cream — I see him step out from the shadows.
“Can you come down? I, uh, need to talk to you.”
I reel backward in shock. Reeve. Here. Now?
“Jenna?” he calls again.
“Yup?” I edge toward the window, staring like he’s some kind of hallucination brought on by too much sugar and wishful thinking.
Boys, Bears, and A Serious Pair of Hiking Boots Page 15
