by Shari Arnold
“That’s ridiculous. I just read them the way they’re written.”
“They aren’t just stories, they’re adventures.” He leans close and it’s so cold I can see his breath. “And a true adventure never ends.”
“O-kay,” I mutter, but he’s already moving on without me.
I follow him across the lawn toward an assortment of sculptures. There’s a group of about twenty or so kids, standing in an open area up ahead. Some are skateboarding while others are paired up in clusters of twos and threes. Some are on their phones, their faces illuminated in the dark each time their fingers fly over their tiny keyboards. They resemble giant fireflies, flashing here and there, lighting up the night as if they’re afraid of the dark.
“This is Livy,” Meyer calls out to them. “And since it’s her first night she’ll be hiding with me.”
“What?” Hiding? Who said I was hiding? I grab his arm and turn him toward me. But once I realize I’m touching him, I let go. “I don’t understand. What are we doing here? What does any of this have to do with my dare?”
“I dare you,” he says with a low bow, “to have fun. And if you can’t have fun,” he waggles his eyebrows at me, “you will suffer the consequences.”
“Is this part of the game?” I’m still confused. Did he plan this? Did he know before we met up tonight that this was all going to happen? Or did he just take pity on the girl crying in the stairwell and I got sucked into his plans?
“It’s up to you. Do you take the dare or not?” he challenges.
I glance around at the faceless shapes around me. It’s too dark for me to make out more than that. What I do know is that we are not supposed to be here at this time of night. At any moment a security guard could catch us and kick us off the grounds. Or worse, call our parents.
“Livy?” Meyer is smiling, his white teeth a flash in his otherwise shadowed face.
“I’m in,” I say and a tiny thrill of excitement rushes through me. What other choice do I have? Do I go home? Leave Meyer to think I’m afraid and sad and pathetic? It’s too soon for him to know this about me.
“We’ll keep the boundaries close tonight,” he calls out to the group. “Consider the walkway off limits.” He points in the direction we’ve just come, where just past the path I can see the Sound fidgeting in the moonlight.
No one objects to Meyer’s amendment. Instead, a dark-haired girl steps forward and begins to explain the rules, even though it appears I’m the only one who’s never done this before.
“Have you ever played hide-and-seek?” Meyer’s voice is soft beside me.
“Of course. Who hasn’t?”
I tuck my hands into the pockets of my raincoat. The night is cold and wet, my least favorite combination, but I try not to dwell on it. Warm and dry is safe and boring, I think, and then wonder where that thought came from.
“Good then,” Meyer says. “They have a lot of rules you see, but the only thing you need to remember is: don’t get caught.”
“Alright.” Don’t get caught. Getting caught is bad. I can remember that.
Meyer leans close. “But you needn’t worry about that, Livy. Not tonight.” His smile is mischievous. “I never get caught.”
I clamp my teeth together, covering the chill that has set them chattering. I’m cold, yes, but the weather never sets my stomach fluttering. Not like this.
He claps his hands and the noise around us stops. Everyone is on alert. I can feel it, like we’re all waiting for a race to begin.
“Have you got a cell phone, then?”
“Yes.”
“Give us the number.”
Us. Not me, but us.
“You’ll get a text once each person is found, that way you know who’s still in the game.”
“Okay. Makes sense.” I call out my number to the twenty or so people standing around me, the twenty or so people I don’t even know. I mean, it’s just a cell phone number, right? It’s not like it’s anything personal. And yet it feels personal. But again, I don’t care.
Someone calls out, “Let’s do this!” Suddenly everyone is moving, running in all directions and Meyer and I are the only ones left.
He holds out his hand to me and I stare down at it. It’s not that I don’t want to hold it; it just feels so intimate, holding hands.
He must sense my hesitation but instead of pulling back from me his eyes soften. “I’m not someone you should fear, Livy.” It seems like such a funny thing to say considering we’re standing all alone in a dark field, but it makes me feel better. I have to admit, between the way he looks at me and the inflection in his voice, fear is the last thing I feel right now. It’s something else. There’s something… exciting about him. He’s different and different feels very good right now.
Despite the fact that everyone else has scampered off, Meyer doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. His hand is still reaching for mine. I get the feeling we’ll stand here all night until I take it. Even if it means we’re the first to get caught.
“Shall we go then?” he says, and I nod.
His hand is warm, which I like, and soft. When his fingers close around mine I realize I don’t want mine back. I feel brave with my hand in his.
“This way.” His grip tightens as though he worries I’m about to let go. He tugs on my hand not once but twice, until I follow him down the path toward the trees. We move quickly up a hill that leads to a large staircase.
“I’ve never been here before,” I say
“It’s even prettier in the day.”
And then we’re silent; the only sound is our footsteps trudging up the cement stairs.
We move toward an open area where just ahead I can make out an assortment of sculptures all staggered and yet together. From my viewpoint there are five, five willowy walls as tall as the trees. I can’t make out what they are exactly, just that they appear to be blowing in the wind even though they are solid and unmoving.
“This is where we wait,” he says, pulling me back behind one of them. And I don’t question it. He seems to know what he’s doing. However, there are tiny pebbles under my feet that make it difficult to move without making noise.
“These pebbles don’t seem to help our cause.”
“It’s better that way. We’ll be able to hear their approach.”
He’s leaning against one of the wall sculptures while I stand a few feet away, not quite sure what to do with my body. Do I stand next to him? Do I hide nearby? He reaches out and then pulls me up next to him as though he’s noticed my hesitation.
“It’s important that you hide in this game,” he whispers in my ear, and I feel myself flush with embarrassment. Thankfully it’s too dark for him to notice.
I open my mouth to respond, but find he’s just too close for words to move between us. I don’t even realize I’m staring at his mouth until he smirks, and then I’m not looking at him at all. My eyes drop to the ground, only returning when the sound of his soft laughter mocks me.
“I get that we’re supposed to be hiding,” I whisper, “but aren’t we also supposed to be quiet?”
Meyer lifts an eyebrow and then tips his head as if to say, “touché.”
And of course now that I’ve shut him up all I can do is think of the questions I’d love to ask him, like, How often do you do this? And, do you live in Seattle? Anything to find out more about him. But it really isn’t the best time for a chat. We are hiding after all.
“So when is it your turn?” I whisper when I can’t take the silence any longer. “And what will you choose, pain or suffering?”
Meyer grins and my stomach flutters again. “I prefer suffering to pain,” he says. “Always.”
“So you’re a risk taker.” I could have called that seeing as he’s avoided every personal question so far this evening.
“What is life without risk?”
“Long,” I answer, even though I’m sure he didn’t mean it as a question. “And safe.”
Meyer’s eyes narrow. �
�Is that what you want? Safety? Predictability?”
“I just want to know that everything’s going to work out. I don’t like surprises.”
He’s quiet, as if he’s taking this in. His gaze is upon my face as though it’s a touch. All at once I’m very aware of the fact that I’m all alone out here with Meyer, someone I just met. I should feel uncomfortable, or awkward, or something, but I don’t.
“Wasn’t tonight a surprise?” he says softly. His lashes lower, mesmerizing me. “And me? Would you rather I left you in that stairwell?”
I’m saved from answering when off in the distance we hear footsteps. Meyer presses up against me.
“If they get any closer we’re going to run,” he whispers. I can feel the smooth texture of his raincoat against my cheek and his heartbeat is quick and steady, just like mine. “Follow me and stay close.”
I nod and the zipper of his coat scratches against my chin. We’re so close it’s like we’re sharing heat. And I like it. It’s been awhile since I’ve stood this close to someone.
The footsteps stop a short distance away and then move off in the opposite direction. “Are you ready?”
“Y-yes,” I say and take a step back from him. I reach up to brush the hair out of my eyes and realize it’s damp. I hadn’t even noticed the rain.
Meyer creeps to the end of the wall, and begins searching the grounds down below us. He turns back to me, his eyes lit with excitement. “How do you feel about heights?”
“Heights?”
“Are you afraid of heights?” he asks me impatiently. “The next spot is rather high.”
“Um. I don’t think so…”
“Good. Let’s go then.” He takes my hand and pulls me closer.
The sound of pebbles rustling underfoot startles me and I tense up with anticipation. Meyer tugs on my hand and I follow him. We move through the wall sculptures slowly at first and then we’re running. We hop over bushes and fly past trees as he leads me around the grounds like he can see in the dark. Back behind us I can hear our pursuer’s footsteps quicken on the grass, heavy and determined. This whole thing starts to feel like more than a game. We are running — fast now — as though our pursuer is something to fear, something life-threatening. I like that I’m a tiny bit scared. I like that every shadow feels like a threat. But mostly I like running with Meyer’s hand in mine.
After a few more minutes the footsteps fall off and disappear completely.
We stop to catch our breath — even though I’m not sure I’ll ever get mine back. Meyer, however, doesn’t even seem winded.
A drop of moisture rolls down my face. I’m surprised when it feels refreshing. I even contemplate taking off my raincoat, anything to cool me down.
“What is it?” Meyer asks, and I realize I’m smiling. I’m soaked to the bone, my hair is hanging limply against my back, but I don’t mind.
“This is fun,” I say, even though that doesn’t nearly cover it. The air smells like a mix of evergreens and salt water and I swear the next time I go to the beach I will smell the sea and remember this night. And Meyer. Mostly I will think of Meyer.
He is grinning at me and I can almost hear the words he’s not saying, I told you so. When he doesn’t say them, I like him even more.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see three new texts. All read the very same thing: out.
Meyer glances over my shoulder. “That leaves us, and two other groups.” He takes my hand and we’re off again. Across a giant lawn and then up a flight of stairs until I’m so out of breath my lungs hurt. I’m not stopping though. I don’t even want to slow down. I stop paying attention to how high we’ve climbed until he leads me across a cement walkway that overlooks the entire garden. On either side of me it’s a straight drop down into darkness. How did we even get here?
I can see the Sound off in the distance. The moon is still bouncing along on the choppy water. And it’s all so beautiful. Everything in this moment is perfect.
Meyer appears in front of me, his eyes serious. “If it bothers you, don’t look down,” he says, but the way I’m feeling has nothing to do with heights.
Down below us I can make out a few voices and then once again my phone is buzzing. Meyer’s hands are warm on my shoulders — his knees touching mine — and the look in his eyes is like a burst of adrenaline. I feel like I’m lit from the inside. For the last few months I’ve had countless eyes watching over me, making sure I’m okay, that I’m not going to lose to the battle of sadness. But when Meyer stares down at me I’m amazed that one person can make all the difference. With his attention clearly focused on me I feel as if I’ve been noticed for the very first time.
“Have you ever wanted to fly, Livy?” he asks. I don’t tell him that, at the moment, I feel like I am flying. We’re standing higher than the apartment building across the garden and higher than anyone should be allowed to stand without a guardrail protecting them from the ground below, and yet I’m not afraid. Meyer makes me unafraid.
“Always,” I say, and I realize it’s the truth.
“It’s easy, you know,” he says and squeezes my hand. “One day I’ll show you.”
The thing is, I believe him. I believe he could fly if he wanted to, because in the matter of a few hours he’s made me feel weightless. So incredibly light that at any moment I could lift off. And that’s really all you need to fly, isn’t it?
“Meyer!” someone yells up at us. He doesn’t respond. A few seconds later my phone begins to buzz.
Game over, the text reads. You win.
Back down on the ground Meyer keeps hold of my hand as we make our way toward home base. Another game is forming but he explains that we’re done for the night, how we’ll catch them another time. I can’t help but feel disappointed. Funny thing is I don’t know any of these kids, I wouldn’t even recognize them if I saw them in the light of day, but I don’t want to leave them. Especially if it means my time is up with Meyer as well.
He has hold of my hand and he’s directing me across an intersection as the walk signal flashes a warning that we have five, four, three, two and then the light turns green.
“You did it,” he says. “You had fun!” And I realize he’s the only one of the two of us who doesn’t appear surprised by this.
I did do it. Who would’ve thought, Livy Cloud was capable of having fun?
“That means it’s your turn,” I say, smiling up at him. That lightheaded feeling from before is still there, making me giddy.
“Next time,” he says, making me feel like a child being told it’s well past my bedtime.
There’s a bus waiting on the corner. He leads me toward it and then helps me up the steps. His hands are strong against my back, his fingertips firm, as if I have no choice but to leave him.
“I know you miss her,” he says from the street below, “but she wants you to be happy. Do you think you can be happy here?”
Who is he talking about? He couldn’t be talking about Jenna, could he? The door slides shut leaving Meyer standing on the street alone, and me on the bus headed back toward the hospital.
CHAPTER FIVE
I never wanted to be an only child. I sometimes wonder if my parents had Jenna just to shut me up. I wanted a little sister and I was pretty vocal about it. Every year at Christmas it was the same thing: me on Santa’s lap pleading for a sister. I explained how if he gave me a sister he wouldn’t have to give me anything more until the following Christmas. I figured that was fair.
I asked until I was too old to believe and then I went straight to the source and begged my parents. I was ten when Jenna was born, eleven when she took her first steps and twelve when she crawled up on my lap, wrapped her chubby arms around my neck and told me she loved me best. Most teenage girls would complain about their kid sister shadowing them around everywhere they went, but I liked her company. Jenna wasn’t like other kid sisters. She was special. I realized it the very first day we met. While all the other babies were sleeping in
their little incubators Jenna was screaming her head off. My dad called her his little fighter, because when Jenna wanted something she would do her best to get it, not in an annoying, bratty kind of way, more like when something was important to her, she did everything in her power to make it known.
She was a fighter. Stubborn and determined. I guess that’s why when she took her last breath I didn’t feel sad, I felt betrayed. Like she’d given up on me. If she’d really wanted to stay with us, with me, she would have fought through it. She would have beat cancer, and survived.
Over the next few days I almost tell Sheila about Meyer at least a dozen times, but something always stops me. How do I explain that night? Oh, by the way, the boy with the hoodie showed up, took me to the Sculpture Gardens where we ran around playing hide-and-seek and then disappeared again? Oh and his name is Meyer, but I don’t know anything else about him other than I think I could spend the rest of my life holding his hand.
Because I really do think I could.
I’m not sure if it’s his eyes that I like the best or his smile or the way he makes running around outside in the rain feel fun again. What I don’t like is how little I know about him. How he asked me if I could be happy, as though it’s an emotion I’m incapable of feeling. But I can be happy. I remember happy. I just don’t feel it very often.
But most importantly… who is she? It only makes sense that he’d be speaking of Jenna, but how is that possible? Did he meet her at the hospital before she died? Did he visit her? The questions continue to breed as I think about that night. But the answers are as out of reach as Meyer himself.
Occasionally I scroll through the list of cell phone numbers that are still in my call log, the numbers that belong to Meyer’s friends. How easy would it be to text one of them and say, I lost Meyer’s number, can you send it to me? But I don’t because I know I’ll see him again. It’s his turn next, and Meyer strikes me as the kind of person who doesn’t like to miss his turn.
Meanwhile, I have bigger things to worry about like Jilly and my test results, and how to tell my parents I’m a match — if I am a match —and how I’m going to be a donor whether they want me to or not. I’ve spent the last few nights hanging out with Jilly, making sure she sees how I’m strong and confident and that everything is going to be okay. Because if she sees that I am calm, she sleeps. And when she sleeps, she is at peace.
