by Shari Arnold
“I’m not.”
“Oh,” I exhale.
“Where should I meet you?”
“Meet?”
“How about downstairs?” he suggests.
“Downstairs?” Stop it, Livy! Stop turning everything into a question!
“So is this like a date?” he asks and my knees nearly give out on me.
“Um, well—”
“Because I should probably know if it’s a date or not.”
“Right.” I reach up to untuck my hair from behind my ear, hoping to hide my flushed face, but then I remember it’s still back in a ponytail. Just say it’s a date. That’s what it is, anyway. Isn’t it?
“Perhaps I should probably ask you.” Meyer tilts his forehead toward mine, and I look up. We are nearly touching. “Livy, would you like to go out with me Friday night to meet your friends?” When I continue to stare at him he adds, “Isn’t that how it’s done?”
And then he grins, that wicked grin of his that always makes me want to smile back.
“Say yes,” he whispers, the heavy look in his eyes urging me to do exactly that. “Because whether or not it’s a date, I’d still love to come.”
“Yes,” I say, and then before I can stop myself — before I can even think — I lean up and brush my lips against his. I couldn’t not do it.
The kiss is a barely-there kiss. A promise kiss. Meyer pulls away and I let him go.
“Oh,” I whisper, needing to fill the gap between us with something. “I’m sorry… I’m…”
Meyer is just watching me, his eyes wide and full of confusion as though he’s not quite sure what happened.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer out again. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Yes,” he says quickly, interrupting the rest of my confession, and I don’t know if he’s agreeing or accusing. Either way that one little word fills me with shame.
“Well, then,” I begin, shoving my hands in my pockets. “I should—”
And then he’s kissing me. His hands are on either side of my face while my hands stay trapped in my pockets. I can’t think to move them. I can’t think at all. This time the kiss is longer. Deeper. I feel the warmth of it throughout my body. I need to take a breath, but I don’t dare pull away. Not when it feels this good.
Meyer’s hands move down my face to the back of my neck. I press against him as though he is the ground I need beneath me, and he pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. I feel warm all over, the kind of warmth I didn’t believe was possible, not here in Seattle. I hear the rain falling against the glass windows and the sound usually makes me feel cold. But there isn’t anything that could ruin this moment. Not the rain. Or anything else.
“Your mom,” Meyer says against my lips.
Okay. Only that.
I break away and look around, expecting to see her on the roof.
“We need to go,” he tells me, pulling at my hand. “She’s looking for you.”
“What?” I say, staring up at him completely confused.
“You should go,” he tells me. “I should go.”
“O-kay…” I watch him move toward the elevator.
“Friday,” he says, like that one word explains everything. No mention of the kiss we shared, or if there will be another. Just Friday.
He smiles at me one last time and then the elevator swallows him up. And he’s gone.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I jump with surprise.
I’m home. Where are you?? reads the text from my mom.
I stare at the words on my screen until she texts again, this time in all caps.
WHERE ARE YOU?
On the roof, I reply. Coming down now.
I stare at my phone a minute longer and then slowly make my way to the elevator.
Maybe I was right to think that Meyer knows about Jenna. He seems to know more than he should. About everything.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Friday afternoon finds me sitting at the dining room table with James. It isn’t our usual study day but James called early in the morning, letting me know he felt it was necessary to add a day this week.
“I would hate to see her fall behind,” he told my mother. And that’s all he needed to say to convince her that I needed to be subjected to another James tutor session.
I’m supposed to be listening and following along while he reads to me from Meditations on Quixote by Spanish liberal philosopher, José Ortega y Gasset, but my thoughts keep drifting to Meyer.
James tells me it’s impossible to understand the Spanish language without first understanding the people, which makes sense and all, but there’s no room in my thoughts for new people today. I can’t stop thinking about Meyer. About how he kissed me, how it felt like not just a kiss, but the first kiss of many. I thought about it all night, reliving it like I was afraid it was too perfect to have happened. And it was perfect. Well, not at first. Not when he was pushing me away while I was pushing myself on him. Every time I think about that moment I want to hide my face in embarrassment. Did I startle him with my kiss? It felt like the right moment, and then it didn’t. But then it did again. Maybe Meyer is simply old-fashioned. Maybe he prefers to be the instigator of these kinds of things. I mean, if that’s the case, that’s cool, I guess. But I’m not so sure that is the case. So… then. What happened? When I see him tonight, will he be the Meyer who wants to push me away or will he take the initiative and make something happen? I definitely know which one I want him to be. It is a date after all.
Suddenly James throws his arms into the air and exclaims, “Yo soy yo y mi circunstancia.”
I gape at him as if he’s gone insane and he gestures at me impatiently. “Translate!”
“Oh, um… I am… that is… I am I and—”
“I am I and my circumstance!” he finishes impatiently. “What do you think that means, Livy?”
“Well... I think it means—”
“Nothing. You think nothing because you haven’t been concentrating.”
For a moment I just stare at him, wondering when he morphed into my fourth grade teacher, Mr. Wells, who used to get off on embarrassing his students. I hated Mr. Wells. We all did.
“I’m sorry,” I begin. “I didn’t realize—”
“—that you were miles away from here? No. I can see that.”
My mouth is left hanging open and then with a snap I close it. I’ve never seen James this intense, I mean he’s always intense in a stare-through-you kind of way, but this is different. It’s like he’s genuinely angry with me.
“I’m sorry,” I say again and sit up in my chair, giving him my complete attention.
His stern expression hovers there for a minute and then eventually smoothes out into a smile. “It is obvious you are not with me today, Livy. May I ask where you’ve been? Or what has your attention?”
My face flushes at how close his guess is and of course he catches it. He misses nothing. There’s a curious look in his eyes as he waits for me to answer his question.
“You’re right. My mind was somewhere else, but I’m back. And I’m sorry.”
James nods his head and sits back in his chair. “Perhaps you’ll share with me what has your thoughts today? Or should I say, who?”
“It’s nothing,” I answer quickly, but he doesn’t buy it. Thankfully, he lets it slide.
“Shall we continue then?”
“Of course.”
He shifts in his seat and ponders the painting on the dining room wall. It’s a bunch of lines and squiggles (the composition is kind of nice, though) from some local artist my dad knows. But I doubt James is actually taking it in, let alone appreciating it. He seems to be deep in thought. His fingers are tap tap tapping the table and I’m watching them, absolutely captivated, until he says, “What do you think happened to Jenna?”
My breathing shudders to a stop. It’s crazy how my sister’s name can do that to me. One minute I feel light and — dare I even think it — happy, and the next I’m back to feeling
lost.
“I don’t know what you’re asking. Do you mean, why did she get sick?”
“No.” James leans forward so that his arms are resting on the table. “What do you believe happens to us when we die?”
“Oh, like do I believe in God?” I squeak out a nervous sounding laugh. “Are we back to religion again?” For a tutor he sure does bring this up a lot.
James shrugs. “Some people believe that philosophy and religion are one and the same. But I want to know what you think.”
“Well, I’ve never really thought about it before.” Which is a lie. I think about it all the time. Mostly I think about it when I visit Jenna’s grave. It’s so quiet and soothing there, with a view of the Sound and the Seattle skyline, and there’s even a little bench next to her grave so that you can sit and visit with her — my parents picked it for that very reason. I don’t like to think about her body buried underneath the ground. If I think about it too long I’ll end up digging her back up. I imagine her down there as she used to be, not how she is now. And she wants out. She doesn’t want to be left alone in the dark, cold ground. She wants to be with me. This is why I don’t visit her very often. I just end up hyperventilating, staring down at the ground wishing I could save her all over again.
“But if we don’t bury her, then what?” my mother asked me when I refused the idea of a burial. “I know you’re sad, Livy, but I can’t take this right now.”
Well, neither could I. But the other options were worse. Burned? Incinerated? No. Never. Especially since Jenna was always afraid of fire.
James is still waiting for me to say something more, but I don’t want to talk about this. I’d rather go back to hearing about Ortega y Gasset. Of course what I really want is to get back to thinking about Meyer. He’s the only one who keeps me from sinking. But James is still waiting, his expression as patient as it is stubborn.
“What do you believe?” I ask, because that’s what I do when I don’t have the answers. I turn the focus away me.
James pauses for a minute, even though his answer is sure to be on the tip of his tongue. His hand begins to tap again, two quick taps and then a third.
“Death does not exist,” he says, “not the death the world imagines.”
“Okay.” He hasn’t said much, but I’m intrigued nonetheless.
“Nothing is lost forever, Livy.”
“But if I can no longer see it or feel it, then it’s gone.”
James smiles at me and I can’t tell if it’s the triumphant smile of a teacher who has finally gotten his pupil to engage or if it’s the smile of a hunter who has finally caught his prey in his carefully prepared verbal-trap. Either way I find it annoying. “What of love, then?” he says. “You can feel it, see it, taste it.” He leans forward and I am ensnared within his gaze. “Does love ever disappear?”
“Sometimes.” I think of my parents and how they barely communicate. I think of Sheila’s parents and how her dad fell out of love and moved on to someone new. And I think of myself and how sometimes I worry that the love I feel for Jenna is already less than what it used to be when she was alive. Can people fall out of love just because the physical reminder of it is gone? They say absence makes the heart grow fonder but does it eventually lead to forgetfulness?
“You told me I don’t know anything about love, remember?” I say.
“And I must have been right since you’ve thrown my words back in my face.” James is smirking at me and I hate him for it, but mostly I hate him because he could be right. What do I know of it? Everyone who is close to me is slipping away.
I glare at James. I don’t want to talk about love or death. I miss my old tutor. If Steve were here we would be conjugating verbs, and I’d be counting how many times his eyes blink during a single sentence, but instead I’m stuck dueling with James.
“William Shakespeare wrote, ‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.”’
“Yeah, well, what does he know about it? He killed off the two most romantic characters that ever lived.”
James laughs. “Again with the death. I think you focus on death far too much for a girl your age.”
“You brought it up,” I remind him.
“Yes, you’re right,” he murmurs. “I did.”
I take a deep breath and relish in the moment. It feels good to hear James concede a point. But he’s far from defeated. Clearly this is no ordinary lesson. He’s still leaning toward me. He’s so focused it’s uncomfortable.
“What if there was no death? Not death like you imagine it. What if there was something more, or rather, something else?”
“What do you mean? Like immortality?”
“Immortality!” James scoffs. “Immortality is the selfish dream of a stupid man. I’m not talking about Gods or vampires, Livy.”
“Are those my only two options?”
“Not everything is black and white,” James says, ignoring my sarcasm. “The existence of life doesn’t have to have a conclusion.”
“So then you’re saying…” I pause and try to put my thoughts into words. “I’m sorry, what are you saying?” Somewhere in this conversation I obviously slipped off the path.
James reaches across the table and takes my hand. Once he has a hold of it, I worry he will never give it back; his grip is that strong.
“She isn’t gone, Livy. There is no death.”
“What do you mean?” I shift closer in my seat. Even though what he’s saying is ridiculous, there’s a part of me that wants to believe he’s right, that he knows something the rest of us don’t.
He’s silent for a moment, but his eyes are burning into mine. I still don’t understand what he’s trying to tell me, but I feel it. It moves through our hands like a ripple of energy, starting with the touch of his fingertips against the palm of my hand, and then it travels like a slow-building wave down my arm and toward my heart.
“What is this?” I ask him, my words a hiss against the silence. “What are you doing to me?”
“What do you feel? Tell me.” Everything about him demands an answer; his eyes, his voice, and most of all his touch against my skin.
“I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s happening.” I want to pull away; it’s frightening this feeling. It’s not painful exactly but it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I imagine this is how it feels to touch the tail end of a lightning bolt, but without the mess of electrocution. I know I should pull away from him, but I can’t. The fire spreading down my arm is filling me throughout, wrapping around the tightness in my chest and then reaching out. It’s only a matter of time before I begin to sweat.
“You are alive,” James whispers. “Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” I answer. My chest is so full it feels like it’s going to burst. One moment I’m not sure if I can breathe and then the next my lungs are brimming over. It’s like the energy he’s giving me is doing the work for me. I don’t have to think about my next breath, I don’t have to fight through the heaviness surrounding my heart, my body has replaced it with… what exactly?
And then it’s gone. Just like that. James drops my hand on the table with such force it bounces against the polished wood and falls into my lap.
“Livy.” My mother peeks her head around the corner. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there is a young man waiting for you downstairs. He says his name is Meyer?”
Meyer! He’s here? My heart starts to beat frantically and I’m not sure if it’s the remnants of whatever James did to me, or nervous energy, but I’m too dizzy to think straight.
“Should I tell him to wait?” my mother asks. “Or have him come up?” I can tell she’s doing her best to sound casual but she can’t hide her curiosity. Not from me. When I look at James I find he’s just as curious. But he’s also smiling. Why is he smiling?
“Who is he, Livy?” my mother asks. “Have I met him?”
“He’s a friend.” I scoot my chair back. The further from James I get the cooler the air in the
room feels. It soothes my heated face and body, all the way down to my trembling fingertips. “Um. I actually have to go. I’m meeting Sheila.” I get up from the table and carefully slide my chair back in place. “I’m sorry,” I say to James. “I mean, we were done, right?”
“For now.” He has begun to gather his things, but doesn’t appear to be in any kind of a hurry. Not like me.
“Um. Good then.” I turn to my mother. “Can you tell him I’ll be down in a minute?”
“Of course,” my mother says, “but who is he, Livy? And what are your plans?”
“There are a few of us going — it’s a get-together with a friend of Grant’s. Sheila planned it. I shouldn’t be out long.” Why do I sound so sketchy? It would be so much easier if I could just get my mouth and mind to form a complete sentence. How easy would it be if I could just say, “I have a date with a boy. And I really like him.”
And then she would say, “Have fun! If you decide to stay out late give me a call!”
But this is the real world, not make-believe. So instead my mom gives me her best scowl and says, “Is Sheila driving?”
“No.”
“Are you driving?”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t be out past eleven?”
“No.”
“Alright then.” She touches my shoulder as I move by her. I pause, hoping for a hug, but it doesn’t come.
“I’ll wait and ride down with you,” James says and I hate that he witnessed another episode from Livy’s Awkward Moment Diaries. I hate when anyone does.
“You don’t have to wait,” I tell him. “There’s no need—”
“This way we can finish our lesson on the ride down,” he interrupts.
“You mean you weren’t finished for the day?” my mother asks. Her face is back to looking pinched.
“I only need a minute,” James assures her and then he turns to me. “Isn’t that right, Livy?”
“Uh, right.” I stand there, hovering in the hallway. I hate being tricked almost as much as I hate being hurried. “I just have to get something quick.” I point toward my bedroom and then I take off down the hall, desperate to get one last look at myself before I have to meet Meyer.
