by Jody Gehrman
“I’m sorry I was such an idiot that night at the dance.” I didn’t dare look at him. “I always act stupid with Sophie. She seems so mature and glamorous, I feel like a troll by comparison.”
With one finger, he tilted my face toward his. “You’re not a troll.”
“You know what I mean. I couldn’t help thinking that secretly you wanted to be with her, but you were too nice to tell me.”
He tipped his head back and let out a quick, incredulous laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding! I’ve told you a million times, I’m not into her like that. I thought you felt that way about Mr. Sands.”
I bit my lip. “I did have a tiny crush on him for a while. Things got really messed up. See, Amber wanted him to think she was this über-intellectual college girl. I was sending him messages that were supposed to be from her. The whole thing was ridiculous. He turned out to be a pretentious snob anyway.”
“So you did like him . . .” He sounded hurt.
“That whole thing was just a childish fantasy. I was afraid of everything happening between you and me. It was getting so intense. Mr. Sands was just a silly distraction.” I slipped my fingers in his and tugged him toward me. “You’re the real thing, Ben. I was stupid to let you dump me.”
He grinned. Our lips were centimeters apart. “I didn’t dump you.”
“You did too!”
“I offered you an out and you jumped at the chance.”
I let my lips graze his, ever so lightly. “Is that the way you’re going to spin it?”
“Uh-huh.” He reached into his pocket then, and pulled something out. “Although, I do have some evidence that you liked me that night. I was just a little slow in piecing it together.”
I looked down and saw he was holding out a sheet of folded paper. It was hard to see exactly what it was in the moonlight. I took it from him and examined it more closely. It was the valentine I’d intended to give him, the one I’d torn up and thrown at him! I couldn’t believe it. He’d taped it back together, piece by piece, meticulously reconstructing it until it was whole again.
“It was a really great valentine,” he said. “Next time, though, you might want to rethink the method of delivery.”
I laughed. I was thankful for the darkness, though, since I was also crying.
“Here. I’ll trade you.” He took the card back from me and handed me a small book.
“What’s this?” I stealthily wiped away a tear.
“I, uh, got you this for Valentine’s Day. It just never seemed like the right moment to give it to you that night.” His voice broke. Was he crying too? “Better late than never though, right?”
I held it close to my face so I could see better. It was a journal—no lines inside, my favorite kind. It was covered in a collage of photos taken over the six months we were together: us at the beach, us at my house, us in front of Triple Shot Betty’s. A surge of happiness welled up inside my throat; it was so concentrated I thought I might choke on it.
“Thank you,” I told him when I could speak.
“You’re welcome. Sorry it took me so long.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and we kissed, the warm breeze whipping through our hair like a mischievous spirit. I could smell dew in the grass and the perfume of singed garlic and grilled meats floating up from the restaurants in the valley below. I wanted to stop time then, so we could stay there on that ridge forever.
When at last we pulled away, he looked down at me with an impish grin. “So you’re not going to leave me for Dr. Hipster?”
“Believe me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“That’s good.” His face went suddenly serious. “You do realize I’m getting an A-plus in his class, and you’re just getting a regular A, right?”
“Oh my God!” I pushed him away. “You’re such a liar!”
“I hope you’re not thinking about extra credit. I’d hate to see you stoop that low.”
I started chasing him around the meadow. “That’s it! You’re dead!”
“After that stunt with Amber, he might even knock you down to a B.”
I grabbed hold of his shirt and wrestled him to the ground. When he was pinned beneath me, gasping and panting, he breathed, “Just kidding! I’m sure you’ll get a B-plus, at least.”
“You laugh now,” I warned him, “but when I’m giving the valedictorian speech at graduation, you’ll be weeping. You’re going to be so sorry when—”
I was going to issue more threats, but he leaned up and stopped my mouth with a kiss.
For once, I didn’t complain.
