Future of Us

by Jay Asher

  And get in a car with him again? “I’d rather walk,” I say.

  “We’re three miles from your house.”

  I start toward the door. “I know how far away I am.”

  Cody follows after me and reaches for my hand. “I said I’ll drive you.”

  “No!” I say, pulling away.

  I open the front door and he grabs my shoulder, turning me around.

  “Do you realize you’re being a freak?” he asks.

  I push his hand off me. “And yet you have no idea that you’re a dick.”

  I WALK ALONG THE HIGHWAY facing traffic. The shoulder stays wide for half a mile before gradually narrowing. When it’s no longer an option to walk on the side of the road, I cut through a section of tall grass. In the distance, beyond the railroad tracks, I see the overgrown lot where a traveling carnival used to operate during the summers.

  I lift my feet high to avoid the itchy weeds brushing against my ankles. As I reach the railroad tracks, I bend down to pick thistles from my socks. When Josh and I were younger, we once biked over here with coins to set on the tracks for the train to flatten. The train never came, so we ended up searching the carnival grounds for lost treasures.

  I walk across a wide area where the Ferris wheel used to stand near a rickety red Tilt-a-Whirl. Next came the taffy vendor and a game where toy guns shoot streams of water into the open mouths of plastic clown heads.

  I stroll through the grounds, thinking about how ever since we discovered Facebook, I’ve been changing specific things in an attempt to improve my future. Jordan Jones was probably cheating on me, so I ditched him. Kevin Storm ruined my career, so I made sure we never moved to Ohio. But every time I got a new future, I still turned out unhappy.

  For the past five days, I’ve been trying to understand why this happens to me and how I can tweak things so it won’t happen again. But I’m starting to wonder if it actually has nothing to do with the future. Maybe it has everything to do with what happens now.

  I step around a long plank, swollen with moisture.

  Aside from Cody, most of the guys I go for are nice. Graham may have been horny, but he was never mean. And Dylan is one of the friendliest guys I know. The other day, he was checking out library books for his new girlfriend because—

  Oh my god.

  Dylan was getting those books because he loves his girlfriend. He never did those things for me because I never gave him the chance. I never told him what I was reading or what movies made me cry. I kept enough distance so I would never get hurt.

  I’ve always protected myself when it comes to love. And maybe that’s the problem. By not letting myself get hurt now, it ripples into much bigger pain later. In the future, maybe I never let my husbands see the real me either, so I never give them the chance to learn what makes me happy. Either that or I marry a conceited jerk like Cody, and then there’s definitely not going to be much love.

  Once I’m across the carnival lot, I step onto the broken sidewalk. Blades of grass push through the cracks, fighting for a taste of sunlight. I’ve still got a long way until I’m home, but I will get there eventually.

  THE FIRST THING I NOTICE when I walk into the kitchen is a note on the counter.

  Emma,

  Your mom and I are having a late dinner with friends, but I’d like to take you out for ice cream tomorrow. I’m sorry I upset you by going into your room. I’ll try harder to respect your space from now on.

  —Martin

  P.S. Your dad left a message on the machine.

  I fold the note in half and go into the bathroom to wash my face. It looks like a war zone in here with tiles torn out and pipes protruding from the walls. Along the floor, someone placed a row of delicate blue tiles, no doubt what my mom and Martin are planning to use for the remodel.

  I’ll have to let them know that I like what they chose. In the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of ice water, and then push play on the answering machine.

  “Hi, Emma,” my dad’s voice says. “I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to get back to you. Things have been stressful here. We’ve actually been going back and forth to the hospital with Rachel. The doctors are doing tests and . . .”

  My dad pauses for a breath, and I feel myself tearing up. I sent a stuffed puppy when Rachel was born, but I haven’t allowed myself to think about my baby sister very much. Now I want to hold her and tell her I love her and that she has to be okay.

  “Please call me back,” my dad continues. “Cynthia and I would love to have you visit us for the summer. We both miss you. I miss you.”

  FACEBOOK IS STILL HERE in my Favorite Places.

  Please keep the same password, I tell myself. Even if it’s just for right now, and then never again.

  I type in “EmmaNelson4Ever@aol.com” and “Millicent,” and then press Enter.

  I exhale. The password still works.

  Emma Nelson

  Difficult decision, but I’m considering canceling my Facebook account. I should spend more time living in the here and now. Anyone who needs to reach me knows how.

  2 hours ago · Like · Comment

  I don’t check my relationship status or where I’m living. Instead, I open up my list of friends and scroll down to the Rs, and there she is.

  Rachel Nelson

  In the tiny photo, my sister looks about fifteen years old, with dark brown eyes and curly brown hair just like mine. I stare at Rachel’s face, then lean back in my chair, and let myself cry.

  After a couple minutes, I wipe my eyes and scroll to the Js. Josh and I are friends again. He’s standing in front of a jagged mountain range, a blue backpack strapped over his shoulders. His hair is shaggier than usual and he’s looking straight at the camera with a huge grin. I place the arrow next to Josh’s photo, but I decide not to click it. I don’t want to read into things anymore. If Josh looks happy, then I should be happy for him.

  Before I close Facebook, I check one final thing. I click into my Photos. At the bottom, just like before, I have an album called High School Memories. It loads slowly, but after a few minutes I see the photo of me on the day I got my driver’s license. And there’s the photo of Tyson and Josh using their skateboards as swords. There’s the picture of my bikini butt: “The good ole days.” And there, at the very bottom, is the photo of Kellan, Tyson, Josh, and me in the ball pit at GoodTimez. I lean closer to the screen. The quality isn’t perfect, but I can see a spiderweb of lines where I tore the picture, and then light shadows where one day I must have taped it back together.

  I UNPLUG THE CORD from the back of my computer and click it into my phone. My dad’s line rings twice, and then Cynthia answers.

  “Hi, it’s Emma,” I say.

  “Hello, sweetie.” Her voice sounds tired. “Your dad will be so happy you called. He’s giving the baby a bottle right now. Can he call you back?”

  “Of course,” I say. “But he said something in his message about Rachel. Is she okay?”

  Cynthia sighs heavily. “The doctors don’t know why she’s not gaining enough weight. It’s been difficult.”

  I wish I could tell Cynthia what I saw on Facebook, that Rachel is going to grow up to be a beautiful girl. But all I can say is, “She’s going to be fine. I know it.”

  “Thank you,” Cynthia says, and I hear her voice catch. “I needed to hear that.”

  Cynthia and I talk for a few more minutes, and then she invites me down for the summer, just like my dad did. I tell her that I’m seriously considering it.

  When I hang up, I slide on my flip-flops and walk outside, breathing in the cool air. A light breeze picks up, which flutters a small piece of paper tucked against the windshield of my car.

  I lift up the windshield wiper and unfold the note, instantly recognizing Kellan’s handwriting.

  Emma,

  Remember how you owe me, your amazing friend who’s about to bike all the way home? Well, I’m collecting! You and I need to go to this bonfire. Pick me up at 8.

&nb
sp; Love,

  Kellan

  I refold the paper and head back inside.

  57://Josh

  “IT’S NOT A DATE,” I say, dipping my spoon into the turkey soup.

  “Did she ask you to the bonfire?” Dad says. “Did she offer to pick you up?”

  “It’s still not a date,” I say.

  “What I don’t understand,” Mom says, “is why you never asked this girl out before.”

  Because she’s Sydney Mills! I want to scream. She’s a year ahead of me and light-years beyond me.

  Instead I say, “It’s complicated.”

  “If you’re going to be dating this girl,” Mom says, “we should discuss some ground rules.”

  I keep my eyes focused on my soup bowl. “I never said this was turning into a relationship.”

  “You got home a few minutes late last night,” Dad says. “I know you were helping Tyson at the pizza shop, but do you want to borrow my watch for tonight?”

  He starts removing the hulking gold and silver band from his wrist, but I raise my hand.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Sydney’s cell phone has a clock on it.”

  “A cell phone?” Dad says. “Well then, I don’t expect you to roll in with some story about a flat tire without calling us.”

  “That was David,” I say. He used that excuse twice for coming home late after dates with Jessica . . . or whoever it was.

  Mom blows gently on her soup. “This is a three-day weekend,” she says, “so your dad and I have agreed to extend your curfew by one hour.”

  I’m sure this is because of my comment about David moving to Seattle to get away from them. “I don’t think I’ll need it. I’m actually pretty tired.”

  “Well, if you change your mind,” Mom says, “you can always call us on her cell phone.”

  I push back my chair. “I have to get ready.”

  SYDNEY CALLED from her cellphone to tell me she was running a few minutes late. One of the fiancés, I don’t know which sister he belonged to, had to drop off something for her parents and borrowed her car. He just brought it back a little while ago.

  One day maybe I’ll meet these fiancés, and I wonder how similar we’ll be. David would probably call them go-with-the-flow guys. Maybe he was right when he called me that, but I’m not so sure I want to be that kind of guy anymore. Maybe I do want to go to college somewhere else, like a school that specializes in visual arts. And while Waikiki and Acapulco are probably great, my dream vacation might be hiking in the mountains, or taking a train through Europe.

  The doorbell rings while I’m brushing my teeth. Just like I asked them not to, I hear my parents opening the door.

  I bolt down the stairs, zipping up my black sweatshirt. When I reach the front door, Sydney is standing in a sky-blue strapless dress that falls above her knees. Her hair spills down her back in waves. She’s smiling and chatting with my parents while Dad examines her cell phone.

  “Hello, honey,” Mom says. She raises her eyebrows at me. “When you told us Sydney was pretty, you were being a little modest.”

  Sydney tilts her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Templeton. That’s very sweet.”

  I take the phone out of Dad’s hands and give it back to Sydney. “Ready to go?”

  “It was wonderful to meet both of you,” Sydney says.

  I walk across the threshold and Sydney loops her arm in mine. We start down the path, but then Dad clears his throat.

  “Josh?” he calls out. “What time do you think the bonfire will be over?”

  I turn back around. Haven’t we already discussed this? “It’s a three-day weekend. Didn’t you say—?”

  “You were out late last night,” Mom says. “Let’s stick with the regular curfew tonight. That should give you plenty of time to hang out with your friends.”

  58://Emma

  THE ROAD TO RICK’S HOUSE takes forever. I drive slower when I reach the unpaved section, partially to avoid potholes and partially because I’m not thrilled about being dragged to this bonfire. I know Kellan is up to something. She told me she ran into Josh while dropping off my car, but she wouldn’t say what they talked about.

  I should have begged Kellan to cash in her favor another time. She could have driven out here with Tyson in the pickup, or taken the car she shares with her mom. But she wanted me to come with her. And knowing there’s a pregnancy in her near future, I decided that a bonfire at the lake is an important place to keep an eye on her.

  “It must be the endorphins from the bike ride,” Kellan says, jiggling her feet in the passenger seat. “I got home, took a shower, and now I’m feeling totally refreshed.”

  We approach a gravel lot full of parked cars.

  “Only an hour, right?” I ask.

  “One hour,” Kellan says. “We say hi, sit by a few fires, and if you’re still hating it, we can go back to your place and watch a movie.”

  I almost laugh and tell Kellan I rented Wayne’s World. But the last thing I want to admit is that I watched it to win over Cody.

  I ease behind a bunch of cars. A few kids are hanging around drinking beer, but most people are heading toward a dirt path through the pine trees.

  Kellan points to an open space on the right. “Park there.”

  At the same time, we realize that would put us two spaces from Sydney’s convertible. When a truck’s tires roll onto the gravel behind us, Kellan and I both glance into her side mirror.

  “Tyson’s pickup!” she says. “Let’s park next to him instead.”

  I steer over and pull in beside Tyson. There’s a senior guy in the passenger seat and another in the bed steadying a heap of firewood.

  “Kel!” Tyson says, hopping out of the cab. “Hey, Em!”

  Kellan opens her door and gets out. “We have names,” she says. “Two syllables each.”

  The seniors slap Tyson on the back, and then they each grab an armload of logs and head toward the pine trees. Tyson walks to the back of the truck and gathers together a stack of logs.

  “Want to help?” he asks. “It’s a short walk to the bonfire pits.”

  Kellan crosses her arms over her chest. “Do I look like I’m built for heavy labor?”

  I grab a couple logs.

  “Thanks, Emma,” Tyson says, shaking his head in Kellan’s direction. “At least someone knows how to be useful.”

  Kellan lifts the tailgate of the truck, clicking it into place. “Look at me, being useful.”

  She skips off down the path with Tyson following. I reposition the wood in my arms, take a deep breath, and start after them.

  THE SKY IS DEEP PURPLE with a thin streak of amber above the treetops. Most of the light down here comes from six flickering bonfires dotting the shore. On the other side of Crown Lake is the public beach. I can barely make out the shadowy outlines of the concession stand and pavilion.

  “Anyone want a beer?” a guy asks. He’s a senior. Scott, maybe? He pulls himself a can from a six-pack and dangles the rest in front of us.

  “No, thanks,” I say.

  Kellan holds up her Sprite. If Scott gave her a beer, I might be tempted to whack it out of her hand to keep her from drinking tonight and making any bad decisions.

  Tyson eyes the cans of beer, but Kellan lowers her palm on his scalp and makes him shake his head no.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she says. “You’re driving.”

  “You’re right,” Tyson says. “My dad would murder me.”

  “And I’d hide the body in wet concrete,” Kellan adds.

  Scott shrugs and continues down the beach.

  The three of us move closer to the fire. Tyson reaches for a log from a nearby pile and tosses it on. It smokes for a minute before flames start licking around the wood.

  I run my fingers through the cool sand. Dozens of people are gathered around each bonfire, but I haven’t seen Josh or Sydney yet. The entire time we’ve been here, I’ve watched couples peel away and head into the trees. Imagining Josh in there wit
h Sydney makes my stomach twist up tight.

  I look across the water at the quiet shore of the public beach. When Kellan and I were there the other day, I spotted Josh and Sydney’s future house somewhere on this side of the lake. It’s probably just a short walk down the beach. In a way, it feels sadly appropriate that the bonfire is here. Tonight, Josh will begin disappearing into a future where the only place he and I remain friends is on the Internet.

  I notice Graham sitting at the next fire over, roasting two marshmallows on a long stick. As Graham pulls his stick from the fire, he catches me watching. He waves at me, and I nod back.

  “There he is!” Tyson points down the beach.

  I follow Tyson’s outstretched arm. Two bonfires over, I see Josh. He’s sitting with Sydney and her friends on a thick log. Josh is staring into the fire, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

  “Josh!” Tyson shouts.

  I pull my knees up to my chest and whisper, “Let’s not.”

  “Not bother him?” Tyson says. “Seriously, if that boy’s getting too A-list for us, I might have to kick his ass.”

  Kellan puts her hand on my back and rubs in slow circles.

  “Josh!” Tyson yells again.

  Josh lifts his head, but only to look out across the lake. Sydney is talking to a friend. I think it’s Shana Roy, but I can only see the back of her head.

  “He’s kind of far away,” Kellan says. “Maybe he doesn’t hear you.”

  I grab onto Tyson’s sleeve. “Just let him be, okay?”

  “This’ll get his attention,” Tyson says. He cups his hands over his mouth and shouts, “Yo, dumbass!”

  In a delayed reaction, Josh turns our way.

  59://Josh

  I WAIT FOR SHANA to start laughing again. That’ll be my chance to cut into her conversation with Sydney. The drunk college guy sitting next to Shana leans in, makes some remark and . . . there she goes!