by Laura Miller
I think about it. I think about the first day I met him. I think about all those nights in between then and the day he left—all those nights we spent wrapped up in each other’s arms. And then I think about all the nights after that when he didn’t call, and my heart aches. But somehow, I never even contemplate no.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He just nods his head and smiles.
“One week,” he says to no one in particular. “One week with Iva. It’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
I roll my eyes and shake my head slowly back and forth.
“What kind of trouble do you think we can get into in a week?” he asks, still entertaining that devilish, though ever-charming grin on his lips.
“Berlin Elliot, I should have listened to my daddy and never peeked through that window that first night.”
“Oh,” he says, sitting back against the boards, “but aren’t we both so glad you did?”
Chapter Seven
Berlin’s the Boy
Present
Iva
“Iva, why are you so quiet over there? Did you not have fun?”
I look over at Natalie. Natalie’s pretty. And she seems happy tonight. She and I didn’t hang out much when we were kids because she lived so far away. But after I graduated high school and went to college, we reconnected. She goes to school at a small college in Kansas near here, which is only a couple hours from my school, so we’ve spent the last four years, mostly at each other’s schools, making up for lost time.
“No,” I say, answering her question. “I had fun.” I look over at her. “I had a lot of fun, actually.”
She glances at me suspiciously before returning her eyes to the road. “Oh, my gosh, Iva. Were you with Berlin all night? Is that where you were?”
I just smile.
“He got to you, didn’t he?”
I start to laugh.
“Iva, he is ...,” she starts.
It seems as though she’s really being careful with her next words. And it makes me pause.
“He’s what?” I ask.
“Oh ...” She glances over at me, and then quickly plants her eyes back on the road. “No, he’s great. He loves his family. God knows he’s gorgeous. It’s just ... He’s ... um ...”
“What?”
I don’t know why exactly, but I feel my heart sink a little in my chest. What on earth is this girl trying to say?
“He’s risky,” she says.
“Risky?” I look over at her.
“Yeah, risky.”
My laugh fills the inside of her little sedan.
“Why is that funny?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I lift my shoulders and then let them fall. “I didn’t know that driving too fast was a red flag when it came to spending time with somebody.”
She takes her eyes off the road for a second to look my way. “Oh, he got you with that?”
“With what?”
“The whole I drive fast cars spiel.” She playfully rolls her eyes.
“What? No, I just ...”
“He’s in love with someone else, you know?” she interjects.
My smile quickly dissolves. “What?”
“Berlin,” she says, “he’s in love with this girl he used to know.”
I sink into my seat. I’m a little surprised. I’m a little surprised that I feel this way. I shouldn’t. It’s been too long. And it’s definitely too late.
“Is it his ex-girlfriend?”
“What? Who?”
“Kayla or Kylie?” I say.
She looks at me with a puzzled face. “Kalen?”
I shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”
“What?” she says. “How do you even know about her?”
“I don’t know. I saw a name carved into the tree house behind the barn.”
“You were in a tree house all night?”
I smile for the first time in what feels like a little while.
“You know,” she sighs, waving her hand in the air, “I don’t even want to know.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I say.
She narrows her eyes at me.
“Natalie,” I scold.
“You like him, don’t you?” she asks.
I feel my top teeth press hard into my bottom lip. I’m trying to think of how to say my next words.
“Do you remember the boy from Sweet Home who I told you about a while ago?”
She’s quiet for several heartbeats. I can tell she’s thinking, though the whole time, I don’t look her way.
“Yeah,” she finally says, “I do.”
“Well ...,” I say, drawing out the word.
“Well, what?”
I look at her, as I chew away the nervous seconds on the inside of my cheek. She glances over at me a couple times. But then, each time, she returns her eyes to the road, without incident.
“Wait!” she suddenly shouts.
The car comes to a dramatic halt. My hands fly to the hard dashboard, and I feel my seatbelt tighten against my chest.
“Geez, Nat! What are you doing?” I pat my chest to make sure my boobs are still there.
She ignores my question. “Are you telling me Berlin’s the boy?”
I suck in a breath, partly because I’m thankful I’m still alive and partly because I’m also still trying to wrap my head around this night, too. “Yeah,” I breathe out.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No.” She looks straight out the windshield in front of her now, as if I’m not even in the car. Then, she puts the car in park—right in the middle of the road—and sits back in her seat. “Are you sure?”
I look behind us. There are no car lights for miles, so I guess it’s okay to have this conversation while parked in the middle of the highway.
I turn my body so that I’m facing her. “I’m sure.”
“But Berlin is from some little town in western Missouri. Sweet Home’s not in western Missouri.”
“No, he moved to western Missouri after he left Sweet Home. He must have only been there for a short time before he came here.”
“Oh,” she says, as if she’s slowly absorbing every detail.
“Does he remember you?”
I nod. “He does.”
“Wait, so when you two were talking to each other in town earlier today ... you already knew each other?”
I nod.
“Wow,” she exclaims.
I can just see the understanding sinking into her bones.
“Well, shit,” she breathes out.
“I know, right?”
“So, let me get this straight,” she says. “He showed up across the street one day when you were like, twelve, and then he was gone? And then that was it? And this whole time, it was Berlin—the guy I know ... the guy I’ve known since high school?”
“Yeah.” I force out a puff of air. “I guess so.”
“You really can’t make this shit up.”
“No,” I agree, “you can’t.”
She looks straight ahead; her mouth agape.
“Wow, Iva. I love Berlin like a brother. He’s Isaac’s best friend. I mean, I know Isaac and I aren’t a thing right now, but I don’t know, we’re always a thing, really. But that’s a different story. And anyway, it’s just ...”
She takes a breath before going on.
“It’s just that ... Does he know about ...”
“No,” I say, looking down at the floor. “And anyway, you’re getting way ahead of yourself. He’s only a boy I used to know a long time ago. That hardly means anything now.”
She’s staring at me with a strange look on her face. “Are you trying to convince me ... or yourself of that? Because I remember the way you looked when you told me about him.”
My eyes are planted on her, as I try not to smile.
“Oh, come on!” she nearly yells. “He’s THE boy, Iva. The boy. You found the boy. You found him before it was too late. That’s gotta count for something.�
��
I laugh. “You’re crazy, Nat.”
She gives me one of her big, mischievous grins. “Am I?”
I don’t say anything after that. I just gaze out at the dark world outside my window and think about how insane this night has been.
“Well, listen,” she says, “I can keep you away from Berlin for the rest of the week. This place is small, but there are ways to avoid people you don’t want to see. But ... I don’t know if I can keep him away from you.” She looks over at me and gives me a small, roguish smirk. “But I’m not so sure you want me to, either.”
Natalie puts the car in drive. I quickly make sure my seatbelt is secure.
And for the rest of the drive to her house, I just stare out that window and at the black night as it lulls me into a series of my own thoughts.
Berlin.
When he left our hometown, I knew he had gone to that little town in western Missouri. I even knew the name, though that’s evidently not where he stayed. But none of that mattered. When he stopped calling, I stopped caring. At least, that’s what I’ve told myself almost every day these last seven years.
I feel a shot of adrenaline jet through my veins, and it forces my lips to turn up. I untuck my hair from behind my ear and let the strands fall against my cheek, so Natalie doesn’t see my giddy grin.
I did find the boy—the elusive boy from Sweet Home.
Chapter Eight
You
Twelve Years Old
Iva
“Okay, first things first; this is the clutch.” He squeezes the little lever on the handlebar. “And this is the throttle.”
“The throttle?”
“Yeah,” he says, “it’s what makes you go.” He turns the opposite handle. “And these are the front brakes and the back brakes. And this is how you shift gears.” He points to a little peddle by my foot.
“Okay,” I say, trying really hard to concentrate on everything he just told me.
“You want to start in neutral.”
“Neutral, got it.”
“Okay, rock it back and forth.”
I rock the bike forward and backward. It takes almost all my strength to get it rocking.
“You see how it moves?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“That’s how you know it’s in neutral.”
“Okay,” I say, bobbing my head. I’m wearing his helmet. It’s hot, but it fits fine.
“Okay, so now push down hard on the starter.” He points to a piece of metal near the back of the bike.
“All right.” I take my heel and push down on the peddle, but nothing happens.
“You gotta push hard,” he says.
I try it again, and this time, it’s like magic; the bike starts. I’m one-part nervous and one-part so excited I can’t even take it.
“Okay, now hold down the clutch, and we’re going to put it into first.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Now, you want to let out the clutch slowly, and at the same time, give it some gas.”
I fill my lungs with a deep breath, and then I nod.
He steps back, and I do what he told me to do.
Instantly, the bike lunges forward, and then just as quickly, it dies.
Berlin laughs. “It’s fine.” There’s patience in his voice, and it makes me feel better. “You’ll get the hang of it. Here, try it again.”
I try again, and this time, the bike moves forward without stopping right away. I go in a straight line until I hear the engine starting to work. I know I’m supposed to shift, but I’ve forgotten how, so I just brake, instead.
“That was great,” Berlin says, running up behind me. “You’re better than I was when I started.” He rests his hand on the small of my back, and little pieces of energy radiate from that spot where he’s touching me. “Of course, I was seven when I first learned, but still.”
I laugh, as I take off the helmet and run my fingers through my matted-down hair. But soon, I feel the strangely welcomed weight of his stare.
“You know,” he says, “I would have let you ride it even if you didn’t guess the right grade.”
I immediately scrunch up my nose. “You wanna know a little secret?” I ask.
“What?”
“I cheated.”
He tilts his head to one side, but then a big smile sneaks back to his face.
“What?” I ask, trying to figure out why he’s smiling that goofy grin.
“I know.”
“What? How do you know?”
“They said they were going to tell the class about me—being new and all.”
I force my eyes to the bike’s seat. “So, you knew I was going to win?”
He nods. “I had spent all night trying to figure out how to get you on my bike. It was like an answer to my prayers.”
I shake my head. “You’re so dumb.”
“Apparently not that dumb. I got you over here, didn’t I?”
I roll my eyes and playfully shove the helmet into his chest. And at the same time, I tell myself that I don’t like him—that I’m not in any trouble whatsoever of falling for this boy. But then I hear that little voice rising up in the back of my mind. It’s soft, but it’s immediate. It echoes back at me, almost as if it’s a taunt: You’re sunk. You’re so sunk, Iva.
We walk back across the railroad tracks after we’re done with my lesson. And when we get home, we prop the bike up against his garage.
“It’s almost seven,” I say.
“Okay, what’s at seven?”
“Supper,” I say, feeling stupid now that I had said it that way.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure.”
I nod and smile. “Okay.”
I make my way across the street. I want to look back at him, but that just seems weird, so I don’t. And as soon as I make it inside, I round the corner to the kitchen, and I spot Momma and Daddy. They’re sitting in two chairs, glaring at me with a pair of ominous stares.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
The last time they looked like this they were about to tell me that Spike, our Great Pyrenees, had died.
“Where were you, young lady?” my momma asks.
“I was with Berlin. I ... I told you I was gonna go hang out with him.”
“What were you doing with Berlin?” Daddy chimes in.
My eyes turn downward. “We were riding his dirt bike,” I mumble into the floor. I purposefully didn’t tell them that part, but I didn’t really think it would be this big of a deal, either.
“That’s dangerous,” Momma says.
“I don’t want you hanging around that boy anymore,” Daddy growls. He’s quick to add that part.
“What?” Just like that, I sound outraged. And I am. “I can drive tractors, but I can’t ride a dirt bike?”
“Tractors are different,” Daddy says. “Tractors are safer.”
I swallow down my anger. I don’t believe tractors are safer. Tractors are bigger. You get in a fight with a tractor, the tractor wins—every time. And who are they to tell me that I can’t hang out with Berlin?
“It wasn’t his fault,” I protest.
“No, it was yours. You’re smarter than that,” Daddy says.
My momma gives my daddy a conspicuous look. He counters by crossing his arms in front of him.
“You can hang out with him,” my momma says, “as long as you tell us exactly what you’re doing.”
“Fine,” I say. Momma has always been the more reasonable one.
“For now,” Daddy adds, gruffly.
I look at him and then at my momma. I want to smile because I’m happy I still get to hang out with Berlin, but at the same time, I don’t want them getting the idea that I’m okay with this conversation.
“I have homework,” I lie.
I charge up to my room, taking two steps at a time.
“Supper will be ready in ten minutes,” I hear Momma call out behind me.
I get to my room, switch on the l
ight and close the door. When it comes to the big picture, I’m still a prisoner, in a way. Everything I do in this town somehow gets back to my parents—even before I do. And now, they’re just going to be ten times more likely to question every little thing I do. So, that’s great. But then again, if you look at it with one of those big magnifying glasses—like the one they use in Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?—it’s not really that bad, I guess. I actually had fun today, and I still get to hang out with Berlin tomorrow. So, yeah, that’s pretty cool.
I pump both my fists in the air and scream silently into the ceiling. And about halfway into my dance, I freeze. And my blood runs ice-cold.
Berlin is standing in his window across the street—staring straight at me.
I’m mortified. Frozen—and mortified.
He laughs and shakes his head. Then, he slowly goes to his desk. I watch him, but I can’t see what he’s doing. His back is toward me. I’m too curious and too much in shock to run away and hide, even though that’s exactly what I feel like doing.
It’s only a few seconds, and he comes back to the window and holds up a piece of paper that reads: Why are you so happy?
My mind scrambles up words to say. I go to my desk and find a black marker, and then I write: You. But then I scratch it out and write instead: I like dirt bikes.
I hold it up to my window and watch him strain to see it. And then after a few seconds, I see him smile.
My gaze follows him back to his desk. His back is to me for a brief moment, and then he turns and holds up another piece of paper. This time, it reads: I liked your first answer better.
And before I can even respond, he turns out his light.
The blood is fleeing my head in waves, running straight down to my feet, but yet, my heart is doing this weird, wild dance.
I glance down at the piece of paper in my hand. Then, slowly, I hold it up to the light. And there it is, underneath the black scratches, in plain view: You.
Chapter Nine
Don’t Call Me Baby
Present
