by Sarah Tomp
The entrance of the cave smelled stronger in the night. Damper. More alive. But once they’d stepped inside, it felt the same. By the time they reached the narrow entrance tunnel, she was sweating. She hadn’t needed the extra clothes—the cave was the same temperature at night as it was in the day. Time didn’t matter here.
It felt good to maneuver her way around the rocks, to climb and crawl and feel her way along the slick walls. It took enough concentration that her mind settled. Her body felt strong and agile making its way through the dark.
They paused at the end of the tunnel, readjusting after the crawl and scoot. “I’ve never taken you to the right. Right?”
“Right.”
“Right,” Cotton echoed. “It’s small and dead-ends. There wasn’t much to map. But it’s still interesting.”
“Right on,” said Ria. “Let’s go.”
It wasn’t a long walk to the spot where he paused. “You go first. I want you to see it pure, without me in the way.”
The space was small, but there was room to step inside and turn around. The walls looked like thick ribbons. Or snakes. Twisted and folded into each other. And then, appearing in various spots, were holes. At least a hundred openings from floor to ceiling. Like storage cubbies, or mini shelves.
“It’s a brain. I think the holes are pockets for memories.”
“I knew it looked like something,” said Cotton. “But I couldn’t remember what.”
“How much time do we have?”
“More than usual. I had to wake up my parents, so they didn’t ask a lot of questions. I was vague about the specifics.”
“Sneaky. I like it.”
“The night is long,” he said. “When you can’t sleep.”
Each of them chose a rock to settle on, leaving a few feet of dim light between them. The soft shifts of shadows and dark surrounded them.
“Sean and I broke up.”
“Oh.”
She waited, but that was all he had to say to the news that felt so big and momentous.
“You were right about Leo and Flutie. They’re dating.”
“What about you, Cotton? Have you dated anyone?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Candace Bonner and I made out after several robotics competitions last spring. But we never went on a date.”
“Oh.”
It was weird to feel a twinge of jealousy. She felt embarrassed that she’d assumed he’d never been kissed. She thought his sensory issues would have interfered. But apparently making out was no big deal. And neither was her breakup with Sean.
“Are you sad?” he asked.
“About the breakup?” She paused, wanting to get this right. “Is sad the same as disappointed?”
“No. I used to have a feeling chart with different faces . . .”
She knew what he meant. Ms. Q had one in her resource room.
“Sad and disappointed are on the same line, but they’re different. I think disappointed is still hoping, but sad has given up.”
“That helps, Cotton. Then, I am sad. It’s definitely over. He and Maggie kissed already. So, I also feel inadequate.”
“Lacking.”
“Lacking,” she agreed.
“Inadequacy is an emotion derived from external relativity.”
“Translate, please.”
“It’s a matter of perspective. It’s based on comparison.”
“Isn’t everything?”
“No.” Cotton leaned back, his helmet scraping against the rock wall. “And comparison to others is an inaccurate way to measure one’s value.”
Benny used to say something like that to the team. The only person to beat is you. He meant that everyone should only worry about their own scores, their own improvement each meet. She’d never fully believed he meant it. Not for her. That was for someone who wasn’t going to win.
“Squid,” she said.
“Squid?”
Squid on Benny who always hijacked her brain.
“Squid on Sean,” she said. “Squid on Candace Bonner, too. I don’t want to talk about them anymore.”
“Yes,” said Cotton.
They sat together in the dark, breathing, being, existing. It was enough.
Finally, Ria stretched and stood up. “Let’s go. I’m finally getting tired.”
They made their way back along the path. Some of the rocks and formations looked familiar. She might have a chance of finding her way out on her own. She gestured toward the tunnel. “You go first.”
Even though she’d gotten used to the feeling of the walls close and narrow all around her, she still preferred to follow him. To remember she would fit too.
They’d made it through the tunnel and almost reached the exit, when Cotton stopped. She bumped into him, knocking her helmet sideways so it slipped down over her ear.
“Listen.”
A swish, or a swoosh, filled the air. It didn’t sound like wind, but almost. It was the wind’s cousin. The space filled with a flutter of fly. Ria leaned forward, felt a brush of something near her cheek. She gasped, grabbed Cotton’s arm. All around her, the air grew thick with movement and rush. The flickering shadows made her stomach lurch.
“Bats,” Cotton whispered. “They’re coming home.”
Knowing what it was helped. Even so, a primal urge to run pulsed deep within. She leaned against the solid warmth of his side, ready to tuck her face into him, but at the same time unable to stop watching the bats swoop in and around the rocks, ducking into their cranny of a home. She swallowed, blinking back inexplicable tears.
It might have been a minute. Or two. Or maybe it was closer to all night, but by the time the bats had settled and the dark was quiet once again, her fingers felt stiff and cramped from clutching Cotton’s sleeve.
“Oh,” she sighed.
“Yes.”
“I’ve never . . .”
“Never,” he agreed. “This feeling isn’t on the chart.”
Thirty
The next day Ria pulled a map from the glove compartment of her car. Dad had insisted she keep one in case her phone died or the GPS ever malfunctioned. It was crisp and clean, never unfolded. She opened it carefully and spread it across her bed.
Their cave wasn’t marked. There was an expanse of tan that signified undeveloped land, but its creator hadn’t cared about what was beneath the surface. The actual look of it—the rocks and the plants, the ups and the downs, none of that was included. Not even the secret hole to slip inside. Which meant no other caves were included, either.
She loved that different maps showed different things. Cotton’s map of the cave showed whatever they’d discovered. There was a power in being able to name and label what mattered while keeping other places secret and hidden.
A new palette shaded and framed the rolling images she saw when she closed her eyes. A map started forming in her head. Not a mathematically scientific one. Not like this one, or the ones Cotton made. Her map was more color and shapes.
She’d set up paper and colored pencils on her desk when her phone rang.
“Ria?” Cotton said before she finished saying, “Hello.”
She could hear his labored breathing. “What’s wrong?”
She hated herself for dreading what he’d tell her. For a second, there’d been that lift in her middle, knowing he was calling. But now, if he told her something about Esther . . .
She had to know the answer, no matter how it made her heart hurt.
“Do you remember that award ceremony?”
“Yes. Did you figure out what your award is for?”
“The ceremony is tonight.”
“Are you all dressed up? Did you have to write a speech?” She smiled and leaned against her desk chair.
“Can you give me a ride?” His voice sounded shaky and rough.
“Where are you?” She stood up so quickly her head felt light and floaty.
“I’m home.”
&
nbsp; She was missing a vital piece to the puzzle, but she’d find it later.
“I’ll be right there.” Her heart thrummed against her rib cage as she ran down the stairs, feeling a touch of dread, even if she wasn’t sure why.
Fifteen minutes later, after a quick explanation to her parents, she pulled up in front of his house. Cotton, wearing dark slacks, a light blue button-down shirt, and a tie, stood at the end of his driveway. The slump of his shoulders made her middle ache.
He opened the door, leaned in, and said, “I don’t want to go.”
“Get in, Cotton.”
The way he obeyed so easily let her know that was the right answer. She turned around in his driveway, then headed out to the main road.
“Is your ceremony at school?”
“It’s at the Alexis Center. In Travis.”
Ria raised her eyebrows. That was thirty minutes away.
“Never mind. I don’t want to go.”
“You have to.”
“But I’m already late. It’s too far for you to drive.”
“I don’t mind. Now I’ll finally know what your award is for. But I don’t understand. Where’s your family?”
“At my award ceremony.” His voice sounded crooked. Off-key.
“Without you?”
“Yes.”
She’d gotten used to his limited answers, but right now she needed more. She didn’t think there was time for discovering the exact right questions. “Did you tell them I’m bringing you?”
“They don’t know I’m not there.”
“How did that happen, Cotton? It’s your award.”
“My mom thinks I came with my dad. And he thinks I came with her. I was feeling anxious. I couldn’t decide which car to go in, so I kept changing back and forth. I went in the garage to think.” He shrugged. “They left.”
Not choosing was a way of choosing.
“You better text them. They’re going to be worried when they realize you aren’t there.”
“It’s too complicated for texting.”
“Then call them. Put it on speakerphone and I’ll explain.”
He sighed but did as she’d asked.
“Hello, Cotton?” His father’s voice came through the speaker while Cotton stared out the window, not answering.
“Hi, Mr. Talley. This is Ria Williams. Cotton is fine. He’s here with me. We’ll be at the ceremony soon.”
“You will?” Maybe his father was used to Cotton’s surprises because he said, “Um, okay. Right. We’ll see you there.”
Cotton had been right. They hadn’t yet realized he wasn’t there. Now they wouldn’t have to.
“I don’t care about the award. I would have done the work anyway. I don’t need a certificate.”
“I like winning,” she said. “When I first started diving, having those medals hanging around my neck was the best feeling. I’d wear them all day. I loved the sound when they clanged against each other. I was so obnoxious.”
“That’s different,” said Cotton.
“Exactly. Your award matters. My medals were stupid. How is diving going to make the world better?”
The Travis Center was enormous. White marble steps led to a front wall made of glass and steel. Beside her, Cotton walked slowly, his shiny black dress shoes clicking against the tile floor. Ria wished she’d thought to change her clothes. Her leggings and T-shirt seemed rude next to him. Except, he also looked wilted.
“When you go on stage to get your award, you need to stand up straight,” she said. “Push your chest out and throw your shoulders back.”
“Like this?”
“Yes. It makes you look confident.” She smiled.
From across the enormous lobby, Mrs. Talley called out, “Cotton! There you are! You need to be sitting with the other winners.” Then, barely pausing, she smiled at Ria. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Me neither.”
“You should have told us you made other plans,” his mother said, hustling them down the hallway.
“I didn’t,” said Cotton.
“I know you didn’t. But you should have.” Her voice was calm but firm. “Take your seat, Cotton. We’ll find you afterward.”
As he headed toward the front row, Mrs. Talley said, “Sit with us, Ria. We’ll squish in.”
Once they reached the row of Talleys, bodies shifted. Jelly moved to sit on her father’s lap and Ria sat between Bo and Flutie. The lights dimmed as she leaned back in her seat.
It was clear this was a ceremony for the smartest teens in Virginia. Over and over again, names were called, accomplishments were explained and reveled in. Ria’s hands stung from all the clapping. A thin, serious-looking boy had attended a world peace summit in France. One girl sold a novel to a major publisher. A group of teens created a daycare for homeless children. Other awards were for things she didn’t know existed. Experiments with something rhyming with ooze. Articles on mono-something-or-others. She wondered how much actual at-the-desk-time was spent working on the math equation that took three months to complete—it’s not like the girl skipped every other bit of life, was it? Ria could probably drag out any of her assignments that long too, but she wasn’t going to be rewarded for it.
Finally, when Cotton’s name was called, she willed him to throw his shoulders back. It must have worked because on the stage, he stood straight, towering over the man at the microphone.
“We are pleased to award the Rotary scholarship for achievement in the area of cartography to Connor Talley.”
All around her, his family exploded into applause and cheers. Relief flowed through her that Cotton was here. She was grateful there wouldn’t be a wave of sadness wrapped up in this moment.
After the ceremony, the families and guests milled around the lobby, sharing congratulations while eating cookies and drinking punch. Ria stood to the side as the Talleys surrounded Cotton. More people gathered to celebrate his brilliance.
She felt out of place now. She wasn’t meant to be part of this moment.
He looked at her suddenly, from a few feet away. She smiled, gave him a double thumbs-up, then felt goofy. She held up her keys and pointed at the door. He started to head toward her, but his mother grabbed his arm, leading him toward a group of grown-ups.
The air was cool outside, the moon high above in the stunning sky. So beautiful in its enormity and never-endingness. She either felt exhausted or invigorated. She climbed into her car, started it up. Waited for the defroster to do its job. A knock on her window startled her.
“Diving does matter,” Cotton said through the rolled-down window. “It’s brave. And beautiful. It lets everyone know that the unexpected is possible.”
Damn, she liked him.
“Why aren’t you celebrating?”
“I am.”
Feeling him looking at her, seeing her, wanting to be with her, filled Ria with a zip of something an awful lot like adrenaline. Except warmer, and deeper. Like hope, even if she wasn’t sure what she wanted.
“I wish I could see you dive,” he said as he buckled into the seat beside her.
Ria bit her lip, thinking. “I could do that. If you’re serious.”
“Isn’t it too cold? And dark?”
“Not everywhere.”
Thirty-One
Ria parked on the street, amid the dark, hulking buildings. As they approached the dry gym, she took deep breaths, scolding her thumping heart into behaving. This used to be one of her favorite places. She hated the way her nerves now felt jagged, and adrenaline waves sizzled and popped throughout her bloodstream.
The key was still hidden in the fake rock beneath the bush. She’d been the one to put it there. She was probably the only one who’d ever used it. The team spent enough grueling hours inside, no one else wanted to go to the dry gym more than Benny required. It had never been enough for her. She’d always wanted more. Here she was again, feeling eager and impatient.
She jiggled the key as she turned it, pressing he
r shoulder against the metal frame. Then the door opened and the smell of the gym—the dust of chalk, and the metal of the equipment, mixed with a hint of sweat and Bengay and something else, unidentifiable yet always there—stopped Ria in the shadowed opening.
“Is anyone here?” Cotton whispered behind her, warm and close.
“No.” She could feel the emptiness. The wide expanse of the place. No rustles or movements. No music. No creaking of the trampoline springs or ka-thump-bump-bump of the dry board. They were alone. The space was dim—the only light came from the front glass doors and the vents along the back wall where Benny had knocked out the metal grates.
It was cold, too. Eventually he would turn on heating fans and lamps, but that would be later, in full-blown winter. Until then, he’d make them work for warmth. They’d practice in mittens and head wraps, leggings and scarves; anything to keep the chill away.
Unless he was with her and the NDT. Then this place would be an empty warehouse.
She kicked her shoes off by the door and Cotton did the same. The words GOOD*BETTER*BEST were still scrawled across the walls in black paint, but the first two words were slashed with red, making them irrelevant. There was only room for the BEST here.
“This is interesting.”
“Yeah?” She tried to see it through Cotton’s eyes. The three trampolines, the row of weight machines, the mats on the floors, the walls, everywhere.
“Is this legal?”
“Us being here?”
“This place. All this stuff. It looks so dangerous.”
“It’s safe.”
And yet, it wasn’t the same gym she saw in her mind. Maybe it was the cold and the dim. Or the oppressive silence, broken only by the sound of their socks slipping along the mats. It seemed smaller than it used to be. Or emptier. Dingier and dustier. It’s not like she’d ever thought it was pristine, or even civilized, but now it looked more off-color, one step closer to condemned than she remembered.
Cotton picked up a competition manual. He’d found the one thing to read in here.
She slipped past the row of cubbies, and into Benny’s office. This was the place where he plotted and planned for each meet, compulsively checking scores and rankings.
“Which of your dives has the highest degree of difficulty?” Cotton called to her.
