“Well, I better go check on your mother,” Dad says then, standing up. “Make sure she hasn’t ruined any more appliances.” I giggle through my tears. Two weeks ago she killed our blender trying to puree a duck.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I say. He nods, then bends to kiss my forehead.
“You two will work this out,” he whispers. “It might take some time, but you will.” I nod, blinking back the tears hovering on the edge of my eyelids. Dad straightens back up and heads for the door.
My cell phone is lying next to me on the bed. I don’t really expect her to answer, but I dial Caitlin’s number anyway. It goes straight to voicemail. I try Tyler next. To my surprise, he picks up on the second ring.
“I get it,” he says after my profuse apology. “You’re you.”
“What does that mean?” I prepare to be offended.
“You thought you could micromanage this the way you try to micromanage everything else,” he replies. “You thought we’d make a good couple, and you figured you could make it happen. But you can’t plan a relationship like you’ve planned your career path, Barnes. Doesn’t work that way.” I hear him smile. “But good try.”
“I shouldn’t have lied,” I say. “If I’d just kept my mouth shut, you wouldn’t have broken up with Ilana, and—”
“Hold up there, chief. I’d been planning to end things with Ilana all week. Why do you think I got so blitzed at the gala?”
A thin layer of guilt melts away.
“So you don’t hate me?”
“I don’t hate you. I might be planning a very public humiliation as payback, but I don’t hate you.”
I smile too now, relieved that I haven’t lost both of them. “Have you talked to Caitlin?” I ask then.
“Only for a minute,” he says. “She had a meeting with DeWitt right after lunch.”
“What for?”
“Dunno,” he says. “She wasn’t exactly chatty.” His attempt to sound casual about it makes it worse. Behind the words, his voice is heavy with disappointment.
“I really am sorry I messed things up for you guys,” I say for the fifth time. Downstairs, our home phone line rings.
“Not all’s lost,” Tyler says. “Elmo told me afterward that if Caitlin didn’t want me, she’d take me.” “Elmo” is Eleanor Morgan, Andy Morgan’s little sister, a perma-bubbly redhead who I suspect might sleep in her cheerleading uniform.
Before I can remind him that Andy would kick his ass if he ever even attempted to hook up with Eleanor, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. My dad is back.
“Phone’s for you,” he tells me. “It’s your astronomy teacher.”
“Really?” Dad nods. He sets the cordless phone on my dresser and disappears again. “Call you later,” I tell Tyler.
“Tell Dr Pepper I said hello.”
We hang up, and I reach for the cordless. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Dr. Mann when he asks why my test was blank. The truth, I guess.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Barnes! Gustav Mann here.” I smile. As if, with that accent, it could be anyone else.
“Hi, Dr. Mann. How are you?”
“A little concerned, my dear. What happened this afternoon?”
“I got in a fight with my best friend right before the test,” I say, aware of how juvenile it sounds. But if Dr. Mann thinks it’s childish, he doesn’t let on. “I was prepared for our exam, but I just couldn’t . . .” My voice wobbles.
“Ah. I thought it might be something like that. I’m very sorry to hear it.”
“I’m willing to do extra credit,” I tell him. “As much as I can. I know it probably won’t be enough to make up for the zero, but I’d like to do it, anyway.”
“Let’s see how well you do on the midterm first,” he replies.
“You’re letting me retake it?”
“Of course. Tomorrow morning, if you’re up for it. Now, there will be a penalty, I’m afraid. School policy is explicit about that. Your test will have to be graded out of a total of ninety possible points, instead of a hundred.”
A ten-point deduction. That’s it? With the curve, there’s a decent chance I could still get a B. A respectable, Northwestern-worthy B.
“I just ask that you refrain from further study,” the old man is saying. “What you knew today is what you should know tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course,” I tell him. At this point, I’d eat a cockroach if he asked me to. “You have my word.”
“Excellent,” he replies. “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, then.”
“Dr. Mann?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Why are you giving me a second chance?”
Inexplicably, the old man chuckles. “I’ve learned, Ms. Barnes, that a person rarely gets just one chance at anything. There are second chances everywhere, if you know where to look for them. Look deeper, remember?” He pauses for a beat. I imagine him smiling on the other end of the line. “I’ll see you in the morning, dear.”
Before I can thank him, he’s gone.
Buoyed by this unexpected bit of good fortune, I head down to the kitchen, where Dad is snacking his way through our pantry while Mom braises onions. I tell them about the retest but opt not to share my SAT score. Caught up in her coq au vin, Mom doesn’t ask about it.
As we’re finishing dinner, the doorbell rings. “Are you expecting someone?” Mom asks, taking in my coffee-stained sweatpants and ratty T-shirt. I shake my head, making eye contact with my dad. It has to be Caitlin.
“I’ll see who it is,” I say.
I make it to the door and stop. Should I apologize first? What if she doesn’t apologize at all? I’m still trying to decide on a strategy when the doorbell rings again. Not wanting her to leave, I fling open the door.
“Hey.”
I blink in surprise. “Josh! Hi.” I step back, suddenly intensely aware of the fact that I am wearing sweatpants that haven’t been washed in a week. “What are you doing here?” I ask. His face falls a notch. “I just meant . . . I thought you had a date with Megan?”
“It wasn’t a date. We were just hanging out.”
“Oh,” I say, stepping onto the front porch and closing the door for some privacy.
“So . . . how are you? You seemed pretty shaken up this afternoon.” His forehead crinkles with concern. “Did you and Caitlin work things out?”
“Not yet. I’m sure we will, though.” My plan was to convince him with a winning smile, but now it feels like too much effort. So, I burst into tears instead. “No . . . we . . . won’t,” I manage between sobs. “She . . . hates . . . me.”
Josh steps forward and envelops me in a hug. At first it feels awkward, like the hug doesn’t quite fit, but then he slides his left arm up a few inches and I tilt my head to the right, and suddenly it works.
“Fights suck,” he says simply, his voice right next to my ear.
“She’s my best friend,” is all I can think to say.
“I know.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I tell him, my face pressed against his shirt. “I’m so sad, but I’m angry, too, you know? Like I’m not sure I want to make up with her.”
“You don’t have to figure everything out tonight,” he says softly.
I pull back, sniffling, and eye him with mock suspicion. “Why do you look like a teenage boy when you’re clearly not one?”
“Glad I have you fooled,” he says, and smiles. “Hey, do you want to go somewhere?”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“I need to change first. . . .”
“No, you don’t. Gray sweats are perfect for where we’re going. Go tell your parents you’ll be back in an hour and grab a jacket.” He looks down at my bare feet and smiles. “And don’t forget shoes.”
“But—”
He doesn’t let me finish. “Do you want to come or not?”
“Yes! I’ll be right back.” Through the door and halfway up the front stairs
, I realize I’ve left him standing on the front porch. “Come in if you want!” I call over my shoulder. “My parents are in the kitchen!” It dawns on me that he’s never met my parents, making it a little weird for both of them if he were to just stroll in. As I’m entering my bedroom, I hear the front door close. Did he come in or go out?
I grab my sneakers and hoodie, splash some cold water on my tearstained cheeks, and head for the back stairs, at which point I hear my dad bellow, “So you’re Astronomy Boy!” I bound down the stairs before he can inflict any more damage.
“Josh and I are going out,” I announce when my feet hit the linoleum. “We’ll be back later.” Before my mom can comment on my wardrobe selection, I grab Josh’s hand and pull him out the back door.
“So where are we going?” I ask as Josh opens the passenger door of his Jeep. The interior smells like fresh-cut grass and Ivory soap. There’s a beach towel in the backseat.
“To visit Cygnus,” is all he says.
A few minutes later, we pull up beside the pond in his neighborhood and park. “The streetlight is burned out,” he says, and points. I press my face to the window, peering out into the darkness. My breath fogs the cool glass. “Come on,” he says, pushing open his door. “It’s a near-perfect moon.”
I follow him down the little dirt path to a wooden swing by the water’s edge. The ground is still soft from today’s storm. As many times as I’ve driven past this pond on my way to Tyler’s, I’ve never noticed the swing.
“I figured Cygnus could commiserate,” Josh says as we sit. “He knows what it’s like to be separated from his best friend.” The wooden seat is cold beneath my sweats, but not wet. Someone must’ve dried it after the rain. We tilt our heads back and look up. Dozens of pine trees form a horseshoe around the water, blocking the light from nearby houses, the closest of which is at least a hundred yards away. The moon, low in the sky, is barely a sliver. With so little light pollution, the sky is thick with stars.
“Did he ever get him back?” I ask, slipping out of my muddy shoes and pulling my bare feet up under me. “I know he went looking for Phaethon, but were they ever reunited?”
“Absolutely.”
I look over at him. He’s staring intently at the sky. “You’re totally lying to me right now, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he says without missing a beat. We both laugh, and an ease settles over the moment. Even after the day I’ve had, I feel oddly at peace right now. The world seems bigger, the universe infinitely more vast. As if there’s room for everything that happened today. Enough space. I inhale, letting the crisp night air fill my lungs, feeling my rib cage expand. When I exhale, the only sound I hear is my breath. The static is gone.
“So, I keep thinking about something you said today,” Josh says then. “It’s been bothering me since you said it.” He’s looking at me now with the same intensity he’d previously directed at the sky. “You asked me if you were too much work. Why would you ask that?”
“It’s something Caitlin said,” I tell him. “Today, during our fight. She said it was the reason you weren’t interested in me.” I look down at the still-wet grass, barely visible in the darkness. “I’m more work than I’m worth.”
“Who says I’m not interested?”
I nearly swallow my gum.
“As I remember it,” he says, “you informed me that I should date another girl, which I—quite reasonably, I think—took to mean that you weren’t interested.”
“You never asked me out,” I say defensively. “You had, like, a zillion opportunities.”
“A zillion, huh? Like the night you told me you already had plans with friends? Or how about the night you said you had to go to your mom’s museum opening? You’re a very busy girl, Abby Barnes.”
“Yes, but you could’ve suggested another night,” I point out. “Either of those times. But you didn’t.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was being timed,” he teases.
“You weren’t being timed,” I reply, heat creeping up my neck. “But if you were so interested, then why’d you say ‘thanks’ when I told you about Megan?” I demand. As I’m asking, I realize I don’t care about his answer. I just want him to kiss me.
“How’s a guy supposed to respond when the girl he’s crazy about tells him he should date another girl?” Josh keeps talking, not even pausing to gauge my reaction. Who is this person and what has he done with the dorky guy in spandex and boat shoes? “Wait, don’t answer that,” he says. “I think I know now. I’m supposed to say, ‘Don’t be silly, Abby. I want to date you. Are you free tomorrow night?’”
“You weren’t supposed to say anything,” I tell him. “You could’ve just been honest.”
“I can do honest,” he replies. “Don’t be silly, Abby. I want to date you. Are you free tomorrow night?”
It takes me a few seconds to realize that he’s waiting for a response.
Astronomy Boy just asked me out on a date. I’m still staring at him when he says, “Just so you know, I will be forced to treat silence as acceptance.”
And just like that, this day that went from bad to worse to the worst day ever redeemed itself with one perfect moment.
“Halloween might sound like a weird night for a first date,” Josh is saying, “but I think it’s appropriate for the girl who took me trespassing the last time we went out.”
“What about Megan?” I ask, when what I want to say is, Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
Josh shakes his head in mock disapproval. “See, here I thought I was the clueless one, because I’ve never had a girlfriend before. But it turns out you’re even more clueless than I am.” He turns to face me, and this time, I meet his gaze. “I like you, Abby,” he says softly. “I have from the beginning. Ever since the moment you told me you were fated to be in Dr. Mann’s class.” His face, so close to mine, blurs slightly. “There have definitely been some moments when I’ve doubted your sanity,” he says with a laugh, wrapping his hand around my bare left foot, his palm covering the tender flesh of my scar. “But oddly, those moments only made me like you more.” I look at his hand, imagining what it would feel like on my calf. My thigh.
“So maybe you’re the crazy one,” I say.
“Crazy about you,” he says, with an uncharacteristic confidence that makes my cheeks flush. His face gets serious. “I was never uncertain. I just wanted to get to know you first, so I’d know exactly what I was getting into if I ever got the chance to do this.” Cupping my chin with his hand, he kisses me. The kiss is gentle, but not tentative. I close my eyes, tasting his cinnamon-sweet breath, feeling the softness of his lips. His hand slides off my cheek to my shoulder and then down my left arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. My whole body is drumming with pleasure. When his thumb reaches my elbow, he wraps his fingers around the crook of my arm and pulls me gently toward him. “So is that a yes?” I hear him whisper, right before he kisses me again.
I pause long enough to smile. “Yes.”
9
HERE
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2009
(Halloween)
“BOO!”
My eyes fly open at the sound. I’m lying on forest-green plaid in a bed that isn’t mine, staring at a chipped navy wall. The air smells like jalapeño peppers and processed cheese. Somewhere nearby, a girl squeals with laughter.
The fact that I’ve been preparing for this moment doesn’t make it any less terrifying. Panic floods my body, pounding through my veins. I’m somewhere else, somewhere new, somewhere I’ve never been before. Yale is gone, Marissa is gone, Michael is gone. I put my hand on the wall, as if to steady myself. I can handle this.
“Morning, Sleepy.”
I let go of the breath I didn’t know I was holding, the panic melting away as I realize. Reality hasn’t changed again. I’ve just never seen Michael’s bedroom in daylight before.
“Hi,” I say, rolling over. Michael’s face is now inches from mine. I’m careful not to exhale too deep
ly, not wanting to ruin the moment with morning breath.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” he tells me. “You’re so cute when you sleep.”
I am mortified. Have I been snoring? Drooling? Making weird sleep noises? This is precisely why I’ve never slept over at a guy’s house (well, this and the fact that I had an eleven o’clock curfew and parents with a pretty expansive no-sleeping-anywhere-near-boys policy). There are too many ways to embarrass yourself in your sleep.
“How long have you been awake?” I ask, subtly checking my pillow for drool.
“Oh, ages,” he teases as he touches his nose to mine. “Ten seconds, at least.” He clearly does not share my concern about morning breath. Michael looks me up and down and laughs.
“What?” I demand.
“You’re still wearing your shoes,” he says, pointing. I am, indeed, still wearing my shoes. And every other article of clothing I came with, including my jacket and scarf. I think my purse is in the bed somewhere, too. “Were you afraid I’d get the wrong idea?” he asks. I look down at his bare chest and am instantly flustered. Holy pecs.
“It wasn’t that,” I say quickly. “It’s just . . .” Every excuse I can think of is creepier than the real reason. “Okay, yeah. I didn’t want you to think that just because I was sleeping over, it meant that you and I would . . .” Heat creeps up my neck. I can’t even say the word without blushing.
“Well, in the future, if you’d like to remove your outerwear before sleeping, I won’t take it as a signal that you’re asking for sex.”
I squirm under his gaze, suddenly very uncomfortable with all the sex talk. If you can’t handle the sex talk, you’re probably not ready for sex.
My phone rings from inside my purse, buried under Michael’s shirt at the foot of the bed. I scramble for it, glad for the distraction.
“Ben and I found the most amazing costumes!” Marissa squeals before I can even say hello. “Power Rangers!” In the background, Ben belts out a very off-key version of the theme song. “She has green, pink, red, blue, and yellow,” Marissa says. “Which ones do you guys want?”
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