No. I can’t be thinking this.
The woman continues, and her distraction is a huge relief. “And that’s why I love poetry,” she says, “because poetry allows us to explore love in all of its stages. It lets you see what the mind cannot, lets you feel with your heart, lets you explore what would otherwise go unexplored. Love is something so powerful it does not make sense to most people, but poetry allows you to understand it, to feel it, to bring it to life. H. Jackson Brown, Jr. once said ‘Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye’ and to me, that is exactly what poetry is. It’s seeing with the heart. Finding what’s really there. Using language and ideas and metaphors to understand and explain something as powerful and as awe-inspiring as love, something that is otherwise mysterious. So that’s why I enjoy reading and writing love poems, because they explore love of all types, in simplistic ways and in complicated ones, depressing love and light-hearted love. Love cannot be defined exactly, it cannot be put into one stock category, and poetry can’t achieve that, either. But what poetry can and does do is make sense of love in all of its forms, and there is something truly beautiful about that.” She stops then, smiles at the crowd, and looks around at each of our eager faces. I’ll admit, she knows how to give a pretty great speech. “So for now, let’s just say,” she says after a minute, “that falling in love with my best friend was the best goddamn thing I’ve ever done.”
Then, she puts her microphone down, and applause erupts as she walks off the stage and disappears into the crowd. I try not to turn to face Logan, who I can tell is still watching me, not wanting to put a face to everything this Katherine Fischer just said.
A convention worker comes up to the microphone next and starts explaining everything that is going to be happening today at the conference, but I tune him out. All I hear is the woman’s words. And that’s the thing about love: no matter how hard you search, no matter how hard you run, sometimes, just sometimes, true love is right in front of you all along. I have no idea if it’s me driving myself crazy or the whole world trying to make me fall in love with Logan because all of these signs keep pointing to him, and it hurts more than anything to realize I’m not even fully in love with him yet and my self-destructive self is already going to fuck it all up.
I’m going to fuck him, and not in the way I want.
After a few minutes, Logan stands up, and I walk over to him despite myself. I take another small step so that I’m facing him, my feet to his feet, his gentle breath on my lips. Both of our bodies are all tight and closed off, and I can feel myself wanting to touch him and tell him I’m sorry, that I should’ve been there for him as much as I wanted him to be there for me, that he doesn’t need to feel so guilty. But I don’t know how to say it, and so we just stand there, breathing heavily, with all of the words in the world to say but unable to utter even a single one of them. My heart beats so quickly in my chest I swear it’s going to eventually explode, and I have this sudden desire to find a way to fast-forward past all this awkwardness, to go right to the part of the story where Logan and I are… whatever we are… as long as we’re together, and happy.
“Cali,” he finally says.
I step back. “Don’t do this now,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. “Do what now?”
He knows exactly what I’m talking about, of course, so I just scan the crowd in front of me, hoping one of them will provide a distraction, an answer. Something. Anything.
“Don’t do this,” I say. “Don’t try to make an excuse. Either tell me, or don’t.”
He opens his mouth to argue almost instinctually, then thinks better of it and eyes me suspiciously instead. “How did you know I was going to do that?” he says.
I roll my eyes, still not looking at him. “I’m a bitch, not an idiot, Logan.”
I swear I can feel him smile, just a little. “Who said you couldn’t be both?”
“Have I ever told you I hate you?” I bite my lip. I’m not going to let him make me smile today.
“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” he says. There’s a pause, and the warmth I always get from talking to him trickles right back in. Dammit. How is it so freaking hard to stay pissed off at him? Make that reason number three billion and one why I hate him. “So are we going to try to find The Roadkeeper lady or what?” Logan says after a while.
“You want to?”
“Well, you said she always came to the conference, so why not?”
I turn back to face him. A few people push past us as we talk, and we seem to be the only ones in this whole place who aren’t moving. “We don’t even know what she looks like,” I say.
“So?” Logan says. “You might as well call me Sherlock Waters, because I’m a pretty badass mystery-solver.”
I shoot him a look. “You did not just say that.”
He gives me the most ridiculous head swivel. “I just did.” I have to work hard not to smile.
“Okay,” I say, “so all we know about her is that she’s a human who loves poetry.” I motion at the packed room around us. “That does not narrow things down.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Logan says.
“That’s not much of a plan.”
“I am well aware.” He glances around the room. “But it’s not like we have anything else to do besides stare at each other awkwardly, and you always wanted to meet her, right?”
“Right,” I say slowly.
“So why not?” He pauses. “Are we going to do this?”
“Yeah.” I nod uncertainly. “But it would be unlike us to do it without a catch.”
He gets a little twinkle in his eyes at that. Even all of the way out here in LA, our rivalry still holds strong. “I’m listening,” he says, watching me closely.
“Well, let’s make a bet.”
“Continue. What do you get if you win?”
I hesitate. “If I find her, you tell me everything you know about Ben.”
His jaw tightens as soon as the words leave my mouth, but he otherwise doesn’t betray any emotion. I wait for him to say no way, to tell me that I’m not worth it anymore and that this whole relationship is not going to work and I am just a waste of time, but he doesn’t. “Okay,” he finally says.
“And if you win?”
“Let’s just say I have something in mind,” he says, but he doesn’t look like he’s ready to elaborate.
“We have until the end of the day to find her,” I say. “And she has to admit to us that she’s The Roadkeeper.”
“Deal. When do we start?”
I bite my lip. Smile a little. I am so going to win this. “Now,” I say.
I like to think the single word is the start of the avalanche that is the rest of the day.
~
I SEARCH for The Roadkeeper all afternoon. And by “search,” I mean eavesdrop on every female in the whole place--there are hundreds--and wait until I hear one of them say something I recognize, something that will tell me distinctly that in front of me, this person, is the Roadkeeper. When you read someone’s blog for years, you get to know them, even if you don’t really know them. I can’t put a face to The Roadkeeper, not exactly, but I know for a fact that she will find a way to touch me inside, and I will know who she is the instant I set eyes on her. She is simple, I imagine. Plain and boring-looking, maybe somewhat irritating on the outside, but within? I know she has the most beautiful personality ever. Her face is not pretty, the way I see it, but her mind--and her heart--is. I imagine her as kind of like Ruby, quiet but strong, like maybe a modern day Matilda.
I search for hours, having haphazard conversation with random strangers who range between somewhat interesting to how do they even function with that little personality, hoping to figure out which one of them is The Roadkeeper. None of them is her, though, and I know that for a fact. I’ll just know when I meet her. I don’t know how, but I’ll know--I’m sure of that much. The Roadkeeper and I will mesh. She’ll be the cool and caring mom I never had or
the sister who isn’t afraid to throw a punch when needed, depending on her age.
Case in point: the search for The Roadkeeper is not successful. Logan does not seem to have much luck, either, though, thank god. I am totally determined to win for two main reasons. One is the simple fact that I desperately want to meet The Roadkeeper, possibly fangirl and profess my love for her before I collapse into a pile of excitement and awkwardness at her greatness (I have this whole thing planned out pretty well) and second is to get Logan to come clean, to tell me everything he knows about why Ben did it so I can finally start healing.
So I look for The Roadkeeper all afternoon, talk to maybe one-hundred people for times varying from five minutes to three seconds (one of them was decidedly not a woman), and shoot Logan as many dirty looks from across the room as possible.
I overhear more poetry presentations than I’ll ever need, and the steady buzz of the whole place is weirdly thrilling. I love that I can look up at the wall beside me and see posters of my favorite poets hanging there. I love that I can go over to any random person here and they’ll be able to recite and explain ‘The Road Not Taken’ by Robert Frost to me. I love that I feel at home here. I love that I feel like I belong.
I’ve spent my whole last four years trying to slip in the shadows with everyone else, to work as hard as I can not to turn out like my parents want, and in general just get by. But here, at this convention, getting by is the last thing I want to do. What I really want to do, more than anything in the world, is to stand out. I don’t really feel scared of others so much anymore for some reason. I mean, I’m still scared, but now it’s a good kind of fear. It’s the fear I felt when I left with Logan to this convention, the fear I felt when I asked him to come to my bed. It’s the fear that drives people to do great things, that caused Robert Frost to leave for England and pursue his dreams, the fear that comes when you’re on the brink of greatness.
And I, Cali Monroe, am on the brink of greatness.
After a while of searching for The Roadkeeper, I return to the same table Logan and I sat at earlier and do them the great honor of cleaning out their Skittles supply. I mark it as my Charitable Deed of the Day in the back of my mind.
Logan comes over to me after a minute, looking way too smug considering he too is losing. I slump into my seat, glaring at him, even though inside I’m glad to see him here.
“Has someone given up already?” Logan asks. I try to hate his cocky smile, but the melting feeling it gives me is undeniable.
God, he gets on my nerves.
“I was just taking a break to watch my competition and pity their terribleness,” I say, returning him an exaggerated wink.
A hint of those dimples flickers across his cheeks. “I am hurt, Cali Monroe.” He mock clutches his heart.
“Darn,” I say blankly, tossing another Skittles into my mouth. “Oh no. How will I ever live with myself after I hurt the Logan Waters.”
He slides into the seat next to me, and I hate how much I like the return of his warmth. “It’s going to be hard,” Logan says, “but we can make it through this. Shall I kiss you to make it better?”
“Shall I punch you to make it better?” I shoot back, giving him a killer smile.
“You drive a hard bargain.” He laughs. He looks like he’s in his own little world when he talks to me, like he genuinely does not care how stupid he sounds, like all that matters to him, all that really matters to him, is the person he’s talking to. Is me.
“So how did your exploration go?” I pop another Skittle into my mouth.
Clapping roars from the corner of the room where people are hosting mini-poetry recitations, and I suddenly remember the poem I wrote last night, the one Logan dared me to recite tomorrow. My stomach seizes. I can’t read that poem--not to Logan, not to anyone. Not anymore. I barely remember what I wrote, but I know the basics; I poured my heart into it, I wrote to Logan, and whenever that has happened before, nothing good has come of it. The only place speaking from the heart and being honest gets me is deeper into the miserable rut that is my life.
A part of me wonders what Logan’s poem could possibly be about. It’s probably something entirely stupid and geeky about math and Pi and whatever. There is no way he wrote a poem to me, like I wrote to him. I mean, why would he? He has nothing to say to me, and these thoughts I’m having, these raw and alarming thoughts, are just my own insanity backfiring on me.
“My hunt for The Roadkeeper went just delightfully, thank you,” Logan says. “I had a really heartwarming conversation with an old woman whose husband either died in a car accident or is currently hostage in some foreign prison camp--I couldn’t tell which--and I even flirted with several gorgeous ladies.”
“Were these gorgeous ladies… under sixty?” I say, smiling.
“No they were not,” Logan says. I roll my eyes, and he adds, “They said I still got it, though.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say, the laughter bubbling inside of me despite everything. “I hope you two have a charming time spending the rest of her life together in an old person’s home.”
A small smile flickers across his lips. He watches me, those blue eyes trained on mine so strongly it almost makes my heart skip a beat. “I really hate you,” he says.
“I know, Logan. I know. And I consider that an accomplishment. It’s only normal for a nerd like you to be resentful of a totally hot and awesome girl like me. You wouldn’t understand,” I add. “Not everything in life can be found in textbooks.” It’s a low blow, I admit, but that’s what our rivalry is all about.
Logan grins. “You’re going down, Cali Monroe,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me and smiling. “You are so going down.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I shove some more emergency Skittles into my mouth and turn to face him, my eyes piercing his. I shift closer to him. Our stares are intense, our faces hard and strong, our bodies stiff and so weirdly natural this close together. I feel everything when I’m next to Logan, feel like all of my thoughts are going to spill out of me and I’m going to wrap my arms around him and hold him, just hold him, until everything from Ben and my parents to my developing feelings for him fades away. Logan’s lips are those full kind of lips that make me just want to kiss them, and his dark hair is messy in that totally gorgeous kind of way. His teeth are all white and perfect, and all I want to do is put my lips to his lips, my side to his side, my skin to his skin. As I look at him, he seems more attractive than ever. Even those glasses, which I used to hate, look so freaking hot right now.
I just glare at him, forcing myself to breathe, feeling all the tension in the world between us. My heart races and I want to lean in more than anything else in the world, to just kiss him already, but I can’t. I bite my lip, pull back.
I can’t.
I can’t.
“I can’t wait to make you pay up,” Logan whispers, his breathing slow, his blue eyes still trained on mine.
“And I can’t wait to learn all your secrets about Ben,” I whisper, biting back a smile. It takes all the effort in the world for me to look away from Logan, but I do it--barely--as I stand up. If someone dropped a match between us right now, I swear to god the tension would make the whole building explode.
I can finally breathe evenly when I’m not standing next to him, but a piece of my heart, something deep and full of desire, tugs at me. I regret standing up. I regret not kissing him. I regret not having the guts to go right in there and take him.
“I’ll see you once I find The Roadkeeper,” I say, shooting him a fighting look, and he grins as I start walking away.
“Good luck,” he says. “You’ll need it.”
I make a face, stick my tongue out at him like the mature adult I am, and turn. I start heading over to the one part of the room I have yet to search, when Logan’s voice stops me. “Cali?” he calls after me.
I spin around, and there we are, meeting gazes once again. My toes curl, and I have to fight off the overwhelming urge to run a
t him and kiss him until this whole room is gone and it’s just us, forever and ever. I hate how much I want that, want him. “Yes?” I say instead, because it’s the only non-creepy response I can come up with at the moment.
He smiles a little bit. “Trust me when I say that the moves I’ve learned were not taught from textbooks.”
And as I meet his gaze, I know he isn’t talking about video game moves.
~
She used to be so confused
so lost
never knowing what she wants
never finding her salvation.
Always afraid to open up
to do anything but hide
and not figuring out what it truly is
that makes her happy
that makes her… her.
But now
now
now
as she watches the boy
all of that confusion is gone.
And just like that,
she knows what she wants,
and
it
is
him.
~
I WOULD not say the rest of the search for The Roadkeeper is unsuccessful, but successful is also definitely not the word for it. I don’t find her, although I do meet a few other bloggers and professional poets, and it feels amazingly refreshing to talk to them. I’ve never talked to anyone like me before that date with Logan. I never thought there was anyone like me who didn’t live in fictional stories, to be perfectly honest. But now, in less than a week’s time, I’m surrounded by a sea of people who are exactly that: like me.
It is insane in the best way possible.
I eat as many snacks as possible during the rest of the convention and go out of my way to shove past Logan as we pass each other, just because I know it annoys him.
I’m about to give up on the whole search and whine for Logan to bring me to dinner for more food, savoring the moments I have before he discovers what I did, when I run into the lady who spoke at the podium early today, the Katherine Fischer person.
Two Roads Page 20
