#GoodGirlBadBoy

by Yesenia Vargas

  I read over it. “So it’s 20 percent of our grade?”

  She nodded. “Be as creative as you like. The sky’s the limit.”

  A minute later, we grabbed our stuff and left her office. I read the paper over again, Emerson walking next to me. “Well, this should be fun,” I said with a nervous smile. “It can’t be that bad, right?”

  Emerson stuffed the paper into his backpack, and I had a feeling it would end up in a crumpled mess at the very bottom. “Are you kidding? I’d rather take a test. And that’s saying something. I hate stuff like this.”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.” Without even thinking I grabbed his hand. Then I dropped it, fast, and we kept walking. Emerson didn’t say a word, and all I could do was focus on not hyperventilating out of sheer embarrassment. What was I thinking?

  I could not do that again.

  It was Saturday evening, and after having dinner with my mom a few blocks away from home, she got up to leave.

  She kissed me on the forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay taking the bus home?”

  I nodded. “Definitely. It’s only a few minutes. I’ll text you when I’m there.”

  She gave me a soft smile. “Okay, then. Don’t miss it. You know the bus stops running soon.” She gave me a hug. “Hopefully we can get you a car next year. Promise.”

  Between weekend babysitting gigs here and there and my mom putting half of my allowance toward my first car fund, it would definitely wouldn’t happen until well into senior year. But I was okay with that. I didn’t mind walking or taking the bus at all.

  With one final wave, my mom headed off to work, and I finished eating my small ice cream cone.

  It was still pretty early, so I decided to do some window shopping and walk off the sugar in my system. Maybe it was the brownie or the fact that it was the perfect summer night, but I was in a great mood.

  I stepped outside and observed the sun in the distance, hiding behind the tree line. This was my favorite time of day because of the sky. It burned red and purple and orange and every hue in between. And I was perfectly comfortable in my jean shorts and sleeveless, flowy shirt.

  I only wished I had someone to share this evening with. But it was fun all the same.

  Making my way down the block, I took in all the shops, the clothes, the shoes, all calling to me. But it wasn’t meant to be. Not tonight anyway. So I walked toward the park instead. The bus stop was there.

  Since the sun was tucked away for the night, I probably should be too.

  Once I arrived at the bus stop, the sound of a skateboard caught my attention. It was hard to see in the ever-growing dark, but someone was there.

  I made my way toward the playground through the parking lot. A couple of families with screaming toddlers walked past me, clearly ready to get home.

  I stopped at the swings and sat down on one. Just like I had suspected, Emerson was a few dozen feet away by the picnic tables.

  Slowly swinging, I watched him for a few minutes. What I loved about Emerson on a skateboard was that he never stood still. He had so much energy, jumping over tables and doing backflips with his skateboard in hand.

  It was mesmerizing to watch, and I only wished I was at talented as Emerson at something. But I didn’t want to interrupt him. Even though he was practicing in public, this felt like something private.

  The sky became darker, and I knew it was time to go. The bus would be here any minute, and at this time, it only ran every half hour.

  I got up quietly and began making my way back to the bench in front of the bus stop.

  But the sound of Emerson’s voice made me freeze. “You sit there and watch me for ten minutes, but you won’t say hi?”

  Exhaling slowly, I turned around to face him. All of a sudden, I was thankful that it was dark and the lights from the shop and the street didn’t quite reach us. Only a single corner light illuminated our faces, but it wasn’t enough to let him see the look of horror on my face.

  I had to say something. “Hi. Sorry.”

  Emerson came closer, his skateboard tucked under his arm. “Why are you apologizing? I was just teasing you.”

  I took him in, from messy hair to black t-shirt and worn blue jeans. Fidgeting with my hair, I said, “I didn’t want to bother you. I was just…admiring your skateboarding.”

  Realizing how that sounded, I tried not to cringe.

  He took another step toward me. “Thanks.”

  Glancing back toward the bus stop and making sure I wasn’t missing my ride home, I said, “Have you always been that good?”

  He smiled wide and laughed like he was remembering something. “Definitely not.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back. “Really? I can’t even imagine riding that thing on two feet on level pavement, much less on my hands or down the stairs. I’d break my neck so fast.”

  That made him laugh even harder. “It’s not as hard as it looks.”

  “You promise?” I teased.

  He blinked, his smile turning a little serious. “I promise.”

  I bit my lip and looked away, unable to keep my eyes locked with his a second longer. I willed my heart to stop beating so fast and for my stomach to stop doing somersaults inside me.

  But they wouldn’t listen.

  “Here,” Emerson said, holding out his hand. “I’ll teach you.”

  I shook my head frantically. “No. No way. I can’t—”

  But he took my hand anyway.

  “Emerson, I’m gonna fall and end up in the hospital—”

  He laughed. “You’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”

  My stomach did another backflip. Meanwhile, Emerson put down his skateboard in front of me. That small rectangular piece of plastic—or whatever it was—scared me. I was not good at things like balance or anything like that.

  “No,” I said, still shaking my head. I took a few steps back. “You do it first.”

  Mostly, I hoped he’d forget to make me do whatever he was going to do.

  Especially when I saw him jog toward his skateboard and just hop on, gliding down the concrete.

  How was he doing that?

  He came back in my direction. “It’s easy.” He got off the skateboard again, leaving only one foot on the board. “You use your other foot to start moving.” Keeping his one foot steady and pushing off the ground with the other, he began skating away again. “Then you just put your foot on the board and kind of turn.” Now he was sideways on his board somehow, and I still knew that there was no way I’d ever be able to do that.

  He stopped in front of me with an evil grin. “Your turn, Harper.”

  Hearing my name come out of his mouth almost took away the fear of landing on my face.

  Almost.

  I kept shaking my head, at a loss for words.

  He took my hand again. “I’ll hold your hand while you push off. Just push off like three times. I promise you’ll get it in no time.”

  “Emerson, you don’t understand—”

  “You can do this,” he assured me. “I won’t let you fall.”

  Even though I tried to get away, my left foot was already on the board. Emerson held on to my hand, tight, and I realized he wasn’t going to let this go until I at least tried.

  I met his gaze. “You better not let me fall.”

  He fell silent for a second. “Don’t you trust me? How could I let you fall?”

  And with that, I looked at the ground again, trying not to freak out over what he’d just said. I had to concentrate, seeing as how I was about to make a fool of myself.

  I pushed off once, twice, and the board moved, bringing me along with it. But my other foot remained on the ground.

  “Good,” Emerson said. “Keep doing that. Then put both feet on the board. I’ll keep holding your hand.”

  So I did, still terrified but also a teeny bit excited that I hadn’t broken my face just yet.

  I pushed off again, once, twice, three times. Then my right foot was on the board.
r />   I shrieked, half in terror and half in disbelief. Emerson held on, moving alongside me.

  My stance was all wrong, but my feet were off the ground. Then the board came to a standstill.

  “Keep going,” he said, still holding on to me. “This time, try to turn your feet once they’re both on the board.”

  Again. Push, push, push, glide. I kind of did it, and this time, when I yelled, it was purely from how much fun I was having.

  We ended up on the grass, and I stepped off.

  Emerson held my hand for another second or two, even though I was no longer on his skateboard. “Told you you could do it,” he said.

  He was standing really close to me, my fingers intertwined in his, and I had to remember to breathe. The cool breeze made my skin erupt in goosebumps. Or maybe it was the way Emerson was looking at me right now.

  The only sound I was aware of was my heart and his breath. My eyes locked on his lips, and I felt like I was frozen with him in this moment.

  His mouth was close, so close.

  Then a loud familiar sound reached my brain, and I snapped out of it.

  I spun around.

  The bus. It was pulling away. There was no way I could catch up.

  “Oh no,” I said. “I missed it.”

  I turned back to Emerson for a second, and then we watched the bus turn around the corner and disappear.

  “That was my ride home,” I said.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. There were a few texts from my mom, wondering if I was home yet.

  I texted her that I was on my way, that I had walked around the square.

  “Is it far?” Emerson asked.

  I looked up at him. “Twenty-minute walk.” I told him where I lived. “And I think that was the last bus of the night.” I sighed, wishing I had been paying more attention. I should have just stayed on the bench, as fun as it’d been to hang out with Emerson.

  He picked up his board. “I’ll walk you.”

  “Where do you live?” I asked.

  Maybe he was heading home too.

  “Off of Connor Road,” he said.

  I thought about that. “Isn’t that in the opposite direction?”

  He shrugged, holding up his board. “It won’t take me very long to get home if I have this.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. It’d be nice to have someone walk me home. Otherwise, I’d have to call a cab or my mom or something. Our town didn’t have Uber yet.

  He gave me a smile. “I don’t mind at all. Come on.”

  Thirteen

  Emerson and I walked toward my house. A car passed us by here and there, and the only light came from the street lamps or those from businesses or houses.

  The farther we got from downtown, the less businesses we passed and the more apartment complexes and houses popped up.

  The more I thought about it, the more I decided that it was a good thing I had missed the bus. Now we could talk about our project. “So I was thinking,” I began, “that maybe we could do some kind of fundraiser like the P.E. class is doing.”

  Emerson gave a “hmm.”

  “They’re doing a car wash or something. What if we did something like that but more of a dance thing?”

  That got his attention. “A dance thing? You realize there’s only two of us, right?”

  I nudged his shoulder. “Duh. I was thinking we could make it a community event. Invite the whole town. Back in Wisconsin, people would do dollar dances sometimes.”

  Emerson lifted an eyebrow. “Dollar dance? And you’re from Wisconsin? So does that mean you lived on a farm or something?”

  I nudged into him a little harder this time. “No, I didn’t live on a farm,” I said with a laugh. “I don’t know how to milk cows either.”

  Emerson smiled. “Really? Because I was trying to picture you milking a cow or feeding chickens or something.”

  “You’re impossible,” I replied. “But anyway, we can do a dollar dance. Members of the community can donate a dollar or however much they want to dance with a senior citizen. Or one of us. We’ll have safety pins available so people can pin their donations to us. What do you think?”

  He exhaled loudly. “I don’t know, Harper. Are you sure you want to charge people to dance with you when you’ve got those two left feet?”

  My mouth fell open, but I smiled, knowing he was teasing. “Okay, Mr. Dancing Expert. Just because you can waltz or whatever.”

  He smiled kind of sheepishly. “Actually, I don’t just know how to waltz.”

  I stopped, and he stopped too. “So you do all these skateboard tricks—”

  “It’s called parkour,” he said. “Skateboard parkour.”

  Once again, I felt speechless. “Skateboard parkour?”

  I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but really, I was just impressed with how much he could do. Meanwhile, my talent was watching Netflix movies on repeat and making the perfect batch of popcorn.

  “But yeah. I can dance. My older sister loves to dance, and she would always make me be her partner.” He shrugged again. “So I got good at it.”

  “Same sister who has a garden?” I asked. I’d only heard about his brothers.

  He nodded, and we continued walking. “She’s the oldest of all of us. She has a baby that’s a year old. But she’s a single mom.”

  “Wow,” I said, trying to picture him dancing as a kid. “So what kind of dancing can you do? My mom can’t dance to save her life, so I never picked it up either.”

  He looked down at the ground as he talked. Which was too bad because the night sky was so much better to look at. “All kinds of stuff, but mostly Spanish stuff.”

  That made me think of Dancing with the Stars. “Like salsa and mamba and stuff like that?” I asked, way too excited.

  He laughed. “Salsa, sure. But there’s way more kinds of music in my world than that.”

  I was curious what he meant by that. “Maybe we can play some of it at our fundraiser,” I said. “If you can come up with a great playlist, English and Spanish, I bet it’ll be a huge hit. We can draw both communities.”

  “Okay,” he said. “My brother has a sound system we could borrow too. I can set it up and DJ.”

  “You’d do that?” I said.

  “Sure,” he said, but something in his eyes told me there was more to it than that.

  I beamed up at him. “This is going to be so much fun. Just promise me one thing,” I said, before I could completely chicken out.

  “Name it,” he said.

  “Save a dance for me?” I breathed. “I mean, so you can teach me…”

  What else was I going to say? My mind went blank, and he smiled.

  “Count on it,” he said.

  We were quiet after that, but it wasn’t long before we reached my house.

  “This is me,” I said as we walked up my driveway.

  We stopped at my front door, and I checked the time on my phone. It was late.

  “Thanks again for walking me home,” I said.

  Emerson was so close. All he had to do was move slightly to accidentally nudge me with his skateboard. “No problem,” he said.

  While he didn’t always smile, I liked that I could usually find one in his eyes.

  I dug my keys out of my pocket and unlocked my front door. But I didn’t want to go inside.

  With his free hand, he brushed my fingers. “Good night, Harper.”

  “Good night,” I said softly.

  And with that, Emerson stepped off the front step. With his skateboard landing at his feet, he jumped on and rode off into the cool night.

  I watched him go, wishing our walk hadn’t ended quite so soon.

  On Monday, Emerson found me at our usual picnic table outside. We hadn’t said we’d be meeting up today, so I was surprised when he sat down next to me.

  With a huge bite of turkey sandwich in my mouth, I turned away, focusing on swallowing my lunch without choking.

  He slapped a paper down in front of m
e. “What’d you get on the math midterm?”

  Taking a quick swig of water, I grabbed the sheet. “A B. Why?” It was his midterm in my hands, covered in red marks.

  “As you can see, I definitely didn’t get a B,” he said.

  He’d gotten a D. But he’d been so close to passing. “You only needed five more points to pass,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I hate these stupid tests. I forget everything we studied. Mr. Nguyen said I need at least a C+ on the final to pass the class. Plus keep turning in homework and stuff.”

  I turned to him. “We can study together for the final again. I bet this will help. Mr. Nguyen usually puts a few of the same problems on the final.”

  Our math homework for tonight included fixing the mistakes we’d made on the mid-term, so we spent the rest of our lunch period doing just that.

  I wasn’t a math genius like Ella, though, so I struggled to fix my own mistakes. After a while, there was one equation neither of us could get the hang of.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Why are we still not getting the right answer?”

  Emerson groaned. “I hate math.”

  An idea came to mind. “Well, we’re not giving up yet. I know someone who can help.”

  Emerson put his pencil down. “Tell me we’re not asking Mr. Nguyen for help. The way he explains it only makes it worse.”

  I smiled. “Don’t worry. She’s not a math teacher, but she may as well be.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and texted Ella a picture of the math problem in question.

  Harper: HELPPPP

  Emerson read the text message over my shoulder. Three little dots appeared on my screen. I wasn’t sure if I should exhale in relief or get my crazy beating heart to calm down due to the fact that Emerson had scooted in close.

  “Who’s Ella?” he asked.

  I faced him for a half a second but immediately turned back to my phone. No way could I stand his face being so close to mind without stuttering or forgetting what my name was. “She’s one of my best friends, and she’s super smart when it comes to anything math or computer-related. She’s half the reason I got an A in math last semester. Usually, I’m happy to get a B.”