Meet Me at Midnight

by Jessica Pennington

  “I overthink everything,” I say, looking him right in the eyes, even though it makes me a little nauseous. “That’s what I do.”

  He smiles. “I know. It’s why you’re so good at tormenting me. I bet you’ve got lists and shit.”

  I laugh and it comes out more like a snort, and I’m ready to just die. Right here on this crowded little couch. Just kill me now.

  I look back at the TV, and then to Asher, before leaning into him and settling against his shoulder. I don’t think I’m breathing. My neck feels stiff as I debate whether to rest my cheek against him. It feels like too much, but I’m in it now, and I can’t sit with my head cocked up for the rest of this movie, or TV show, or whatever it is we’re going to sit here and watch. Or can I? Maybe my neck muscles are stronger than I’m giving them credit for.

  I let my head relax against him, and it’s done; there’s no going back now. I am snuggling with Asher Marin. And not in an undercover-agent-getting-close-to-her-mark kind of way. In a really sweet, comforting, normal kind of way. Like two people who haven’t spent eight weeks every summer tormenting each other. Like two people who like each other. Is that who we are now? Or is this just how Asher is with people he’s not being horrible to? I don’t know Asher outside of summer vacation and this little town we both inhabit for two months—it’s totally possible that he’s the kind of guy who snuggles with all of his female friends.

  “Stop thinking about it,” he says softly, his voice teasing but sweet.

  Asher rests his hand on my arm, and as we watch the movie and then the next, his fingers trace an idle, mindless path on my skin. I can’t breathe.

  And I don’t hate it.

  Asher

  It’s almost 2 a.m. and Sidney is still lying on me. My hand is numb, but if I’m the first to move from this position there’s a definite possibility that it will be the last time we’re ever in it. We haven’t said anything all night, but there’s a tangible current of anxiety rolling off of Sidney. We need to talk, so we don’t have another day like today, where she avoids me.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how much are you panicking right now?”

  The shoulder pressed against my ribs rises and falls as she takes a deep breath. “Something like a twelve.” I smile at her voice, because it sounds nervous but it doesn’t sound anything like a twelve. And she hasn’t moved away from me yet.

  “I think we should go somewhere.” I sit up, and Sidney’s head slides down my chest a few inches before she catches herself.

  “Now?”

  “Now or never,” I say, standing up and pulling her to her feet. I need to show Sidney that we could be so much better together than we are apart.

  * * *

  It’s hard to believe only forty-eight hours have passed since the last time we stood here. I know technically each day holds exactly twenty-four hours, but in reality some days just take up so much more space in our lives. Jumping off of that swing feels like a lifetime ago. And standing next to Sidney now in the darkness of the trees, Nadine’s yard just beyond us, the minutes that pass in silence feel just as long.

  “We’re a good team.” My words aren’t much more than a whisper. Silence stretches out as we stand side by side marveling at the white disaster that is Nadine’s yard. It’s not the mountains of fluffy potatoes I’d imagined in my mind, but it’s pretty gross looking; a white sludgy mess. There are dark spots crisscrossing the yard showing everywhere Nadine has walked. “I get the panic. I swear I do,” I say.

  “But?”

  I bump my arm into hers. “See, you get me.”

  She smiles, and it feels like my chance to turn this panic-fest into something else. Something that doesn’t set us back to what we’ve always been. Because I’m sure Sidney’s already decided that this is all going to end in ruin. She’s already convinced herself that the only way to avoid hurting each other is to avoid liking each other. I wonder if this is how Taylor and David and Evan all met their fates. Sidney, alone in the dark, with too much time to think. Too much time to panic. “Just give me three dates.”

  She looks straight ahead as she says, “March seventh, June twelfth … and October twenty-third.”

  “Smart ass.” I poke her playfully in the side and she jumps.

  “Guilty,” she says, but she doesn’t sound it. She sounds proud of herself. And like she’s starting to loosen up again. She sounds like drive-in movie Sidney. Like chocolate-chip pancake Sidney, covered in flour that first morning and dripping with newfound optimism.

  “Three dates,” I continue, and I wish we were still on that couch where I was touching her, and not standing here, inches apart. “And then you decide.”

  “And you?” she whispers, her face still turned toward the yard. “When do you decide?”

  I’m about to answer when she suddenly turns to me. “Four dates,” she says. “Two for you and two for me.” She smiles and turns away from me again, but her voice sounds lighter. “I’m not sitting around waiting for you and your dates,” she says, and I laugh.

  “That seems … fair,” I say, not at all upset that she seems as interested in this proposition as I am. That she wants to go out with me.

  “Okay, so four dates before we decide this is a complete train wreck.” The tone of her voice—the defeat it’s already laced with—confirms how she sees this all ending.

  “Or four dates before we decide it isn’t.”

  “So this is date number one?” I can’t tell if her voice is hopeful or disappointed.

  “We live together.” I drape my arm over her shoulders and turn her around, to where our car is waiting two driveways down. “We can’t call it a date every time we end up in the same place. Unless you want to use this as one of yours?”

  “No way.” She looks up at me with mischief in her eyes. “My dates will be awesome.”

  I look behind us, the white grass still visible in the moonlight. “I expect nothing less.”

  DAY 27

  Sidney

  Today felt a lot like the last few weeks, but it also felt entirely different. And not in any kind of obvious, over-the-top way. It was more like a change of context. Like I saw everything Asher did in a different light. He made me pancakes this morning. Technically, he made all of us pancakes, but I knew they were really for me. And not just because mine were the only ones with chocolate chips. It was like everything he said was directed at me, as if we were having a private conversation, even while surrounded by our parents.

  “Did everyone have fun last night?” Asher says as we’re all sitting around the table, cutting into our pancakes. I’m not sure why he’s been begging me for pancakes, when his are just as good. Our parents tell us about the wine tasting room they went to after dinner, about the dessert wine that put them all in bed early.

  I wonder if anyone noticed that Asher and I barely had anything separating us this morning. That his knee was touching mine under the table. I’m not sure if it was the first time, but it certainly felt like it.

  When I ask Asher if we should tell our parents about us, he says no, and I agree. No sense in getting their hopes up when we’re only four dates away from ruin. But when Asher asks me to go with him to Trevor’s house, I say yes. Maybe a little too quickly.

  Asher

  I met Trevor a few summers ago, at a party at his mom’s house. His sister was throwing it, and I found Trevor in their dining room, setting up this elaborate game, even as a party began to rise up around him.

  Trev’s house is tall and white, and sits on one of the country roads outside of the main downtown area. When we pull into the driveway, Sidney seems nervous, her hands twisting in her lap, then pulling at strands of her hair. They’ve been moving in a constant loop—lap, hair, twist, pull, lap—since we got in the car.

  “Are you nervous to be going to this, or nervous to be going with me?”

  “Yes,” she says, and we both laugh. She pushes her door open and steps out before I have to threaten to drag her, which seemed
like a possibility. As we step up to the front door, we’re standing side by side. Sidney stops short at the door and looks at me. “This is the same house.”

  I nod.

  She looks down at my shirt and laughs. “Are you sentimental or something?”

  I shrug. “It’s possible.”

  She turns away, but her cheeks are burning red as I turn the doorknob and push her in with a hand on her lower back. My shirt is right, swimmers absolutely do it better.

  * * *

  We’re in the corner of the basement again, except now it’s quiet instead of buzzing with people. Everyone is in the same chairs, but the game board is completely different. It’s clean, a brand-new game ready to go.

  “We’re playing the same game again?” Sidney asks.

  “Yeah, but it won’t be the same. All it takes is one changed decision, and the whole game is different. You can play this game over and over, and it won’t ever turn out the same.”

  An hour into our game, Sidney is crushing it. We were forbidden from playing together, but her chair is pulled up close to mine anyway. She’s perched up on her chair again, her legs tucked under her. Every time I strike one of her territories she softly punches my leg. But after she does it, her hand stays there. Her palm is pressed into my thigh, and at first, it feels sort of rigid against me like she didn’t realize she did it, but soon she uses it to leverage herself up as she stretches to look across the board. Her hand relaxes, her fingers begin to tap and flutter against me. At one point, I swear she’s tracing a message against my leg. I keep trying to make it out, but all I accomplish is Trevor mocking me when I space out and don’t realize my turn has come.

  “Do we need a hand check?” Trevor teases. Sid lifts her hands, and I expect they’ll go back to her lap, but her left hand returns to its spot on my leg. Knowing Sidney, it’s probably there to spite Trevor. I keep waiting for her to move it, but I think maybe she’s committed to playing tonight’s game one-handed. And that’s a challenge I am fully on board with.

  Sidney

  The last time I played a board game with Lindsay I was drunk. It’s different being sober, and I’m quiet. With her, at least. I don’t know what to talk about. Unlike Trevor and Hannah, Lindsay knows me. She knows Asher and me together, what we’ve been all these years. Without the alcohol to loosen me up, I’m thinking way too hard about what I can say to her that won’t be weird. Thankfully, watching Trevor and Hannah has distracted me.

  “Are those two—” I wave a casual finger toward Trevor and Hannah, who are angled toward each other, talking about something that probably isn’t game-related if the look on Trevor’s face is any indication. Hannah’s thick bangs cover one eye, and she pushes them back behind her ear. “—together?” I whisper the last word like it’s dirty.

  Asher is turning his head to my ear as Trevor says, “Yeah. Why, you interested?” His face is serious, and Hannah looks like she might hit him. I don’t know what to say. But then Trevor laughs, and Hannah follows. Asher warned me in the car that mellow drunk Trevor is not the norm, and I guess he’s right. Trevor seems like a total goofball.

  “I think you traumatized her.” Hannah pokes him in the arm with her elbow. “Say sorry.”

  “Sorry I traumatized you.” Trevor rubs the spot on his arm as if Hannah jabbed him with a hot poker, not her dainty elbow. “I would have thought Asher had done that years ago.”

  At this, I laugh. Trevor is funny. And clearly he’s not clueless about my history with Asher. I’m curious just how close the two of them are, so I ask, “Did you know this is our first date?” I see the surprise register not just on Trevor’s face, but on everyone’s. “He brought me to your basement.”

  The girls look personally affronted, and Trevor is just shaking his head, like maybe he’s going to get to see the Sidney and Asher Show he’s heard so much about. Hannah is muttering “Oh come on, Ash” when he throws his hands up in the air. Lindsay looks surprised, but in a different way somehow, and I’m not sure what to make of it.

  “Hey now.” Asher’s voice is amused, not angry. “I did not bring Sidney on a basement-date.” The surprise on my face seems to be mirrored on his. “You thought I brought you on a basement-date?”

  I let my eyes wander around the room as if to say, Look where we are. We’re in a basement. We’re on a date. This is a basement-date. But I don’t, because I was just joking, and I have no problem with Asher bringing me here. More like I was nervous talking to his friends for the first time (sober) and picking on Asher is my go-to stress reliever.

  Asher sets his hand on my knee, and it’s a lot like when a kitten jumps on your lap. You’re really excited they want to play, but also, you know they have tiny, needle-like nails ready to stab you at any moment, and you can’t fully relax. Everything inside me goes taut. Is this what it felt like when I did it to him? He tips his head toward me as he says, “This isn’t a date, Sid. When I take you on a date, you’ll know it.” He glances over at Trevor. “And this nerd definitely won’t be there.”

  Not a date. I was only teasing Asher, I don’t actually want to get into the details of our situation at a table full of his friends, so I just smile at him and say, “If you say so.”

  He gives me a smug smile right back. “I do say so.”

  Asher and I are still looking at each other when Lindsay clears her throat. “Honestly, I can’t believe it took this long.” The words aren’t unkind, but she immediately picks up a game piece. Our little chat is over. She’s been quiet most of the night, too, but now her eyes dart to me. Lindsay insisted no partners when we started tonight. I can’t help but wonder if she has a problem with anyone being partners, or just me. With Asher. I think of the way she looked at me at the party. Even tipsy I could register the jealousy there. Or maybe it was just shock. I’m not sure which is worse. Was she irritated that he was holding my hand or just surprised that he would? We weren’t even together then. We’re not together now, my brain says. But my brain isn’t the one in control when I take my hand off of Asher’s leg and put it up on his shoulder, right where she can see it.

  * * *

  We’ve been playing for hours, and it feels weird that I might leave here soon without having said a word to Lindsay. Probably no one else notices, but I won’t let myself be that girl. I finally work up the nerve to ask her something I’ve always wondered about. “So what’s up with the yard sculptures?” I flick a card across my fingertips, over and over, trying to rein in my nervous energy.

  Lindsay shrugs. “My mom’s nuts about those things. She knows where each and every one of them is.” I think about the time Edith spent in my bedroom and wonder if Nadine really did notice her missing. “When people come over for the first time she always takes them around the yard like it’s a tour.” She rolls her eyes. “They’re like her adopted children.”

  That seems like an exaggeration, and my face must say the same because Lindsay looks at me and raises her brows. “Seriously. I broke one when I was a kid, back when they were at our old house, and she lost it. I was grounded for a week. Total accident.”

  “Sidney’s always been low-key obsessed with those things,” Asher says, his voice teasing.

  “More like I’m fascinated with the way they’ve multiplied. They’re like a yard sculpture army. The sheer number is what fascinates me.” I poke my elbow into his ribs.

  “Wasn’t there a show when we were kids, where yard gnomes came to life?” Trevor says.

  Asher laughs. “Can you imagine?”

  “I’d like to think that if they could leave, they would. They deserve a less grumpy owner.” I look at Lindsay apologetically. “No offense.”

  Lindsay shrugs. “She’s not the easiest person.” She looks from me to Asher. “Sorry about what happened with getting kicked out and everything. I didn’t hear about it ’til you guys were gone.” She looks to Asher. “You should have called me, I would have talked her down.”

  Asher shakes his head. “It all happened really
fast, I didn’t even think about it.” He puts a hand on my knee and squeezes, as if he’s trying to remind me that it all worked out okay. And I guess it did. When Asher’s hand stays on my knee, I try to remind myself to breathe. It’s almost enough to distract me from thinking about the fact that Lindsay sounded so casual about Asher calling her. She didn’t give him her number, so he already has it.

  Before my brain can go down a dark road, I let it run away in a different direction. “I don’t think yard sculptures are very loyal. I bet they make a break for it someday. Maybe they’ll pile on the pontoon and come to our new house.”

  Asher tips his head back and laughs. “If anyone could lead that army, it’s you, Sid.” The lightness of his voice is enough to wash all the other thoughts from my head. Basement date or not—Lindsay or not—this is a pretty great night.

  * * *

  I knock on Asher’s bathroom door, but it pops open as I do. It’s not even closed, let alone locked. Next to his bed, Asher is pulling his T-shirt off, over his head. It’s the SWIMMERS DO IT BETTER shirt—the one I made him change out of the first time we went to Trevor’s house. The fact that he wore it tonight makes me smile. He picks a gray T-shirt off of his bed and pulls it over his head. I’m a little sad as it slides over his chest and obscures the view I had of him.

  “Did you wear it that night just to annoy me?” I ask, suddenly curious.

  Asher smiles. “I plead the fifth.”

  “And what about that pink shirt? You wore that to annoy me, right?”

  “I told you why I wore it.”