Meet Me at Midnight

by Jessica Pennington

“Hm.”

  He looks at me expectantly, and for a second I forget why I even came into his room.

  “I had fun tonight.”

  He smiles, and lifts the hem of his T-shirt to tie his pajama pants. “Me, too.”

  I’ve seen Asher in his pajamas a million times, but never in his room. Alone. They’re just clothes. I’m in my regular clothes, because I couldn’t bring myself to walk in here in my threadbare T-shirt. It didn’t offer nearly enough barrier between us.

  I tear my eyes away from Asher’s waist, and focus on why I came in here. Which was not to creep on Asher. Definitely not. “You know, you’ll have to use one eventually.” He looks at me blankly, and I smile. “A date. We said four dates.”

  He smiles, and it’s smug and cocky, the smile I saw on rare occasions after a prank—or when one was coming.

  “I don’t like that look.”

  He feigns innocence. “What?”

  I tip my head to the side and don’t offer anything.

  “I like that you’re begging me to take you on a date.”

  My mouth opens and snaps shut. “I didn’t … I mean … I just…” I shake my head. “You are so annoying.” This only makes him smile wider, more genuinely, like I’ve made him truly happy.

  “Am I, though?” Mischief glints in his eye.

  He steps toward me, his eyes burning into mine, and I take a step back, like we’re dancers, our limbs giving and taking from one another. We both take another step and my legs hit his bed. The soft impact with the place he sleeps—the place I laid just days ago—makes my breath catch in my throat. He leaves the space between us, and his hand reaches out, smoothing a piece of my hair between his finger and thumb, before pushing it behind my shoulder. Warm fingers rest on my shoulder, then trail to the back of my neck, but he isn’t moving any closer to me. Everything about the way Asher touches me is so confident, like it’s not just the first time he’s touched a girl like this, but that it isn’t the first time he’s touched me like this. Even though every single touch feels like it’s the first for me.

  I should do something—speak, or blink, or breathe. He isn’t kissing me, but he wants to; I can feel it in the way his fingers softly cradle my neck, see it in the tenseness of his arm, as if it’s a snake, coiled and ready. It’s in his eyes, in the way they’re running over my face, as if searching for something. But I can’t find the words, so I make myself move. I take the smallest step forward. And again we are like dancers, like the most skilled of partners, as I rise up on my toes, and his mouth lowers to meet mine.

  Our first kiss in the grass was all him. This one is all mine. It’s clumsy to start, even though it’s now our third kiss—or maybe our fourth, even—and I wonder if it’s because the dynamic has changed. We’re dating now. Our hands fidget, and our heads fight to find the right angle. When he tries to run his fingers through my hair and catches his finger on a spot that pulls, I laugh, and so does he. It’s awkward, but not uncomfortable. Maybe because we’ve been so ridiculous in front of each other. We have been weird, and childish, and frequently embarrassed. We’ve seen all the worst parts of each other, and nothing we do now can even come close to that.

  As the minutes go by, we find our rhythm against each other’s lips again. Neither of us is a quitter, and both of us are perfectionists. I am wrapped in his arms, our bodies pressed together, our hands wrapped around each other’s waists. Our fingers explore exposed skin—I thread my fingers into his hair, and he traces the line where my tank top meets my shorts. Goose bumps rise up everywhere his skin meets mine.

  We may never stop kissing. My toes are cramping up from the few inches I’m raising myself up, but I won’t be the first to pull away. I push up higher, and then all the way down, trying to stretch my stiffening toes. Asher’s lips follow as I dip and rise. I smile against his lips and he laughs, but his lips are back on mine before the sound has faded around us. He twines his arms tightly around my waist and pulls me up, like he’s giving me the world’s tightest hug. I think he’s giving my toes a break, until he turns us and pulls me with him onto the bed.

  We crash into the comforter clumsily, our bodies still pressed together, and a surge of panic rises up in me as his body settles on top of mine. A few weeks ago, Asher was the one person in the world I would have called my nemesis. And now he’s on top of me, on his bed. Beds and bodies and our parents down the hall. My breath hitches, but before I can let the full potential of our situation wash over me in a smothering wave, Asher rolls to his back and tilts his head to look at me.

  “So a date, huh?” He smiles, and my eyes take in the current state of him. His kiss-reddened lips, the pink cheeks, little tufts of hair pulled this way and that from my fingers.

  “A date.” I can barely get the words past my kiss-swollen lips.

  He smiles back up at the ceiling. “Sidney, will you go out with me tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, just as his elbow meets my side and I let out a squeak. I turn my face to meet his, and my voice is as serious as it is nervous. “I wouldn’t hate that.”

  DAY 28

  Sidney

  The same way our parents never commented on our feuding, they don’t say anything about us running together, or spending the day on the dock, or going places together. When we leave the house we get a little wave from my mom, and a disinterested nod from Asher’s dad.

  “Where are we going?” I ask from the passenger side of Greg’s car.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Wow, and no blindfold or anything? Taking a pretty big risk that I won’t figure it out.”

  “Do you want to be blindfolded?” He looks over at me and smiles. “Or is it just instinctual to antagonize me?”

  “The second one.” I smile back, watching the scorched wheat fields roll by in the window behind him. “Sorry.” I shrug. “Antagonizing you is just my natural state. It’s woven into the very fiber of my being.” I’m tempted to say, I don’t even know why I do it. But I don’t, because then I’d have to think about how much of a lie it is. And I don’t want to think about where my distrust of Asher really started. Not when I’m sitting next to him, looking forward to our date. Our first date. The goose bumps are back; the ones I get every time I think about him touching me. There is sure to be touching on our date—and after. It’s the after that covers my whole body in tiny bumps.

  I sort of expect him to scowl, or tell me that I need to stop being horrible, but he just looks back at the road and smiles. Asher is really chill. I guess I always knew that, but I never let myself experience it or really appreciate it. Before, he was always scheming and planning. Always on the defensive or the offensive. But now, he just is. He’s the bringer of coffee, and the early morning boat talker. He tells me stories while I swim. I know so much more about him than he does about me. I wonder if he notices the imbalance like I do.

  In the afternoons, he slumps down next to me on the deck in the sun, or sits at the table while I paint rocks. When Sylvie or Greg asks him to run out to get something, he doesn’t groan and complain about how they interrupted his book (which is with him at almost all times). Nothing seems to faze him. Except for me.

  I wonder if I seem different to him, too, or if I’m just the same old neurotic Sidney I’ve always been. But then why would he even like me, if I was? I try to push that question away but it always seems to be there, right on the edge of my thoughts. Because I don’t feel any different. I still feel like me, just with one less enemy. And I suppose I’m not on the defensive or offensive, either. I’m not trying to think five steps ahead, unless you count right now, on this date.

  Date. Oh god, the word makes me feel like I’m living in someone else’s skin. It’s not that I don’t want to be with Asher right now; I totally do. It’s just that when I think about dates, I think about what comes next, and then my mind is five steps ahead, and before I can stop myself, I’m thinking way too far down the line. No. I mentally slap myself. We aren’t even
a couple yet. We’re dating. Barely dating. On our first date. It’s hardly time to start panicking about all of the repercussions of this little experiment not working out. I push the thoughts down as quickly as they surfaced.

  I realize I’ve been panicking in silence for long enough that when my eyes refocus on the world outside this car, I don’t recognize where we are. Apparently there’s no blindfold needed when Asher has my brain to do all of the work for him.

  I love mini-golf way more than any person should. Which is why I basically squeal when we pull into The Grove. It’s the strangest mini-golf course I’ve ever seen, and I’ve basically lusted after it since my parents took me here once the first summer we came up here. Dad was totally irritated by all of the weird traps in the holes, and Mom just hates miniature golf on principle, so we never came back. Plus, once Sylvie, Greg, and Asher joined us the next year, we didn’t need to find so many ways to entertain ourselves. Everyone had someone to keep them occupied.

  “Do you have a notebook?”

  Asher looks confused as we walk across the parking lot. My eyes are fixed on the giant windmill that’s fashioned out of twisted branches. Moss and vines twine over it. “You know, where you keep track of these things … my corn-eating habits, necklaces I’m lusting after. The fact that I’m basically obsessed with this place.”

  “No notebook.” Asher puts his hands in the air as if I’m going to search for it on him. “I just remember things.”

  “It’s freaky.”

  He shrugs. “Not sure what to say, it’s just how my brain works.”

  “Then I guess I like your brain.”

  “Um. Thanks?” He reaches his hand out as he walks. It’s subtle. Casual enough that I could pretend I didn’t notice. Maybe I should, but I don’t. I take two quick steps to catch up to where Asher is about to step inside the whitewashed building, and I slip my hand inside of his.

  * * *

  The Grove doesn’t have the usual waterfalls and pirate ships. It’s agriculturally themed. At one hole, your ball shoots out of a fake cherry tree. That was when my dad had decided he’d never return—when he was almost pelted by his own golf ball. He just doesn’t appreciate the challenge of mini-golf like I do. When we take our clubs off of the old wooden counter, I don’t need a mirror to know I am basically beaming with excitement. Asher grabs a little clipboard with a score sheet attached, and two stubby yellow pencils.

  I reach for a red ball just as Asher does. “Oh, no.” I grab a ball and point to the row of others. “I’m calling first-date dibs on this.”

  Asher picks up a yellow ball and smiles. “First-date dibs, huh?”

  We leave the amused desk clerk behind and step through the rickety wooden door and onto the sidewalk. “You asked me on a date. I get to call dibs on things like golf ball colors. And veto things. I also get to claim a bite of your dessert. I don’t make the rules.”

  Asher snorts like I just told a joke. “Technically, you asked me to ask you on a date.”

  “Technicalities are no good on first dates—you have a lot of rules to learn. You’ve been on a first date, right?”

  “Several.”

  We step onto the faux green grass of the first hole. “First dates are the worst.” I drop my ball onto the grass. “But you’re starting strong, Marin.”

  At the little podium next to the sidewalk, Asher has one arm on the miniature clipboard.

  “Trevor tried to convince me that I should take you somewhere fancy for our first date. Your comment about his basement really sunk in, apparently.” He sounds like he’s looking for confirmation that I wouldn’t rather be in a dress at a restaurant with cloth napkins. That’s what Caleb had thought I wanted. “But clearly this was a great choice. I feel like I brought you back to your homeland or something.” He taps his club against the strip of green running under our feet and smiles. “Seeing how excited you are to come here is almost as rewarding as that time I put coins on you while you were tanning and made the little solar system on your back.”

  A sharp laugh escapes me. “I miss the pranks a little.” I wince at the words. “Is that a totally psychotic thing to admit?” I peek up at Asher and his mouth is tipped up in the promise of another smile, but he doesn’t say anything. I shuffle my feet and try to line up the shot. There’s a row of fake corn stalks along the far end of the hole, and between them, an arched tunnel. Based on the dark circle at the bottom of the giant bushel basket on the right side, I’m guessing my ball will shoot out there.

  “Just to be clear, first-date rules do not apply to our game.” I shoot him a serious look before returning my eyes to my shot. “If you let me win, I’ll smother you in your sleep.”

  “You don’t care about winning?”

  “Oh no, I totally do. But I want to win because I’m awesome. Or because you’re horrible. Not because you were afraid I wouldn’t make out with you if you beat me.”

  “You’re gonna make out with me?” I can hear the smirk in his voice.

  I keep my eyes on my ball. I couldn’t look at him right now if I wanted to. My stomach is tied in the worst kind of knots and I wish I hadn’t brought up kissing Asher, because now it’s all I can think about. And I don’t need him to know that I’ve thought several times about pulling him behind the giant windmill and just calling it quits on this whole game. His ego does not need that boost. But kissing Asher is like eating something amazing for the first time—I had no idea how much I’d like it, and now it’s all I’m thinking about. I want it for all of my meals. He can’t know that, so I just shrug. “We’ll see,” I squeak out, my voice not nearly as aloof as I’d been hoping for. “Now stop distracting me so I can kick your butt.” I square up my shot.

  “And celebrate by making out?” Asher says, just as my club makes contact.

  Asher

  Sid’s ball veers to the right, careening into the wall at what is definitely not the angle she was going for, before ricocheting off of the edge of the giant basket and returning back to where she started. She makes a sound that I can really only describe as a growl. This is where I die; bludgeoned on a mini-golf course. She turns her eyes on me and I can’t help but laugh. Her mouth is squeezed into an angry slash and her eyes are narrowed to slits. But I’ve seen Sidney pissed, and she looks too cute right now to be as mad as she’s going for. I’ll live to see another day. I don’t bother telling her I wasn’t trying to distract her, because I know she won’t believe me. I’m not sure if I’d believe me.

  I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Mulligan?”

  Sidney uncrosses her arms, and her whole body relaxes. She straightens up a little, and there’s a hint of surprise on her face. She thought I was going to put up a fight. Repositioning her ball with the head of her putter, Sidney squares back up to take her shot. And just before she makes contact, her head swivels back to me slowly. Quietly, she says, “Thank you.”

  DAY 30

  My fingers hesitate over the buttons, because I’m not sure how to tell her that I’m spending my birthday with Asher. That I don’t even know what we’re doing, but I’m insanely excited. Asher hasn’t told me anything about what he has planned, except that it’s definitely not a date. Birthday celebrations don’t count. I should tell Kara everything, but the longer I go without telling her, the harder it gets. So instead of telling her the truth, I type back yes. I throw in a frowny face, just to show her how much I love her, and then I start looking through my closet for clothes that go along with the one clue Asher has given me so far about my birthday celebration: wear something black.

  After dinner Asher and I wash dishes and he tells me he has to leave for a while, but there’s another clue in my room. I practically sprint away. In my room everything looks normal, but on the bathroom mirror there’s a message scribbled in red:

  Trevor will pick you up at 10:00

  Trevor? At ten o’clock? I expected something elaborate from Asher, but this is starting to border on weird. I kill an hour playing cards with my mom,
tell her I’m spending the evening with friends, and then get ready. At ten o’clock when I open the passenger door of Trevor’s car, the look on his face doesn’t inspire confidence in my wardrobe choice. Technically, this isn’t a date, but we both know it is. My black sundress rides up my thighs as I sit down, and I try to push away the nervousness that is rising up in me as we drive the streets that run along the lake.

  “Do you need to blindfold me?”

  Trevor laughs so hard I worry he can’t actually see the road past his tears. “Asher said you’d say that.” He shakes his head. “Literally. Word for word. You guys are the strangest pair.”

  It should sound like an insult, but it sounds endearing the way Trevor says it, so I don’t say anything.

  * * *

  “Your clue was missing a very important word,” I say, as I step over limbs and twigs in my shimmery black flip-flops.

  Asher is ahead of me, his hand grasping mine. “What?”

  “Casual.” I mean it to sound annoyed, but I’m so curious I can barely muster any annoyance for the tiny scratches that are accumulating on my legs as we creep through the trees outside of Nadine’s yard. “Maybe wear appropriate footwear?”

  Asher laughs and it’s not quiet at all. This doesn’t feel anything like the first two times we came here together. He stops me a few feet ahead and twirls a finger between us, asking me to turn around. There’s a piece of striped fabric in his hand, and I’m pretty sure it’s one of my mom’s dish towels.

  “Now you’re going to blindfold me?” I squeak. “I know where we are.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just smiles and twirls his finger again, and I obey. The material covers my eyes, and then my hand is in his again. There’s hot breath at my ear. “Slowly,” is all he says.

  I step carefully, letting Asher direct me over anything in our path. After a few feet he wraps an arm around my waist, moving me more easily alongside him. Then we come to a stop, and he angles me just slightly to the right before letting the fabric drop away from my eyes.