Meet Me at Midnight

by Jessica Pennington

  Asher

  I open the door and let Sidney take two steps into my room as I pray that I didn’t leave anything weird lying around. If there’s a pair of old underwear shoved somewhere, my chances are probably shot. Suddenly I’m thankful that my mom makes us deep clean the house before we leave. No one wants to come home to a dirty house is her motto. Plus, I’ve been packing for college, purging stuff I don’t need, and tossing half of my belongings into boxes for my mom to sell at her garage sale. My room actually looks a little neater than usual. It looks more like Sidney’s room at the house than mine.

  “This is actually why I wanted you to come with me this weekend.” I hold a hand out and encourage Sidney to step into my room. “Well, part of the reason.”

  “To wow me with your bedroom?” Her sassy tone has me hopeful. Things already felt different after we left the pool, but I still have some lost ground to make up for.

  “Not exactly.”

  Sidney takes two more steps into the room, as if the floor could open up in front of her at any moment, and I stay in the doorway, letting her. It goes against every instinct I have to let Sidney snoop through my room, but I know this is part of winning her trust back. Letting her see the real me—the me she doesn’t get to see ten months out of the year. The me that doesn’t hide the fact that I’ve pretty much been in love with her since the first summer we met.

  She glances back at me, eyebrows popping up and a smile tugging at her lips, and I nod toward my stuff. “Go for it,” I say. “Lurk your little heart out.” I try to keep my voice calm, as if I’m not panicking about how this is actually going to unfold. There’s a chance she decides that I’m completely unhinged to have had a crush on her for this long. I’m not entirely sure I’m not.

  She lets out a melodramatic squeak and her head darts from one side of the room to the other, like she doesn’t know where to start—the large dresser along the left wall, my bed and nightstand straight ahead, or the walk-in closet to our right. She veers for my dresser and I swallow down the panic that has started to creep up my throat. It’s one thing to say you’re going to let someone look through all of your stuff—personal stuff you didn’t even curate for them—and it’s another thing to watch it happen.

  Watching her step up to my dresser is pure torture. My bedroom dresser looks a lot like my dresser at the lake house, except that this one is low and wide. And just like on vacation, I keep most of the stuff I should keep in the bathroom there. My hair gel, my deodorant, the glasses I hardly ever wear. Her hand touches every item gently, picking things up and turning them over in her hands. She smells my deodorant, tries on my glasses, and then glances toward the other end of my dresser.

  My dresser goes from everyday essentials to prized possessions. All of my favorite things are huddled on that far end. Tacked on the wall above it are my favorite photos. There’s me and Todd dressed up as cheerleaders our junior year, me on the beach the spring break we went to Florida, stubs from concerts and baseball games, a napkin Michael Phelps signed for me when my dad randomly saw him at the airport during a business trip.

  I watch Sid’s head bounce from photo to photo like a pinball, until it comes to a sudden stop. And I know she’s looking at a photo from the lake. Me and Sid, sitting on the dock, our legs pressed together like we’d known each other forever and not for a few weeks. My mom took it from the shore, and the two of us were oblivious, caught up in conversation, our heads tipped toward each other. She puts a finger out to touch it, like she’s not quite sure it’s real. I had started to think it wasn’t. After so many summers at odds, that first summer had started to dim around the edges. Then her fingers trail down, to the dresser, where all of my weird little trinkets are.

  My mom calls me the best kind of pack rat, because I hang on to everything that holds any sort of happy memory for me—I’ve done it since I was a little kid. There was a period, when I was nine, when I refused to take off any of the wristbands I had gotten at concerts and amusement parks and tournaments. They hung on my arm, ratty and faded, until my mother swore she’d cut them off during the night if I didn’t do it. I have a drawer with every newspaper article I’ve ever been in, every swim meet roster, every good moment in my life. But the very best things are sitting on my dresser or tacked to my wall.

  “You kept this?” Her voice is soft, and it might just be because she’s facing away from me, but I think it’s more than that.

  I know what she’s looking at, but I walk up behind her anyway. Sidney is stroking the smooth rock like it’s some sort of magical crystal that may grant her a wish.

  “You gave it to me that first summer.”

  “I remember.”

  “I wondered if you did. Or if you’d somehow blocked that whole summer out.”

  “It was a good summer … mostly.”

  “It was a great summer, Sid.”

  I’m right behind Sidney, so when she slowly turns around, we’re practically pressed together. “I thought you had to get Todd’s present. Or was this just a trap to get me to realize how sweet and sensitive you are, with your keepsakes and your secret photos?” She sets her hands on my chest. “Because I already knew you were more sensitive and romantic than me.” One finger taps just below my collarbone, and all of this touching is a huge relief. We almost feel like the old us again. Well, the new old us. “You’re nothing but marshmallow fluff in here, Marin.”

  “I told you I brought you here for a reason.”

  “And what was that again?”

  Proof. “The same reason I do anything. To convince you of how awesome I am.” I stroke a finger across her forehead, pushing a loose curl aside. “You haven’t figured that out yet?”

  “Even that time you put sour cream in my yogurt container and then glued it shut again?”

  “Even then.”

  “And when you tackled me to get to the unicorn chair?”

  I grin. “Especially then.”

  “Hm. I guess I’m just slow sometimes.”

  “Apparently.”

  Sidney thumps a hand against my chest and scowls at me. But it’s the scowl I love, the one that says she’s annoyed, but in a good way. The one that says she’s amused. And there’s nothing I like more than amusing Sidney. So I lower my head to hers, press our lips together, and wipe that scowl away completely.

  Sidney

  There’s something so weird about being here. It feels like we’re storybook characters who just stepped out of their story and into the real world. Like we’re watercolor, and we’re walking around in stark contrast to all of the normal Technicolor people around us. Asher clasps his hand around mine as we meet at the front of his car, and … okay … apparently we’re doing this. Like, all-in doing this. I wonder what his friends’ reactions will be. If they’ll think he’s crazy for wandering into enemy territory, only to be willingly taken prisoner.

  As we walk up the driveway toward the yard, it’s easy to tell who Todd is. He feels like the epicenter of the party, with little groups of relatives scattered in his orbit. As we approach, he looks at me like I’m a zoo animal. A really exotic one he can’t believe he’s actually seeing in person. I half expect him to try to pet my head or something. His face might break in half he’s smiling so big. Asher, on the other hand, is trying not to smile and failing.

  “Sid!” Todd engulfs me in a hug and it’s possible he’ll knock me off my feet with his excitement. Asher’s hand is still around mine. I can tell Todd and Asher are best friends just by being near them; there’s an almost tangible energy between them.

  “Okay, okay.” Asher’s voice is 1 percent annoyed and 99 percent teasing. “Let go of my—”

  Todd talks over my shoulder while still holding me in a bear hug. “Your what?”

  I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to hear how that sentence ends.

  From behind me, Asher sighs and gives my hand the tiniest tug. “My Sid.”

  Todd gives me one last squeeze and whispers in my ear. “Thanks
for coming. It would suck to have my best friend ditch my grad party.”

  Ditch his grad party? He thinks Asher wouldn’t have come because of me?

  Todd looks at Asher. “You know the drill, the real party starts tonight.” He jerks his head behind him, but all I can see is an open field surrounded by trees. “Sid, make sure you check out the video my mom made.” The grin is back, filling his face. He turns to Asher. “You’re welcome, bruh.”

  Asher groans, long and low, and shakes his head. “Seriously. Stop.”

  I laugh, because I can’t help it. Asher and Todd are like one of those little old couples who bicker all the time, but are ridiculously cute with how much they love each other. And somehow, meeting Todd makes me like Asher that much more.

  There’s an older couple approaching us, so we retreat to the food tent as Todd greets more of his guests, tucking an envelope into his pants pocket, where a few more are already sticking out.

  Asher pulls me to a table where he introduces me to Todd’s mom, Missy. His arm is wrapped around my back, his hand on my waist, as she smiles up at me from her seat. There’s no long introduction, no This is Sidney, our families vacation together, just … “This is Sidney.” It’s like that with all of his friends I meet. They know who I am.

  “It’s kind of weird how comfortable you are with me around your friends.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I pick at an invisible piece of dirt on the hem of my shirt as we walk across from the larger tent to a little one that has coolers and a makeshift bar. “I guess I just expected it to be weird. Or for them to think it was strange that you like me now.”

  “I’ve always liked you.” He squeezes my waist and my whole body electrifies.

  Always. I tell myself not to focus on that word, because people don’t mean it literally. Like, when I tell someone “I’ve always loved tacos,” I don’t mean from birth. I mean from like, the age of nine. Which means I’ve completely written off half of my life without even thinking about it.

  “It’s a lot weirder to pretend I haven’t had a crush on you for a million years.” He kisses my temple and smiles. “But anyone who really knows me knows I’ve had a thing for you for forever. If I wasn’t all over you, they’d wonder what was wrong with me.”

  I stare at him, like if I look long enough I’ll be able to see right through his eyes and into his brain. What the hell is going on in there?

  “Hm,” is all I can say. I don’t even mean to, it just sort of happens, like my lips have a mind of their own.

  “Hm?”

  I bump my shoulder into him. “Leave me alone.”

  “No can do.” He slings an arm over my shoulder. “You might run.”

  I laugh, and lean into him. Not likely.

  * * *

  The later it gets in the day, the less I feel the nervous, self-conscious energy from earlier at the pool. It’s like there’s a direct correlation between how comfortable I am and how relaxed Asher is.

  We’re in the middle of a field that stretches out behind Todd’s property. In the distance I can make out the glow of the white tent, obstructed by a thin line of pine trees that separates their manicured backyard from this wilder, sprawling space beyond it. All around us is open space, ringed by trees to every side. The sky is dark, but flames flicker above our heads, casting us in warm light. The fire dances and crackles, and there’s a bouncy song coming out of speakers that are tucked into the tree line somewhere out of view.

  There are bodies jumping and swaying behind us as the beat picks up. Drunken bodies. Asher takes my hand and looks down at me with a smile. He has a red cup in his hand, but I’m not sure if he’s actually drinking anything. A smile is permanently plastered on his face but nothing else about him seems loose or in any way out of control. He looks like normal, everyday Asher, but with the wattage turned up. I smile back at him before I realize where he’s slowly tugging me. Into the bodies. I plant my feet and expect him to try to pull me along, but instead he loosens his grip on me and takes a step toward me, our fingers loosely tangling between us. He’s so close to me now, I have no choice but to look up at him. His face gets serious. “I need to ask you something very important.”

  “What?” I squeak out. “Here? Now?”

  He smiles. “Here. Now.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m supposed to be asking the question.”

  I let out a disgruntled grunt. “Ugh. Fine.”

  I look at him expectantly, and he presses his lips together, like he’s trying not to laugh at how much I hate this. I teased him that first time about being horrible at talking about things, but it’s me who is really the worst at this.

  “Sidney…”

  There’s a long beat of silence and I wonder what could be so horrible that he can’t just spit it out. Whatever it is, I wish we didn’t have to talk about it now. Not on this night, out here in the dark. Not after this day. All I want is to be under the stars with him. To sit on the bench in front of the fire, our bodies pressed together. I want his arm draped over me, like he wants everyone to know we’re together. Together. A few weeks ago, I could have stood here in silence forever, refusing to let him see me sweat. Refusing to give in. But now, my curiosity and impatience wins out. “Yes, Asher?”

  His eyebrows pull together as he dips his head and lowers his lips to my ear. “Will you dance with me?”

  A laugh barrels out of him just as I throw my free hand into his chest. “You are the WORST!” I yell, but I’m smiling, relief washing over me. His arm loops around my waist, pulling me close. “How much do you hate me right now?”

  “Nine point five,” I say, but I can’t stop smiling.

  “Dance with me anyway?” He sets his red cup on the ground, and when he pulls me toward the mass of moving bodies, I don’t struggle. I throw my hands up in the air, and I don’t care how ridiculous I look, because Asher is smiling at me like I’m a present on Christmas morning. And as the fire rages on, so do we. We jump and twist, and when a song gets slower, so do we. As the night fades into early morning we are tangled limbs and warm lips, slow hands and swaying hips. And it’s hard to figure out where I end and he begins, but I don’t want to anyway.

  DAY 36

  Sidney

  Asher wakes me up with kisses along my shoulder, and fingers running over my back. They loop and curve and slash across my threadbare T-shirt, and they feel purposeful. “What are you doing back there?” My voice is thick with sleep.

  “Your voice is different right when you wake up.”

  “I guess so.” I’ve slept in his bed a few times, but I’ve never stayed through the night. I always set an alarm and go back to my bed after a few hours. Even with our doors locked, I can’t relax enough to really sleep together in the same bed with our parents just down the hallway.

  “I like that I know that.”

  I don’t say anything, because “I like that you know, too,” seems like too much. So instead I whisper, “That’s because you like to collect random facts about me.”

  “I’m writing secret messages.”

  “Really?”

  “Here, try to guess.” His finger dips and trails over my skin, and I try to picture it in my mind, but the word that forms there is probably not right.

  Asher’s finger stops, and I know I’m wrong but say it anyway. “Potato?”

  “Yes, I’m lying in bed with you and writing potato on your back.” His chin rests on my shoulder, and I can feel his breath on my neck. “I have another question.”

  The panic doesn’t hit me this time. “I’m too tired to dance.”

  Asher shakes his head. “Why are you fighting this so much?”

  “I’m lying in your bed right now. I would hardly call that fighting.” I smile sweetly at him and kiss his forehead, only because his lips are out of reach. Covering his mouth would be so
much more effective. “You scare me.”

  “You scare me more.”

  “Yeah, but I scare you because you think I’m the person you know most likely to be able to hide a body. You scare me because you’re basically one big heartbreak waiting to happen. You’re like all of my relationship fears wrapped up in one pretty package.”

  “You think I’m pretty.”

  I could kiss him right now for making a joke. “You think you’re pretty.”

  “I’m not sure why it’s always me breaking your heart,” Asher says, his eyes pinched in frustration. “The opposite seems much more likely here. If it weren’t for me, things would have ended three days ago. And, if I hadn’t asked you to meet me at midnight, you’d still be tormenting me.” He jumps when I poke a finger into his side, and grabs my hand with his. “See, you’re still coming after me.”

  He shifts to his side and wraps an arm over me, rolling me onto my side with a hand to my back. Now we’re face-to-face, in a cocoon of blankets and body heat. “Let’s talk worst-case scenario,” he says finally. “This whole thing ends in a fiery blaze of heartbreak.”

  I nod. His tone implies he’s having to stretch his imagination right now, but this is the only scenario I can see, currently. We’re eighteen, not even in college yet. What are the chances that this lasts a year, or two, or three? What are the chances that we get married? Because that’s the only way this whole thing isn’t eventually a disaster with our families. And what are the chances?

  “We’d be right back where we started, then,” he says.

  I nod, but I don’t think it’s anywhere close to the same thing. I think about seeing Asher every day, about actually hating him. Not the play-hate of the last five years, but actual, visceral brokenhearted hate. Is there any chance that one of us doesn’t feel that way in the end? And beyond that, what about seeing him with someone else after I’ve loved him? Really loved him?