Meet Me at Midnight

by Jessica Pennington

  I can totally see myself falling in love with Asher. I know it’s coming, the way I know I’ll take another breath. Loving Asher Marin feels like an inescapable inevitability. And to think of seeing him with someone else? I hate the thought of it, even now. Could I actually stomach weeks of that? Him treating someone the way he’s treated me? Being witness to it? The notes on the mirror, and the temple kisses; the way he’s always idly touching me, like it’s a reflex for him. The way he winks at me over the kitchen table when he knows I’m the only one looking. I definitely couldn’t handle it, which means I’d avoid him. And the thought of not seeing him at all? It’s hard to even imagine now.

  “You’re thinking horrible things, aren’t you?” His voice is soft, concerned. He pushes up on an elbow, and as if he could read my thoughts, presses his lips against the soft skin along my hairline.

  While his lips tingle against my skin, I try to think about the best worst-case scenario. We don’t have the houses at Five Pines anymore. This year’s house is temporary. And sure, maybe our parents will rent something together in the future, but if everything goes south with me and Asher, who’s to say they can’t get separate houses again? Surely my parents wouldn’t force me to share a house with an ex if they could avoid it. And if we weren’t forced together, maybe we would eventually return to something like normal. Something about having that backup plan in my mind loosens the tightest knots of dread inside of me.

  A warm finger taps my temple as Asher says, “What’s going on up there?”

  I can’t tell him the truth: I’m running through all of the possible outcomes of our future demise. But good news! There’s at least one worst-case scenario that doesn’t make my skin crawl!

  Instead, I say, “I think our parents would flip if they knew we were together.”

  Together. The word hangs in the air, and neither of us wants to touch it. I said it to lighten the mood, but it’s done the absolute opposite. I can feel the tension buzzing between us. The fingers that were idly tracing a circle on my back have stopped.

  “Are we—” He sounds genuinely nervous for the first time since we left the pool yesterday. “Together?”

  “I…” I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t fishing when I said it. I didn’t think it through, didn’t weigh the words ahead of time and consider them for three days, like I usually would. This is the verbal version of spontaneously hiding that frozen fish in his room. Being in his bed is doing something to me. Or maybe he’s finally gotten me to lighten up. And look what it’s doing to you.

  “I think we could be,” Asher says. “Should be,” he corrects himself.

  “Yeah?” There’s a little flutter in my stomach, and I’m not sure if it’s telling me to go for it, or warning me that this is the worst idea ever. Right now, everything feels equal parts scary.

  “Are you going to make me say it … officially, or something?” He says it like he’s being tormented, but there’s a certain warmth to his eyes that tells me he would. That the idea of it doesn’t scare him one bit. He’s so much braver than I am. I add it to the long list of things that Asher Marin surpasses me at.

  “Like a prom-posal?” I smile thinking about how funny it would be to see Asher plan some sort of elaborate set-up to ask me to be his girlfriend. Like the opposite of all of the pranks we’ve played over the years. “Did you ever do one of those?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  I squish up my nose in mock disgust. “Prom. Yuck.” But I am sort of surprised. Asher totally strikes me as the kind of guy who would do something elaborate and sweet for a girl. I think back to those stars on my ceiling.

  Asher smiles. “I will, though, if you really want me to.”

  I bite my lip to hold back the smile that would give away how incredibly giddy I am about the turn this trip has taken. “I don’t think we need to bring any more attention to ourselves while we’re still living in the same house.”

  “Deal,” he says, but he looks unsure about it.

  We lie in bed for another hour, until Asher leaves for the bathroom, and I contemplate how I went from coming here under duress to leaving with a boyfriend. Asher insists I shower first, and down the hallway, as I groggily stand in front of the sink, Will you be my girlfriend? is scrawled across the mirror in what has become our color. Red. The color of love notes, cherry Kool-Aid, and bleeding, broken hearts. The tube still sits on the counter—a much more expensive brand than our usual tube, obviously stolen from his mom. Sorry, Sylvie.

  Before I get in the shower I pull the cap off of the tube, and write back one word, three letters. And just for now, I’m going to let myself not think about how badly this all could end.

  DAY 41

  Asher

  I always imagined if Sidney blindfolded me and drove me somewhere, it would mean it was the end of the line. I’d finally pushed her over the edge, and she was driving me into the wilderness to drop me off for dead. I never imagined I’d be excited to be blindfolded. Of course, I never imagined that in this scenario she’d be taking me out on a date. Our fourth, her second. But this is our first date as an actual couple.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how weird would you say I am?” Her voice is teasing, but this feels a little like a test, and I can’t help but wonder what I’ll miss out on if I get this wrong.

  “Honestly?”

  “Honestly,” she says, then quickly adds, “unless it’s higher than an eight. You should definitely lie to me if it’s anything higher than an eight.” She laughs and I relax a little—maybe this isn’t the serious thing I thought it was.

  “A six.” I keep my voice serious. “But a hard nine for however long it took you to cover my bed in lemonade while I was drunk and defenseless.” She pushes my shoulder roughly just as my smile breaks through. It’s not as easy to keep myself in check with Sidney anymore. I feel like everything I’m thinking must be written across my face these days. “And if we’re being honest, then you were a straight-up twelve when you were hiding dead fish parts under my bed.”

  “Well, the only reason I’m even going to show you this is because I know now what a weird little nerd you really are. Mr. Board-games-in-the-basement.” I wish I could see her face right now. Sidney talks with her face, giving away everything she’s actually thinking. It’s how I always knew she didn’t actually hate me. Or at least, that there was something under all of it that wasn’t hate.

  She smacks me playfully across my arm and I think I’ve passed this test. I will live to see another day.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “No.”

  “The blindfold was probably a bit much.”

  “I thought you’d like it.” There’s teasing in her voice. It sounds like something I’d say to her.

  “I’m not saying I hate it.” I pull at the fabric across my eyes. “It would be cool if it wasn’t covered in flowers, though.” I poke at the soft material. “Something a little manlier.”

  “Sorry, my blindfold stash is surprisingly limited. I figured you had the self-confidence to pull off one of my mom’s scarves.”

  We drive for another five minutes and I try to picture the turns as we make them. The trees passing us, the bridges we cross. In my mind is a map of where we are in town, and when the car comes to a stop and Sidney pulls the fabric away I am … not even close. We’re in a little parking lot with trees on one side, and a small park on the other. Sidney pushes out of the car without a word and I follow a few steps behind her as we enter the park.

  “Are you taking me on a picnic?”

  “Cold.”

  “Frisbee golf?”

  “Freezing.” She shakes her head at me as she continues to walk ahead of me, as if Frisbee golf is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “I was going to, but this is kind of fun. Keep guessing.”

  I run a few steps to catch up to her and grab her hand. She stops us directly in the center
of the small park, next to a little fountain with three brass frogs spurting water. Sidney tugs my hand and turns us around, the water dribbling noisily at our backs.

  “You asked me what I did with all of the rocks. And where I sneak off to sometimes.”

  I wait in silence, wondering if she’s going to tell me she spends her time sitting in parks. I’m not sure how I’d feel about her thinking that’s a better option than having to be around me all these years. “And this is it?”

  “Kind of.” She fidgets next to me, like even now, in the midst of her confession, she’s not sure she wants to make it. “It’s stupid.”

  “I bet it’s not.”

  “You tell me a lot.” It’s such a weird change of topic that it makes me look at her. But she’s right, I’ve been pouring myself out to Sidney the last few weeks. It’s almost embarrassing, how much I want her to know the stupidest stuff about me. “And I sort of suck at that a lot of the time. So…” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt and takes a deep breath, like she’s psyching herself up for something. “Anyway, this is what I do with my rocks. I hide them here—and at other parks—so people can find them. It’s mostly moms and kids.”

  I think about the skull rock she painted once and imagine it sitting on some six-year-old’s dresser.

  “You have ten minutes to find as many of my rocks in this park as you can.” A smile spreads across her face and melts away the trepidation that was once there.

  “You want me to find rocks…” I look around me, at the sprawling grass and the benches and the bushes. The little gardens that dip out of the woods and circle around the little sitting areas. “… outside.” But if I know Sidney, this is a competition, and I’m determined to find at least one. I take a hesitant step forward and she tugs back on my hand.

  “For every rock you find, I’ll answer one question.”

  I stop in my tracks, but when she lets go of my hand, I sprint away. Because one rock is definitely not enough.

  Sidney

  Asher is racing around the park like his life depends on it. Like I just told him there are hundred-dollar bills hidden in the bushes. My heart is a rock in my chest at the thought of what questions would be worth it to him. He starts at a row of bushes, getting down on his knees and brushing away mulch and leaves, running his hand over the area blindly. I look at the stopwatch I’ve started on my phone. It’s been less than a minute as he pulls a shiny black rock covered in little flowers from its mulchy hiding spot. Oh god. This was such a bad idea.

  He holds the rock in one hand as he stands and runs his eyes across the park from left to right. His gaze settles on a large tree about twenty feet away from me. It’s huge and the base is a tangle of roots that jut above the grass and then plunge back down. Little clusters of flowers are sprouting up out of some of the little crevices. He runs his hands over sections of root, and under little plants, as he works his way around the tree systematically. Asher is usually a frenzy—a haphazard burst of energy in everything he does, but right now he looks like he’s done this a million times. Like he’s been planning this out for weeks, exactly how he’d search every nook and cranny of this park. He looks like one of those police search parties you see on TV, working in a systematic grid, not missing a single inch. He looks like … me.

  His hand plucks out another rock and I glance at my phone again. “Three minutes down!” I yell it across the park, and a mom standing by the play set darts a look at me. Lady, I’ve got bigger problems than you. My eyes are back on Asher before I can care. He darts from the tree to one of the black metal benches, and I bite my lip, knowing what he’s going to find when he gets to one of the back legs. Three rocks in as many minutes. Holy crap. It’s mostly moms and kids who hide rocks and come to public places to find them; there are sites online where you can find locations where rocks have been hidden. I bet they don’t get half this excited.

  Asher sprints around the park, plucking rocks from what feels like every square inch of the place and shoving them into his pockets. When I call time, his pockets are bulging and my mind is already racing, wondering what he will want to ask me. I should have gone with five minutes. I didn’t anticipate Asher’s zeal for making me miserable. No, it’s not that. I feel traitorous even thinking it. Letting myself slip back into that old mind-set. He’s my boyfriend now. What is wrong with me that I can still think something like that about him?

  He’s grinning wider than I’ve ever seen as he closes the distance between us, and even in my current state of panic it makes me smile to see him look at me like that. He stops in front of me, his eyes practically glowing with delight. And triumph. He looks like a guy who just won a big race. Whose photo will be in the paper tomorrow morning.

  I roll my eyes and let out a dramatic breath, trying not to let him see how unnerved I am right now. “Okay, let’s see them.” I wag a finger at the bulge of his pockets and he turns them out, letting the stones clink against each other as they hit the ground. Nine. Apparently I said it out loud, because he laughs before dropping two more rocks he had in his hands.

  “Eleven.” Maybe he senses the dread in me, because he doesn’t taunt me, he just smiles and starts to pick the rocks up. “Should I put these back?” His brows hitch up. “Or are you going to make me turn them in for each question to keep me honest?”

  “Did I say one question for each rock, because what I meant was—” Asher cuts me off by grabbing my hand. As he does, I watch him slip a rock into his pocket. I wonder which one it was.

  We crisscross the park, putting stones back in all the places they were taken. When we’re done, Asher grabs my hand again and kisses me on the cheek as we walk back toward the car.

  “Remind me never to challenge you again.”

  He laughs. “Never underestimate how much I want to pry your brain open, Sidney Walters.”

  The second part of our date is dinner at The Cherry Pit, because Asher told me once that he’s never been there, even though the delightfully tacky cherry-themed restaurant is basically its own kind of tourist destination around here. We’re sitting in a booth, sipping on cherry-ade.

  “Maybe tonight we can decide what we’re putting in Nadine’s yard?” We haven’t pranked her in weeks. Well, not together, at least. I like to think my birthday yard show was more of a gift—to both of us—than a prank. I doubt Nadine sees it that way, but still.

  “My mom wanted to take a picture of all of us flipping her the bird.” Asher smiles. “Wants to put it in her mailbox as we leave town.”

  “Really?” That doesn’t sound like Sylvie at all.

  “Oh yeah, she can hold a grudge.”

  Sweet Sylvie? Who knew? “I like it, but it seems like the kind of thing that would end up on the internet and keep us from getting a job someday.”

  Asher nods but doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything.

  I’m not sure if it’s in my head, or if it’s the looming terror of the questions I know will eventually come, but it feels like silence hangs between us. I can’t take it for another second, I have to rip off the bandage. “Okay, do your worst.” I set my hands on the table, crossing them over the giant red cherry face that serves as the menu. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Asher smiles and takes another sip of his drink. He shifts in his seat a little and his hand pops up, his fingers wrapped around a stone. “How long ago did you paint this?” Asher’s fingers peel back and sitting in his palm is a small, pale gray stone, long and thin. I thought he’d start with something a little easier, but no, he’s going right in for the kill.

  “I picked that rock because it reminded me of the shape of the lake.” It’s true, I remember holding the delicate boomerang-shaped stone up to the old poster in Lake House A, making sure it wasn’t just in my head. “There’s even a little divot over here”—I reach a finger out to the rock that Asher has placed between us on the table—“where our bay is.” Our bay. The word rings between us like I just struck a gong. “The bay where our house is,
” I clarify, hoping I don’t sound as defensive as I feel.

  He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows as if to say, Great, but when did you paint this topographically accurate rock? Asher isn’t stupid; that rock is duller than the rest. Its glossy coat is fogged with age and it just looks … worn. Like paint that has been subjected to the elements for …

  “Six years ago.” I take a sip of my cherry-ade, willing myself to sound more confident. “That first summer.” But nothing about me feels confident right now. I gave Asher the challenge of finding the rocks because I needed something to force me to open up with him. I should be able to just do it, but I can’t. And just telling Asher to ask me questions seems ridiculous.

  So here I am, luring him into it. I had expected him to ask me about my most embarrassing moments. To pry into my questionable dating past, and make me admit embarrassing things like who my first kiss was with. I didn’t expect him to find out that six years ago I was scribbling our initials on rocks like some sort of lovesick psycho. I had completely forgotten about that rock; it should have been scooped up by some little kid years ago.

  “I was thirteen, so, you know, keep that in mind.” My cheeks redden and I feel a little sick, but Asher distracts me by staring at my chest. Blatantly. Which is not like him at all. And just as I’m about to call him a pig and remind him where my face is, I realize what he’s actually looking at. My necklace. His necklace. And it feels like we’re on even footing again, me with my love-rock and him with his necklace. And before I can think more deeply about the fact that the L-word just flew through my brain, the waitress arrives with our food. Asher sweeps the stone off of the table and tucks it back into his pocket.

  When it’s just the two of us, I swallow a chunk of cherry chicken salad before saying, “Okay, hit me with the rest.”

  Asher talks around a bite of his cherry cheeseburger. “You’re not getting off that easy.”