“Have you ever noticed how many blue doors there are around here?” Austin says.
“Um, and red doors. I thought I was the only one who noticed stuff like that.”
“No way. Counting colored doors is my jam.”
“It’s my jam.”
“We can share a jam.” Austin smiles, looking all around. I love that he looks up when he walks. I love that he notices the little things that make this city so beautiful. I love that we’re walking down Perry Street, a street I’ve walked down a million times before, and he’s making it feel new. The landmarks I’m so familiar with feel completely different now. In a good way.
We cross the West Side Highway to the walking path along the river. Something else I’ve done a million times before. But when I turn left this time with Austin by my side, every cell in my body is buzzing with excitement.
“Where do you live?” I ask. What if Austin has been here this whole time? What if he lived near me and I didn’t even know it?
“Jersey City.”
“Have you been there a long time?”
“Two years. I was in a dorm freshman year. Then I wanted to find an apartment near UNY, but the city’s crazy expensive. So I got a place in JC with two other guys.”
“Do you still have the same roommates?”
“Nope. I’m solo now. Trying to be a grownup and all that. I found a one-bedroom near my old place. What about you?”
“I just moved to an apartment near UNY, but it’s student housing. I have two roommates who appear to be awesome. The crazy thing is I grew up in the West Village not far from my new place.”
“Way to pull off going away to college without going away.”
“Tell me about it. I really need to explore. I’ve never been to Jersey City.”
“You grew up here and you’ve never ventured across the water?”
“There was no reason to go.” Until now. “I’d like to see it sometime.”
I’m hoping Austin will say that he’ll take me. But he doesn’t say anything. He just looks across the water at the Jersey City skyline. It’s amazing how much the skyline has been developed over the past decade. When I was little, there were hardly any tall buildings to look at. Now I love looking at the stripy-light building on my night walks. It’s this building with a slanted top that has stripes of light moving across it. Sometimes the top is lit up only white with no movement. Other nights stripes of different colors blink across the slanted top. Some nights the top is dark. I’ve always wondered what the colors mean.
“Do you know what that building is?” I point at it. “The one with the light stripes?”
“It’s a financial center. A few different banks are in there.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“I’ve been wondering what that building is for years. And you just know.”
“I drive by it all the time.”
“That’s so weird.”
“Driving by it?”
“In a car? Yeah.”
Austin laughs. “You don’t ride around much in cars, huh?”
“Try never. Except a few summers when my parents rented a car for weekend trips. But it’s weird that I’ve been on this side of the river admiring that building for years and it’s just some office building you pass on the way to Home Depot or wherever.”
We look at the light stripes. Wide purple stripes and thin red stripes are blinking.
“It does look cool from over here,” Austin says. “But it’s just a regular building up close.”
“That’s so disappointing.”
“Maybe we could find out what the colors mean. Would that make you feel better?”
“That would be amazing. I’ve always wondered what they mean.”
“Unless they’re randomly generated and have no significance whatsoever.”
“At least we’d know. Better to know than not know. Even if it’s bad news.”
“I don’t know about that. Sometimes the element of mystery adds to the allure.”
True, surprises can be fun. Then there are other times when you’d give anything for answers. Like I’d love to know if Austin is going to hold my hand at some point tonight. I’ve been wondering our whole walk. Which is scary and thrilling at the same time. That thing where you want him to touch you and you’re pretty sure he wants to touch you, but he can’t touch you because it’s too early or things are undefined or whatever. You want it so bad, but you can’t have it yet. Like cinnamon buns fresh from the oven that are too hot to eat. You have to wait until they’re cool. Except in this case, things with Austin are only getting hotter.
“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Austin asks. He’s looking out at Pier 25. The pier with the mini-golf course.
“Hells yeah,” I confirm. “And can I just say that the waterfall hole is the most challenging one you’ll ever play?”
“Are we about to have a mini-golf throwdown?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether or not you can handle it.”
Austin gives me such an adorable smirk it takes all the effort I can muster to not melt into a puddle. “Bring it,” he says.
We decide to eat first, so we head over to the Shake Shack a few blocks down from mini golf. Austin scores us an outside table right as two girls are leaving. Snagging an outside table during the dinner rush on a gorgeous night is all about being in the right place at the right time. Or persistence, if you feel like lurking by the tables for the slightest sign that someone might be leaving soon.
“Did you know this Shake Shack is LEED Gold Certified?” Austin asks.
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Because I only take you to the best places?”
“That must be why.”
Austin is a total gentleman. He pulls out my chair for me. He asks what I want so he can go in and order for us. He even brings extra napkins on our tray. How did he know I like extra napkins? When we go to mini golf after dinner and Austin is paying for our games, he asks for the purple golf club for me. How did he know I always get purple?
Being with someone who knows what you want without you having to tell them is paradise.
After Austin pays and we take our golf balls and clubs, he picks up a scorecard.
“Do we have to keep score?” I ask.
“How else will we know how majorly I kicked your butt?”
“What about playing for fun?”
“The fun part is when I majorly kick your butt.”
“Competitive much?”
“Much, yes.”
“Fine.” I pull a mini pencil from the bin. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“About what?”
“About how majorly I’m going to kick your butt.”
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“Pretty much, yes.”
“Let’s do this.”
Five holes later, Austin is up by two points.
“Hole in one!” he yells. He runs to the hole. He does a little dance, swinging his club over his head. “Majorly. Kicking. Butt.”
“Very impressive,” I say. “This one isn’t easy. The green looks flat, but it’s not. Lots of imperceptible slants are hiding.”
“Yeah they are.” He struts some more. “How you like me now?”
“Same as before.”
Austin comes over to me. He puts his arm around my waist. “How much was that?” he asks.
Someone behind us lets out an exasperated sigh. I turn to see an angry tween chomping her gum so aggressively she’s engulfed in a thick fog of grape Bubblicious.
“Sorry,” I say. “Do you want to go ahead of us?”
“No, just go.”
“Kids nowadays,” Austin mutters under his breath.
I take my shots and hustle to the next hole. My heart is racing. Austin has already touched me on purpose. That means he can touch me again like it’s what he does.
When will he touch me again?<
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Austin lines up his ball at the ninth hole. Before he takes his first swing, he gazes across the water at his town glittering in the distance. He just stands there, grounded, and absorbs the view. His moment of Zen inspires me to look up at my own city. It’s the little things that make me the happiest. Streetlights around the pier illuminating the trees. The warm glow of hundreds of windows in the tall Tribeca buildings. A few bright points of light visible in the sky. The smell of hyacinths in the summer night air. At this moment, standing here with a boy I just met who already feels like home, I am overwhelmed with city love. City love is the kind of love that never dies. No matter how many boyfriends come and go, no matter how many heartbreaks I endure, this city will always be my true love.
“How awesome is it to be playing mini golf in downtown Manhattan?” Austin says.
“I know! I think about that every time I play here.” I love that we’re on the same wavelength. I love that one of my fave songs just came on the sound system. I love that Austin appreciates the little things like I do. Plus he’s cute, funny, smart, and is dedicating his life to improving my city. He had me at holistic wellness.
Things begin turning around a few holes before the hardest one. The hardest hole involves a waterfall where most of the balls get trapped. You have to hit your ball over a skinny bridge in order to avoid the frustrating fate of waterfall limbo. I’ve watched several people hunkered down on the green trying to retrieve their swirling golf ball by patting at the water with their club. Eventually the balls that are trapped in the water filter out to the lower part of the green, where the hole is. Unless they don’t. Some of the pink and purple smudges barely visible underwater have probably been there since the course was built.
If you asked me how exactly to hit a golf ball to guarantee it goes over the skinny bridge, I wouldn’t know how to describe the technique. The way you have to hit it is just something I intuit. I can tell if the ball will go over the bridge in midswing. This time, I know I’m free and clear the second I swing my club back. Austin and I watch the ball roll smoothly down the center of the bridge and circle down to the lower green. And that’s not all.
It’s a hole in one.
“Woooo!” I jump around like a maniac. The group behind us cheers.
“How did you do that?” Austin wants to know.
“I can’t reveal my secrets. Then they wouldn’t be secrets anymore.”
Austin places his ball where I put mine to take his shot. “Why does it feel like I’m being hustled?”
“You’re not. That was pure luck. I have no idea what I’m doing. Except, um, I don’t know . . . getting a hole in one on the hardest hole?”
Let’s just say Austin isn’t as lucky. His lead unravels from there. By the time we get to the last hole, I’m up by four points. I end up crushing him.
“You wanted to keep score?” I say. “Bring it.”
Hole eighteen looks simple, but there’s some tricky tilting involved. Austin takes his shot. His ball doesn’t even come close to the hole.
“Now you’re giving up,” I tease. “You’re just falling apart.”
“You didn’t tell me you had mad mini-golf skills. Anyone playing with you would crumble.”
I like that even though Austin is competitive, he’s not a sore loser.
He insists on celebrating my victory as we’re walking down Leroy Street. It’s late enough that there aren’t any cars coming down this little street. We stand in the middle of the street, arms up in Vs for victory.
“Wow,” Austin says.
“What?”
“I didn’t think it was possible to meet someone as dorky as I am.”
“There’s a difference between being dorky and dorktastic.”
“Which one am I?”
“Dorktastic.”
“How can you tell?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Austin lowers his arms. He comes right up to me. I lower my arms and try not to panic. Something is definitely about to happen.
He hugs me. Right here in the middle of Leroy Street. A street that I’ve walked down a million times before. If I had known even one of those times that this scenario would unfold in my future, Leroy Street would have acquired significance of extraordinary proportions way before tonight.
“Thank you for saying that,” Austin says. “Achieving dorktastic status has been a goal of mine for a really long time.”
“Keep dreaming big,” I say against his shoulder. Could I just live here with his arms around me in the middle of the street forever?
Austin pulls away from me a little. “Nope, not done.” He hugs me close to him again.
Could tonight be any more magical? No. No, it could not possibly be.
Eventually we break away from each other. I hate that he’s walking me home because that means I have to go home. But I love that he’s walking me home because it’s the perfect opportunity for him to kiss me.
“This is me,” I say when we get to my building.
“Thanks for destroying me at mini golf,” Austin says.
“Thanks for treating.”
“Thanks for being awesome.”
“Thanks for being dorktastic.”
We’re smiling at each other like complete idiots when the front door of my building flings open. Darcy flies down the steps before she realizes I’m the one awkwardly lingering by the stoop with a boy.
“Hey!” Darcy says. One look at Austin and I can tell she’s dying to know who he is.
“Hot date?” I joke. Because why would Darcy be leaving for a date when I’m getting home from one? It’s after ten.
But Darcy says, “Absolutely,” like she’s serious. The girl is hardcore. I have a feeling I’m about to learn a lot from her.
“Have fun,” I say.
“No doubt.” Darcy takes a last look at Austin before diving into the night.
“That was my roommate,” I tell Austin.
“She seems fun.”
“She is.” We’re smiling at each other like complete idiots again.
“Do you want to go to a party with me tomorrow?” Austin asks. “It’s at my friend Trey’s place in Brooklyn.”
“Totally.” Austin doesn’t need to know that it will only be like the second time I’ve gone to Brooklyn. I feel bad enough that I’ve never been to Jersey City. How far is Jersey City from the West Village? Two miles? Yet it feels like twenty.
“Okay, well . . . I better get going. Can we talk tomorrow about what time I’ll pick you up?”
I’m so relieved that we’re not meeting at the party. Attempting to navigate my way around Brooklyn would be an epic fail. “Yeah. Wait, did I give you my number?”
Austin whips out his phone. “Hit me.”
After my number is securely stored in his phone, we linger awkwardly some more. Is he going to kiss me? Or does he think the first date is too soon?
“See you tomorrow,” he says. Then he hugs me goodbye.
I can wait for our first kiss.
Our first kiss . . . which I’m pretty sure will be happening tomorrow night.
Tomorrow night . . . which I’m pretty sure will be even more magical than tonight.
EIGHT
DARCY
THAT BOY SADIE WAS WITH on our stoop is super cute. She didn’t say anything about having a boyfriend. She doesn’t seem like the casual dating type, but the way they were ogling each other when I came out made it clear that what they have is anything but casual. Sadie better be ready for me tomorrow. I’ll be drilling her for all the hot details.
Even hotter than Sadie’s boy? Is the boy I’m making out with right now on the subway. We’re going at it like we don’t care who sees. Not that the subway’s crowded at two in the morning on a Wednesday night. But this weird old guy is leering at us from the other end of the car. Welcome to the late-night F train. PDA, anyone?
Zander pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. He presses his hand against the back of my head to kiss
me harder. Oh, did I mention that we met today? He came up to me when I was walking to class. Asked me out on the spot. He was like, “Excuse me for bothering you, but you’re too beautiful not to introduce myself.” I didn’t have time to talk. But we talked tonight at this East Village dive bar where we saw a show. The band was a trip. Some girl was doing improv artwork on butcher paper spread out on the floor in front of the stage. Her charcoal sticks scratched frantically every time the beat picked up. The lead singer was one of those angry girls who are here to tell you that nothing matters because we are all going to die. She was wearing a frilly shirt with tulle flowers while she screamed about our collective demise.
Good thing Zander and I talked at the show. We haven’t done any talking on the ride home.
The subway makes a stop. No one gets on or off our car. Weird Old Guy is still leering at us.
“We’re the next stop,” Zander says.
“Now can you tell me where we’re going?”
“Do you really want me to tell you?”
“No. I want you to kiss me some more.”
He does. Then he pulls back and looks at me.
“This is one of the most romantic moments of my life,” he says.
Normally I’d brush off such a faux-profound statement. But if the boy could kiss me for twenty minutes and still find me attractive after staring at my face under these harsh subway lights, I know he must really mean it.
We get off and walk over to Union Square. I heard this is where street performers and skater kids hang. And that single twentysomethings gather on the stairs to the park like they’re the Spanish Steps. The park is deserted right now. I def want to come back here during the day to scope out the scene.
Zander takes me to this cool diner called Coffee Shop. “It’s open twenty-three hours a day,” he advertises.
“Why not twenty-four?”
“They close between five and six in the morning to regroup.”
As if the prospect of a cool diner being open twenty-three hours a day weren’t sweet enough, the menu says breakfast is served anytime. I am so coming here with Sadie and Rosanna. But only if they agree that pancakes taste better in the middle of the night.
A thirtysomething woman passing by our table looks at me. “I love your dress,” she says. “Where did you get it?”
City Love Page 5
