He opened the door for me and I climbed in. Our eyes met as he closed it, and he seemed sheepish. Nervous. Holy truffle-shuffle.
Rylen looked completely out of his element standing in the small tuxedo shop in his dusty boots, beat-up jeans, and T-shirt. His T-shirts fit perfectly these days, by the way.
A sharp-dressed woman came up and smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes, ma’am. My prom’s in a couple weeks.”
She took down all of his information and measured him. I stood watching, trying not to smile as he lifted his arms, giving me a grin. Then it was time to choose a style.
“Just . . . pick something,” he told me. “Whatever you want.”
Whatever I wanted. I bit my lip as I walked the rows. Rylen wasn’t flashy. No shiny cuffs or tails. He needed something classic, black and white. His gratefulness as I chose was so cute. He nodded, looking happy about my selection.
As he went to the counter, a guy behind us said, “Yo, Fite!” Rylen turned and the two of them grasped palms, then bumped knuckles. I recognized him as a football player.
“What’s up, Smitty?” Rylen said.
“Not much, man. Listen to this—I came two days ago to get my tux, right? Then Lanna sent me a picture of her dress and told me I had to come back to get a bowtie and cummerbund to match. Can you believe that shit?” Both of them laughed. “Is Becca making you match with her?”
A wave of dizziness crashed over me and I reached for the counter to steady myself.
Rylen shook his head. “Nah, man. I’ll make sure the corsage matches, though. She’s wearing blue.”
“What kind of blue?” Smitty asked. “Sky blue? Royal blue? Navy blue?”
Rylen turned ashen. “I don’t know.”
“You’re fucked if you mess it up, dude.”
Rylen and Smitty continued to talk and laugh, but their words were like storm clouds in my ears.
Becca. Becca Rinefeld. I imagined the tall, dark-haired senior from the dance team on Rylen’s arm. Jealousy made my stomach spasm, hot and nauseating. I stood there in absolute silence while Rylen finished up his transaction and said good-bye to Smitty. He politely held out an arm for me to go ahead of him. I walked robotically. We were silent all the way to the truck—him seeming comfortable, me more uncomfortable than I’d ever been.
As he put the truck in gear and headed out of the parking lot he said, “Thanks for your help.”
“Why didn’t you ask Becca to help you?” It came out venomous. I stared straight forward, but in my peripheral I saw Rylen’s head snap to me.
“She’s working. Are you okay?”
Oh, God. I was going to cry. I swallowed hard and willed the moisture to back off.
“What’s wrong?” He sounded so worried. So freaking clueless.
“When you asked me to come today, I thought . . . I didn’t know you had a date.”
Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God. I said it. It was out there. The words hung between us like a fat blob of awkward. And as much as I wanted to take them back, I was glad he would know now. My secret was out. The ball was in his court.
“Aw, Amber. It’s just a stupid dance. It’s nothing special. Everyone makes prom seem like such a big deal, but it’s not. People dress up and dance and get stupid.”
“I don’t care about the prom,” I said. My hands were shaking. I clenched them shut.
“What then?” Absolute confusion in his voice. He still didn’t get it.
“I care about you! You’re leaving in a couple months, and, and . . .” Freaking tears, go away!
He looked aghast. Rylen whipped the truck into a side road so quickly I had to grab the Oh Shit handle. He put it in park and faced me.
“Pepper, come on, I’m not going to forget about you when I go away to college. I could never. You and me, we’re gonna write each other every week, right? Tater and I will come home to visit whenever we can. And we’ll hang out before I leave. I’ll take you to the movies. We haven’t done that in a long time.”
He was trying to appease me, like I was a little kid having a tantrum, not a fourteen-year-old girl who had basically just declared her feelings. He searched my face. My tears dried up as sheer disappointment and mortification settled in. I looked straight forward again.
I felt him staring at me, like he was trying to figure me out. Then he shook his head, at a loss. “Shit, I’m sorry.” The confusion in his voice was still there, my secret still intact as if I hadn’t just laid it all out there for him.
“Just take me home,” I whispered.
He put the truck in first gear and did just that. I jumped out of the truck before he could put it in park, and ran inside. I blew past Mom, who frowned. Then I slammed my bedroom door and fell face down on my bed in a full dramatic meltdown.
Moments later I felt the bed sink and Mom’s hand brushing over my back. “Three years seems like a big difference when you’re young,” she murmured. “But before you know it, you’ll be a grown woman, and the age thing won’t matter. Don’t rush it, princesa. You know Rylen loves you. But you’re like a sister to him right now.”
“Mom, please.” Not helping. I pushed my face further into my pillow, until she sighed and left me.
Hours later she tapped on my door. “Dinner’s ready.”
“I’m not hungry.” I knew I was being a baby, but I couldn’t face anyone. I felt like such a fool. After a minute her feet pattered away, followed by sounds of all the family gathering around the dinner table, voices lowered as if they were afraid to bother me. Afraid of my hormonal female teenage wrath. I didn’t hear Rylen, so if he was there, he wasn’t talking.
I texted Remy, who was furious that I hadn’t texted her right away, but I told her it all happened so fast. She wanted to call me, but I couldn’t talk. My emotions were still too raw. We texted for over an hour, releasing all our frustration, disbelief, and pure confusion about Rylen Fite.
By the time I heard dishes clanking in the sink, my stomach was grumbling. Prideful embarrassment was the only thing keeping me in my room. I would wait until everyone dispersed before I’d sneak into the kitchen to grab something.
The television in the family room came on. Dad and Grandpa watched the news every night after dinner. A low rumble of rock music came from Tater’s room. I waited half an hour more before cracking open my door and slipping out. In the kitchen, I grabbed a mozzarella stick from the fridge and a bag of chips. I was filling a cup with water when I heard all of the adults in the family room, their voices terse. Something was majorly wrong.
“Jesus . . .”
“No . . .”
“Dios mío!”
I dropped my stuff on the table and ran into the family room. Mom, Dad, Abuela, and Grandpa Tate were all standing, staring in horror at the television.
The screen showed an aerial view of some massive, smoking ruins. The bottom of the screen read, Bombings at Three Major Hollywood Film Studios. The reporter was saying, “We’re not sure yet if this is an act of terrorism . . .”
“Bullshit,” Dad murmured, looking fierce. “Simultaneous bombings is terrorism.” Mom shook her head, eyes watering.
“One moment . . .” The reporter stopped, reading something that was handed to him. For a moment his face went slack, and then he regained composure. “It looks as if there’s also been a bombing at Disneyland . . . and Universal Studios Orlando.” A harsh line creased the reporter’s forehead.
“No!” I yelled. There had to be thousands of children at those places! Mom came to me and we grasped hands, staring at the TV. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“What kind of monsters would blow up Disney?” Grandpa asked.
Tater and Rylen came running in from his bedroom. “What’s going on?” Tater asked.
“Bombings at studios and theme parks,” Dad said.
“What?!” Tater’s face went red with anger. Rylen met my eyes in a crestfallen moment of guilt. I looked away. We had bigger problems.
T
he boys fell in to our semi-circle around the television. The news only got worse. By the end of the hour, it was reported that six theme parks across the U.S. and five film studios had been hit. Besides Disneyland in California and Universal Studios in Florida, there’d been bombings at Sea World in Orlando, Six Flags over Dallas, Six Flags in New Jersey, and Kings Dominion in Virginia. The two other film studios were in New York City. The bombings were major. Huge.
This was the largest simultaneous attack to ever hit the U.S. The number of casualties were rising at an alarming rate. The pictures . . . oh, good Lord, the pictures. Mom, Abuela, and I ended up on the couch clutching hands, our faces tear-streaked. To see all those families, spring-breakers. People running, screaming, with limp babies in their arms. It was impossible not to imagine that being us on one of our family vacations.
Whoever had done this, they’d blatantly hit the heart of our country, our soft spots, our hallowed family grounds. Our entertainment industry—the very symbols of our freedoms and joy. I couldn’t fathom a world where masterminds set out to hurt children.
Dad paced the room spouting, “Fucking cowards!” over and over. Mom never bothered to tell him to stop cussing like she normally did. He’d called a fellow soldier to make sure nothing had happened in Vegas, but all was clear there. Rylen and Tater stood with their arms crossed, like angry statues facing the television. Grandpa sat on the edge of his rocker, staring helplessly.
I felt so powerless. I wanted to help those people. I wanted to do something. I wanted to stop all of the evil. And yet, what could I do? We sat there all night, unable to tear ourselves away from the news.
“No organizations have come forward to claim responsibility . . .”
“Death toll rises to over ten thousand . . .”
“Military and police on the highest alert . . .
“Theme parks nationwide being evacuated and shut down to be scoured for danger . . .”
And finally, the President, with bags under his eyes.
“We do not yet know the perpetrators of these unforgiveable crimes, but I can assure you our country’s highest personnel are seeking answers as I speak. We will find who’s behind this.” He jabbed his finger down on the podium and enunciated each phrase with anger. “We will have justice. This was an act of war, and we will act accordingly.” I was glad to see the fire in his eyes. I wanted vengeance, and I wanted it swiftly.
At three in the morning I was curled in the corner of the couch, trying my best to keep my eyes open, when I heard Rylen say something to Dad.
“I want to talk to you about joining the Air Force this summer.”
I stayed curled up real still, but my eyes blasted open, fully awake. Rylen and Tater were sitting on the ground with their arms across their knees. Dad was in the recliner now, Grandpa Tate having retired to bed at one along with Mom and Abuela.
“Me too,” Tater said. “Army.”
“Now, just hold on a minute boys. I know you’re both fired up, and I understand, but you have a plan already in motion. A good plan.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Tate. I want to change my plan.”
I sat up now. Rylen’s serious eyes flicked to me, then back to Dad.
“Take it from me as someone who went straight into the military from high school,” Dad said. “It will be worth it for you both to go to college and join as officers. The pay is better, the opportunities—”
“I don’t care about any of that,” Rylen said. He sounded more passionate than I’d ever heard him. “I don’t really care about college either. I just wanted to play football a little longer, but that doesn’t matter now. I don’t want to wait.”
“You won’t be a pilot if you’re not an officer,” Dad told him.
At this, Rylen’s jaw rocked, contemplating. “I know. But I applied for the CAP scholarship to get my pilot license. If I get it, I’ll have my license before I graduate. That will be enough for now.”
“It’s enough for you to just have a civilian pilot license?” Dad challenged. “Because having a license doesn’t mean you get to fly Air Force jets, son. Isn’t that your dream?”
Ry’s jaw locked for a handful of tense seconds before he said, “Dreams can change, sir. I’m ready.”
A tremble began at my core and spread outward until my hands shook. Rylen was not impulsive. He was thoughtful and decisive. If he joined the Air Force now they would own him and move him anywhere they wanted. He wouldn’t be in Reno for the next four years with the freedom to visit every summer and holidays.
“I’m ready now too,” Tater said. “I don’t care about being an officer. I’ve watched you my whole life. There’s nothing wrong with being infantry. Soldiers are badass. The Airborne—”
“Jacob, I’ve shown you what I wanted you to see.” Dad’s voice with Tater was much sterner. “From the outside it looks like fun and games. Jumping out of airplanes, working your ass off at P.T., Drill Sergeants screaming in your face.” That sounded like fun and games? “But it’s hard damn work with a lot of unnecessary drudgery.”
“I don’t care, Dad!” Tater jumped to his feet and pointed at the television. “They need us. You saw that. I don’t want to wait!”
Dad’s body was tense as he rubbed his face in his hands. Dad had badly injured his knee in a jump as an Airborne Infantryman years ago, forcing him to become a recruiter. I know he’d seen a lot during his stints overseas, but he never spoke of it. Not once. From the tension rolling off him, I’m pretty sure those scenarios were running through his head right now . . . only with Tater’s face instead of his own.
He lifted his head, eyes rimmed in red. “I want you both to give it one week. One week from today, if you still feel this passionately about joining, then we can talk. But there is no shame in getting your education and waiting it out. The country will still need you three or four years from now. Maybe even more so. And as officers you’ll have more power to help. Just . . . think about it. Okay?”
Both boys nodded their heads. Dad stood and came over to me, leaning down to kiss my head. He crouched and met my eyes. His were dark and round.
“I love you.”
I immediately choked up. He hadn’t been as affectionate with me lately since I began ‘blossoming’. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it. “I love you too, Daddy.” He stood and left us.
Watching Tater and Rylen sitting there, staring off into space, it was hard to see them as anything more than just boys. I tried to imagine them in boot camp in three months. Then heading out into danger. I wanted to beg them to go to college, but my opinion wouldn’t matter. I could only hope they’d change their minds in a week’s time.
Tater eventually stood and trudged to his room. After a minute of awkward silence, Rylen got up and came over, sitting close. He watched his hands as he rubbed them slowly together.
“You still mad at me?” he asked.
“I’m not mad,” I whispered. I was never mad, exactly, more like hurt. Disappointed. Humiliated. Broken-hearted. “I’m just gonna miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Pep. More than you know.”
He didn’t mean it in the way I meant it. I knew that, but I took his words and held them close anyhow. Rylen leaned across me and grabbed the remote. He switched it to a light-hearted movie and pressed play.
“Lay down,” he said gently. He scooted down so I could lie, and he pulled my feet into his lap, then tossed the throw blanket over me. His hands rested on my ankles. Now and then he’d absently touch my feet, kneading the pads of my toes in his tough fingers. I wondered if he used to do that with his tiny cousin, Macy. I wondered if he ever saw her anymore.
My vision blurred as I relaxed into Rylen’s touch.
I woke early to the sound of a click. My groggy eyes cracked open enough to see Mom, camera in hand. She gave a small smile before walking away. Rylen had fallen to the side, onto me, and was sound asleep. His head was on my hip, his arm slung down the length of my back, his other hand splayed against
my stomach as if holding me like a pillow. My feet were still across his thighs. I was covered in Rylen.
It was seven in the morning, and I really needed to pee, but I didn’t want to move. Warm breath bathed my hip from Ry’s lips through my pajama shorts. His arm on my back moved a little, fingers nuzzling the back of my neck. I wanted to run my hand over his short strands of light hair. I wanted to stay like this forever. But Tater came into the room, giving an obnoxious groaning stretch and yawn. He began to scratch his crotch until he caught my look of revulsion. My brother’s brown hair was a big curly mess.
Rylen lifted his head, revealing creases on his cheek from my shorts. He looked at me, bleary-eyed, no embarrassment or shame as he mumbled, “Mornin’.” We’d woken up like this together so many times that it was nothing to him. He had no clue how much it meant to me.
“Morning,” I whispered. Rylen planted a hand on my hip and the other on the side of my thigh to push himself up lightly, his arms flexing. The heat of his hands sent a strange quiver in my most sensitive areas. I pulled my knees up and yanked the blanket over my legs. Tater gave me a funny look.
“What?” I snapped.
“Nothing, freak.” He ruffled his hair and walked out. Rylen looked down at me quizzically and I stood up, brushing past him to my room where I could brush my hair and get dressed away from inquiring eyes.
Abuela made egg and chorizo breakfast burritos, but as we watched the morning’s aftermath news, none of us had much of an appetite. It felt wrong to be doing something as normal as eating breakfast when there were so many people traumatized in the country. All of last night’s emotions came rushing back. A sense of mournfulness filled our home. And as I watched Tater and Rylen staring at the screen with fervent expressions and crossed arms, I knew with sinking certainty that they would not be changing their minds.
On that hot July day after we took them to the recruiting office to be picked up by the Army and Air Force buses, we came home to find Roscoe sitting on our porch. My parents silently passed him, but I sat and let him move next to me. He watched me imploringly through his droopy eyes.