“I missed this,” she says, looking into the fire. It moves across her face, casting shadows. “I didn't know how much I missed it. Just being out here with nothing else. No doctors or treatments.” She sighs and rubs her arms. “You know?”
“Yeah.” Dad gets up and puts some more wood on the fire.
“I want to keep this.” She leans over her chair and puts her arms around me. “Right here.” She says it in my ear and it tickles. I laugh and she giggles with me. “Remember that time the tent flooded?”
I do and we laugh about the old times. Even Dad joins in, talking about the time the raccoon got into our food and ate everything except Pop Tarts, so we ate those for two days. The fire pops and we have to keep changng our seats to avoid the smoke getting in our eyes.
Tex texts me about three thousand times to make sure I haven't been eaten by bears, so I finally have to turn my phone off. Even if it means I won't get a text from Peter. Not that I'm thinking about him.
I'm so exhausted from the tent odyssey that I go to bed right after supper. My parents stay by the fire, drinking coffee and talking softly as the fire dies into coals.
My sleeping bag is lumpy and musty, but I fall asleep so fast I barely get a chance to put my mp3 player on shuffle.
I wake, however, in the middle of the night. One of my earbuds is still in, and the music is really loud. I don't know how I slept through it. Also, my dad is snoring so much, I realize why I proactively had the music so loud. My back cracks as I move, and I wish for my memory foam mattress from home.
I struggle out of the sleeping bag cocoon and unzip the tent. I hope it doesn't wake Mom, but she's still in her own sleeping bag, her face peaceful.
The fire has burned itself down to coals, but I go and sit by their glow, rubbing my hands together. The night still has a bit of bite to it.
I've got five missed texts from Tex. Nothing from Peter. I want to send him a message, but I don't know what to say. I feel like we can't go back to normal conversation after the whole I'm-an-angel-vampire reveal.
I watch the smoke curling into the stars. It's so quiet.
For some reason it makes me think of Peter. Thinking about Peter is nice. Much nicer than thinking about my mother and how many times like this we have left. Part of me wants to wake her up, just so I can whisper ghost stories with her and watch her face and snuggle with herI should have brought a camera.
My phone buzzes. It's Peter. My heart does a little leap. I can't stop thinking about how I've shared one of my biggest secrets with him. Still, he shared a bigger one with me, so we're even.
How are you? I guess he does know how to text. Which is weird, because I can't picture someone like him with a phone.
Fine. How r u? I type back.
Watching the stars.
Me 2. Don't you ever sleep?
I have no need of it. His text messages are just like his speech. Simple and to the point.
Oh. Right.
Why are you awake?
Couldn't sleep.
Why?
Lots of things. I kind of hate doing this via text. It means I have to type everything out.
Seconds later, the phone rings.
“Hey.”
“Hello. I couldn't stand typing those keys anymore. It is really a cumbersome form of communication.” The way he says it makes me laugh.
“Yeah, I know. It feels impersonal, you know?” I put my feet up on the rocks surrounding the fire, hoping I don't burn my slippers.
“I do.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Reading.”
“What you reading?” I feel like I have to interview him to get him to talk. Like I should be recording all his answers on a legal pad in shorthand.
“Nothing.” There's silence while we listen to me breathe.
“I can't stop thinking about it. How I'm going to lose her.” It's just as easy to tell him on the phone, even when I'm not in the cemetery. Maybe it's the night. Maybe it's Peter.
“Everything is not lost.” I swallow a smile.
“That sounds like something she would say.”
“What else would she say?”
“It's always darkest before the dawn. That's her favorite. She has it painted on her bedroom wall.” Moths flutter around me, and I swat at them.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I don't understand how you can speak to me the way you do,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“You tell me things I feel that you do not tell anyone else.” I hate how he guesses things about me so easily.
“I know. For some reason it's so easy to tell you things.” I also hate how I blurt out whatever I'm thinking when I'm talking to him.
“Because I'm not human.” Like I needed a reminder. I couldn't freaking forget.
“It doesn't feel that way.” Yup, my slippers are getting a little melty. The rest of me is freezing, of course.
“But I am not.”
“I know.” Talking to him on the phone makes me even more aware that he doesn't breathe. I don't like being reminded of things like that.
My head snaps up as something rustles in the leaves, distracting me. Stupid squirrels. Tense, I glance back to the tent, but Dad's snore is going strong.
“I should go to bed.”
“I would not wish to disturb your sleep.” Only he could put it that way.
“Goodnight, Ava.” I breathe for a second before I say goodbye. Trying to come up with something better. I can't.
“Goodnight, Peter.”
***
I sleep late the next morning. Both my parents are up and making pancakes before I roll my way out of the tent.
“Ugh.” I put my hand up to shield my sensitive eyes. I feel like they've been scraped by a grape peeler. The fire's already going and the scent of fresh coffee tickles my nose.
“Good morning sunshine.” My mother looks amazing. Fresh as a daisy, wearing her everyday wig. My own hair is already greasy, and I'm regretting not taking off my mascara. I wipe my hands over my eyes and they come away with black smears.
“Want some pancakes?” She looks up from the frying pan balanced on a metal rack over the fire. How she doesn't burn them, I don't know, but they always come out good. Mom magic.
“After I brush my teeth.” I walk down to the bathroom, which is in a big cement building a short way from our site. There are even hot showers, but they cost you a quarter for five minutes. I know I'm going to get desperate in a few hours and have a roll of quarters just in case.
A couple of people smile at me on their way to the sinks to wash their morning dishes. I smile back, trying to be friendly. I scrub my face with cold water, trying to wake up. My eyes have taken the train to puffy town, but there's nothing I can do about that. Stumbling back to our site, I nearly get attacked by someone's cockapoo. There's a plate of golden pancakes waiting for me. My stomach snarls in response.
“So we've got a big day planned. We're thinking of taking this hike, since we've never done it before.” She points to the map, tracing the path we'll take with a marker. It looks twisty and windy and probably difficult.
“Sounds great.” I say around a bite of pancakes. I have to open my mouth and suck in air so I don't burn my tongue.
After piles of pancakes and a quick wash up, Mom is itching for us to get going. Even though Dad clearly slept, due to the snoring, he looks like he got less than I did. I slather my skin with sunblock and bug dope, ignoring him as he packs up the water and gorp and maps. By the time we're ready, I'm so slippery if someone tried to grab me, I'd slide right away.
I'm wearing hand-me-down hiking boots from my mother, since our feet are the same size. She's wearing a newish pair that Dad bought her a few months ago that she's been breaking in ever since. Dad's are so old they're falling apart, so he's taped them up so they'll stay on his feet. We're quite the ragtag bunch of outdoorsmen.
“So Ava-Claire, your father and I were talk
ing and wondered if you'd like to take a few weeks off from school. It's almost the end of the year and I could help you study for your exams at home. What do you think?” The sun comes through the leaves, lighting up her face in patches that move with the wind. Her skin is pale, but she doesn't look as worn out as she should. It's like these woods and this air revive her. Breathing life into a body that's been ravaged by something unnatural. I shift my bag on my shoulders, trying to get the straps to sit just right.
I think about what she's asking. It's not just if I want to spend time with her. It's if I'm willing to spend all my time with her. If I want to give up what little normalcy I have left. Which is really the opposite of what we've been talking about all along. Dad's ahead of us and I can feel his disapproval. That's all it takes for me to say, “I'd love to.”
“I knew you'd say that. We'll talk about it when we get back,” she says, glancing ahead at Dad. She speeds up to walk with him, doing that thing parents do when they have a silent fight so the kids don't see. It's clear who the winner is when she kisses him on the cheek and he turns to smile at her. I speed up and go around them. I can't stand looking at him.
But I look back at her, almost stumbling. Dad helps her over a root, making sure she doesn't trip. The image hits me, making me almost fall over. They look so happy. So free. It's a Kodak moment of the purest kind. I wish I could be like that. The closer I get to losing her, the less free I become. Her laughter calls to me. I turn instead and try to swallow the tears that climb up in my throat.
We stop at noon, a little ways from the top of the mountain. My legs are already tired, and I'm sporting quite a few bug bites, despite the spray I used.
“You've got sweet blood,” my mother says, handing me the spray again. I want to laugh, but it makes me think of Peter. Yuck. I scratch at one of the bites and try not to look at the red that smears on my skin. I plug my earbuds back in, cranking up the Linkin' Park.
Somehow we make it to the top. Mom scrambles up the last bit as graceful as a mountain goat. Dad's right behind her, hands held out toward her in case she slips. I stumble along, bringing up the rear.
We're alone at the top. It's strange with just the three of us. The trees grow scraggly needles on only one side, owing to the wind that constantly blows. They look like half-trees. There is almost nothing else up here, save a few blueberry bushes and some hardy grass. And lots of rocks. It's still beautiful. It almost takes my breath away. The air is thin, and I have to work harder to get my breath back after the final climb.
“We made it,” she says, still panting from the last push to get to the top. The word top is confusing when applied to mountains, because they aren't flat. When I was younger, I used to climb to the highest point I could find. That was the top, I thought. I look around and find a boulder, about the size of a couple of cars stacked up. It's the highest place I can see, so I pull myself to the top, adding more scratches, and banging my knee. It's totally worth it, though. I shut my eyes and pretend I'm flying, the wind streaming through my hair.
I think of Peter.
Dad gets obsessed with watching a hawk, hogging the binoculars while we eat lunch. I still want to hit him, but it's hard to hate him when he hands Mom his Cracker Jack prize.
It's too chilly to stay on the top long in the open air. With protesting legs, we tromp our way back down just as it gets dark.
Dinner is hot dogs again, and I fall asleep in my chair before s'mores. No further messages from Peter. Twenty texts from Tex.
It rains the next day while we pack up, so everything's wet and I'm miserable. Mom flutters around, making sure everything that we took out of the car fits back into it. She keeps shoving Dad and me out of the way, saying we're packing wrong. There's a little kerfuffle when Dad puts the tent in the wrong way, apparently, and she orders us to stand in the rain while she repacks everything.
At this point, I'm ready to go.
The trunk of the car barely closes, but after Dad jumps up and down on it, success! I'm grubby and tired and I missed my nights win the cemetery. Also Peter. I'll be happy to get home, selfish as it is. Mom is the last one in the car when we leave. She sighs as we pull out, smiling at me in the mirror. I slump over in my seat and fall asleep.
The car windows fog up from all the moisture and all I want is to take a shower and go to bed. Mom keeps meeting my eyes in the mirror, and I have to keep looking away.
I don't want to go see Peter that night, but I've got to stop lying to myself.
Chapter Sixteen
Walk Softly and Carry a Big Stick
“You survived!” Tex throws herself at me, as if I'd just barely made it back alive from the big bad woods. I wished I'd been allowed to skip, seeing as how I hadn't done any of my homework, including studying for the geometry pop quiz, which means another bad grade I don't really need.
“Yeah. Imagine that,” I say against her shoulder.
“God, did you take a shower? You smell all...” She waves her hands in the air, groping for a word.
“Woodsy?” I say, with more than a pinch of sarcasm. “It's this new perfume I'm working on. The bottle is shaped like an axe. I'm thinking of calling it 'Lumberlust.' What do you think?”
She sniffs me again and pulls back.
“I think I'll stick with the Clinique.” I stick my tongue out at her and she honks my nose.
“I thought I was going to get a phone call to come get you. I can't believe they forced you into that.” She leans against my locker as I slowly pack my bag for the day, trying to forget about the reading and assignments I also didn't do.
“They didn't force me. It was nice.” And back to the lies. I change the subject. “Did you go to the O'Hurley party?”
“Nah, it wouldn't have been the same without you. It got busted anyway. Four arrests.” She wiggles four fingers.
“Surprise, surprise.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Anyway, there's a Grayson party this weekend,” she says in a singsong voice, eyes gleaming. Chuck Grayson is a bit like the Ferris Beuler of Maine. Only less cute, and wearing Carharts and holding a beer. His parties were pretty legendary, which wasn't saying much. Still, everyone wanted to go to them. Or so I'd heard.
“Sooo?” I draw out the word.
“And we have to go. It's going to be awesome. The theme is White Trash.” Chuck's also big on themes. He planned them out months in advance, keeping up with the current trends. It was a wonder he wasn't gay, with all the party planning he did.
“Classy.”
“Oh come on, it's going to be fun. I have the best outfit.”
“A white t-shirt with a red bra and ripped Daisy Dukes?”
“How did you... You're totally missing the point.” She's frustrated with my lack of enthusiasm. “You have to come. Jamie's going.” Only because he was driving the drunk van.
“I don't know.” I reeealllllyyy don't want to go.
“Come on, you have to come.” The whine seeps into her voice, making my ears burn. She's worse than a two-year-old.
“I'll think about it.” Of course she knows I'm going to cave. I should tattoo doormat on my forehead in swirly lettering. With a butterfly perched on the d.
“Then I have a whole week to convince you how awesome it's going to be.” She isn't deterred. Tex never said die when it came to a party.
“I'll think about it,” I say again. Maybe a drunken party would be a nice change from all the other crap I've been dealing with. Or it could be a huge mistake. It can really only go one of two ways.
“Hey, are you okay?” I drop my Ava's-fine face just for a second when I think she's not looking. Long enough for her to notice. Damn.
“What?” She's looking at me like I've just told her my grandmother died. All concerned-like. It immediately rings my alarm bells. Here we go.
“Are you okay?” She says it slow, like I'm hard of hearing.
“Yeah, fine.” Even to me my voice sounds flat and fake. She breathes out her nose and put
s on her serious face.
“So here's how this is going to go. I'm going to suggest things and you can say yes or no? Okie dokie? Does this have to do with school?” She's pissed now, and I risk poking the dragon in the eye if I don't answer. She's never going to guess, that I'm hanging out with a noctalis in a cemetery and my mother is dying of cancer. There's just no way.
“No.”
“You haven't realized you're into girls?”
“Uh, no. I think you'd know,” I snap. She holds up her hands in a peacemaking gesture.
“Hey, I'm just covering my bases. Is it a guy?” Crap. Part of it is.
“Um...” I don't know what to say. Tex leaps out of her chair, pointing her finger in my face as if I've admitted to committing a crime.
“Aha! You hesitated. That's all I need to know. Now we're getting somewhere.”
“Tex, it isn't–” She jams her hand over my mouth. I nip her palm.
“Ow! I just want some details.” I sigh. As much as I don't want to tell her, for a lot of reasons, I need to talk to someone. A best-friend type someone.
“His name's Peter and he's...” What is he? “He's different.”
“And? That's it? Age, sex, location?”
“He's like 18, I think. He's a guy, obviously, and he's from New York.” All mostly true.
“How's the bod?” Including the wings?
“Good.” My face goes all shades of red thinking about something like that. Like I was objectifying him. Which is ridiculous.
“How good?” The bell drills, making everyone else in the room get to their feet and shuffle back for their afternoon classes.
“I don't know. Can you just lay off?” For a second, I think she's going to protest, but then she caves.
“Okay, fine. Keep your boy-toy a secret. I'll find out.” Nothing daunts her.
I don't end up failing the math quiz, but pass with a 69. Wahoo. I'm reprimanded for my missing homework until the words are going in one ear and flowing out the other. I nod and promise to do better. I don't bother to make excuses. They're useless anyway.