I flip past the next several Looney Tunes drawings and tear out the first blank sheet. I set it on top of my sketchpad, which I pull against my hip. With a broken piece of charcoal, I run a broad squiggle down the center of the page and shade a ragged patch to the right. I study it for a moment, and then add an arched horizon at the bottom. This feels like the beginning of something. I’m just not sure what.
54://Emma
THE INSIDE OF CODY’S CAR is different than I imagined. It’s worn out, the seat upholstery is thinning, and the vinyl along the door is cracked in several places.
“My brother gave it to me when he left for college,” he says as we pull out of the student parking lot. “I know, it’s a clunker.”
The fact that Cody seems embarrassed about his car is really cute. He’s showing me his vulnerable side. It makes me want to burst out and tell him that one day he’ll be able to buy any car he wants.
“Where does your brother go to school?” I ask.
“University of Vermont. He’s into environmental causes.”
Just like you someday!
Cody turns left onto Finch Road, heading in the direction of the highway. He reaches down near my knees to open the glove compartment, which is neatly lined with cassette tapes. “Can you grab the tape labeled ‘Dave Matthews’?” he asks. “That’s the bootleg I was telling you about. They played near my brother’s school, and he recorded it.”
I pull out the cassette and push it into the tape player. A light static emits from the speakers. While I wait for the music to start, I glance over at Cody. He’s such a confident driver, the way he reclines in his seat with one hand loosely on the wheel.
He merges onto the highway, and the tape begins. There are so many concertgoers talking in the background I can barely hear the music. I think they’re playing “What Would You Say.”
“That audience is annoying,” Cody says, gesturing at the stereo. “If you’re only there to get drunk and talk through the performance, you may as well go to a bar.”
“My dad plays music professionally,” I say. “He’s always complaining about that.”
Cody turns up the volume. “As a guitarist, Dave Matthews is so underappreciated. Can you hear what he’s doing right there?”
I try to listen, but the quality is really poor. “It’s amazing.”
Cody hits the gas hard and passes two cars. We’re headed in the direction of the Lake Forest Mall. Kellan and I go there a few times a year, but mostly we save our money to shop in Pittsburgh.
“Why did you have to drop off your class ring?” I ask. I can picture Cody’s ring perfectly. It’s silver and chunky with an orange stone in the center, the official Cheetah color.
“I’m getting it engraved with the date I’m competing in states,” he says. “I know it’s strange to engrave a date that hasn’t happened yet, but I’m doing it for good luck.”
Cody placed first in the hundred-yard dash at regionals two weeks ago. In another week he’s going on to states, where he has a chance to be the top male sprinter in all of Pennsylvania.
“Maybe I’ll have them look at my necklace,” I say, rummaging through the small pocket of my backpack. “I wonder if they can fix the clasp.”
“I’m sorry . . . the sound on this is terrible.” Cody pushes the power button on the stereo. As he does, a cyclist from the bike lane swerves in front of us.
I scream. “Watch out!”
Cody jerks the car to the left. Another car honks and slams on its brakes, and I cover my eyes.
“What the hell?” Cody shouts, glancing into his rearview mirror.
In the side mirror, I watch the bicyclist plant his foot onto the side of the road. He takes off his helmet and gives Cody the middle finger.
“Look at him!” Cody says. “He almost caused an accident, and he’s flipping me off?”
My heart is racing and my hands are trembling.
“And you should chill on the screaming,” Cody says. “It didn’t exactly help.”
Cody pulls into the Lake Forest Mall parking lot and shuts off the engine. He steps out of the car and I get out too, leaving my backpack inside. Cody doesn’t say anything about my necklace when we’re in the store, and I don’t mention it, either.
ONCE WE GET BACK in the car, the vibe feels better. The engraving on Cody’s class ring looked perfect, and the jeweler asked him to sign a newspaper clipping that had his picture and an article about him going to states. I acted surprised when he showed it to me, but I have the same clipping in my desk drawer at home.
As Cody pulls back onto the highway, he reaches into his glove compartment for a new tape. This time, his fingers brush my knees.
“You know,” he says, “my aunt and uncle’s house is right up the road, and they have a killer sound system. Want to see if we can hear the bootleg better at their place?”
My stomach flutters with excitement.
“Don’t worry,” he adds. “They’re dental surgeons and they work crazy hours. They won’t be home.”
“Are you sure they won’t mind?”
“No, it’s fine. My uncle gave me a spare key.”
Cody takes a left and steers onto a road lined with McMansions and newly planted trees. He parks in front of a huge white house with a fountain in the front lawn and Roman-style columns holding up the porch.
“Nice, right?” Cody grabs the bootleg tape and steps out of the car.
If I were here with Josh, we’d both dig through our pockets for pennies to toss into the fountain. But there’s no way I’d do that with Cody in his aunt and uncle’s front yard.
I glance around at the houses, all gigantic and quiet. Even though no one is around, I feel the need to whisper.
“Are you sure they’re not going to come home?” I ask.
Cody shakes his head. “I come here a lot.”
He punches in a security code and then fits the key into the lock. As he pushes open the door, he turns and smiles at me. My stomach flips over.
55://Josh
I ARRANGE MY CHARCOAL sketches in a semicircle around me, then stand up and take a step back. Some have angular lines, some are mostly wavy, and some are very sparse. Each has a unique feel, yet they all belong together.
Through my bedroom window, I hear Emma’s car pull into her driveway. I run downstairs and out the front door.
The driver’s side door opens and Kellan steps out. “Were you expecting someone else?” she asks.
“Where’s Emma? Is she still at track?”
Kellan’s expression is a mix of concern and pity. “Probably not. I’m dropping off her car, but I’m not waiting around for her to get back.”
“Did you two have a fight?” I ask.
Kellan walks toward Emma’s garage, but then swivels to face me. “Did you just ask if Emma and I had a fight? You guys are the ones who don’t seem to be talking.”
“We talked at lunch,” I say.
“Barely!” Kellan continues to the side of the garage and jiggles the doorknob, but it’s locked. “Josh, do you have any idea whose car she’s in right now?”
I knock my shoe against a fake rock and pick up the Scooby-Doo keychain. My hands fumble as I try to fit the key in the lock. Kellan snatches it from my hand and lets herself in.
“She’s with Cody,” Kellan says. “That guy’s an egotistical asshole, and I hold you responsible for this.”
“Me?” As far as I know, Emma and Cody had one conversation in the hallway. He wasn’t even her friend on Facebook.
Kellan removes a helmet from the handlebars of Emma’s bike. “There’s some weird competition going on between the two of you, and I don’t like it,” she says. She flips up the kickstand and rolls the bike toward the door.
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you really think Emma would be driving around with Cody Grainger if you were coming to the bonfire with the rest of us? But no, you’re going with Sydney Mills.”
I don’t want to picture Emma
in Cody’s car.
As I follow Kellan to the sidewalk, I look down the street. I don’t know what Cody drives, but as a beat-up minivan rounds the corner, I secretly hope that’s him.
When I turn back, Kellan’s eyes have softened. “I get that Sydney is gorgeous,” she says. “But I watched you at lunch today. When you told us she was taking you to the bonfire, you didn’t look like most guys would have.”
“How was I supposed to look?”
Kellan lets out a shallow sigh and adjusts the strap beneath her neck. “Happy.”
I don’t know how to respond.
“Are you only going to the bonfire with Sydney because it feels like you should? Because she’s Sydney Mills?” Kellan asks. “And if you say yes, I will be so disappointed in you.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“No girl, no matter how perfect she is, deserves to get hurt like that,” Kellan says. “So if you’re not into Sydney, you need to tell her tonight.”
Kellan swings her leg over the bike and pushes forward.
I walk slowly back to my house. When I reach the front door, I hear the soft squeal of brakes. Kellan doesn’t know I’m watching, but I see her stop next to Emma’s car and reach for a windshield wiper. She leaves a folded-up piece of paper against the glass, and then circles back around and rides off.
I GRAB THE CORDLESS PHONE from my parents’ room and head outside. When I reach the short wall surrounding the swings, I dial David’s number. His machine picks up after two rings.
“This is David. I’m probably screening my calls right now, so leave your name after the beep, and we’ll see if I answer.”
“Hey, this is Josh,” I say, weaving slowly between the swings. “You’re probably in class, but if you get this—”
There’s a click on David’s end. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“I slept through my afternoon class,” he says. “But that’s not something you should tell Mom and Dad.”
Before I saw David’s future, I would’ve laughed at his comment. Now I wonder how much of his life isn’t for Mom and Dad—or me—to know about. Eventually, he must tell everyone he’s gay because he brings Phillip to my house at the lake. In fact, one day he’ll write on the Internet that he’s in a relationship with a man.
With my free hand, I hold onto the chains of one of the swings. “Do you have a second to talk?”
I hear David plopping into his beanbag. “Sure. What’s up?”
I can’t remember why I thought calling my brother would help. There’s nothing he can say if I don’t reveal everything about Sydney and me and our future together. Without telling him about Facebook, it’s going to sound pathetic. Who complains about going to a bonfire with Sydney Mills?
“Josh,” David says, “do you understand how phones work? When you call someone, you’re supposed to talk.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just really confused about a girl right now.”
“Emma?” David asks.
“No,” I say. “Her name is Sydney Mills. She’s the one I was talking about the other night.”
“Wait, is she the little sister of the Mills twins?” he asks. “Dude, they were hot.”
I sit down on the swing and twist to the left. Why is he saying that? Did he think they were hot, or is he saying other guys thought they were hot? If he’s trying to fool me, I shouldn’t have called him in the first place. I need to talk honestly with him.
“If Sydney Mills is anything like her sisters . . .” David lets out a low whistle. “So I’m guessing you took my advice. You saw your moment and you didn’t let it pass.”
“She asked me to a bonfire tonight,” I say.
“Look at you go! So what’s the problem?”
“It’s hard to explain,” I say. “She’s gorgeous. And any guy in school would love to be with her . . . except me. And yet, I know I should.”
“Is she nice?” he asks.
“She’s a little self-absorbed. But yeah, she’s nice.”
David is quiet for a moment. “Are you worried she’s more experienced than you? Because if you want, I can explain—”
“No,” I say. “That’s not it.” I didn’t call him because I’m nervous about hooking up. I’m nervous about my entire life.
“I know what your problem is,” David says.
“I have a problem?”
“You’re a go-with-the-flow guy,” he says. “You’ve always been that way. And that can feel great because it means you don’t have to make any hard decisions. But sometimes you need to figure out what you want, Josh. If that means you need to swim against the tide to get it, at least you’re aiming for something that could make you very happy.”
I twist the swing in the other direction.
“Where do you want to go to college?” David asks. “I know you won’t have to deal with that until next year, but where are you considering now?”
I laugh into the phone. He thinks I’m going to say Hemlock State, where Mom and Dad work. But I’ve seen Facebook. I know where I’m going, and he’s wrong. “The University of Washington,” I say.
“So you’ll go where your brother went,” David says. “Those are some strong currents you’re swimming against.”
“But it’s a good school.”
“I know it is,” he says. “But you need to pick the school you want to go to.”
There’s a beep on his end of the line, which means he has another call.
“Listen,” David says. “Tonight, you need to go to the bonfire with Sydney because you said you would. But when it’s over, I want you to think about something.”
His phone beeps again.
“If things aren’t clicking with her,” he says, “maybe it’s because there’s someone else you’d rather be with. And if that’s true, why not swim against the tide and ask her?”
Because I can’t put myself through that again.
56://Emma
“THAT FEELS AMAZING,” Cody groans, rolling his head from side to side.
I’ve been massaging his shoulders for a while now. A tank full of turquoise tropical fish is burbling, and the coffee table in front of us displays a fan of modern art books. I’m sitting on a black leather couch, while Cody’s sitting on the floor, leaning back between my knees. When we first got here, he pulled two bottles of chilled water from the fridge. We listened to a few songs on the Dave Matthews bootleg, and then he slid in one of his uncle’s Paul Simon CDs.
This house is amazing.
Cody is amazing.
I look at my reflection in the horizontal mirror hanging above the marble fireplace. The mirror is framed in thick bronze and probably weighs more than my dresser. If I had known this was going to happen when I woke up today, I would have worn something better than my olive-green T-shirt and jean shorts. But I suppose I could’ve done worse. I watch my reflection as I rub my fingers along Cody’s collarbone, inside the neck of his shirt. He groans with pleasure and closes his eyes.
It feels like my future is just beginning.
“This is definitely what I needed,” Cody says, turning and smiling at me. “The weight-training yesterday killed my shoulders.”
I smile back at him and flex my fingers, which are starting to ache. That massage lasted a long time.
“Mine too,” I say, hunching my shoulders. I unscrew the cap from my bottled water and take a sip.
“If you’re done,” Cody offers, “I can give you a massage back.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I think about the first time Cody and I talked, and how I rested my head on his shoulder during the bus ride home from a track meet. I’d always admired him from a distance, but suddenly this perfect guy was paying attention to me. It took another year, and some knowledge of his future, but now here we are.
“Are you ready?” Cody asks. He pushes himself up from the floor and sits next to me on the couch. I turn toward the fish tank, and he starts massaging my shoulders.
/>
It’s a very different massage than the one I gave him. His hands gently touch my skin, moving slowly up my arms. He glides his fingers down my sides and then rests them on my hips. I close my eyes, feeling a light shudder in my body as his lips kiss my neck.
“You’re cute, Emma Nelson,” he whispers, planting a row of kisses from my collarbone up to my ear. “This is a lot more fun than when you screamed in my car on the way over.”
He wraps his arm around my waist, and I tell myself to relax. I tell myself to be fun, and not that girl who screamed in the car.
This is the moment I’m supposed to turn around and kiss him back. Instead, I glance over at the mirror and realize that I don’t know who I’m seeing in the reflection.
“You said you come here a lot?” I ask.
“Sometimes,” Cody says, kissing down my other shoulder.
I picture that tall girl he gave his number to at the track meet. “With other girls?”
“That’s sort of a personal question.”
“This is sort of a personal moment,” I say.
“We’re just having fun.”
Cody continues rubbing my shoulders. As he does, I think about the past few days. I’ve listened to him tell me about Duke and about teaching himself to play guitar, and I’ve even recited Wayne’s World to him. But he’s never asked about me. That’s because he doesn’t care about me for who I am. He cares about me because I’ve been worshipping him.
I stand up.
Cody looks at me. “What’s going on?”
“I want to go home,” I say.
“We just got here,” he says, leaning back. His fingers are laced behind his head and his elbows are splaying out. “You should chill for a little longer.”
There he goes, telling me to chill again. Just like back in the car.
Kellan’s theory is wrong. When Cody jerked into traffic, then snapped at me for screaming, I didn’t see my future husband. Sitting next to me in that car was a guy so different than what I’d hoped.
“I’m going home,” I say.
Cody clenches his jaw, and I can tell he’s pissed. I don’t think many girls say no to him. “I guess I can drive you.”