Saving Red

  family selfies . . .

  Enough already.

  I get it—you’re all so loving and close

  and happy happy happy.

  Then I Hear a Familiar High-Pitched Laugh

  I turn—and there,

  just a few yards away from me,

  are Rosa and Jasmine.

  They’re walking arm in arm,

  leaning into each other,

  sharing some secret I’ll never hear.

  I will myself to be invisible,

  but it’s too late.

  They’ve spotted me.

  They exchange a quick glance,

  give me an awkward little wave,

  and duck down a stairway to the beach.

  I stand here watching them go,

  surrounded by hundreds of people,

  feeling as insignificant as a grain of sand . . .

  Then a Baby Starts Wailing

  I glance in the direction of its cries

  and see it sitting in a stroller,

  its tiny face fiery red

  and all scrunched up,

  waving its little fists

  like an eensie-weensie pissed-off dictator.

  The stroller makes me think

  of the girl with red hair.

  And for a second,

  I think about how great it would feel

  to just open my mouth and start

  wailing right along with that baby . . .

  Then—I’m running,

  with Pixel racing along beside me,

  running through the hordes

  of annoyingly cheery families,

  through the flocks

  of carefree laughing teens.

  And it seems like everywhere I look

  there’s another redhead.

  Another redhead

  that’s not her.

  I Rush Up to the Railing Overlooking the Water

  And grab hold of it.

  My fingers are tingling . . .

  My chest’s too tight . . . I’m dying!

  But then Pixel

  rests his paws on my thigh

  and works his nose into my palm,

  forcing me

  to loosen my hold on the railing

  and start patting him instead.

  Then he looks up at me as if to say,

  “Whatsa matter, kiddo?

  Did ya forget how to breathe?”

  So I take a few deep swallows of air,

  and when my heart rate returns to normal,

  he cocks his head at me like,

  “Good girl. Now follow me.”

  Then He Starts Tugging on His Leash

  And before I even know

  what’s happening,

  he’s dragging me over to a ticket booth

  and looking up at me like,

  “Don’t question me.

  Just buy a freaking ticket.”

  So I do what he says.

  Then he pulls me over to the Ferris wheel.

  A minute later,

  we’re climbing into a bright yellow gondola.

  And a minute after that—

  so is a ridiculously cute boy!

  The Three of Us

  Are whisked up

  into the sunset-streaked sky,

  the neon spokes whirling around us.

  Pixel wags his tail

  and raises an eyebrow at me

  as if to say,

  “If God hadn’t wanted you

  to meet this ridiculously cute guy,

  he wouldn’t have created this Ferris wheel.”

  I steal a peek at the boy.

  He’s sitting just a few feet away,

  right across from me, on the other bench.

  And—oh my gosh.

  He’s looking at me, too,

  smiling from ear to gorgeous ear.

  Looking at me

  with the most soulful brown eyes

  I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Looking

  right at me.

  At me.

  And it looks

  like he likes

  what he sees.

  I Smile Back at Him

  Not in a flirty way.

  More in like an I-can’t-help-it way.

  Because his wavy black hair,

  curling around his ears,

  is just . . .

  Well it’s just so adorable.

  And he almost looks like . . .

  like he’s blushing . . .

  Oh man.

  He is blushing . . .

  I Can Feel My Own Cheeks Flaming Up Now

  So as we circle through the sky,

  I tear my eyes away from his

  and look down at the ground instead.

  Which is when I see that he’s wearing

  a beat-up pair of red Converse high-tops.

  The same exact shoes that I’m wearing!

  And suddenly—I’m laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” the boy asks.

  “Our shoes,” I say.

  He looks down at my feet

  and starts laughing, too.

  “You’ve got great taste,” he says.

  “So do you.”

  And this time, when our eyes meet,

  everything seems to freeze in place—

  as if the world

  has stopped spinning

  on its axis.

  Oh. Wait.

  It’s not the world

  that’s stopped spinning.

  It’s

  the Ferris wheel!

  So, Just to Clarify Then:

  I am hanging in the air

  one hundred feet above the pier

  in a tiny little gondola

  which is creaking and groaning

  in a way that does not

  inspire confidence

  in whatever it is

  that’s keeping this thing

  from crashing to the ground

  and the cutest boy I’ve ever seen

  is telling me his name is Cristo

  and asking me mine

  and I’m introducing him to Pixel

  and they’re shaking hands

  and then we’re making small talk

  but it seems like big talk somehow

  and the whole time he’s looking at me

  like he’s been lost in the desert for days

  and I’m a nice cold glass of water

  and I’m freaking out

  because I pretty much don’t know

  the first thing about flirting

  because I only got my braces off

  and grew these boobs

  like yesterday

  and this is basically the first guy

  who’s ever really flirted with me.

  So, just to clarify then:

  I am feeling headswirlingly dizzy right now.

  And also,

  a little bit queasy.

  Pixel Rests His Paw on My Arm

  So I take

  a few deep breaths.

  And it does help.

  A little.

  But I must look like I’m hyperventilating,

  because Cristo seems concerned.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Are you afraid of heights?”

  “No,” I reply. “Well . . . yes. A little.

  But I’m more afraid of saying

  something that will reveal

  my pitiful lack of flirting experience.”

  Oh no.

  Did I just say that out loud?

  Ack! I must have—

  because Cristo’s laughing again.

  “See what I mean?” I say.

  “I’m hopeless.”

  “No you’re not,” he says.

  “You’re hilarious.”

  Whoa . . .

  Why do I feel so floaty all of a sudden?

  Like I’m a dandelion puff

  drifting though the sky . . .

  Pixel Gives Me a Look

>   A look that says,

  “You are hilarious.

  This guy gets you, kiddo.”

  Then he scoots over to Cristo,

  hops up next to him, and rests his head

  on his knee as if to say,

  “If you want to feel

  the softest fur in the world,

  try patting this guy, buddy.”

  Cristo reaches down to pet him,

  and I can see him noticing

  Pixel’s service vest.

  He glances over at me like

  he wonders why I need a comfort dog.

  But he’s too polite to ask.

  Which is a lucky thing for me.

  Because it’s definitely too soon

  to explain it to him.

  It’ll probably

  always be too soon

  to explain it to him.

  A Second Later

  The Ferris wheel lurches back into action,

  and a little gasp escapes us both.

  Then, as we begin

  floating back down to earth,

  I notice a commotion

  in the gondola across from ours.

  Someone’s standing up

  and dancing around,

  trying to get it

  to rock back and forth . . .

  Someone . . .

  with red hair—

  Oh my God!

  It’s her!

  I Open My Mouth to Call Out to Her

  But then I realize

  I don’t even know her name.

  What would I shout? “Hey . . . you?”

  Besides, she looks so wild

  and disheveled and so . . . so out of it.

  Is she drunk? Is she high?

  The old couple

  riding in the gondola with her

  are clinging to each other for dear life.

  I sneak a peek at Cristo.

  He’s watching the drama unfold

  with this horrified look on his face.

  What would

  he think of me

  if he knew that I knew her?

  If he knew

  that I’d spent the whole day

  searching for her?

  How would I explain it to him

  when I can’t even explain it to myself?

  I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with her.

  So I clamp my mouth shut and just sit here,

  gripping the edge of my seat so tight

  that my knuckles go white.

  Then

  The guy in charge of the ride

  notices the girl and starts shouting.

  “Please remain seated, miss! Remain seated!”

  But she doesn’t seem to hear him.

  Or if she does,

  she doesn’t care.

  She clutches the metal pole

  in the center of the gondola

  and starts spinning around it,

  while

  the poor old couple

  shrinks out of her way.

  As their gondola whisks them upward,

  Cristo shakes his head and says,

  “That girl’s high in more ways than one.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  So I don’t say anything.

  I just give him a weak smile

  and go back

  to gripping the edge

  of my seat.

  Their Gondola Crests the Top of the Wheel

  And then starts back down again,

  just as the roller coaster whizzes past,

  its red-and-yellow chain of clattering cars

  blurring into an orange streak of screams.

  The girl glances over at it—

  and that’s when she sees me.

  She flashes me a grin

  and gives me a quick little wave.

  I check to see if Cristo’s watching.

  But he’s distracted by the roller coaster.

  So I smile

  and wave back at her.

  And a minute later,

  when their gondola reaches the ground,

  she leaps over the side, dashes away,

  and dissolves into the crowd.

  I stare after her,

  trying not to lose sight

  of that rusty red hair.

  But it’s no use.

  She’s disappeared again.

  As Our Gondola Begins Its Descent

  So does

  my heart.

  Pixel wags his tail

  and gives me a look like,

  “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll help you find her.”

  I sigh and reach out to pat him.

  It’s a sweet offer.

  But it’s hopeless.

  They’ll be unloading the passengers

  from a dozen more gondolas before it’s our turn.

  The girl will have at least

  a ten-minute head start on us.

  And with the hordes of holiday tourists

  swarming the streets of Santa Monica,

  finding her will be tougher than finding

  a needle in a field full of haystacks . . .

  Pixel Gently Nips One of My Fingers

  And suddenly I realize

  that Cristo has been talking to me.

  And that I haven’t heard

  a single word he’s been saying.

  “So . . . ?” he says, leaning toward me eagerly.

  “What do you think?”

  “Um . . . I don’t know,” I say, biting my lip.

  “What do . . . you think?”

  “I think it’s a perfect plan.

  Let’s do it!”

  “Okay . . . ,” I say. “Let’s . . . do it!”

  But then I instantly regret it.

  Because, I mean,

  I barely know this guy.

  And I have no clue

  what I’ve just agreed to do!

  But Now Cristo’s Smiling at Me

  Saying, “Awesome!”

  And his smile’s so . . . Well it’s just so

  outrageously beautiful

  that I’m melting

  faster than butter

  on a freshly toasted bagel.

  Geez . . . I sure hope

  I haven’t agreed to help him

  rob a bank or something.

  Because if he keeps on

  smiling at me like this,

  I might just do it!

  When Our Gondola

  Finally Reaches the Ground

  We hop out and Cristo says,

  “So. First stop—Pier Burger.

  We can choose the movie while we eat.”

  I heave

  a secret sigh of relief.

  But then it hits me:

  I, Molly Rosenberg,

  am about to go

  on my very first date!

  And suddenly

  my legs feel like

  two very overcooked noodles.

  Something Tells Me

  That “I met a gorgeous boy

  on the Ferris wheel

  and he’s taking me on a date”

  might not go over too well with my mom.

  (Smoking so much pot makes her paranoid.)

  So when I duck

  into the bathroom to call her,

  I just tell her I’m going to dinner

  and a movie with some friends.

  (Which is true, if you count Pixel.)

  Fortunately,

  she’s too out of it to remember

  that I have no friends.

  She just tells me to have fun

  and be home by ten.

  I hang up and check the time.

  It’s only five thirty.

  Cristo and I still have

  four and a half whole hours

  to be together!

  So Here’s What I’ve Learned So Far:

  When you are on a date

  with a boy you like,

  the burgers taste like fancy steaks

  a
nd the Cokes make you both feel tipsy.

  When you are on a date

  with a boy you like,

  somehow the worse a joke is

  the more it makes you laugh.

  When you are on a date

  with a boy you like,

  everything around you

  seems to glow—

  as if

  the whole world’s

  lit only

  by candles.

  After Dinner

  As Cristo and I

  stroll through the Promenade,

  slowly making our way

  to the movie theater,

  my thoughts drift

  to Rosa and Jasmine.

  If only they could see me now—

  walking along with this amazing guy . . .

  It’s Friday night,

  so this no-cars-allowed stretch of 3rd Street

  is jammed with people shopping and eating

  and watching all the street performers.

  There’s so many different acts,

  it’s like an impromptu circus,

  only without all the scary clowns

  and elephant poop.

  We stop to watch a guy

  who’s doing a parody of a mime,

  pretending he’s stuck in a box

  that’s shrinking.

  At least I hope it’s a parody . . .

  Either way, it’s hysterical.

  The crowd that’s gathered to watch him

  roars with laughter.

  I glance up

  and my breath catches in my throat.

  Right across from me—

  there’s a redhead!

  But then I see that it’s not my redhead.

  And hope crumbles in my chest

  like a sandcastle wrecked

  by a wave.

  The Mime Bursts Out of His Invisible Box

  And starts passing the hat.

  Cristo and I give him some change,

  then continue on toward the theater.

  As we get closer,

  we hear the sexy pulsing beat

  of salsa music.

  A couple of college guys

  coming from that direction

  brush past us.

  One of them says to the other,

  “That chick doing the salsa back there

  is psycho . . . But man, she’s hot.”

  “Yeah,” the other guy says.

  “I’d hit that if she wasn’t such a whack job.”

  Then they both crack up.