Before we take our first bites, we clink our spoons together and say, “Cheers.” Then I go, “How’s lifeguarding?”
“
So
good. It feels like . . . I don’t know.”
“What?”
“Like even if I’m just sitting there, I’m protecting everyone somehow. Just by watching them. And like, knowing I could save any one of them if I had to. It makes me feel like I’m doing something meaningful every day, you know?”
“Totally.”
“It’s kind of the same thing with the kids in mentoring. Like I’m helping them. When they talk to me about their problems and I can help solve them, it means I’m not just wasting my time. I’m doing something that matters to people.”
I nod. It’s the first time Jason has said anything like this. He’s told me about some personal stuff, but he never really talks about his feelings. Mostly he keeps everything on a lighter level.
Then Jason goes, “How’s swimming?”
“I’m not going anymore.”
“You’re done? Sweet!”
“No . . . more like, I quit.”
“Oh. Why?”
Here’s why: I almost drowned in my last class and totally overreacted. While I thought I was really drowning, I was actually in a part of the pool where I could have just stood up and I would have been fine. But ever since the accident, I completely spaz when water gets even remotely scary. It was just way too embarrassing, sputtering out of the water with everyone staring at me, all concerned. So I stopped going. The thing is, I still want to learn how to swim before my family reunion in Hawaii. I have a year left. Maybe I can find a different class where no one saw my meltdown.
There’s no way I can admit all that to Jason. “I’m just not talented in that area,” I tell him.
“False. Anyone can learn how to swim.”
“How do you know?”
“Uh, I’m a lifeguard, remember? Drawing perfect circles isn’t my only talent.”
“Then why’s it taking me so long to learn?”
“People learn at different rates, is all. I can totally teach you.”
“Really?”
“Anytime. Just say the word.”
“Maybe I will.” How cool would that be? I bet Jason’s a really good teacher. I saw how he was with the kids he mentors. He’s patient and funny, which are the two most essential qualities for making learning easier. Plus knowing what you’re doing, which he does. The downside would be that he’d see how pathetic I am and then he might not like me anymore. Swimming is obviously important to him. But maybe wanting to learn is enough, even if I suck at it.
I just want to be with him. I haven’t heard from Erin about the breakup yet and there’s no way I can even begin to tell her what’s going on. She’d never understand.
I wish this didn’t have to be so hard. Because I love how I feel when I’m with Jason. The way we are together. The way I can tell what he’s thinking, just by the color of his eyes. Our secret sandbox history. It’s like we were made for each other.
If this isn’t something like fate, I don’t know what is.
25
We decided to
get here early to find the best spot. It’s getting crowded now, so I spread out the blanket to its maximum capacity. Then I put our flip-flops along the bottom edge of the blanket.
“Staking out the territory,” Jason says.
“I hate when people try to move into your space.”
“I hear you. But don’t worry. No one stands a chance against those flip-flops.”
“Flip-flops are ferocious.”
“Exactly.” Jason smiles with his eyes all sparkling. Like they’re lit up just for me. Then we’re sitting there, looking at each other. Not saying anything. His smile starts to fade. “Hey, um . . .”
“Do you want a Popsicle? They have—oh, or a snow cone?
Love
those!”
“Sure. But I’m treating.”
“That’s okay.” I jump up and slide on my flip-flops. “I’ve got it.”
“You sure?”
“Totally. What kind do you want?”
“That’s an excellent question. Hmm. Well, it
is
the Fourth of July. Do they have those red-white-and-blue Popsicles?”
“Oh, yeah! The ones that look like rockets?”
“Those are the ones.”
“They better. I’ll be right back.”
I go over to the ice-cream truck with my heart skittering all around. I have this feeling like Jason was about to say something that I wasn’t ready to hear. What am I going to say if he asks me out? I can’t go out with him. He just broke up with my best friend.
Key words being
broke up
. Does that mean this is something like a date? Or that it
is
a date? Does Jason think I’m here with him because I want to be his girlfriend? As if I could even go there. I mean, hanging out as friends is one thing. But there’s a line. And once you cross it, there’s no going back.
When I come back with our Popsicles, the sun is setting behind the trees. We lean back on the blanket, watching. The sunset is pink and red.
“Cool,” Jason says.
“I know.”
“It’s wild how the trees look like they’re on fire.” He points. “Like where they’re reflecting the sunlight?”
Jason’s the only boy who would ever understand about sunset-fire trees. Most boys don’t even notice things like colors and light the way I do.
“So, you decided to go with the Fourth of July theme, too,” he says.
“What?”
Jason points his Popsicle at my Popsicle.
I’m like, “Oh. Well, you inspired me, so I didn’t have a choice.”
“Cheers.” He holds his Popsicle out to mine.
“Cheers.” We tap them together.
We watch the sunset.
When the fireworks start, everybody cheers. There are all these blue-and-purple ones, plus red ones that are the exact shade of sunset red. There are ones that look like flowers exploding. Ones that look like green rain. My favorite ones are the hearts. And the smiley faces.
The best way to watch fireworks is lying back on a pillow. I only brought one pillow, so we’re sharing. I put my favorite pillowcase on—the one with a black-and-white-striped cat wearing big red sneakers.
After the finale, everyone cheers again. Then it’s this mad rush of people grabbing their stuff and packing up and shaking grass off their blankets. The guy next to us on Jason’s side snaps his blanket in the air, flinging grass all over him.
Jason wipes grass off his nose. “Guess he didn’t notice me sitting here.”
“You’re hard to miss.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, please. As if anyone wouldn’t notice you.”
He has that look again. The one with the dark green eyes. The one where I can’t breathe right.
“Let’s stay,” I tell him.
“Okay.”
I don’t want to leave. Ever. It’s so perfect here, with the amazing night and the sky all big and the sweet summer breeze. It feels like the park is here just for us. Especially after everyone leaves. We’re the last two people left, in the middle of everything. Just lying on the blanket and sharing my pillow, looking up at the big sky all around us. We’re the only two people in the world.
I want something to happen, but at the same time I don’t. I don’t know what I want. Or I do. But I shouldn’t want it.
“Firefly!” Jason goes.
“Where?”
“See it?” He points. “Over by—”
“Oh, yeah! There’s another one!”
“They’re coming back out now. The fireworks scared them away.”
“I love fireflies!”
“I know.”
Then we have a contest to see how many fireflies we can count. Which of course is a bogus contest, since they keep flying around in the same circles. There’s no way to know which ones are which.
“Seventeen!” I yell.
“Disqualified. You counted that one already.”
“How do you know which one I’m counting?”
“Come on. You obviously mean that one.”
“Which one?”
“Oh yeah, right. Like you don’t know which one.”
Jason shifts a little. Now his head is touching mine. The part of my head touching his head is all tingly. Is he going to move his head away? Did he shift on purpose so we’d be touching like this? I want to keep my head touching his head, but I’m afraid I’m going to spaz and have one of those jerky twitches where you’re ultra aware that part of you is touching part of someone else and you’re trying too hard not to move.
Maybe I should just try to relax.
Crickets chirp. Stars slide into new positions. More fireflies blink on.
When Erin and I were little, we had firefly collections. This was before I realized that you shouldn’t take living things out of their natural habitat and shove them into captivity. We’d go into my backyard and stretch out our arms and let the fireflies land on us. Or we’d chase after them, careful not to damage their wings. Actually, most of the females can’t fly, but they all light up.
That lighting up is a signal to the other fireflies. They light up to say, “Hey. I like you. Let’s be friends.” Actually, I think they want to be more than friends when they do that. It got me thinking about the way we put signals out into the world for other people to see. To let them know we’re lonely or that we’re looking for new friends.
Or that we want a boyfriend.
Not that I’m necessarily looking. I mean, every girl I know wants a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Most girls I know want a boyfriend so badly it’s all they can think about. They have this attitude like once they find him, their life will instantly be perfect. Like it never occurred to them that maybe the reason they feel lonely or sad or bored has to do with them, not with the lack of someone else.
“Lani.”
“Hi.”
“Hi. I’m having a really good time.”
“Same here.”
Jason moves his arm so it’s touching mine. Okay. Now I
know
he did that on purpose.
He goes, “No, I mean . . . just being here with you.”
“I know. I like it, too.”
Then Jason moves his fingers over my hand. He bends his fingers around mine.
And then we’re holding hands.
And I swear, the Earth stops rotating.
Should I say something? Or should I wait for him to say something? What if I wait and he doesn’t say anything and he thinks I’m not saying anything because it’s okay with me that he’s holding my hand?
Is
it okay that he’s holding my hand?
Of course it’s not okay. Erin would freak if she knew. Imagine you’re Erin and you’re away at camp, thinking you’ll have this perfect boyfriend waiting for you when you get back. Then he tells you it’s over. Before it really even started. How would you feel if he was going out with your best friend on top of all that?
You’d feel like dying. That’s how you’d feel.
So how can I do this to her? How can I lie here like it’s okay, with our heads pressed together on my pillow, holding hands?
I slide away a little so I can look at Jason. His eyes are closed. I stare at his profile in the dark, memorizing it. The slope of his nose. The shape of his lips.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. I guess you get to a point where you can’t fight it anymore. You just can’t help it. Because it’s taken control of you. And it’s never letting go.
He opens his eyes. He turns toward me.
Our faces are really close. We stare at each other. He touches my cheek, brushing some hair away from my face.
“We can’t do this,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Erin’s my best friend.”
“So, she wants you to be happy, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Lani,” he whispers. “We belong together.”
And then he kisses me.
There’s no time to think about it.
There’s no way to take it back.
Our lips stay pressed together, like neither of us wants to be the first to move away.
We stay on our blanket, holding hands. I don’t know how much time passes. It’s the most intense night of my life. I don’t want to worry about it. I just want to experience how this feels right now, the way it never will again.
But then I suddenly remember that I told my mom I’d be home by eleven.
“What time is it?” I whisper.
Jason lets go of my hand. He presses a button on his watch. The screen lights up.
He’s like, “Whoa.”
“What?”
“That can’t be right.”
“
What
?”
“What time did you say you had to be home?”
My stomach sinks. “Eleven. Why?”
“It’s one fifteen.”
“Shut up.”
He shows me his watch.
I’m dead meat.
“Just call your mom.” Jason takes out his cell. “Ask if you can stay longer.”
“There’s no way she’d let me stay.”
“It’s safe. There’s no one here.”
“Exactly. So if some crazy slasher dude sneaks up behind us, we’re toast.”
“That’s not happening.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s just not. And if it did, which it’s not, I’d protect you.”
“From crazy slasher dude?”
“From anyone.”
I
so
don’t want to leave. I want to stay here forever, just like this. But if I don’t call my mom and get home, she’ll kill me. If crazy slasher dude doesn’t kill me first.
“I have to go,” I tell him. “Can you drive me?”
“Of course.”
Jason looks exactly how I feel. Well, maybe not exactly. We’re both crushed that we have to leave. But I might be the only one who feels guilty.
26
“What’s a nine-letter
word for ‘trinket or bibelot’?” Dad asks. He loves cracking into a new crossword-puzzle book. Whenever he starts his first crossword puzzle in a new book, we always work on it together.
“Knickknack?” I go.
“That’s ten letters.”
“Hmm.” I yank on a particularly stubborn corn husk. It just does not want to part with its corn. Husking corn is always messier than you think it’s going to be, so I’m husking on the back-porch stairs with a bucket between my legs. Dad’s on the swing, determined to get this puzzle done before dinner. “It can’t be doodad.”