Jason didn’t let go of my hand as we walked to the subway station. He didn’t let go of my hand while we bought our metro cards. And he didn’t let go of my hand while we sat down in the subway car.
We grinned at each other as we sat next to each other. I watched the stone walls of the underground tunnels fly past us. Being with Jason like this, our hands entwined, so close, it just felt right. I’d never felt anything like this before. And I knew that from the first time I’d seen Jason, I’d begun to feel it. I pictured him, running out of the woods, sweating and panting. He’d been so alive then. When he’d burst into my life, he’d kick-started something in me that hadn’t ever woken up before. He’d brought me to life. Real life. All of the things I’d thought I’d felt for Toby had been adolescent and immature. They were products of living life with the mute button on, in black and white. Jason turned the volume up to eleven. He let the colors in.
Jason squeezed my hand. He leaned close. “So,” he said, “this is what we’ll do. We’ll take the subway, and then we’ll take the ferry over the Hudson into New Jersey. You ever been on a ferry?”
“No,” I said.
“So that will be cool,” he said.
New Jersey? I had a thought suddenly. “You know,” I said, “my Aunt Stephanie lives in New Jersey.”