“I think I’ll always have red hair.”
“I hope so. It’s one of the best things about you.” Luke’s words are garbled and I’m spellbound by the even tone of his voice and the vast blackness of the universe above.
“Thanks.” I speak in a barely audible tone.
Luke’s breath is even now, and mine falls into step with his. I am thankful for this day, this boy beside me, and this blanket keeping us warm.
A distant question forms in the depths of my mind.
What time is it?
The question is fleeting, flitting, pushed aside by a more prevalent and wonderful thought: I think I’m falling in love.
No, I know I am.
I’m falling in love with Luke.
I close my eyes from the sheer mass of it all, just for a moment.
For a few moments.
For a while.
And now, I’m in Ireland.
I’m in the Ireland I’ve seen in movies, at least. Standing in a gargantuan green field with a short stone wall marking perimeters too far off to reach, I know this is our land, Luke’s and mine. The tiny stone cottage behind us with the smoke billowing from the chimney is ours, too. Beside me, Luke wears a thick ivory wool sweater and a plaid scarf, and he smokes a pipe.
Since when does Luke smoke a pipe?
More important, what are we doing in Ireland?
Most important, why is that Tyrannosaurus rex charging toward us, teeth bared and hungry?
Oh no.
Oh NO!
No no no no no!!!!!
This can’t be happening.
Somehow, from deep in my consciousness, I realize that I’m asleep. I know this sweater-wearing, smoking, Irish Luke is not the real Luke, the one that already I can’t remember. The thought of him is barely out of reach, but it’s gone nonetheless. Like something you were going to say but forgot and can’t quite grasp again.
I reach into the pockets of my dream apron and search frantically for the note that I haven’t left myself. It’s not there in my dream; it will not be there when I awaken.
There is no note.
There will be no memory.
Real Luke is gone.
18
“WHERE AM I?” I shout, terrified.
I sit up and pull the blanket to my chest. Whose blanket is this?
I take in my surroundings.
I’m in a van.
I’m in a van with a strange guy.
I strain my neck to peek out the window and realize that I’m in the middle of nowhere. In a van! Rapists drive vans! Wondering if I’ve been violated, I concentrate on my private parts for any indication of wrongdoing. The parts seem to have remained private, but I can’t be sure.
Hysteria creeps through my veins and I scream again, louder this time. “WHERE AM I?”
The stranger startles awake.
“Huh?” he croaks, staring at me like I’m crazy. He blinks his eyes a couple of times, and then shakes his head like he’s waking from a bad dream.
“What is going—” He sits up and looks out the window. “No!” he shouts. “Oh, no! This is baaaaaaaad. It’s light out!”
Obviously, I think but don’t vocalize. I don’t want to poke the bear.
“What time is it?” he asks under his breath. He is furiously trying to untangle himself from his half of the blanket I’m holding, so I let it go. He succeeds, and pushes a button to open the sliding door next to him. He hops out of the van, closes the sliding door, and throws himself into the driver’s seat. In moments, the van roars to life.
“We gotta go,” he says, adjusting the rearview mirror. “Are you riding back there?” he asks.
I consider that it might be easier to jump from the passenger seat if need be, so I move to the front of the van. I keep my hand firmly wrapped around the door handle as mystery boy backs away from a barbed-wire fence and toward a dirt road.
“London, are you okay?” he asks, once we’ve turned onto a paved residential road. At least he knows my name. And he looks to be my age. It’s possible that I managed to willingly get myself into this situation, and then forgot to write a note.
“London?” he asks, looking at me with eyes I didn’t know anyone other than movie stars possessed. His voice sounds almost fearful. This calms me slightly, which is good, because I think I’m approaching a major panic attack.
“I’m fine,” I answer, before looking away from him and out the window.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. When I don’t respond, he adds, “Your mom must be really strict, huh? I hope you aren’t in serious trouble.”
We’re silent as we ride, and then we’re turning off the highway toward my housing development. My shoulders begin to relax with the realization that this stranger is at least driving me home. The terror has subsided. I must know this person; I just need to get home and ask my mom who he is or look in my spiral notebooks to figure it out.
And then, new terror sets in when I consider that sleeping in the middle of nowhere in vans with strange boys isn’t something my mother will condone. Nor is coming home at—what time is it, anyway?—7:14 in the morning. As the boy rounds the street corner to my house, I can almost see it breathing with motherly rage.
We’re barely into the driveway before the front door flings open and my mom is rushing to meet me. The car hasn’t stopped before she begins tugging at the door handle.
“Oh, man,” the boy whispers as he struggles to put the van in park so that the automatic locks will release. “I’m so sorry, London,” he says once again, and I feel bad for him this time.
“Both of you, in the house!” my mom barks at me and the stranger. He tentatively turns off the engine and unbuckles his seat belt. I mimic his movements and follow him and my mom inside. My mom storms through the front entryway to the living room and stops abruptly in the center of the room.
“Sit!” she orders when we hover on the fringe. I take a seat on the far edge of the chocolate leather couch, and the boy sits in the middle. He leaves a decent amount of space between us but doesn’t wimp out by sitting at the opposite end. The guy has guts.
“First of all, let me just state the obvious,” my mom begins, with measured restraint. “You’re both grounded.” I wonder how my mom has the authority to ground Mr. Mystery, but she continues. “I’ve been on the phone all night with your mother and father, Luke.”
Luke? Nice name.
Mom goes on. “It’s unfortunate that I had to meet new members of our community under these circumstances. But I think that you’ll find your father’s current state even more unfortunate. He was out looking for the two of you all night. He is not happy.”
Luke groans next to me and hangs his head.
The berating continues. “I’ll call them on your way home so they know you’re safe. But first, will one of you please tell me where on earth you were this whole night? I tried to call and text a million times.”
I take out my cell and find five texts and eight missed calls. “I turned it off,” I mutter, looking down. As I replace the phone in my pocket, Mom folds her arms across her chest and the room grows silent. I look at Luke. He raises his eyebrows expectantly, as if he thinks I’m going to explain the situation to my mother. As if I can explain the situation to my mother. He has no idea.
I am mute.
“Seriously?” he whispers at me harshly before turning to face my mom.
“We were out past Old Fox Road, just north of town,” he says. “I planned this whole dinner-and-a-movie thing. My minivan has a DVD player and we ate pizza and looked at the stars. It was no big deal… until I guess we fell asleep. I’m really sorry, Mrs. Lane.
“What?” he hisses at me when he glances my way and sees my openmouthed stare.
I can’t believe I missed what might have been my best date ever.
I turn to my mom, mouth still slightly ajar, and the ice melts. I see in her eyes the realization. She understands now that I don’t remember the evening. Keeping up the façade for Luke’s be
nefit, she asks, “Is that true, London?” Her look tells me to agree.
“Yes,” I breathe, finding myself desperate to be alone with Luke and have him retell every minute of the night. Judging by his expression of sour lemons with a dash of confusion, I doubt he’s interested in reliving the fun just yet. I doubt that I told him anything about my faulty wiring. I doubt it, but I can’t be sure.
My mom speaks again. “Okay, then. Because I trust my daughter, and because you seem like you come from a nice family, Luke, I choose to believe that this was an honest mistake, and we’ll leave it at that. I don’t love the fact that the two of you were so far out of town alone, but I can’t say that I didn’t explore the outskirts of the area a time or two myself when I was your age.”
My mom smiles, and Luke’s expression is now confused. He doesn’t understand why this woman has just turned compassionate. She puts on her Tough Mom hat again and adds, in a harsher tone, “But you’re still grounded. Luke, you’d better get home; your parents are worried.”
With that, she leaves the room and heads to the kitchen. I know that this is her way of letting me say good-bye to Luke without her watchful eye on us.
I walk him to the door. Before he leaves, he turns and eyes me skeptically.
“What happened back there?” he asks.
“I’m so sorry,” I begin, because I am. “I just froze. I’ve never done anything like this before.” I say it because I think it’s true.
“And I have? It’s not like I’m some degenerate or something. My parents are going to kill me.”
“I’m really sorry,” I say again, stepping closer to him. He grabs my hand and smiles down at me through his thick eyelashes, and my heart sputters.
“Was it worth it?” he asks seriously.
“Yes,” I say, looking up at him. Standing here, holding the hand of this gorgeous being even for these few moments, is worth every bit of it. “Do you think so?” I ask in return.
“Definitely,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. He bends down and lightly skims my lips with his, then whispers in my ear, “See you soon, prom queen.”
19
It’s 2:39 in the morning.
My heart is racing. I’m sweating and chugging water and feeling helpless.
I turn on the lamp, grab the pen, and, at the end of a very, very long note about boys and darkness and adulterers and liars, I write this simple addendum:
It’s not Dad.
Then somehow, amazingly, I will myself to sleep.
MONDAY
1/30 (Sun.)
Outfit:
—Faded Levi’s
—Red sweatshirt
School:
—Bring book for English
—Review drills for Spanish quiz before school
—Buy SAT prep book
Important stuff:
Jamie. Still not speaking. Try asking her to help with finding Dad (read back and look in the big envelope in the desk). Also, try to think of a plan to help end her tragic relationship.
Mom. See the big envelope mentioned above.
Luke. SUPERHOT BOYFRIEND! He’ll be there before school with coffee and food of some sort; don’t worry about breakfast. Dating almost three and a half months. Supergood kisser. Flip through notes and check out the photos all over the room. See Saturday’s note about a party at his friend Adam’s house. Today, we went to the movie Elephant Bride and it was really stupid but the day was fun anyway. I beat him at a fighting video game before the movie. I was the Red Warrior.
Held hands the whole movie and shared popcorn; he called me a popcorn hog. Went to his house after and he played his guitar for me for a while until Mom called and told me to come home for dinner. We kissed before I got out of the car. Yum. Oh, he drives a minivan— don’t hold it against him.
20
What I’m really thinking right now is “whoa.” What comes out of my mouth, miraculously, is a simple, sultry, “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” he says, backlit and beautiful, standing on my porch with a lidded coffee cup in his hand. I can see his breath in the frigid air as it escapes his mouth.
There is something overwhelming about the moment. His unwavering gaze, effortless smile, and obvious ease, combined with the February sunrise, make me feel like my legs might give out underneath me.
“Ready?” he asks gently.
“Yep,” I say, in a measured tone that I’m surprised I’m capable of using. I follow him from the porch to the minivan idling in the driveway.
I thought I was prepared.
This morning, I read months of notes. I flipped through dozens of photos.
But Luke in real life is something else.
Luke in real life is something no amount of notes could prepare me for. My living, breathing boyfriend is amazing.
Trying to act as if I remember being here before, I slide into the passenger seat and buckle my belt. Once I’m settled, Luke gestures to a coffee waiting for me in the passenger cup holder.
“There are muffins in the console,” he says casually as he backs out of the driveway. I open the compartment between us to find breakfast from what will be my favorite bakery until it goes out of business in a few years.
I know from notes that this has become our ritual: Luke driving me to school each day, often surprising me with morning treats. But thanks to my lack of proper memory, it feels like a first for me today, and I love it.
“Jamie ever call you back yesterday?” Luke asks as he drives. My notes didn’t say I called her, but they would have if she’d called back.
“No,” I say, pretty sure that I’m telling the truth.
“Bummer.”
Too soon, we’re pulling into the student lot. Even though we’re one of the first cars there, Luke turns into a space in the back row.
“Easy escape,” he says when I look at him quizzically. He puts the gearshift in park but leaves the engine running and the heat pumping. I wonder whether Luke always parks in the back and make a mental note to include that tonight so I don’t wonder again.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“No, I’m fine. If anything, I’m hot in this jacket.”
He turns down the blower.
“Your hair looks good like that,” he says, as easily as someone I’ve been dating for a while might. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, and I find myself wishing my own nearly empty cup would magically refill itself.
I grab a smooth strand of hair. I must have flat-ironed it last night; I didn’t wash it this morning.
“Thanks,” I say, gazing into his blue eyes.
“So, what’s new?” he asks.
I have no idea, so I talk about my best friend some more. “I’m worried about Jamie,” I begin cryptically, hoping to draw out information if I’ve already discussed this particular issue with Luke. According to my notes, I haven’t. Then again, notes could be wrong.
“How come?” Luke asks innocently, taking another drink. The parking lot is starting to fill around us, but we are in our own world.
“Can I tell you something in confidence?” I ask.
“Of course. You know you can trust me, London.”
I do know that, I think to myself.
“Okay,” I begin. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Of course,” he says, as if it’s a given.
I sit for a moment, looking into Luke’s expectant eyes, trying to think of a way to buffer what I’m going to say. Instead, I finally just blurt it out. “Jamie is having an affair with a teacher. A married teacher.”
Luke doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw drops slightly, and then he recovers. “Wow,” he says, clearly letting the news settle in his brain.
“I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s too stubborn to listen,” I continue.
“How long has this been going on?” he asks.
“It started around the time we met.”
I think I see a speck of hurt flash across his eyes—maybe because I didn’t tell
him sooner. I’m surprised myself that I haven’t, but it’s not really my secret to tell. And here now, sharing it anyway, I can’t help but feel a bit guilty.
“Which teacher?” Luke asks, and all at once I’m defensive.
“It doesn’t matter,” I snap.
“Whoa, calm down,” he snaps back, making me wonder whether we’re going to have our first fight. “Just asking,” he says, looking toward the line of cars pulling into the lot.
“Sorry, it’s just a sensitive subject. No matter how stupid she is sometimes, Jamie is still my best friend. But I didn’t mean to bite your head off.” Luke looks back into my eyes and smiles. I can see we’re okay, but just to make sure, I add, “It’s Mr. Rice.”
“Driver’s Ed.?” Luke asks. I nod.
“I guess I can see that,” Luke says. “He’s young and all. At least it’s not Mr. Ellis.”
“Ew, gross!” I squeal, and we chuckle a little at something that really isn’t that funny, but it lightens the mood just the same.
A car parks in the space on Luke’s side and two girls get out, looking enviously at him and then scowling at me. As they walk toward the school, I remember that one of them is going to get pregnant at the end of next year. I feel like shouting after her, “Use protection!”
Instead, I keep the conversation going.
“I really don’t know what to do. I want to find a way to end their relationship without having Jamie know it was me.”
“What, you mean like telling on her?”
“In a way, yes,” I say.
“What if she gets in trouble?” he asks softly. Luke drains his coffee cup and I admire his profile.
“I don’t want that. But I want it to stop, and Jamie isn’t willing to listen to me. In fact, she’s not even speaking to me because I told her that I was worried.”
“That’s a tough one,” Luke says sincerely.
“I know. But I’ll figure it out. There’s got to be a way,” I say more to myself than to him.