“This is quite a collection.”
It probably looks like I’ve spent all my bookstore earnings on CDs. “My dad and the owner of the record store across the street are good friends. We swap books for music. It’s pretty much for my benefit.”
He removes a few more cases and pauses, letting his fingertip rest on one of the mixes. “What are these?” He removes one of the twenty or so cases painted in Justin’s trademark watercolor swirls.
“Running mixes. My friend, Justin, makes them for me. His dad owns the record store.”
He nods and turns away again before I can see the look on his face. While he continues examining my music collection, I press play and then shuffle on the stereo, and the lyrics to “Walk on the Ocean” start up immediately.
We spotted the ocean
At the head of the trail
“Hey, I’ve seen these guys,” he says without looking away from the bookshelves. “At a little club in Santa Barbara. They were pretty good.”
“You’ve seen them live?” I heard him the first time, but I have to say something, because my chest feels heavy as I stand here, picturing secluded Ko Tao, and listening to the song tell a story about traveling to a faraway ocean, stepping on stones, and coming home without any pictures to prove it.
“It’s sort of a hobby.”
“Who else have you seen?”
He shrugs and gestures toward the shelves. “Just about everyone here.” As if the exotic world destinations weren’t enough.
“Really?” My eyes wander to the bulletin board above my desk, where my lonely Pearl Jam stub is pinned, and I sigh. Even the things I’d treasured a couple of days ago look pathetic and trivial when I see them through his eyes.
He follows my eyes to the desk, then walks over and examines the stub. “No way.”
“What?”
He shakes his head hard, like he’s trying to dismiss a thought he doesn’t want to have. “Nothing. I’ve got this giant bowl of ticket stubs—” He holds his arms out wide to demonstrate the size of the bowl and confirm my assumption. He probably can’t believe I’ve only been to one concert.
And that’s when he spots the map. Now I really feel insignificant.
He walks over to get a closer look, and stands there, arms crossed, serious, examining it like it’s a piece in an art gallery. I cover my eyes in embarrassment and force myself to go and stand by his side.
“My dad made it for me. It’s supposed to mark all my travels.” I flash back to the night we sat in the coffeehouse when I told him about my plans to see the world someday, and I steal a sideways glance at his face. I wonder what he’s thinking. No, I know what he’s thinking. Like the lone ticket stub, the four little pins on my map must make a pretty sad statement, especially to someone who has never known limits. “As you can see, I’m off to a fine start.”
But he just looks at the map and says, “It’s fantastic.” After a long pause, he steps backward so he can take it all in. “See, now, I’ve never been to any of these places.” I laugh. “I’m serious,” he adds. Right. Like he wasn’t making fun of me.
I hold my palms flat like a balancing scale and lift them up and down like I’m weighing the destinations. “Let’s see. It’s a Tuesday. Should I go canoeing on Boundary Waters or rafting on the Amazon? The Amazon or Boundary Waters?” I stress the last destination like it’s the more interesting and exotic of the two. “It’s okay, Bennett. You don’t have to pretend to think it’s ‘fantastic.’” I look past him instead of into his eyes. “To tell you the truth, the map used to make me a little sad. I guess sometimes it still does.”
He steps in to close the distance that separates us, and I think I stop breathing when I feel the warmth of his skin next to mine. The oversize sweatshirt doesn’t show off his body the way his T-shirt did, but that doesn’t keep me from picturing the strong shoulders underneath, the way his arms cut through the water, and the way he pulled his body out of the surf. “Why does it make you sad?”
As I look at him, my chest is tight with the feeling of holding back what I really want to say. “Four pins,” I finally squeak, as I shoot him a fake smile and try not to look like I care quite so much. We stare at each other but say nothing.
Then Bennett reaches past me into the clear plastic container of pins and takes one by the sharp silver point. He holds it up. The tiny round red tip looks enormous in the small space between us.
“Five,” he says, extending his hand.
I reach out to take the pin from his fingers and stare at it, pressing my lips together so I won’t cry. “I don’t even know where it is,” I finally say with an embarrassed laugh.
“Right there.” His voice is kind, not at all condescending, as he points to an unmarked speck in the Gulf of Thailand.
I consider the dot on the map, not much larger than the tip of the pin itself, and wonder how something so tiny could mark the most extraordinary four hours of my life. Then I look at Bennett, dressed in my dad’s sweats, his shaggy hair still peppered with sand. His expression is sweet and soft and, if it’s possible, even more grateful than mine. He gave me this gift today, but I can’t help feeling like I gave him one too.
I consider the pin once again and step forward to meet the map. I’m still fighting back happy, overwhelmed tears as I reach out, hands shaking, and press it firmly into the tiny island of Ko Tao.
I make grilled-cheese sandwiches and we sit on the couch, eating and trying to think of something to say. He’s not starting in on the rest of his secrets, and we’re way beyond small talk, so I turn on the TV and flip channels just for something to do, but there isn’t much to watch at two thirty on a weekday. Not that Bennett seems to care; he finds the commercials far more amusing than the actual shows, but refuses to tell me why. More important, he doesn’t seem at all concerned that our day’s running out, and he still hasn’t told me everything. I still don’t even know the rest of the second thing.
I lift the remote with a dramatic gesture, stare at him, and click the power off. The room goes silent, and he turns to me. “I’m ready for the rest of the second thing.”
“Haven’t you had enough for one day?”
I shake my head.
“Okay.” He sits back against the cushions again and twists to face me. He props his arm up on the back of the couch, and for a moment, it’s as if we’re back in the coffeehouse, telling each other our secrets. He gives me a little grin, and the small, insignificant gesture makes me want to lean over and kiss him to get it over with. But I’m afraid if I do, I’ll never hear the rest.
He takes a deep breath. “I can go anywhere in the world, but when I travel is…restricted. I can go into other times, but only within certain dates.” He stares at me like he’s waiting for me to react, and when I don’t, he opens his mouth to continue.
“Wait.” I hold my finger up in front of me and listen.
“What?” he asks.
I hear a car door slam. Mom or Dad would have come in through the garage, so it can only be one person. “Emma,” I say in a panic. I’m not ready for Bennett to leave, but I’m also not prepared to explain why he is sitting in my living room.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go.” He grabs my hand and gives it a little shake. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. I watch as his hand, still holding mine, becomes transparent. Then it’s gone with the rest of him. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this.
She knocks hard on the front door and then rings the doorbell for good measure.
“Coming!” I yell as I slide the two plates and their leftover grilled-cheese passengers under the couch and inspect the room for other signs that I haven’t spent the day alone. When I open the door, Emma practically falls through it. “Oh, my God!” she yells as she drops her backpack on the floor and wraps her arms around me. “I heard what happened last night! Are you okay?”
Last night? The robbery? Was that last night?
“I’m fine,” I hear myself say over the deafening thump of my o
wn heartbeat.
“I’ve been trying to get here since I heard, but Dawson caught me trying to leave campus, and I couldn’t escape after that!” Her voice is high-pitched and dramatic. “I’ve been so worried. Are you seriously okay? Do you want to talk about it?” She plops down in the exact spot Bennett was just sitting in.
“Not really,” I huff. But I can tell from Emma’s eager eyes that the protective side of her needs to know I’m okay and the gossipy side can’t help wanting to hear every detail. Since I can’t tell her that I spent the day on a Thai beach and I’m not sure I’m ready to tell her about Bennett, I figure I might as well give her what she wants. “It all happened so fast.”
“No.” I use the firmest voice I can muster this early in the morning. “You’re not serious?”
“Afraid I can’t keep up?” Dad’s dressed in his winter gear, stretching into an almost comical runner’s lunge against the refrigerator, like I imagine he did in the olden days.
“No.” I cover my eyes. “Listen, I’ll stick to the streets. I’ll stay off campus. Seriously,” I beg, pointing toward the kitchen window, “I don’t need a babysitter. The sun will be up in a few minutes. I’ll be fine.” The last word comes out in a whine, and I feel like the ten-year-old he seems to think I’ve reverted into. This overprotective parent thing had better pass quickly.
“Ignore me.” He takes a long drink of water from his sport bottle and lunges to the side. “You don’t have to talk to me or even look at me, but I’ll be right behind you, kiddo.” Evidently there’s no convincing a father of his daughter’s safety when she’s just been robbed at knifepoint.
“No, it’s okay. We’ll run together.” I set my Discman on the hallway table, already mourning its absence. I need my music to help get my head straight before I see Bennett at school.
Dad follows me out the door and we run side by side toward the lake. In unison, we wave to the man in the green vest with the gray ponytail. We run around the track four times, through campus and past the clock tower as it chimes seven. I race him the last half mile to our lawn, which turns out to be a mistake, because now he can’t catch his breath.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I keep asking.
He’s red and blotchy, but he nods and forces a smile anyway. “Just. Fine,” he pants. “Why. Do you. Ask?”
“You overdid it.” I scold him—just like I know Mom will when he can’t move tomorrow. I stretch into a lunge next to him. “What, are you going to drive me to school now, too?”
“Nope. I trust Emma with that duty.”
“Clearly you’ve never seen her drive.” I finish my stretch, shake out my legs, and run toward the steps.
“Hey, Annie,” Dad calls, and I stop and turn around. I rest my hands on my hips while he tries to keep from having a heart attack.
“Invite Bennett over to dinner. Your mother and I want to meet him. Properly.”
I glare down at him from the porch. “Dad. We’re not even close to that.” The mere fact that he’d ask is mortifying.
He gives me his best stern-parent voice. “Okay, but if this is serious, we want to meet him.”
“’Morning, love.” Emma chirps out her usual greeting and pinches my cheek. “My brave little friend.” I don’t feel brave. I feel nervous about seeing Bennett. I feel guilty about not telling Emma about him yesterday. I feel tired, because I have barely slept.
She slams the gearshift into reverse and backs out of the driveway. Dad’s standing at the kitchen window, staring out at us with a look of mild panic on his face, and I give him a little shrug as we tear away from the house.
“Em,” I begin, “If I tell you something, do you promise not to get mad?”
She shoots me an irritated look. “Now, see—I don’t understand why people ask that question. How can I promise I won’t get mad if I don’t know what you’re going to tell me?” The look on her face makes me think this might fall into her Stupid Americans category. “Just spill it.”
I spit the words out quickly, before I can change my mind. “I didn’t tell you the whole story yesterday, about the robbery.” I take her back through the high points, but I don’t tell her the whole truth. How can I? Even if I hadn’t promised Bennett I’d keep his secret, she’d never believe me. Instead, I include the story Bennett crafted for me, including the part where I take off out the back door and run into him. Then I tell her he skipped school yesterday to spend it with me.
“What?!” She swerves dramatically, nearly hitting a parked car. “Crap! Okay, I’m good. I’m good.” She looks at me again. “You spent the day together.”
I smile, picturing the look on Bennett’s face when he drew the line in the sand with his toe and challenged me to race him into the ocean. In my head, I watch the slow-motion video of his body floating on the turquoise water and his arms cutting through white-tipped waves.
Yes, we spent the day together.
And I can’t tell my best friend about the best parts.
“He was worried about me.” The words come out as squeaks, but Emma doesn’t seem to notice.
“Now that I think about it, I didn’t see him in English Lit—”
The little movie in my head comes to a halt.
“Great. I didn’t think about that. Everyone in Spanish knows we were both absent yesterday.” I wonder if Courtney has already started speculating aloud.
“Oh, don’t you go trying to change the subject. Go back to telling me all about how you two made out in your empty house all day.” She raises an eyebrow and turns her attention back to the road, waiting me out as only Emma can.
“Hardly. He didn’t even kiss me.” I can hear the disappointment in my own voice. “We talked. We listened to CDs. We ate lunch. He—” I almost say the word disappeared, but I catch myself. “He took off just before you got there.”
“And why didn’t you tell me any of this yesterday?”
“My dad came home.”
She grimaces and rolls her eyes. Here it comes. “Oh, of course. Say, do you have a phone? I do. I have a phone. It’s great for telling your best friend the biggest news of your life when you can’t do it in person.” I don’t even have time to squeeze out an apology.
We pull up to a red light and she turns to face me. “What are you doing, Anna?” She sounds like my mom when I’m not washing the dishes the right way, or stuffing way too many clothes in the dryer. “Didn’t he tell you that he’s, you know, leaving?” She stresses the last word like it alone is enough to make me know better.
“Yeah.” I can’t say anything else. I don’t need her to tell me that I’m crazy for walking into this thing with Bennett, whatever it is.
“And it’s worth the inevitable heartbreak?” she asks. “For a brief fling you know is going to end?”
Not a brief fling. A daring adventure.
“Yeah, Em. To me it is.”
She bites her lower lip hard. “This isn’t going to end well.”
I study the all-weather floor mats. She’s right, and I know it. But the truth is, I couldn’t stop now, even if I wanted to. I’ve spent the whole night thinking about how it will end, but right now, there’s only one thing I want to think about: there will be a middle.
“I like him, okay? There. I said it. I really like him.” I look right into her eyes. “I know it’s probably a mistake, but please, just…let me enjoy this?”
We stare at each other.
“Green light.” I gesture with my thumb toward the windshield.
She keeps staring at me. She doesn’t press on the accelerator, but she nods, and I know that means she’ll be on her best behavior. At least for today. When the driver behind us lays on the horn, Emma finally pulls into the intersection. We’re silent for the next two blocks, but I know what she’s thinking.
“So, while we’re coming clean and all, there’s something I wanted to tell you yesterday, too.” Okay, maybe I don’t know what she was thinking. I stare at her and wait for her to continue. “Your friend fr
om the record store, Justin, sort of asked me out.”
“Justin? My Justin?” As soon as the possessive leaves my mouth, I wish I could pull it back in. Bennett’s little do-over trick would come in handy in moments like these, when my foot is stuck firmly in my mouth and all I want to do is go back in time for one minute so I can say the right thing instead. “I’m sorry, I just meant—” I don’t even know what I meant. “It’s just…I’m usually with you when he’s around, and I’ve never picked up on…” I really should just shut up now, before I say what I’m thinking: But I always thought he liked me?
“Well, not always. You know, I stop in the record store sometimes after I drop you off at work.” No. I didn’t know that. “A few weeks ago, we started talking about music. He knows a lot about music.” Yes. This I do know. I’ve known Justin since I was five. “And then he asked me out for coffee, and we went out to dinner the night before last.”
“You went out to dinner?” I ask. “You and Justin had coffee and then went out to dinner? Why didn’t you tell me any of this, like—I don’t know—last week? Yesterday?” But I feel a little guilty when I remember that I never told her about the night I hung out in the coffeehouse with Bennett. It was just too weird, especially when nothing ever came of it.
She gives me an apologetic look and a guilty shrug. “He said he tried to talk to you about me once, when he was first thinking about asking me out, but…” Emma trails off, and I flash back to that day in the record store last month. He’d wanted to ask me about something, and I’d avoided him because I’d thought he was trying to ask me out. Now I feel like an idiot on two fronts: first, because I read him wrong, and second, because he and my best friend have been talking about me, bonding over my lameness. “I know he’s your friend,” Emma continues. “And you know, I always thought he liked you, but—” She likes Justin? Emma and Justin? It doesn’t even sound right. “Anyway. I really didn’t think anything would ever come of it. I mean, I thought he was nice, but I didn’t think we’d hit it off or anything.”