“This is mine,” I say when we arrive at my house. I watch as Bennett looks up at our nineteenth-century Craftsman, with its flaking yellow paint and wraparound porch that serves as its only exterior asset. The kitchen light is on, but there’s no activity inside, and my parents won’t be home for hours. “Do you want to—”
“No.” He cuts me off, his voice sharp. He sets my backpack on the ground by my feet. “Look, you were right…about what you said back there.” His voice is softer now, but it’s almost like he’s forcing it to sound that way.
“Oh, come on. I was kidding.” I try to get him to lighten up, but he stuffs his hands into his pockets and refuses to look at me. I didn’t think my comment was that insulting, but it was enough to send him into the bathroom as one person and emerge as a completely different one. The first one was just about to kiss me. This one can’t wait to get away.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
I step closer and give him a flirty smile, hoping I can bring back the Bennett from the coffeehouse. “I know two of your secrets.” Something about that near-kiss in the coffeehouse makes me feel brave enough to reach forward and grab on to the lapels of his wool coat. “That’s got to be good for something. Isn’t it?”
He moves in close to me, just like he did on the couch, but this time his face is tight and he stops far short of my lips. He reaches up and grabs hold of my wrists to remove them from his lapels, and I reflexively loosen my grip. His expression turns even colder.
I can’t believe my comment has offended him so much. “What’s wrong with you?”
He takes a big step backward. “Listen. This is not going to happen again. Do you understand, Anna? This,” he says, motioning back and forth between us, “is not going to happen this time.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about! What do you mean ‘this time’?”
“Nothing.” He crosses his arms tight across his body and stares right into my eyes. “Look. I’ll be here for another two weeks, and only because I don’t have a choice. Then I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again. So please, go back to your life.” He turns on his heel and I watch him march off through the snow.
Thirty-five days. Bennett’s been in town for thirty-five days, which, by my definition of a calendar month, means he should have left town four or five days ago. Yet when I walk into Spanish each day, he’s still here. We’ve barely spoken since the night in the coffeehouse three weeks ago, and he never looks at me; if our eyes do accidentally connect, he gives me a perfunctory smile, and I avert my gaze. But everything about that night still haunts me, and I can’t quite figure out how he’s still managing to turn my world upside down while simultaneously allowing it to stay exactly the same.
“I have news!” Argotta sings, beaming and spreading his arms wide. He glances around the room, holding all of us hostage with his words, and we stare at him as he walks back to his desk and sits on the edge of it. “How many of you have heard about my Annual Travel Challenge?”
A few of us raise our hands. “Good,” he says. “Well, this year, even you will be surprised. Because this year, I have a really big, very exciting reward.”
He hops down off the desk and pulls on a long tab marked MEXICO. The giant, color-coded map of the country unrolls from its home in the ceiling. “But first, let me tell you about the assignment. Each of you will be planning a fabulous two-week vacation in Mexico. You must depart from our lovely O’Hare International Airport, but you can land anywhere you like. From there, you must create an itinerary that will allow you to see as many Mexican destinations as you can in fourteen days. The person who creates the most logical, interesting, and cost-effective travel plan will win the challenge.”
He walks forward to the front of the room and stops. “Sound good?” Twenty heads nod in unison. “Great. Travel plans are due next Monday—a week from today.” He turns his back to the class and erases the whiteboard.
The room is silent. We look around at one another. Finally, Alex clears his throat and raises his hand.
Argotta spins around and throws his arms up in the air. “Oh, wait a minute!” He walks back and forth in front of the class, grinning. “I bet,” he says slowly, drawing out each word, “you want to know what you get if you win, right?” He stands there at the front of the room nodding and smiling while we nod back at him. Alex lowers his arm.
“Of course, of course.” He paces his words to build tension in the room. “I have this friend, you see, who works for one of the major airlines.” I bet he’s practiced this all morning in front of the bathroom mirror. “I told this very good friend about my Annual Travel Challenge, and he thought it was such a great idea he arranged for his company to donate a five-hundred-dollar travel voucher to the winner.”
We all look around the room at one another. I can’t help looking at Bennett and when I do, he gives me an obligatory grin and shifts his gaze to the window.
“So, what do you think?” Argotta searches the room. “Could anyone here put a five-hundred-dollar voucher to good use?”
Sure, everyone here could use it. But I’m the only one who thinks it can change my life.
I sit cross-legged on the carpet in front of the shelf marked with the word Mexico and scan the book spines. The store is empty and, given the storm that’s been raging outside all afternoon, likely to stay that way. Which is perfect, since I have a vacation to plan.
I pull Let’s Go Mexico from its home on the shelf, and place three more thick books on top of it.
I thumb through the pocket-size Michelin Green Guide and remove a slim book that opens into a giant road map. Pretty soon, I have a stack of guides, each valuable to the planning effort in at least one way. I pull out my spiral notebook and stare at the stack. And decide I need a latte.
I pull on my coat, hang the BACK IN TEN MINUTES sign on the door, and lock the dead bolt behind me. It’s only six, but it’s pitch-black outside, and if it weren’t for the calendar, no one would know that there should be grass on the ground and leaves on all of these bare wooden sticks. We’re two months away from summer vacation, but it’s snowing hard. Again.
I buy my latte, take it back to the store, return to my spot in the travel section, and start dividing the books on the carpet into smaller stacks. I know what I want: A balanced combination of archaeological sites and beaches, where I can run on sand and swim in a real ocean. I draw a line down the center of the paper and begin my list.
The left column quickly fills with archeological sites: the Mayan ruins in Tulum, Chichén Itzá, and Uxmal. The right column, as it turns out, is more challenging. Cancún has the Great Mayan Reef, so that has to be on the list, but I’m not sure if I want to include better-known destinations like Los Cabos, Acapulco, Cozumel. They all look pretty, so I add them, along with small question marks in the margin.
The hail is pounding against the window, and one of the branches of the giant oak outside keeps scraping against the pane. I’ve stopped jumping every time it happens, but it’s still unnerving. I try to ignore it and let Mazatlán’s quaint village squares and the open-air pottery and ceramics markets of Guadalajara take me away from the snow and wind.
But when I hear the noise again, I stand up, peer around the bookcase, and creep toward the window. The storm is still whipping the tree around, but the branch that was screeching against the glass is now limp and broken, dangling silently over the sidewalk below. Then I hear a sound behind me, and I spin in place. This time it’s not coming from the street at all—it’s coming from the back room, and it’s not the sound of the storm—it’s a voice. I hold my breath and listen.
My heart’s racing as I move to the phone at the counter. “Who’s there?” I yell toward the back room while I pick up the receiver and dial 911 with trembling hands. I stand completely still and listen, watching the back door as I wait for someone to pick up. “Answer!” I whisper into the receiver.
Suddenly, the front door bursts open, and I whip my head around
in the opposite direction as the bells jingle without their usual pleasant ring. I put the phone back on the cradle and rush toward the door. “Hi!” My voice is shaking. I rest my palm on my chest, like that will help steady the pounding, and try to act as if everything were normal. “Can I help you?”
He looks past me, searching the store, and then over his shoulder at the street. Just as I’m about to ask him if he’ll help me check out the noise I heard in the back room, he pulls the door closed so hard the bells slam against the glass and rolls his hat down to cover his face. Then he locks the dead bolt.
“Cash.” His voice is deep through the wool, but my attention is on the shiny metal knife he pulls from his baggy jeans. He points it straight at me. “Now.”
It’s hard to gesture toward the front desk when my limbs are shaking so badly. “Over there. It’s not locked. Take it all.” It’s hard to speak, too.
Before I can move farther away, he pulls me toward him, presses the knife to my throat, and pushes me past the register. “The safe!” he yells into my ear as he tightens his grip.
“In the back—” The words come out wobbly, but I stick to the plan Dad laid out when I first started working here. “The combination is nine–fifteen–thirty-three. We don’t have an alarm. I won’t call the police. Just take the cash and leave.”
I calculate in my head. The register might have fifty dollars in it, if even that. The safe would have closer to a thousand.
He pulls me around to the register, opens the drawer, and releases his grip on me for just a moment while he dumps the cash into his bag. He grabs me again and pushes me to the back room, while I keep my gaze on the floor and try not to think about the cold steel of the blade on my neck or his heavy breath in my ear. “Move!”
I feel a wave of nausea pass through me.
I figure that’s why I’m seeing things.
I narrow my eyes so I can focus on the movement near the bookshelves. I’m somehow certain I saw it, even though I know it’s impossible. The store was empty, the door locked.
I squint over the tops of the bookshelves and see a dark patch of hair moving toward the aisle. I jerk my head up to get a better view, but stop when I feel the cold blade tight against my throat. When we reach the back room, the man removes the knife from my neck and shoves me inside, and I land hard on the floor in front of the safe.
“Open it,” he orders. I spin the dial—right, left, right—and pull down on the heavy handle. The door opens wide, and he pushes me away.
That’s when I see the movement again, slowly emerging from the shadows at an angle where only I can see him, and I watch, stunned, as Bennett puts his finger to his lips. There’s no way the two of us could ever overpower a man with a blade and a fierce sense of desperation, but my first feeling even so is one of relief.
He moves out of my direct line of vision but I can see him from the corner of my eye, creeping with careful steps toward me. I stay silent and still.
And while the thief is distracted by the contents of the safe, three things happen, so fast and overlapping that they seem to take place simultaneously. Bennett disappears completely, and suddenly he’s kneeling next to me on the floor. He grabs my hands and closes his eyes, and I must follow suit, because when I open them, the store is gone. The robber and his knife are gone. And Bennett and I are in the exact same positions—him kneeling, me sitting, still holding each other’s hands—only now we’re next to a tree in the park around the corner, the wind throwing snow violently around us.
Bennett releases my hands and holds my face instead, and I hear him say the words, but it’s like he’s far away, muffled. “You’re okay, Anna. Breathe and don’t talk. Just listen carefully and do what I say. I’ll explain everything, but right now I need you to listen to me.”
I nod, wide-eyed and blank.
“First, I need you to run to the coffeehouse. Order me an espresso and two big glasses of tap water without ice, and sit down and wait for me.” He looks into my eyes. “You can do this, Anna. I need you. Can you trust me?”
I nod again.
“Okay, run. Don’t talk to anyone, just order the coffee and water and sit down.”
I turn and run to the coffeehouse.
I’m trembling so hard I can barely get the words out, but the barista is kind and offers to carry my drinks to a table for me. I lead him to the couch by the window and collapse.
The sirens grow louder and louder until two police cars skid to a stop in front of the bookstore. I can’t make out much from this angle, but I see their headlights shining on the building, and I watch the cops draw their guns and creep toward the entrance. They quickly disappear from view, and I press my forehead to the glass to try to see what’s going on. I’m waiting for them to reappear when I feel a weight next to me.
Bennett falls forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingertips gripping each side of his head. He lets out a small groan between heavy, labored breaths, just like the night in the park.
Without even letting myself question it this time, I begin rubbing his back. “What can I do?”
“Water…”
I leave one hand on his back and give him the water glass with the other. He lifts his head and empties it in three giant gulps. “More…”
After the second glass, his breathing becomes more regular.
He looks up at me and smiles. “Hey, you’re still here.” He reaches for the shot of espresso and throws the hot liquid down his throat. I stare at him. I want to say something, but I can’t, because every time I take a small breath, my own body seems to shoot it right back out. I try a deep inhalation, the kind I know will slow my heartbeat and get my limbs to stop shaking, but my lungs won’t cooperate. What the hell just happened?
I don’t realize that I’m staring at him until he wiggles his fingers in front of my face and says, “You’re in shock.” He holds up one of the empty glasses, waves toward the barista, and gestures toward me.
“Drink this,” he says. I take the glass with both hands, since I can’t trust my shaking limbs to pull off a task as complicated as lifting a cup to my lips. Bennett speaks in measured breaths. “I need you to listen to me, Anna. We have to go talk to the police in a couple of minutes—they’ve probably called your parents, and I’m sure they’ll be looking for you.” He grabs my shoulders and pivots me around to face him. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything that just happened, but for now I need you to stick to a story. Can you do that?”
I finish my water and nod.
“Good. Keep the first part true: The man stormed into the store and he forced you to open the safe. But then say this: when he wasn’t looking, you saw a break and you ran out the back door into the alley. I saw you there and stopped to help. We waited down the street and returned once we saw the police had arrived.” He lifts my chin. “Can you do this?”
I nod again, eyes wide.
“Don’t worry. I’ll do the talking. Just stick to the story.” I can’t seem to do anything but nod.
We head toward the window to look out at the last two remaining police cars parked outside, their lights swirling. I stand in the store, mute, while Bennett explains what happened. The officer captures every detail of the break-in and my escape through the back door in his black leather–bound notebook. I listen, still nodding, but I know that Bennett’s lying, because I’m well aware of what happened. I did not run into him in the alley. How did he get into the store? How did we get out?
The officer reviews his notes. “Stay here,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
I’m surprised to hear my own voice say, “Officer?” He stops and turns to face me. “Did you catch him?”
“Yeah. We caught him when he had some trouble with the lock on the back door. This long winter seems to be making some people pretty desperate. But don’t worry, he won’t be going anywhere for a while.” He turns again to walk away.
“Officer?” I repeat and he turns back to me. “How did you get here in time?” Bennett puts
his arm around my shoulders and gives me a light squeeze as the cop flips through some of the pages in his notebook.
“Looks like it was an anonymous tip. Someone called and reported a robbery in progress.” He looks up at me with a sympathetic smile. “One of your neighbors must have seen him break in. You have a guardian angel, young lady.”
Dad bursts through the door with Mom on his heels. Bennett must have stepped back from my side, because suddenly there’s room for both of them to surround me, enveloping my body in two familiar sets of arms. “Anna…” Mom says, hysterical, stroking my hair and stopping every so often to kiss my forehead. “I’m so sorry,” Dad whispers repeatedly while he rubs our backs.
We all hear the officer clear his throat, and we look up. “Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need you and your daughter to come down to the station to press charges.” The police station is the last place I want to be. What I want is a hot cup of coffee and an hour alone with Bennett.
I look at my dad and ask, “Can we have a minute first?” I point to Bennett. It’s the first time my parents notice him standing there, but now he has their full attention.
“Hi, Mr. Greene, Mrs. Greene.” He offers his hand to Dad first, then reaches toward Mom. “I’m Bennett Cooper.”
“Bennett is a…friend. From school. He’s been helping me since—” My voice trails off when I see Mom’s face become contorted. But it relaxes and she smiles after I lie to her about the details, just as Bennett told me to.
“Well, thank you, Bennett.” She shakes his hand and keeps her other arm around me as her eyes dart between us. “I’m not sure what you were doing walking around in a snowstorm, but I guess it was a lucky coincidence.” She looks at me sideways and raises her eyebrows. I just shrug.