Our Song (26 page)

“Maybe I’ll start a new trend.” I was getting better at detecting his sarcasm, even with his accent. “I’m sure it will spread like wildfire in Vista Valley.”

“Hey, you never know. Then again, you’d look good in anything.”

A flurry of goose bumps broke out across my skin. I hugged my knees into my chest.

“Still cold? Here, let me start a fire.” He was already pulling logs out of a secret compartment in the wall.

“You don’t have to do that. It’s like a million degrees out.”

“Who cares if it’s two million degrees, not that you’re prone to exaggeration,” he said, strategically stacking the wood in the fireplace in a crisscross pattern. “You’re covered in gooseflesh.”

“Goose
flesh
?” I said, giggling. “Is that what you just said?” Once I started laughing I couldn’t stop. I had to put my cup down so it wouldn’t spill.

“All right, missy, what do you call all those bumps on your arms?”

“Exactly, that’s what they are,
bumps
! Goose
BUMPS
!”

He laughed. “See, that’s the problem growing up in two countries. I can never remember which term to use where.”

“Okay, let’s find another one.” I was still giggling. “Oh I know, what do you call the bathroom again in England?”

“The loo.” He was crouching down, lighting some crumpled newspaper.

“The looooooo?” I said, doing my best attempt at an English accent.

“It sounds a hell of a lot more dignified than
toilet
, don’t you think?” He got the fire going and sat back down on the carpet next to me. “I guess I’ll just have to accept my fate as a perpetual outsider.” He was joking, but something snagged in his voice.

“Why did you go to school in England when your family lives here? It seems so far away.”

“It is. But when every male predecessor in the Wilkins clan has gone to Eton before you, you aren’t given much choice in the matter.” The first log caught fire, sending a crackling flame up the chimney chute. “History decided for me.”

One question only opened the door for the next. There were so many more things I wanted to ask him. “Does your aunt live here?”

“No.” Nick took a sip of his drink and stared into the fire. “She’s just visiting.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Back in England.”

I sensed him opening up so I decided to go further. “For how long?”

He shrugged. “They don’t like spending much time here.”

Maybe that explained why the place was in such disarray. “Do you?”

He looked up at me, like he was startled by the question. Had I gone too far? He put his mug down and leaned back into the pillow. “I don’t have a choice.”

It’s not what I expected him to say. Of all the people I’d ever met, Nick was the only one who truly seemed to control his destiny. It’s one of the things I liked most about him. But if he didn’t have a choice, maybe none of us did. Maybe we were all trapped. Just like my dad was all those years ago. Like he still seemed to be.

The fire was really going now. We sat, silently staring at the rising flames when the same buzzing sound from the maze returned.

“Is that another cicada?” I asked.

Nick stretched his neck out as if he were opening up his ears. “It is.”

I gazed toward the nearest window as we listened to the pleasant noise. It oscillated between a hum and a full-on melody. I spotted the moon glowing brighter now against the dark sky. “It sounds like it’s coming from inside.”

“They throw off sound so it’s impossible to pin them down. They’re deceptive that way.”

He got up to fan the flames with a leather pump that looked like a bagpipe. The gentle breeze caused my dress and jean jacket to sway on the iron grate in front of the fireplace where I’d hung them to dry.

I hoped they never would.

“They also cast off their skin, you know.” He was back on the pillows next to me. “It’s called molting. Sometimes you can spot the skins lying around. They look like dead bugs, but if you look closer you can see they’re just empty shells. Kind of like external skeletons.”

“Did you major in birds and insects or something at boarding school?”

“Hardly,” Nick laughed. “I’m just a master of useless knowledge. Didn’t make me too popular growing up.” He touched his nose. “I have this lovely bump to prove it.”

“It’s not useless knowledge,” I protested, “I like it.” The last log caught fire. I could feel the heat rolling toward us. “Maybe we’re like the cicadas.”

Nick jerked his head up. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” I said, uncertain where my thought was leading me. “Like when we die, we shed our skin too and, I don’t know, move on to become something else.” I paused, nervous that I was losing him, that I was beginning to sound like the crazy people in the meetings.

“Go on.” His voice was soft and expectant, as if I had the answer.

“It’s just that, do you ever wonder what if things happened differently? Like, what if we actually died and there was nothing near about it? What if we weren’t supposed to come back?”

I’d avoided thinking of my accident and the events leading up to it for so long that I’d barely thought about what would have happened if it had all really ended that night.

He was quiet for a second. “All the time.”

“Then sometimes I think we must have survived for a reason. But what are we supposed to do with that?”

“Nothing.” He was so matter-of-fact, so certain.

“Don’t you ever think we were given a second chance?”

“No.” He said it with such finality, with no room for error or discussion.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve one.”

Memories from that night pressed up against the melody swimming around my head. Running out Derek’s front door. Into his car. Driving off into the rain. The rest was still a blur. But no matter how many wrong turns I may have taken, they led me here. To Nick. That had to mean something.

“I think you’re wrong.” I watched the flames dance up the chimney, blackening the red brick chute. “I think we all do.”

I reached into my bag for my music. I selected the first title on what was now a lengthy playlist. I put one bud in Nick’s ear, the other in mine, then lay back down and pressed play.

• • •

The room was completely dark when I opened my eyes. It took a second to get my bearings—and to notice Nick’s arm draped over my shoulder. It felt so natural, like he was an extension of me. We were still leaning against the couch, my legs still crossed in the same position, the earbud cord still suspended between us like a shared artery, even though the music had stopped. The fire had long burned down and the logs were now reduced to a pile of glowing embers. How long had we been asleep like this?

When I wake I see your face

Even through the fog that leaves no trace

I will hear you long after you’re gone

Mingled with the earth your heart beats on

Another rash of goose bumps erupted across my whole body as the new lyrics spun around my head. The words accompanied a new playful twist in the melody, like they were dancing around each other in a flirtatious game. It made me think of running after Nick in the woods, how it was his face I saw when I heard the song, his heartbeat that I carried inside my own.

The voice was so loud it almost felt like it would wake Nick, but when I glanced over, he was still asleep, his chest heaving gently up and down with each breath. He looked so peaceful, his face so relaxed, like a sleeping baby. Even though we both had all our clothes on, it felt like a lot more had happened than just falling asleep. It was as if a tight-knit cocoon had been woven around us. But the cocoon didn’t just insulate us from the rest of the world; it also formed a new one, a world that belonged only to me and him.

Just then, Nick’s eyes sprung open and locked on mine. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised by my presence, and I didn’t feel a rush of embarrassment or the urge to look away, like I used to with Derek. We just stared at each other and it felt like my heart might explode. I never dreamt it was even possible to feel this connected to another person.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice just above a whisper. “Are you still cold?”

He rubbed his hand up and down my arm, which only
made my skin erupt more, but this time it wasn’t because of the temperature.

“No,” I said, my voice cracking after having been silent for so long.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his face inching closer.

My heart started to pound wildly in my chest. With the moonlight pouring in through the windows, the shadows from the swaying trees dancing across the rug, it almost felt like we were waking into the same dream. Because how could happiness like this possibly be real?

I heard a gentle tap. Was that the sound of his heart? But then I heard it again, followed by Aunt Bea’s distinctive, high-pitched voice. “Nick?”

She slowly opened the door and turned on the lights. Nick and I both squinted, our eyes unaccustomed to the brightness.

“Sorry to bother you, dear,” she said gently, standing by the door, like she genuinely didn’t want to disturb us. “But Sam’s here.” Nick instantly pulled his arm back so that we were no longer touching. Was it the Sam from the letters on the stairs? “She’s downstairs and would like to see you.”

My heart sank. Sam was a
she
. Without a word or even a look in my direction, Nick got up and followed Aunt Bea out the door. Just like that, he was gone. The dream was over. My goose bumps disappeared, but still I felt cold all over.

I waited until I could no longer hear footsteps then ran to the door, where I spotted the tops of their heads disappearing down the stairs. Confident that my bare feet wouldn’t make any noise, I tiptoed halfway down the hall and stopped at the head
of the staircase. I still couldn’t see anything so I crept down further until I reached the landing. I crouched and peered through the banister slats, affording me a mostly unobstructed view of the foyer below where Nick and Aunt Bea were just arriving.

And then, out from behind a column that had hidden her from sight, came Samantha. She was tall, with locks of thick, luscious red hair that cascaded down the back of her form-fitting green wrap dress. She carried herself like she was older, definitely not a teen, her body curved in a shape similar to her long, wavy hair. It was as if she had materialized out of thin air. I was too far away to make out what they were saying, but when she leaned in to hug Nick, there was no translation necessary.

My eyes burned from the ocean of tears threatening to pour out, but I bit down on the inside of my cheek to try to stop them. The signs had been there all along, the clues that Nick’s heart really belonged to someone else, that he also had a Derek. The only difference now was that I knew her name. And that she was beautiful.

When I got up to leave, my knee knocked into the banister. Samantha glanced up and I quickly retreated back into a shadow just as Nick was turning around. Had they seen me? I darted up the stairs and back to the library before I could find out. I went over to the grate to check my dress. It was still slightly damp, but I put it on anyway. After what I’d just witnessed, I suddenly felt all wrong wearing Nick’s clothes.

I began pacing the room as I felt panic rising. I tried to breathe, to count to ten, but that only made it worse, because it made me think about Nick. I had to get out of here. I thought
about calling Annie, but I didn’t know what I would tell her. I didn’t even know the address. I had no choice but to wait for Nick to return.

I only had to wait a few moments longer.

“It’s late,” Nick said, appearing by the door, his shoulders slumped, a dark expression across his face. “I should take you home now.”

There was no sign of Samantha on our way out. I took some comfort knowing that her visit had been brief. Not much could have happened beyond that hug. But my relief was short-lived when I noticed a car in the driveway, a pearl-white BMW convertible with a studded pink border around its license plate. It wasn’t there when we arrived and it definitely wasn’t the kind of car a distinguished woman like Aunt Bea would drive. My stomach sank as my mind scrambled to find a way around the fact that the car belonged to Samantha. Which only meant one thing: that she was still there.

WHEN I GOT
to the darkroom, I locked the door behind me. Nobody used it aside from Annie. Even the janitor didn’t have a key. But still, it felt safer in here with the door sealed, like I was shielded from the rest of the world. It was the last period of the day and I had independent study. I should have been free to go except for the fact that I had detention after school.

My mom had been waiting up for me when I got back from Nick’s a few nights before. I saw her peering out from behind the curtains when he dropped me off. She was all in a tizzy over the call from Principal Kingston about playing hooky, never mind the fact that I had been unreachable for the last eight hours. She gave me a lecture on how we have to take responsibility for our actions, and that actions have consequences. That was why she grounded me in addition to the week of detention I was given at school. It felt like she was reading straight from a parenting handbook, under the section entitled “How to Handle Your Truant Child.” She seemed almost relieved that there was a standard operating procedure for situations like this. But
these consequences didn’t matter. Nothing mattered compared to the possibility that I might never see Nick again, that it was over before it ever really had a chance to begin.

I clutched the finished roll of film in my hand and stood in the middle of the room. Various proofs and contact sheets, contenders for the yearbook, were tacked up all over. All the people I had known for years—classmates, playmates, and neighbors—surrounded me. If what was on these walls was my past, then I was hoping that this roll held some clue to my future. Or at least to Nick. Only now that I was here, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know what was hidden inside this plastic container. I wasn’t so sure if it was better left imagined, permitted to exist only in my head. Like the song, or what would have happened last night if Samantha had never interrupted. But then I was haunted by another, scarier thought: what if this was all I had left?