I can’t take my eyes off him.
“You should probably know that my dad’s a cop,” I say from my perch. “He’s killed people before.”
“Wicked.”
“He taught me how to put someone in a headlock. And I’ve done it. He passed out.”
“Hot. Promise to show me later?” Luca’s eyes sparkle, like stars fell to the earth and live inside him. It’s distracting. My defenses are weakening.
“I don’t put out. I’ve never kissed anybody, and I’m probably pretty bad at it, so if you think this is a ‘get drunk and have sex’ date, you’re wrong.”
“I didn’t know that was an option.”
“It’s not.”
“And who says I want to kiss you?” Luca asks.
“You don’t?”
“No. I totally do.” He smiles. “Trick question. Now, will you please come down?”
“I’m not done yet. I’m a total loser. I don’t have any friends, so if you think I’m some popular girl who will be good for your reputation, I won’t. I’ll probably ruin it.”
“And I told you I’m a failure, so it sounds like we’re perfect for each other. Plus, we don’t even go to the same school.”
Luca gazes up at me, his smile never wavering.
“Are you done yet?” he asks. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
“I have bad breath in the morning.”
“Everyone does.”
“I can’t catch a ball to save my life.”
“I hate all sports with balls. Too prosaic.”
“I almost failed algebra. Twice.”
“I’ve almost failed at everything,” Luca says. “Twice.”
“I used to eat Play-Doh when I was a kid.”
“I preferred glue.”
“I hate watermelon.”
“Well, now you’ve done it,” he says. But he doesn’t move.
“My second toe is way longer than my first. I have two different-sized thumbs and an outie belly button.”
“You are trying to turn me off? Because I am squarely on right now. Keep talking about toes.”
I groan. Luca will find something wrong and leave, just like everyone else. If I can just expose exactly what it is now, we can skip the date and get straight to the leaving. It’ll hurt less.
“I trip all the time. I cry at Christmas commercials, and I hate video games.” I’m grasping.
“You don’t think I cry at Christmas commercials, too?” he asks. “The one with the neighbor who watches the old woman across the street, checking her mailbox every day for a Christmas card, but she never finds one? And then the neighbor sends a card, and the old woman cries?” Luca pretends to weep. His fake crying has me giggling, feeling a lightness in my chest, like maybe a date with him is exactly what I need. But one glance at the ground reminds me how badly the fall will hurt.
“I have cherophobia,” I say seriously.
“I don’t know what that is, but don’t worry, we’ll use protection. Are you done yet?”
What I want to say is, I’m scared. I’m scared. I’m scared. What I really say is, “Why me?”
“Wren.” He says my name like he’s desperate to utter it. “Why not you?”
Then Luca lifts his hand up toward me, his palm open. “Now, please come down.”
I steal a glance at Wilder’s window. There are so many more things I could tell Luca that might send him packing, before we ever get close, but a breeze brings the scent of summer rain back. Do I really want to hide and live without this?
“Or if you prefer, I’ll just come up there,” Luca says.
He makes for the ladder, and I holler, “Fine! I’m coming down.”
He meets me at the bottom, his figure towering over mine, his body so close that I almost think we might be made of the same substance. That maybe I’m not so different after all, because he is familiar. Like I knew him, even before I did.
“So . . . your dad’s a cop. That’s good to know. Is he home?”
“Not at the moment.”
Luca appears relieved. “Maybe don’t tell him my last name.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Lowry.”
“Do you have a record or something?”
“I like to consider it more of a scrapbook,” he says. “But don’t worry. All minor offenses.”
“What kind of offenses?”
But Luca won’t budge. “You can trust me, Wren.”
“My dad taught me not to trust criminals.”
“‘Criminal’ sounds like too harsh a word. I prefer ‘delinquent youth with a propensity for trespassing.’ Do you always do what your dad tells you to do?”
Before Lizzie left, yes. But now . . .
He smirks at my lack of response and reveals a pair of roller skates from his backpack.
“Put these on,” he says.
“No way. I told you: I don’t know how to roller-skate. And I trip all the time. I have terrible balance. I can’t even do a handstand. I’ll die, and then my dad will kill you for killing me. It’ll be a double homicide. I can’t risk it.”
My cherophobia is really spiking.
Luca cups my cheeks with his hands, stepping so close I think he might lean down and kiss me right here, right now, in my driveway. Thank God, Chief is at work. My breath catches in my throat. Luca touches me so easily, I almost think I’m real and whole and completely visible.
“Just because you don’t know how to do something,” Luca says, “doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of what they teach us in health class.”
“I’ve always preferred the education offered in the real world.”
“Is that why you skip school?”
“Who said I skip school?”
“Leia.”
Luca releases my face from his grasp. “It’s not natural to sit at a desk all day. Humans are nomadic at our core. We’re meant to move.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, I think.
“I’m not very good at moving,” I say.
“Lucky for you, I’m an expert at it. I’ll help you.”
“But—”
Luca’s finger comes to my lips, quieting me. “Don’t say it.”
We don’t move. Our eyes connect, as if we’re both acknowledging that we’re touching.
I step back.
“OK.”
“OK,” he echoes. “Take off your shoes.”
I do as Luca requests. He crouches down in front of me and slides each skate on, then ties the laces.
My stomach sits in my throat, clogging it with anxiety, and I haven’t even stood up yet.
Luca puts my shoes in his backpack. “Take my hands, Wren.”
I read once that babies are born with the reflex to grab. If a person presses her finger into the palm of an infant, the baby will grasp it unconditionally. We’re born to hold on to other human beings with all our might. Yet somewhere along the way, we lose that instinct. We let go. We grow suspicious and wary. Worry overrides instinct. Instead of believing that love is the intention of a hand placed into our palm, we convince ourselves we’re being fooled. We don’t deserve it.
Maybe the entire world is full of cherophobics.
“I won’t let you fall,” Luca assures me. “But you have to take my hands.”
My fingers gently slide along his palms, taking their time to feel the lines etched into his skin. I don’t know Luca’s story, but I’m pretty sure if my hand stayed in his for long enough, he’d tell me.
From this moment forward there is no going back. Forward is all I have.
With his backpack on, skateboard latched to it, Luca helps me move. I wobble, rolling chaotically, my balance challenged. My feet come out from underneath me, and I’m propelled backward. I let go of his hands and grab for air instead, but Luca’s reflexes are fast, and his arms are around my waist before I fall. He pulls me to his chest.
“You weren’t kidding,”
he says. “You do have terrible balance.”
“I wasn’t lying about any of it. I have weird toes, too. Should we end the date now?”
“Say ‘toes’ again.”
“Toes.”
Luca moans. “God, you’re hot.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He places me back on my feet and takes my hands again.
“What do I do now?” I ask.
“Bend your knees. Keep your weight centered.”
I do as he says. Luca pulls me down the driveway and into the street.
“What if a car comes?”
“No more what-ifs.”
“But what if—”
Luca stops. “I won’t let a car hit you.”
I stare at my feet.
“Eyes up. If you look down at your feet, you’re more likely to fall. You have to keep your eyes in front of you. Trust that your feet will adjust to what you see. Eyes down and you see things too late.”
“OK.”
We start down the street, Luca pulling me as I wobble.
“You know a lot about this,” I say. “How long have you been skateboarding?”
“Feels like my whole life. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should see my report card. You’d believe me then. My parents are so proud,” he says sarcastically. “They brag about me all the time.” He attempts a smile, but it’s laced with a touch of dejection. “There’s always one fuck-up in every family, right?”
I think of Lizzie. She and Luca are so similar, but I would never call her that. She is so much more.
“You’re not a fuck-up, Luca.”
He cracks for a moment before the veneer of carelessness coats him again.
“Enough about me,” he says. “Tell me about your family.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“You’re lying.” But he says it with a grin. “Every family has its secrets.”
If he only knew about the fifth floor of the library.
“If I told you my secrets, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore,” I say.
“You’re playing hard to get again.”
“Maybe,” I say with a smile that buds from a real place of happiness. “Secrets have to be earned.”
Luca says, in complete seriousness, “Then I’ll work hard at it.”
The night air pops and sizzles between us. I’ve forgotten I’m on roller skates. I’ve forgotten to be worried. I’ve practically forgotten who I am.
“Are you ready to try skating on your own?” Luca asks.
The street is empty, the lights from the streetlamps illuminating our path. Am I ready? If I don’t try, how will I ever know?
I release my hands from Luca’s, and a satisfied grin blooms on his face.
“What do I do?”
Luca tells me to imagine I’m gliding on ice, moving back and forth, pushing with one leg at a time.
“Remember, eyes forward. Weight balanced. Bend your knees.”
My body reacts to his instructions.
“Just skate down to the stop sign,” he says. “I’ll be right next to you.”
The sign isn’t that far.
“You can do this, Wren.”
“Promise you won’t leave my side.”
And when Luca says, “I promise,” I believe him.
“OK,” I say, because if I don’t do this, and the date ends, the regret will never wash away.
A little push, to start. A wobble, and then another wobble. My arms spread out at my sides. Eyes on the stop sign.
“That’s good,” Luca says. “Give it a little more. Don’t be afraid of the speed. You can handle it.”
But can I? All of this?
For my entire life I’ve worried that Lizzie would leave. I made myself responsible for it, thinking I’d lose myself if I ever lost her. But here I am. I’ve survived. I live. The leaving hasn’t destroyed me yet.
So I push a little harder. Roll a little faster.
Didn’t Leia say that being a roller girl taught her that pain is an inevitable part of progress? At what point does pain turn into something more, something that doesn’t hold you back but lifts you up?
The faster I go, the harder Luca works to keep up.
“Almost there!” he hollers, the intersection approaching. “Stop at the sign!”
But he didn’t tell me how to do that.
“Stop?” I scream, panicked. “How?”
“Use the toe stop!”
“What’s a toe stop?”
There’s no time for a lesson. Luca can’t save me.
“The grass!” Luca yells. “Bail out on the grass!”
It’s the only way to avoid rolling right into the intersection. I make a dive for it, leaping and clearing the curb. The wheels of my skates land on the grass and catch some friction, slowing my movement but forcing my weight forward. My arms reach for stability that isn’t there. I fall hard to the ground, but I do come to a stop.
In a moment Luca is next to me. The wheels on my skates are still spinning. My head is, too. Spinning and twirling and dancing, maybe for the first time ever.
“Are you OK, Wren?” Luca asks. “Can you talk? Say something.”
Laughter bubbles up from my belly, and the giggles won’t stop. Lying back on the ground, I see the night sky painting everything in plum and cobalt, like the fire of the day is slowly being consumed by water, and I laugh until my stomach hurts.
Luca lies on the grass next to me and exhales.
“I’ve failed,” he says.
The laughter finally stops, and I turn to look at him. “What?”
“I said you could trust me, and look at you. You’re hurt, and it’s only our first date.”
I realize what he’s doing. It’s the same thing I do. Maybe all humans do it. We see through the lens everyone else prescribes for us, instead of the one we make on our own.
Luca can see only failure. But I won’t let him.
“Luca, I felt it.”
“Felt what?”
I look back up at the sky and wonder why I ever thought I could capture something so beautiful on Lizzie’s walls.
“The rush,” I whisper.
The night hums. The air is electric.
“So tonight’s not a total disaster?” Luca asks.
Then, like an ant crawling over the grass, Luca’s fingers find mine.
“Far from it,” I say, squeezing his hand.
19
ON THE LEDGE OF HOPE
The parking lot of South Hill High School is empty. Luca hasn’t let go of my hand since I fell.
“Here we are,” he says.
“It’s my school.”
“I know.”
“I thought you hated school.”
“I do.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because schools happen to be the perfect place to practice.” Luca shrugs off his backpack and unhooks his skateboard.
“Really?”
“Yep. There’s a ton of open space. There are ramps. There are railings.”
“Railings?” My muscles are already tired just from getting here. I’m not sure how much more practicing I can do.
“Maybe someday,” Luca says, a wide grin on his face.
I sit down on the steps leading to the front doors. The lights are off inside. The place feels abandoned for the summer. Lonely, really. In two years, when I graduate, I’m pretty sure the hallways won’t miss me. They won’t even remember I was here.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“What?”
“Teaching me how to skate.”
“You said you didn’t know how.”
“But why does it matter? Lots of people can’t roller-skate.”
“Most people aren’t as strong as you.”
“I’m not strong.” Unwilling to look Luca in the eye, I examine a scrape on my hand left from the fall.
He sits down. There’s space all around us, and yet he chooses to be close to me, his leg touching mine, and I think maybe that’s what love is—deciding to lean in close amid a world of endless space. It would be so much easier to back away, but I resist the urge. The intimacy of our skin touching disintegrates any logic.
“Luca,” I say, absorbed in him.
“Yes, Wren?”
“Could you try not to get arrested anymore?”
“Why?”
“So my dad doesn’t kill you.”
“Does that mean you want to go out with me again?”
“Maybe,” I say. “And you should stop skipping school.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Luca?”
“Yeah, Wren?”
“How does the marshmallow taste so far?”
When he looks at me, the heat between us starts to boil. “Delicious. To be honest, I’m trying to stop myself from eating the whole thing all at once. Self-control has never been my forte.”
“I’m starting to think maybe too much control is overrated.”
His arm rests next to mine. My heart beats wildly.
“Luca?”
“Yeah, Wren?”
“I want to see you skate,” I say.
It’s not that I couldn’t sit here all night, the dark sky above us, my skin touching his in a way I’ve never touched anyone before. But in a moment that feels so extraordinary, I want to witness magic.
When Luca stands, the separation of our bodies feels like Velcro pulling apart.
But as I watch him skate around the parking lot, I’m so full I can’t remember what empty feels like. And maybe it will last only a moment, maybe it’s as fleeting as the wind, but sometimes a moment locked in memory is all a person needs.
I knew this could happen. The needing. The wanting. But I can’t look away, because from this moment into infinity, I’ll know what I’d be missing.
The rush is worth the tailspin.
Watching Luca swim through air—ebbing and flowing, bending and soaring, free of restraint and completely in control of where he’s going—I want him more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.
I want to melt into him. I want to fly with him, next to him, wrapped in him, as if gravity doesn’t matter, as if flying really is possible. As if lost love can appear from nothing and walk back into my life, illuminating even the darkest of ravines and shining a light on the way out.
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