Up All Night

by Laura Silverman

  Yes, a small voice in my head whispers.

  Maybe it’s because he’s grinning at me, but right now only a small part of me still cares about the rules. He holds out his club like a sword, but I don’t take it. “What if I help you instead?” I offer.

  Khalil’s grin widens. “By all means.”

  I catch a glimpse of Mal, Detroit, and Jada smiling, tongues practically hanging out of their mouths. This is very much not a part of the plan—I’m meant to break the physical-touch barrier in phase three—so I try not to think about what happened last time I went off script.

  First I position Khalil’s hands on the club, one on top of the other, and then I crouch down to pull his legs until he’s standing with them shoulder width apart. He’s in the same bright Air Maxes as the other day and he smells like chocolate chip cookies and boy sweat—not a bad combination.

  My palms are damp by the time I stand up. As soon as I prompt Khalil to give it a try, Jada asks, “What about his swing, Ayana? That’s the main problem.”

  Her smile is pure innocence.

  Rolling my eyes, I walk behind Khalil and mime reaching around his back for the golf club. It’s no good; Khalil’s arms are so much longer than mine. With an exasperated sigh, Jada stalks forward, snatches the club out of Khalil’s hands, and yanks me in front of him. “Try like this. Just this once.”

  “Just so you know, I’m plotting your murder!” I whisper as she backs away.

  Jada returns to Malcolm and Detroit, who are both vibrating with barely suppressed laughter.

  “This okay?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  It isn’t though. It is much, much better than okay. I have to remind myself to breathe when Khalil’s arms come around me to grasp the handle. His hands completely cover mine. I’m certain I’m either going to burst into flames or melt into a puddle.

  His body is taut and warm, but he gives me plenty of space to breathe. And wonder what would happen if I closed the distance between us.

  I let out a breath through clenched teeth. Focus, Parker.

  I swing, just a soft putt that sends the pink ball slowly rolling uphill, then down right into the castle’s mouth. “See, it’s as simple as that.”

  “Whoa,” Khalil breathes, still close enough that I shiver. When I look over my shoulder at him, I can’t decide if it’s my imagination or if there really is a flush to his cheeks.

  The moment between us is cut short when Detroit crows, “What! Hole in one!”

  Even though we’re still basically dead last, Detroit and Khalil lift me onto their shoulders while Jada and Mal cheer, “Parker, Parker!”

  Our high is short lived though and two more teams pass us at the next hole. When Detroit fires another ball clean across the field, sending people scattering like pigeons, we decide to bail.

  It’s nearly one in the morning, but I feel wide awake, electric. Jada and I walk arm in arm down the path back to Hoffman’s main campus. It’s lined with twinkling lights. The moon hides behind the clouds and willows cast hulking shadows that bend and twist in the breeze. If I hadn’t walked this path a thousand times, it might have been spooky. Instead it’s almost cozy in the dark.

  Khalil, Detroit, and Mal walk a few feet ahead of us, their heads bent together, whispering. Shameless gossips, those boys. Khalil looks back at us over his shoulder, and I reflexively look away.

  Jada pinches my side and whispers, “Go talk to him!”

  I pinch her back. “Phase three doesn’t begin until we start the scavenger hunt, remember?”

  “We’re already far from the plan, Ayana. What could it hurt?” She waggles her fingers at his back. “It’s not difficult for me to translate awkward staring, because I’ve been watching you since we were twelve. He likes you, or at least thinks you’re cute. Just go talk to him.”

  Earlier we lapsed into silence almost as soon as our conversation began. I honestly liked that Khalil didn’t feel any need to fill the quiet. “And what exactly am I supposed to talk to him about?”

  Jada takes on a contemplative expression, her black eyes dancing with laughter. “Hmm, maybe start with how you want to shove your tongue down his throat?”

  I reach for my backpack, with plans to take out my clipboard and beat her over the head with it, but it isn’t there. Because I’m off-duty tonight.

  With a groan, Jada tugs me forward until we catch up with the boys. Detroit and Malcolm are making eyes at each other, while Khalil watches with a small smile on his face.

  They’re talking about next year and the end of an era, one I will welcome with open arms. As soon as August hits, I’ll be on a plane headed far west of the Midwest and will only return for holidays and weddings thereafter.

  I can’t wait to start over. And I feel guilty for thinking that, when my friends are terrified of college and leaving everyone behind. But at college I can reinvent myself, finally hang up my event-planning hat, and be known for more than just a clipboard and can-do attitude. A year from now, I hope to be unrecognizable—California carefree, instead of Midwestern girl with big plans—and bold enough to kiss the boy I like without a multistep plan in place.

  Jada pinches me, drawing my attention ahead of us. We’re coming around the bend in the path that leads back to Hoffman’s main campus. About three dozen seniors crowd around the doors beneath an arch of green and gold balloons, taking pictures.

  I check my phone; it’s five minutes to one, meaning we’ve got five minutes to make it to the auditorium or phase three of the plan will be ruined before it can begin.

  Detroit and Khalil lead the way, cutting through the clumps of people who apparently like the boys enough to let our group pass by them. We make it inside and even though I’ve walked these halls a thousand times, the twinkling lights in the windows and hundreds of pictures hanging from the ceiling on gold streamers make it an entirely new place. Which was an accomplishment considering Mal, Jada, and I had walked through this hallway arm in arm thousands of times by now. It was hard to believe that was all over now. A small part of me hoped that if I couldn’t fulfill my promise, time would just reset and give us another four years.

  We make it to the gym just in time for the scavenger hunt, and someone passes me our list. Everyone cringes at the sharp crackle from a microphone and turns their attention to the stage where Jaxon, bless him, is grinning ear to ear. He’s always reminded me of a golden retriever, with his bleached curls, tawny skin, and spaced-out expression. I’m forever indebted to him for agreeing to host tonight. My gratitude only deepens when Khalil slings an arm over my shoulders to closer inspect the items on the list.

  Jaxon yanks the mic away from his mouth, waiting for the feedback to quiet, before explaining the rules: get as many items on the list as you can and don’t steal another group’s items.

  He forgets to add that we’re not allowed to go into any classrooms and that there will be a prize, but I’m too busy worrying about phase three to consider correcting him.

  Phase three in which our team splits up. Phase three in which I kiss Khalil.

  I’m pretty sure Khalil notices my building panic, because he drops his arm and straightens. He doesn’t step away, which is what I’m expecting, dreading, and longing for so I can breathe around the joy that’s going off like fireworks in my chest.

  “You all right, Ayana?” Khalil asks, tucking a few escaped locs behind his ears.

  Get it together, Parker.

  “Yeah—sure—I—we should split up!” Words bubble up and out of my mouth like a shaken bottle of Coke, which is exactly how my stomach feels right now. I swallow, my tongue gone dry as a cat’s, and try again, “We’ll be able to check more off the list if we split it in half. Divide and conquer, you know?”

  Jada and Mal, their heads bent together, are whispering, but they seem pleased.

  Detroit and Khalil stare at each other, holding a silent conversation. They’ve been close forever. Their friendship has a se
cret language, just like the one I share with Jada and Mal.

  Before I can give any input as to which of us should pair up, Khalil plucks the list from my hands, folds it down the middle and rips the paper in two. He hands one to Detroit and tucks the other half into his back pocket.

  Detroit extends his hands to Jada and Malcolm. “Come on, dream team. Meet you back here in two hours?”

  I’m saved from answering by Khalil, who puts both hands on my shoulders and steers us toward the exit.

  “So what should we start with first?” Khalil asks once we’re outside the gym.

  “Uh,” I manage. The sound is long and drawn out because my brain is a stalled engine. My heart offers no help, my pulse beating hard against my skin. Shit.

  Khalil pulls out the list, scans it once, and hands it to me. Immediately I know where we can find four items. We’re only supposed to search the halls or outdoors, and if classrooms are off limits, surely this place will be too. Staring at the cupid’s bow of his lips, I decide now is the perfect time to break the rules.

  Summoning all the boldness the Ayana one year from now will surely possess, I smile. “I know exactly where to go.”

  Breaking into the front office takes my mind off kissing Khalil.

  I dig through the rocks and not-soil in the huge, fake ficus tree next to the office doors. The hall is dark, lit only by string lights above, and the office looks abandoned. Finally my hand closes around a small, cool metal key.

  I hold up the key and grin at Khalil who keeps looking both ways down the hallway, like we’re going to be caught any minute, which may very well be true. But I’m pretty confident in my ability to talk us out of any trouble.

  “You’re full of secrets,” he murmurs, impressed.

  I shrug. “No secrets. I’ve been spending my free periods in this office since freshman year. The secretaries trust me.”

  I’d seen our principal’s assistant looking for the spare office key on more than a few occasions. Mr. Huerta would never expect me to attempt a break-in, and before this moment, I wouldn’t have either.

  We slip inside and when the door clicks shut behind us, it’s dead silent but for the sound of our breathing. Khalil gropes the wall for the light switch, but I shake my head—that one turns on every fluorescent bulb within a fifty-foot radius. I pull him deeper inside, past a few deserted cubicles, and into Dr. Fleishman’s office.

  Lit only by the moonlight filtering through the window, everything looks blue and silver.

  Khalil breaks the silence. “I hope you’re not trying to get me expelled, Parker.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep us out of trouble,” I say, walking farther into the office. In the back, there’s an unmarked door.

  I gesture for Khalil to open it. When he does, a low whistle escapes his mouth. “Jackpot.”

  The closet attached to Dr. Fleishman’s office is large enough to store all his furniture, Tetris style, but even so it’s difficult for both of us to step inside. Its floor-to-ceiling shelves are crammed with dusty Hoffman memorabilia: a box of green foam fingers with the Hoffman Eagle emblazoned in gold; little plush footballs the cheerleaders give out at games; the headpiece for a vintage Eagle mascot; and so, so much more.

  We check six items off the list and liberate a few more priceless finds from this dust-ridden prison of a closet. I check my watch again, amazed that it’s already half past two a.m. According to my plan, we should be locking lips right about now.

  Almost like he heard my thought, Khalil sits down and pats the floor beside him. I take a deep breath and join him. “We should get going soon,” I say, since self-sabotage seems to be one of my strengths.

  Through the closet door, a sliver of moonlight illuminates half of Khalil’s face, lining his lips in silver. “You sure? I doubt Detroit, Jada, and Malcolm have found anything yet.”

  I shake my head. “No, you’re right, I just thought . . .”

  My voice trails off. I’m not sure how to explain my instinct to flee during uncomfortable situations. But then again, that was why we came up with a plan. So I could rely on clear directives instead of slowly descending into a panic spiral. But we’d kept this part vague, Jada and Mal promising me that I would know when it was the right moment for The Kiss.

  “Detroit told you, didn’t he?” Khalil asks, voice as soft as a whisper. “I swear he can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

  “Huh?”

  Khalil doesn’t seem to hear me as he goes on. “I made him swear on his shoe collection, swear he wouldn’t even tell Malcolm, but I should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to help himself. Detroit loves playing matchmaker.”

  This can’t be serious. “Matchmaker?” I squeak, and it’s this that finally stops him.

  Khalil’s eyebrows knit together. “Oh. Uh. So he didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” I ask.

  My entire body goes warm as Khalil’s gaze settles on mine. “I told him last week I’ve had a thing for you since him and Malcolm hooked up. You just always seemed so busy, so I never said anything.”

  My pulse thunders in my ears as I lean forward. Jada and Mal were right. I would know the moment, and the moment is—

  But then the lights turn on, the fluorescents painfully bright, and I jerk backwards into the overstuffed shelves. A box full of mini-footballs falls, pelting us. Half go bouncing into Dr. Fleishman’s now well-lit office.

  “Crapcrapcrap,” I mutter, jumping to my feet. More boxes fall as Khalil stands up and part of me wants them all to collapse on top of me and bury me beneath a mountain of school spirit. My thoughts are a scattered mess. Khalil has a thing for me? Did I really hear him right?

  Likely drawn by the sound of the boxes falling, the door to the principal’s office swings open. I nearly collapse when, instead of Dr. Fleishman, Mr. Huerta walks in drinking a Big Gulp and swinging a massive key ring around his wrist.

  “Ms. Parker?” he says, slowly taking in the scene. “Mr. . . . Moore? Well now, this is unexpected.”

  “This is not what it looks like!” I say. “We were just looking for stuff for the scavenger hunt, Mr. Huerta, I swear.”

  He shrugs. “Uh-huh, well it looks like trespassing, young lady. You’d better go hunting elsewhere.”

  When Khalil retrieves our box of treasures, Mr. Huerta gives him a sharp look. “I think not, Mr. Moore. Now you two get out of here before someone else sees you. If an administrator catches you two, I won’t be making any excuses.”

  We give sheepish apologies and practically sprint from the office. We don’t stop running until we’re back to the auditorium. Khalil’s hand is in mine and I can’t remember who grabbed onto whom, but neither of us lets go at first.

  His hand only slips away when our eyes meet and we dissolve into near hysterical laughter. Khalil gives a flawless impersonation of Mr. Huerta’s expression when we stepped out of the closet. Wiping tears from my eyes, I check my phone. “At least we still have an hour left to search.”

  “What’s next, boss?” Khalil asks.

  I pat my back pockets and groan, “Crap. I left the list back in the office.”

  “I’m guessing he won’t let us back inside to find it?”

  “Oh, definitely not. I guess we just have to hope Detroit, Mal, and Jada have better luck than we do.”

  He shrugs. “I say we’re pretty lucky. We’re not booted from graduation Sunday and I learned you’re fearless.”

  I start to protest—unlike most humans, who are seventy-five percent water, I’m seventy-five percent fear—but Khalil reaches for my hand again. It’s like an electric shock goes through me as I suddenly remember what he said before we were interrupted. When I blink, I can still see his face etched in darkness and moonlight, and a half-second later, his disappointment as all the lights flashed on.

  I was so close, but I can barely spare a thought for the missed opportunity when Khalil’s fingers lace through mine. When he suggest
s we go to the cafeteria instead of waiting for our friends to return, I manage a nod.

  I try to smother the giddy butterflies careening around my stomach, but it’s no use. Khalil seems completely oblivious to the furtive looks from the other seniors and only lets go of my hand while we load up bags of Fritos with taco fixings.

  We finally sit down at one of the long cafeteria tables and Khalil immediately digs into his walking taco. Now that I’m not touching him, my thoughts return to coherence. No way is he getting away with dropping that bomb earlier without any explanation.

  I may as well keep pretending to be fearless since it’s working well so far. “So what you said back in Fleishman’s office?”

  Khalil pauses mid-chew, eyes widening. He takes a swig of Coke and smirks, dimples flashing, “Yeah?”

  Before I can reply, I recognize a peal of laughter that can only belong to Jada and look up to find them ten feet away from our table. Detroit has a mesh bag slung over his shoulder, full of random things. There’s a broken trophy, two volleyballs, a rolled-up poster, and a math textbook with the cover torn off.

  “These,” Detroit announces, “are the items we found.”

  “And not a single one of them,” Jada finishes, “is actually on our list.”

  “What can I say?” Detroit shrugs. “It’s hard to stay on task without you, Ayana.”

  They look near to falling asleep, but as Mal and Detroit begin to explain their random assortment, I realize we all probably look the same. But the buzz of this final night at Hoffman with friends that will be hundreds of miles apart in August is keeping us wide awake. When Jada asks about our lack of scavenged items, Khalil and I tell them about Dr. Fleishman’s office, leaving out the near kiss. Unfortunately neither Jada nor Mal seem to pick up on my brain waves telling them to give us more time alone.

  It’s a bit past four a.m. and the darkness through the cafeteria windows is only just beginning to soften. Clumps of seniors, eyes red with the lack of sleep but bright with excitement, trail in with their findings.

  We find our sleeping bags amid the mountain in the cafeteria. And instead of bedding down inside them, Malcolm and Detroit make a fort using two of the cafeteria tables. We crawl beneath the blanket canopy and everyone but me falls asleep, or so I think until Khalil’s eyes pop open as I’m in the midst of studying his face.