by Leah Konen
He smirks. “I think you’re warming up to horror, you know? I swear I’ll make a fan of you yet.”
“Maybe,” I say.
Jake lets go of my hand, and when the woods part, I see it. A waterfall, about twice as wide and tall as the one from Friday, one that crashes against a shallow natural pool that glistens pink in the dusky light.
A smile stretches across his face. “So this is connected to the swimming hole. It’s all part of the same current. Come on,” he says.
He walks ahead, following a well-beaten dirt path.
“Wait,” I say, and he stops, turning to me. “You’re a newbie, too. How in the world do you know about secret waterfall spots? What, do you have some woodsy waterfall radar? Wood-dar?”
His whole body shakes with laughter. “Wow, that’s even worse than my jokes.”
“I know, right? But seriously. How do you fit in here so much better than me?”
His face goes red. “I don’t, not really.”
“But you—”
He tugs at the bottom of his T-shirt, his fingers worrying at a tiny hole. “This is embarrassing, but I Googled ‘secret waterfall spots Hunter Mountain area’ this morning, and this one came up. It had a lot of good reviews on Google Maps.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
He grimaces. “That bad, huh?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not bad at all. It’s cool. It’s great, actually.”
His grimace turns to a grin. “Thank goodness,” Jake says, and together, we walk closer.
Just behind the falls, there’s a tiny little cove, shadowed, blue—a world apart. Jake kicks his shoes off.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting in.”
“But I don’t have my swimsuit,” I say.
“Me either.” For a second, I think he’s going to suggest some real horror movie shit, skinny-dipping at a secluded falls, which is 100 percent the surest way to make some errant hiker or sea monster want to orchestrate your demise. “Just my feet,” he says.
I watch as he sets his socks on top of his tennis shoes, then tosses his phone and wallet next to them. He steps into the water, his shoulders jolting as he does.
“Cold?” I ask.
He nods. “It’s even colder up here, closer to the mountain.”
“That’s what you said on Friday.”
He laughs. “Yeah, well, I guess I should have made it clear that this is even colder than that was.”
“Great,” I say.
He smiles. “It feels really good after a hike. I promise.”
It’s not so much the appeal of feeling chills rise literally up my spine—horror movie or not—it’s the thought of being in the water with him, of being connected in a way. I look around. The trees surround us, making this our own little globe. I take off my shoes, too. I step in, and he’s right, it’s colder than it was on Friday. But I step forward anyway, so I’m only about a foot from Jake. He rubs his hands up and down my arms, and I feel alive all over. “Not so bad, right?”
I laugh. “No, it’s definitely just as bad as I thought it would be.”
He looks at me a moment, his chin turned down just so, and in the pink-y light, his eyes look even bigger, even more beautiful. Again, I imagine telling him the truth.
His arms drop from mine. “What is it?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“It looked like you were suddenly somewhere else,” he says.
I kick at a bit of water, splashing it against his shins. “Right here. Promise.”
He grins. “Just checking.” Then he steps closer to the falls, the water beginning to splash against his shins.
“You’re not going in that, are you?”
“No, that would be crazy,” he says, loud enough to drown out the falls. Then he raises an eyebrow dramatically. “Or should I?”
I should tell him definitely not. That would be ridiculous. But in his eyes, I see that spark, the seeking of a thrill, probably the same thing that first got him interested in horror movies. And part of me wants the thrill. Wants that shock of cold on my body.
I don’t say anything, but I step closer, the water splashing my shins now, too. The falls crashing only a couple of feet from us, I turn to him, and talking’s almost out of the question now, the water is so loud. The truth is, I want to run through that waterfall with him, I want to see what happens on the other side.
He turns to me and steps just the tiniest bit closer, and I swear to god, he’s going to kiss me, right here in the water. I swear it’s going to happen, just like it almost happened on Friday. He takes a deep breath, and I notice, for the first time, a smattering of freckles on the tip of his nose. His hair isn’t wet, but his forehead glistens with sweat from the hike. Again, I have the urge to run my hands through his curls, pull his face close, feel his lips on mine, run my finger along the scar beneath his eye.
“Well, here I go, then,” he says, and then, quick as anything, he turns and jumps forward, crashing through the falls and into the cove on the other side.
I gasp. “You’re nuts!” I yell, though I can’t even see him, the water a white crashing sheet between us. Then he’s there again, the water pounding against his hair, turning his curls straight, slick, and he reaches out his hand for mine.
I brace myself. It will be cold and miserable and way too much, but it will be amazing, too. It will be our own little thrill. I grasp his hand, and he gives me a tug.
The water is all-consuming. It beats against me, on my head, on my shoulders, on the backs of my legs, pounding like a hammer, pounding as quickly as my heart, but as soon as I’m in, I’m free of it—I’m in the cove.
Everything else disappears. Elm and Carrie, the number of pimples on my chin, the way I lied, the fear I felt this afternoon. The zip lines. NYU. My worry that the screenplay is, without a doubt, the worst thing that’s ever been written times a million. Everything is gone, everything but him and me.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Jake asks, talking loud enough for me to hear. His shirt is wet, hugging his shoulders, and mine is, too. We are soaked, water-beaten, like a movie couple about to kiss in the unwavering rain.
“It does,” I say, stepping a tiny bit closer, feeling the draw of his body, like a magnet to mine.
He steps closer, too, looking at me, and I’m sure it’s about to happen. I see the parting of his lips, the sucking in of breath.
Then he grins. “So now you know I’m afraid of the dark, I have a penchant for shark movies, and the only way I can remotely appear smooth is by reading reviews on Google Maps. But hey”—his grin grows wider—“at least you know what you’re getting into.”
My throat tightens, the feeling gone, replaced with a weight in my stomach—with guilt.
So badly, I want to just lean in, push the rest of it out of my head, but I can’t, not when he puts it like that.
At least you know what you’re getting into.
He has no idea what he’s getting into. Not with me.
I take a step back, hugging my arms to my chest.
“It’s a little too cold back here.”
Then I dash forward, out of the cove, back into the real world.
A world where Jake still doesn’t know the truth about me.
JIMMY
Now that we’re out of the woods, literally speaking, I’m gonna go ahead and throw this out there: Things have gotten a teensy bit complicated.
ONYX
No shit, Sherlock.
–The Bad Decision Handbook by O. Knight
Katherine Carrie
“We should probably skip the movie, huh? Now that we’re drenched.”
I laugh. My shorts and T-shirt are already clinging to my body. Soon, I’m going to start smelling like a wet dog. “It’s probably for the best. Rain—er—waterfall check?”
Jake gives me a half smile. “I’m sorry if that was weird,” he says. “Jumping in and everything. This is what happens when I try to be spontaneous
.” He starts the car and begins to pull out of the lot.
“No,” I say. “It was a good thing. It was awesome. Like something out of a movie. But not a scary one. A good one.”
He nods, turning on the road that leads to Woodstock. “Tunes?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say.
He rolls the windows down, the breeze fresh and welcome against my wet skin, and flips to the same station my parents listen to—oldies, classic rock.
The Grateful Dead, or something that sounds a lot like them, booms through the speakers, and for a second, there’s no need to fill up the space with words. I rest my arm on the edge of the window, feel the sunlight on it, think of how wonderful it is to be with him. Try not, for a moment at least, to focus on all the ways I’ve lied to him.
“I’ll be at my internship tomorrow,” he says as he pulls into my driveway. “So I guess I won’t see you until Wednesday.”
I wanted to kiss you, I promise I did. It’s not you, Jake, it’s me! It’s probably one of the rare times in the history of relationships that that excuse has actually been true.
“Have fun,” I say. “At your internship, I mean.”
“Have fun at the zip line.”
Not sure what else to say, I get out of the car, wave goodbye.
“What in the world happened to you?” my dad asks as I step inside.
My mom looks up from where she’s making dinner in the kitchen. “Whoa.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just going to change.” Still dripping, I rush into the bathroom, shut the door, and get out of my wet clothes, running the shower hot.
I step in, washing the waterfall water off, knowing I can’t wash away my secret. Knowing full well now that there’s only one way to make this okay.
Phasing out Carrie simply isn’t enough.
I’ve got to tell him the truth.
Jake’s words ring in my head. At least you know what you’re getting into.
He has to know what he’s getting into. I owe him that much, at least.
And once I tell him, all I can do is hope he’ll understand. Even if he doesn’t, I have to be okay with that, too. He’ll know the truth, and that’s what matters. I get out of the shower, toweling off. I feel a tad lighter already. Back in my room, in fresh clothes—my bones a tiny bit warmer—I grab my phone and fire off a quick text.
Today was fun, but remind me never to go with you to Niagara Falls ;) P.S. there’s something I want to talk to you about. Hang after work on Weds?
I can see him typing immediately.
Everything ok?
I hope so, Jake. I really do hope so.
Yes, everything is fine! Wednesday good?
There’s a pause, but then he texts back.
Sweet. Yeah, Wednesday works. See ya!
Wednesday takes forever to arrive, like a movie that progresses way too slowly.
I chat with Elm as little as possible, telling him thanks for promising to read but not asking too many follow-up questions. Soon, I tell myself, it won’t matter. Whatever happens, at least he’ll know. My charade will finally be over.
The first part of my shift drags—I’m the only one in the office and Jake and Bryson have lunch up on the mountain—so I spend most of the time on Instagram and checking our text chain. Just after three, and after spotting a serendipitous post about the importance of honesty, I shoot Chrissy a difficult-but-necessary text:
By the way, I wasn’t totally honest with you when I asked for advice the other day. I didn’t just send an edited photo to that guy I told you about. When we were chatting online, I sent him a photo of somebody else. So when I met him in person (he’s super coincidentally working at my job up here), he didn’t recognize me, even though I recognized him. Basically, now we’ve hit it off in person, and he doesn’t even know that we’re also friends online. But it’s okay, because I’m going to tell him today. Wish me luck!
I see the dots that indicate she’s typing, and my stomach twists nervously. She’ll probably be horrified, absolutely appalled. That her own niece could carry on a double life, hash out a catfishing scheme of such magnitude, even if it was accidental.
Then her message appears:
Oh my! That makes a lot more sense. I was wondering why you were so worried about a photo if he’d already seen you in person. Yes, that is different! And what a crazy coincidence. Reminds me of this one time, I ran into a guy I’d met in a hostel in Europe at a casino in Atlantic City!
Anyway, try not to beat yourself up too much. We all do stupid stuff in the name of romance, trust me! Just be honest and I’ll cross my fingers that he understands!
My smile spreads cheek to cheek. I feel better that someone knows, at least. That she doesn’t think I’m the worst person on the face of the earth.
She keeps typing.
Only, why did you send a fake photo in the first place? You’re STUNNING!
I shake my head as I write back.
Who knows? Because I’m seventeen and I have pimples lol
Chrissy sends over a shocked-slash-horrified emoji.
You’re beautiful, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your aunt!
I smile to myself, putting my phone away.
Maybe it will work out. Maybe it will all be okay.
The door bangs open, and Steinway appears.
“Feeling better?” I ask as she walks behind the counter.
She nods. “I was sick as all get-out, but I’m better now. By the way, I heard you did good with the kid-saving.”
I blush. “I did all right, I guess.”
She puts a hand on her hip. “Hey, I saw how scared you were that first day. It had to take at least a little gumption.”
“Or desperation,” I say. “Or fear that you’d puke all over me if I argued. Whichever.”
She laughs, but then she looks at me, and stops.
“What?” I ask.
She nods down to my fingers, nails ripped apart. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. “You’re nervous,” she says. I shove my hands in my pockets, hiding away my nails.
Steinway leans against the counter, tugging at the end of one of her braids. “Nervous about Jake?” she asks.
Yes, I want to say. But not in the way you think.
She crosses her arms. “What? You’re not going to give me the lowdown?”
I look away, feeling myself go even redder. “There’s no lowdown.”
“Oh, isn’t there?” Steinway prods. “That’s not what everyone says.”
I laugh. “You haven’t even been here.”
She smirks. “And yet, the gossip mill carries on. It’s more reliable than the ski lift, that’s for sure.”
I can only laugh.
“All right, don’t tell me,” she says, throwing up her hands. “I’ll get the dirt from someone else.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will.”
Just before six, Jake walks in to get his things. He smiles, eyes wide and eager. “Ready to go? Want to get dinner or something?”
Behind him, Steinway raises her eyebrows up and down dramatically, mouths, “Get it, girl.”
I ignore her, turning to Jake. “Yeah, you eat meat, right? There’s a burger place in Woodstock.”
Jake smiles. “I do, indeed. And I haven’t been there yet, if it’s the one I’m thinking of. Always down to try something new.”
We head out the front doors together, and he lets his hand drop to the side, stretching out his fingers, almost as if he’s going to reach for mine; but quickly, I shove it in my pocket. I want to talk to him, get everything out there before anything else happens between us.
We’re almost to Jake’s car when I stop short.
To my horror, Jake does, too.
I can hardly believe it, but there she is, standing at the edge of the parking lot, blond hair catching the light.
“Olivia!” She breaks into a smile and runs at me, tackling me with one of her signature hugs—so fierce it almost tips me over.
Katie.
Katie, here.
Katie, upstate.
Katie, in a world she’s not supposed to be in at all.
She pulls back, letting me go momentarily.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stumbling over the words.
Jake doesn’t wait for an answer—or an intro. “Carrie?”
Katie doesn’t even look over at Jake. “I came to surprise you.” She beams and throws her arms out, wiggling the tips of her fingers. “Surprise!”
“Carrie,” Jake says again.
She turns her head, only now acknowledging his presence. “It’s Katie.”
That doesn’t stop him. He takes her in just as I do, her long hair, silky and straight, her cool blue eyes, that infectious smile that shows her front teeth, slightly gapped in a way that only makes her look cool and unique. “No,” he says. “I mean, it’s me. Elm.”
Katie’s eyebrows knit together. “What?” she asks him.
I step on her foot, hard as I can.
“Ouch!” she says, turning to me.
I try to use all the Jedi mind tricks I have, but she doesn’t comprehend. Meanwhile, Jake’s confidence doesn’t waver. “ElmStreetNightmare,” he says. “Well, ElmStreetNightmareEighty-Four, to be exact. Jake in real life, of course. You’re CarriesRevenge!”
Katie looks to me, all, Who the hell is this guy?
“You know,” he continues. “Queen of the Quizzically Terrifying. Feudal Lord of the Fear-Inducing? Carrie!”
I have no choice: “Your handle on Reddit,” I say quickly.
“Huh?”
I widen my eyes at her. “In the horror movie community, right?”
Come on, Katie. Come on.
“The one you’re always going on about, the one you chat in every day?”
Like that, a spark in her eyes, the same sort I’ve seen when she watches a great scene with Meryl or makes me practice lines with her for a role, and before me, Katie, my dear, perfect, wonderful Katie, becomes the actress she’s always been meant to be.
“Oh,” she says, turning to Jake and sticking out her hand. “Of course.”
I step forward. “It must be weird for someone to say your Reddit handle in person like that. I mean, even if you’ve been online pen pals for months,” I say.