I’ll Meet You There

by Heather Demetrios

  “Yeah,” he said.

  We sort of stood there for a moment, my palms getting sweaty, and then I motioned inside. “I’m just gonna grab my purse, okay? I’ll meet you in the truck?”

  “Cool.”

  When I shut the door behind me, Mom was still staring at the TV. I grabbed my purse. “Love you.”

  She nodded. “Have fun.”

  I blew her a kiss the way we always do, pressing my lips to my fingers then raising my hand in a wave as I shut the door behind me.

  Josh’s truck was a thing I’d only seen from afar, except for the one time Blake drove me home in it. It was a red Ford F-150 with extra-big wheels and two annoying stickers in the back window of naked female silhouettes looking in opposite directions. There was also a Marine Corps decal and an American flag sticker.

  “Josh, on behalf of women everywhere, I demand that you remove those skanky stickers from your back window.”

  He turned around and fixed me with a look of mock horror. “How dare you call the flag of the greatest country on earth skanky!”

  I punched him on the arm. “You know which ones I’m talking about.”

  He rolled his eyes and handed me his MP3 player. “You can pick the music.”

  I scrolled through his albums. “Gee, how’s a girl to decide between Fifty Cent and Metallica?”

  He grabbed it out of my hands. “Never mind.”

  We went back and forth like that all the way to Leo’s, me feeling surprised that he was so easy to talk to, him trying not to make it obvious that he was checking me out.

  On top of his dashboard was a black, leather-bound journal. It would have been number one on my Things Josh Would Never Own list. I was about to ask him why he had it when he beat me to an uncomfortable question.

  “So, what’s with you and my brother?” he asked, as we turned into the packed parking lot.

  “Nothing.”

  “At the party you two seemed kinda … you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  Ugh.

  “Blake needs to remember that he has a girlfriend, and last I checked, that girlfriend isn’t me. You know how he is when he gets drunk.”

  “You mean he acts like any dude in the world?” he said.

  “Eww.”

  Josh snorted. “When Blake e-mailed me about you, I was seriously like, what? Skylar?”

  I laughed, but not in a ha-ha way—more in a bitter what-the-hell-was-I-thinking way. “I don’t know, Josh. It was only a week—just spring break. And I guess I was feeling like, why not? We weren’t a couple or anything. We were just … it was dumb.”

  I didn’t tell him how that had been one of the worst weeks of my life or that I’d never done anything with a boy, not really, and that, after each afternoon with Blake, I’d go home and cry in the shower and wonder what was wrong with me. And then I’d meet him by the creek the next day and it would happen all over again. It wasn’t like we even went that far—it just felt far to me.

  “Wow. That’s romantic.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer your version of relationships?” I asked.

  “You mean the ones where the girl actually wants to be with me? Um, yeah.”

  He parked the truck, and I sighed, wondering if we were still joking or not.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. You ready?”

  “Oh, no. You’re pissed. I said something wrong.” He shook his head. “This buddy of mine always tells me—” He stopped for a second and tapped his key against the steering wheel. I waited for him to finish his thought, but it was like he’d already gotten out of the truck. Like Mom, he wasn’t there.

  “Josh?” I reached out to touch his arm, but he jerked away.

  “I’m fine,” he snapped.

  “Okay,” I said, my voice soft.

  We sat there for a minute, sharing air, the music from Leo’s slipping through our slightly opened windows.

  I cleared my throat. “I know we’re not, like, best friends or whatever, but if you need someone to talk to…” His whole body seemed to tense up, so I stopped and opened the door. “C’mon. I’ll buy you a beer.”

  He gave me a sideways glance. “You don’t drink.”

  “Yeah, but I bet the only way I’ll get you on the dance floor is if you drink. Besides, Leo’s doesn’t card.” Leg or no leg, the dude needed to have some fun.

  He shook his head. “I’m not dancing.”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Seriously.”

  I gave him a we’ll-see smile, then jumped out of the truck and came around to his side.

  “Do you need any he—”

  “No.” He shifted his good leg around to jump down from the truck, which was way too high up because of the extra-huge wheels. He slammed the door and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”

  I didn’t know how that happened—my hand in his—so quickly, and why wasn’t I pulling away? He opened the door, and that’s how we walked into Leo’s, looking like a couple, but he let go as soon as we got past the dark entryway. It was like this little secret that I knew would hang over my head all night. And Dylan would see it right away; I knew she would. It was probably written all over my face, this feeling in my chest that was tight and loose at the same time. I let Josh walk ahead of me and I put the hand he’d held against a pillar just inside the entryway, letting the cold seep through my skin and up my arm. I told myself I wouldn’t stay long.

  And I’d get a ride home from Chris.

  * * *

  The restaurant-turned-dance-hall was packed, as usual. The walls were covered in sombreros and black-and-white photographs of people in traditional Mexican dress. Colorful piñatas in all shapes and sizes hung from the ceiling, their thin paper blowing in the breeze from the air-conditioning vents. The wooden tables that covered the floor during the day were pushed against the walls, stacked on top of each other. In the far corner, Chris’s cousin Carlos was spinning. One of my favorite reggaeton songs was playing, that familiar buh-buh-bump-bump, buh-buh-bump-bump thumping, and I focused on the music, letting it massage my brain until all I could think of was getting that beat inside me for the rest of the night.

  “Dance?” I asked Josh. I’d decided he needed to, bum leg and all.

  “Beer,” he said.

  We went over to the bar, but before we’d even made it, Ricardo, Chris’s incurably flirtatious older cousin, was catching me up in his arms.

  “Mi hija! Congratulations!”

  I let him twirl me around for a minute and then I was back on my feet, dizzy but laughing.

  “It’s just high school graduation, Ricky.”

  “Yeah, but around here, that’s a big thing.” He looked over at Josh, and I started the whole Josh-Ricky-Ricky-Josh introductions and then we were at the bar. Josh wouldn’t let me buy him a beer, and he handed me a Coke before I could say anything.

  “Ohmygod, Josh?” A gorgeous girl I didn’t know pushed between us, and in seconds, he was all up on her, which was so par for the Mitchell course.

  “So, is this, like … a date?” Ricky whispered.

  The girl had her hands on his waist and was leaning into him, laughing at something he’d said.

  “No! God.”

  How did girls do that? I mean, how did they manage to have a guy’s full attention in less than a minute?

  Ricky raised his eyebrows. “Well, in that case—”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be spinning?” I pointed to the DJ. “You just left Carlos up there all by himself. That’s cold.”

  He laughed and started toward the turntables just as Dylan shimmied up to me. I wouldn’t have to be Josh Mitchell’s third wheel all night, after all. Awesome.

  “Hi!” Dylan said, already a bit tipsy.

  “Hey, Mama.”

  “When did you guys get here?” She kissed my cheek and leaned across me to give Josh a thumbs-up. “You clean up good, soldier.”

  “Hey, Dylan,” Josh said, turning away from the clingy g
oddess. “You want a beer?”

  “I won’t say no.” She threw an arm around me. “Um, Chris needs a dance partner pronto. You know I can’t salsa for shit.”

  I was pretty sure Chris didn’t care about that, but I needed an excuse to get on the floor. “You don’t need to tell me twice,” I said.

  I took another sip of my Coke, and Josh took it out of my hand. “Get out of here,” he said.

  It was like we were together, but not. So weird. Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell Dylan was already psychoanalyzing us. I turned on my heel and booked it to the dance floor. I could feel eyes on me, but I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to know whose they were.

  I saw Chris’s curly head in the middle of the floor, a few inches above everyone else. I danced my way to the center, spinning out of the random hands that reached for me. I loved to dance, but I never danced with strangers—the last time I tried that, some dude tried to grab my boob.

  “Sky!” Chris’s hair was damp with sweat, and he took my hand and started twirling me around before I had a chance to say anything. We swayed our hips in perfect rhythm, our days of boredom in his backyard paying off in our snazzy salsa performance.

  For a while, I just let the music have its way with me. The beats soaked into my skin and filled me up. I tilted my head back and laughed into the rainbow-colored lights, my body slick with sweat. A couple of girls threw me envious glances as Chris pulled me closer. This was an oft-discussed phenomenon among Chris, Dylan, and me, because girls never gave Chris a second glance until he was on the floor at Leo’s.

  “Don’t look now, but you are seriously ruining your chances of getting laid tonight,” I told him. If only they knew how not sexy Chris was to me. Or noticed how often his eyes shifted to where Dylan stood by the bar.

  “Hey, I’m not the one who walked in with Josh Mitchell,” he said. “That’s like wearing a T-shirt that says DON’T TOUCH ME UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR ASS KICKED.”

  I swatted at his arm. “Not you too! He’s a Mitchell. Hello? I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “I know. I’m just giving you a hard time. It’s cool that you brought him out. I mean, he’s a total douchebag, but it sucks to be him right now.”

  Did I ask Josh out of pity? I wasn’t so sure. You don’t pity someone that your fingers itch to touch.

  “He’s not a douchebag,” I said.

  Chris leaned in close so I could hear him over the music. “He called me a faggot. That officially classifies him as a douchebag.”

  “Well, okay, that wasn’t cool. Douchebaggery was involved there.”

  “And I’m still pissed at him about my dad’s truck.”

  Once, Josh was so drunk he crashed into Mr. Garcia’s parked truck, then left a note that said Oops.

  “Chris, that happened, like, three years ago.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Carlos switched up the music, and Chris and I both shouted as one of our favorite Ozomatli songs came on, the momentary seriousness of our conversation forgotten. The floor was packed, and the energy was crazy hot, everyone getting lost in the music.

  “Hey, wanna see how low we can go?” Chris yelled.

  I nodded and followed his lead, twisting my body lower and lower as I held on to his waist for support. Our knees were almost to the ground, my dress hiked up in a seriously indecent way, but I didn’t care because I was having fun for the first time since I graduated.

  “Up, up!” I gasped, my thighs burning.

  We managed to stand again, laughing at the expressions on his cousins’ faces.

  “Oh, man, I’m gonna hear about that for the next few days,” Chris said.

  His family was convinced we were madly in love, even though we’d told them over and over that it was so not happening. It wasn’t just the Dylan thing. We’d made out once—in seventh grade—but it had felt too incestuous, so after five minutes of sweating all over each other, we gave up. You either feel it or you don’t, and we just didn’t, much to his mother’s disappointment.

  “Those moves are gonna kill in Boston,” I said.

  “Don’t I know it. I’m gonna get me a hot little math major, just you wait.”

  “As long as you don’t use any of your math pickup lines on her.”

  “I’m totally using my math pickup lines. Works every time.”

  “On who?”

  “A gentleman never tells.” He got close to me and did his best impression of this telenovela star that his mother loves. “Hola, señorita. I just want you to know that I’ve been watching you all night, and I can tell that you’re as sweet as 3.14.”

  “Oh my God!” I pushed him away, cracking up. “That is the worst.”

  He pumped a fist in the air. “Yes! My Latino charm strikes again!”

  “Sweet as pi? Ugh.”

  “You laughed,” he said, pointing at me. “You know what all my female cousins say? They want a man who can make them laugh.”

  “A man they can laugh with, not at.”

  “My mathematical suaveness is irresistible, and you know it.”

  He grabbed my hand and proceeded to drag me around in a tango. For the next few songs, it was just Chris and me being our usual goofy selves. Chris sang along in his terrible, warbly voice and my crappy week evaporated. When I was out there dancing, it was like anything was possible. The thought that we wouldn’t be doing this come September threatened to crush me; Chris was my other, my kindred spirit, and he was moving thousands of miles away. I pushed the thought back to where I’d put my worries about going to school and taking care of my mom. I just wanted to dance it all away.

  I only looked over at the bar once, but Josh was still talking to that girl. As if he sensed me, his eyes found mine, and I gave him a quick wave and then looked away, my face burning. Dylan and Jesse joined Chris and me, and the four of us busted out our best moves, Dylan hanging on me like she does when she’s had a few.

  My heart was hurting from all this love for her and Chris, and I pressed my lips against her cheek and held tight to Chris’s hand, just to let some of it seep out so I didn’t drown in it.

  Dylan grinned. “I know someone who might want in on some of that lip action,” she said, with a nod in Josh’s direction.

  “So not interested.” I pulled away from her and reached up to throw my hair into a ponytail. “I’m saving myself for Art Boy.”

  After I got into SFU, we created the perfect boyfriend for me. I’d meet Art Boy in the Intro to Russian Art class I was taking, and he’d be from some fancy East Coast family, and he’d draw portraits of me like Leo did of Kate, except we wouldn’t be on the Titanic, and I’d keep (most of) my clothes on.

  Dylan stared me down with her psychoanalyzing X-ray vision. “Art Boy isn’t here, and yet you look extra hot tonight.” She glanced at Josh, then back at me. “Are you sure this isn’t a date?”

  I was wearing my slightly faded black sundress that went to my knees and a pair of dirty All Stars. “Dyl, I hardly think this qualifies as sexy.” I gestured to her dress, a skintight number verging on lingerie status. “But I see you thought this was a pajama party.”

  “Hilarious,” she said.

  She pinched my ass, and I yelped, slapping at her. “Stop it!”

  Jesse pulled her in for the slow dance, and for a second, Chris and I stood there awkwardly. I could feel his good mood seep out, like one of those shiny balloons that start to sag as they lose air.

  He leaned in. “Dude, I need a drink. And maybe some taquitos. Wanna take a break?”

  I nodded and followed Chris as he pushed his way through the writhing, sweating bodies around us.

  “Remember,” I said, “there’s a hot little math major in your future.”

  Chris wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Yeah, yeah.”

  I patted his arm, but there was nothing more I could say. Dylan and Jesse had a kid together and were crazy in love. It was just never gonna happen.

  When we got to the bar, Josh was still the
re, now trading high school football stories with one of the guys he’d graduated with. Their voices were loud, the conversation peppered with fuckin’-A’s and other choice phrases from the locker-room phrasebook.

  “Hey,” he said, when we came up. The other guy turned back to his date, a non–Creek View girl I’d never seen before.

  “Hey, yourself,” I said.

  He handed me my Coke, his eyes glassy from however many beers he’d managed to down, and I took a long sip while Chris ordered a beer for himself from the bar. Chris was so obviously not twenty-one—he had one of those baby faces that ensured he’d be carded until he was forty—but the bartender was a distant cousin or something, so Chris always got whatever he wanted. Josh was only nineteen, but he was just one of those people you didn’t say no to.

  “You guys come here a lot?” Josh asked, his eyes taking me in with one quick glance. I was keenly aware of the sheen of sweat that coated my skin and made my dress cling to me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Like, twice a month?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t think you were into, you know, going out or whatever.”

  “Just because I don’t hang around Creek View parties doesn’t mean I don’t go out, Josh.” True, other than Leo’s, “going out” for me usually meant seeing a movie in Bakersfield with Dylan and Chris or going for a post-midnight dinner at the Denny’s an hour up the highway.

  He shook his head. “Skylar.” He said my name in a singsong way. “Don’t get upset. I was just…” He put a fist up to his lips to block a silent burp. “Joking around.”

  Yep, he’d definitely gotten through a few beers.

  I wanted to be angry with him, or grossed out by his sober-to-drunk ratio, but it was hard. Maybe he’d wanted to get out of Creek View just as badly as I had and then he’d gotten out and some asshole in Afghanistan had sent him back. If I were him, I’d be drunk too.

  Another slow song came on, and I set my drink down and held out my hand. “I didn’t invite you so you could be an ass. Come on.”

  Josh’s eyes widened. “No way.”