Never Eighteen

by Megan Bostic

  Chapter Twelve

  I gather my stuff and head out, thinking the fresh air will relieve what's left of my hangover. The sky's a strange shade of gray this morning, almost a gray yellow, as if the sun is there just beyond the clouds, desperately trying to break through. I automatically move in the direction of Kaylee's house. It's where I need to be anyway. I ring the bell, wait. Ring the bell again. Kaylee finally answers, looking really pissed, I might add.

  "What are you supposed to be? The Brawny paper towel guy?" she says eyeballing my outfit. "I didn't figure you'd be up yet." Her delivery stings. I flinch.

  "You busy?" I ask, hoping she says no. Once again, she's a big part of my plans for the day.

  "I'm getting ready for work, duh," she answers, gesturing to her coffee shop black. Her tone cuts to my very core.

  "Call in sick," I say.

  "No," she says, thrusting the blade deeper.

  "Please," I plead. Something in my voice or perhaps my manner causes her to soften. Her attitude changes instantly from anger to compassion, yet she doesn't budge.

  "I can't, Austin. I need the money."

  "I'll pay your wages today if you call in sick," I offer.

  "Austin, I'm not for sale," she says, though I see she's starting to waver. Her eyes move, roll around. She's thinking.

  "I'll buy you breakfast." She doesn't budge.

  I fold my hands as in prayer, get down on my knees, put on my best puppy-dog face, and repeat, "Please."

  She shakes her head. I bow down, as if to a goddess, and say, "I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy." I give her a sideways glance. She tries not to laugh.

  She gives me a stern glare behind the smirk. "Fine, but no more keggers."

  "Deal," I say, happily relieved.

  Kaylee calls in sick. "I'll go change," she says.

  "Dress warm. Oh, and you'll need your hiking boots," I tell her.

  "Great," she says.

  As I wait, Mrs. Davis enters from the kitchen. "Are you corrupting my daughter, Austin? I thought she was just getting ready for work," she says.

  "Sorry, Mrs. Davis. I really need her to drive me around again today. You're not mad, are you?"

  "How could anyone get mad at you? She said you guys went to Seattle yesterday?" When she says this she gets a sad look on her face.

  I mentioned that two bad things happened in sixth grade. The first was when Kaylee's dad died. It was a horrible car crash. I remember Kaylee not showing up for school. In second period, our teacher told us that her dad had died. I tried to call her all afternoon, but no one answered the phone. She called me back the next day, wanted to go for a walk, to get out of the house, to get away from the tears, the pain.

  She seemed so fragile—trembling, crying, not sure what to do with herself. I didn't know what to do either. I put an arm around her awkwardly as we walked. I listened, gave her a shoulder. It was hard to see her like that, but man, did I want to kiss her. I was mad at myself for thinking that right then, when she was so sad.

  Mrs. Davis was like a rock after the death. I'm sure she did it for her girls. Everyone was amazed that she could be so strong through such a hard time. I knew she was dying inside. I saw it.

  I came over one day, unannounced, just before the funeral. My mom had made a chicken and noodle casserole. I brought it over. The front door was open, so I let myself in, as I had so many times before. I headed toward the kitchen. There she sat, alone at the dining room table, head in her hands. She sobbed so deep and so violently, it seemed she couldn't breathe. I didn't know what to do. As quietly as I could, I set the casserole dish down on the coffee table in the living room. Then I snuck back out of the house. She stayed strong for those girls, but there was no one there to be strong for her. I'm sure she felt alone. Anyway, that's the reason I can't call her anything but Mrs. Davis. I don't believe I've earned that right.

  When Kaylee comes down the stairs, we quickly pack a backpack with a couple snacks, waters, and first-aid supplies, and we're climbing into the Mustang ten minutes later.

  "Do you think Candy's up for the drive?" I ask, patting the car's dash.

  "Crap."

  "What?"

  "She still smells like Puke de Austin."

  "Funny," I say. She gives me a dirty look, letting me know she's not exactly joking. The car does smell a little bit funky.

  "Plus, her name isn't Candy anymore," Kaylee says.

  "Oh, did you change her name to Apple, like I suggested?"

  "No, I still think that's a stupid name. Her name is Scarlet now."

  "Scarlet? Sounds like a slut," I joke. "You shouldn't say things like that in front of her, Austin. She's still pissed at you for throwing up all over her last night. I was up an extra hour cleaning her out and dousing her with Lysol to get rid of the stench. Take a whiff," she says, sniffing deeply. "She still reeks. That's why I changed the name. A car stinking of beer vomit can't possibly be named Candy, now can it?"

  "But a car stinking of beer vomit can be named Scarlet?"

  "You're not winning any points here, Austin," Kaylee says.

  I pet the dash as if it's a kitten on my lap. "I'm sorry, Scarlet. Believe me, it won't happen again." Then, less mockingly: "I'm sorry to you too, Kaylee."

  "Whatever," she replies. "I could have used your help last night, Paper Towel Boy."

  "Yeah, funny. Can we go now?" I ask.

  "Where're we headed?"

  "Mount Rainier."

  "Well, that explains the logger look." Despite the comment, her mood changes. "I love hiking."

  "We're only going a couple miles. I want to see something beautiful today," I say.

  "Uh, hello?" Kaylee says, pointing to herself.

  I roll my eyes. She's right, though. I can't think of anything more beautiful than her.

  Kaylee turns to me with troubled eyes. "Are you sure you're up for that today? We had a long day yesterday, and I know you had a rough night last night. You've got to be hurtin'," she says.

  "I'll work through the pain, and yeah, about that, thanks for, um, putting me to bed and stuff. I appreciate it," I tell her, head hung low. I feel my cheeks blush. Kaylee smiles a goofy smile, shakes her head, and turns her attention back to the road.

  "Before we go to Rainier, two quick pit stops," I tell her.

  "Oh, yeah. To where?"

  "Micky D's, but first Kyle's."

  "Kyle's? Is he coming with us?" Kaylee asks.

  "No. He's not home," I answer.

  She eyes me suspiciously. "Then why are we going there?"

  "Just for a quick dip."

  "Here we go again," Kaylee says driving to Kyle's house.

  We park down the street just as we had the night before, not for lack of parking, but for discretion. If you're going to break into someone's backyard, it's not a good idea to park right in the driveway. We slip down the street, hiding behind bushes and trees as we go, tiptoeing, as if secret agents. We sneak to the side of Kyle's house.

  It's still trashed from last night's festivities—cups, bottles, cans, and cigarette butts litter the yard and street. Kyle obviously did not have time to clean before heading out this morning.

  A locked six-foot fence surrounds the pool. We have to scale it, which is not an easy task. Kaylee helps me up and over first, she being the stronger of the two of us. She follows, nearly falling on top of me as she climbs over. Lucky for me she hits a rosebush instead.

  "Ouch," she cries.

  "Shhh."

  She whispers, "Austin, I would normally say this is one of the dumbest ideas you've ever had, but after yesterday, I guess it only makes the top twenty."

  "Nice, Kaylee, nice."

  "So what's with the secret swim? Why couldn't you just come over when Kyle was home?"

  "Because I want to do something I've never done before. I want to skinny-dip."

  "Skinny-dip?"

  "Yes, and I don't want to do it with Kyle."

  "You don't think I'm going to do it with you, do you?"
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  "That's not what I said."

  "Are you sure he's not home?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, have at it. I'll just go sit in that lounge chair over there, not watching."

  "Fine, but keep a lookout. Just in case." I begin stripping my clothes off, the cold wind stinging every inch of my bare skin, causing an outbreak of goose bumps. I slide into the pool slowly, not wanting to alert the neighbors by splashing around loudly. The water feels like icicles against my skin. Kaylee's sitting in a lounge chair with her back to me. "I'm in. You can turn around now," I tell her.

  She turns, leans back on the chair, watches me swim. God, I'd love nothing more than to see her in this pool, naked, swimming with me. The thought excites me, affects my body in ways that make me braver than usual. "You want to come in with me?"

  "No thanks."

  "Why not?"

  "First of all, it looks like it's colder than shit. Second of all, that would mean me getting naked. Uh-uh."

  "Come on. I've seen a naked girl before. You've seen one, you've seen them all."

  "Right. What naked girls have you seen? The ones in Playboy?"

  "Juliana."

  "Juliana? But I thought—"

  "Just because we never had sex doesn't mean we didn't get naked."

  "Oh." She has a strange look on her face. It's difficult to read.

  "And you've seen naked guys before." It's no secret between us that Kaylee has had sexual relationships. There's been two to be exact, so she's not a virgin like I am. She doesn't share much about those relationships—they weren't very good I guess—but she has shared that there was sex involved.

  "Yeah, and you know I love it when you bring that up."

  "Tell me about them."

  "Why? They're in the past."

  "Because I'm curious. Because normally we tell each other everything, and you've never really talked about them."

  "Fine. The first was Brian. A boy whose family's lake place was next to my grandparents'. You know, I've gone there for years during the summers. Brian was always there, ever since I was about six years old. He was three years older than me. Well, the summer I was thirteen, we started holding hands, kissing, small stuff like that. The next summer it got a little steamier. He'd slip his hand up my shirt, down my pants—things just progressed."

  Listening to her talk about it makes me imagine doing those things to her, and I feel myself harden. I'm relieved I'm in the pool where she can't see and where the cold water easily fixes the problem.

  "The last weekend of the summer, we snuck out after everyone had gone to bed, went down to the lake, and lay in the sand. He was more aggressive than usual that night; I didn't fight it. In truth I didn't realize what was happening until it was happening. Within minutes we were stripped down and were ... you know. When it was over, which was pretty quick, I kind of felt this sense of loss. Kind of empty. It's the last time I ever saw him. My grandpa died in the winter, and Grandma had to sell the place. We e-mailed at first, called, but the more time went by, the more sporadic the communications became until they just went away for good."

  "What was it like? Your first time, I mean."

  "It was almost surreal, like a bad dream. Not a nightmare, just a dream you wished you'd never had. It hurt; there was a lot of blood. But, I think it's almost better to get that first time out of the way with someone you don't really care about, because it's so uncomfortable and not really very fun."

  "And what was the other one's name?"

  "Jimmy. He was sweet. He worshiped me. I tried for a while with him, just because he was so nice. But something was missing. The butterflies, the heart flutters. I just didn't really feel for him the way I should have."

  "Are you sure you don't want to come in, please?" "Austin, give it up already." She laughs. "I'm not getting in there." I know when I'm defeated.

  "I'm getting out. Turn around," I say more sharply than I should, my tone surprising even me. I think listening to her talk about her relationships frustrates me, makes me jealous. They make me wonder what those guys had that she doesn't see in me. The day is just beginning, though; I still have time to open her eyes.

  I hear the slider open. "Someone's here," I say a little too loud. I try running out of the pool, which of course feels like slow motion. When I get to the stairs, I jump out, too frantic to care that Kaylee is seeing me in all my glory. She grabs my clothes and starts handing me one piece at a time while we run to the fence. I hastily slip them on.

  Kyle says, "What the—?"

  Kaylee jumps up and over the fence. I struggle to get up. She is looking up at me from the other side. "Come on, Austin," she mouths, motioning me forward.

  Suddenly, I feel a hand on my back. I turn and find Kyle standing there. He nods and smiles. I start to say something, but he presses his finger to his lips as if to say "Shhh." He cradles his hands and gives me a leg up. As I climb over the top, he gives me the thumbs-up, still smiling. I smile back and slide down the other side of the fence.

  "Jesus, Austin. I can't believe you didn't get caught," Kaylee says as we run down the street toward her car.

  "Yeah, weird."

  "I thought you said Kyle wasn't supposed to be home." She's annoyed, I can tell. I just shrug and smile.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When we arrive at the mountain, the sun is just starting to poke through the September clouds. We grab our gear out of the trunk of the car and head up the hill.

  "Have you ever been here before?" I ask Kaylee.

  "Never. You?"

  "Tons. I used to go hiking with Mom and Dad before, well, you know." Kaylee looks at me sympathetically. "You're going to love this," I tell her.

  This is my favorite hike, surrounded by trees and sky and soil. I've run into squirrels and marmots and even a black bear once. Nature has always been big for me, its raw beauty and magnificence. Sometimes I think about the trees and the mountains and how long they've been here. Much longer than I've been alive, and they'll be here long after I've gone. It makes you realize how small you are in the scheme of things, what little impact you have on the world. It's part of the reason why I'm doing what I'm doing this weekend, to make an impact. To know I might have made a difference, even if it was a small one.

  The hike starts straight up but evens out quickly. After walking a quarter mile, we cross a bridge and stop in the middle to admire the scenery, Christine Falls. The water rushes down the rocks and underneath us. I put my pack down and pull out a water and a PowerBar to share. "This is beautiful," Kaylee says.

  I want to say Not as beautiful as you, but I stop myself, not wanting to sound stupid. Instead, I say, "This is nothing. Come on." We repack our stuff and head farther up the mountain.

  Kaylee looks at her surroundings in wonder, like a child first discovering the world around her. This makes me happy; it's what I wanted. I wanted to share this with her, this place that has always been so important to me.

  We walk side by side with the falls as it snakes up the mountain. The trail heads away from the water and we weave through the trees, the sound of the falls waxing and waning with every turn. The hike evens out a bit again but soon we're climbing steps made of rocks and tree roots. The farther we go, the steeper the trail gets, and I begin to struggle. Kaylee notices.

  "Are you doing okay?" she asks. "Yep. Couldn't be better." It's only a small lie. I feel okay, just a little tired.

  We hike up and down, but mostly up. I'm getting weak; my lungs feel as if they will explode at any moment. The sound of the falling water becomes louder, and a few minutes later we're looking down over a ravine. There's a Y of water falling from two different sources and a tiny, one-rail bridge beneath them. "Wow," Kaylee whispers as she begins her descent into the ravine. I move slowly, as my legs feel like Jell-O and the ground is steep and slippery. I take only three steps before I lose my footing and end up on my ass.

  Kaylee turns back, sees me on the ground, and rushes to my aid. "Are you okay? I should have
helped you down," she says, offering me a hand up.

  "Yeah, I'm fine," I say, though my tailbone throbs in pain. She takes my hand and leads me down the rocks to the bridge. Again we stop in the middle to take in the view. Water shoots down over a cliff and rolls under us.

  "This is amazing," Kaylee says.

  "It's okay."

  She turns to me with a look that says WTF, then says, "Just okay? Why would you climb a mountain for something that's just okay?"

  "I mean, it's all right, but it's nothing compared to Comet Falls."

  Kaylee gives me a strange look before looking back up to the falling water, then again at me, and says, "This isn't the waterfall?"

  "Nope."

  "Then what's this?"

  "This is a creek."

  "A creek? This huge waterfall thingy is just a creek?"

  "Yep. Van Trump Creek."

  "Well, if this is a creek, I can't wait to see the waterfall."

  "Then let's go."

  This is where the really hard climbing begins—switchbacks straight up, back and forth. I have to stop often to rest, but Kaylee's patience never wavers. As we climb farther up, the air starts to chill. It's crisp and smells like snow. Kaylee's cute little nose is turning red; I want to kiss it warm. I'd forgotten how cold it gets up here, no matter how hot it is down at the bottom of the trail. The sun is bright, though, and heats the sections of trails not shadowed by the tall fir trees.

  We take yet another break—more water, trail mix. I pull a black stocking hat out of the backpack. Kaylee laughs at me. "Brawny turns gangsta," she says.

  "You're a goofball."

  She's keeping a watchful eye on me, I can tell. "You sure you're up to this?" "Yes, I'm sure, and it would be silly to turn back now after coming this far."

  We're closing in on our destination—I can tell because the temperature has dropped even more, the water's scent carries through the breeze, and the sound of the falls beats in my ears and heart like a bass drum.

  "That's loud," Kaylee yells over the noise.