by Laura Hopper
I start my warm-up run and get crazy nervous when I near the pit. Ella is gone and Luke waits while Miles jumps. The butterflies in my stomach are doing backflips. I haven’t said a word to Luke since I got out of his car last night. Do I look at him? Do I merely stare straight ahead? He hasn’t noticed me yet, because his back is to me as he prepares to jump. I am approaching him as he takes his five long strides and hits the jumping board. He shoots his chest out, looks to the sky, and throws his arms behind his body. He lands in the sand with his legs in front of him and turns around just as I’m approaching.
“Go, Peachy Keen,” Luke calls out.
I almost laugh out loud. I love not only that he’s cheering me on, but that he has a funny nickname for me and he’s not embarrassed to use it in front of his buddy.
“Very funny,” I manage to say as I keep charging around the track, trying to keep from smiling.
On several occasions during the rest of the workout, Luke and I glance each other’s way and smirk. I see him doing high jumps from where I work on wind sprints. I never would have imagined that I could have so much fun with a guy from clear across a football field. It’s a bummer when practice ends; the two hours have gone by much too quickly. People grab their backpacks and file off the track. I start to leave, but Luke motions for me to join him by the high jump. I refrain from racing over there at warp speed.
“Nice hurdles.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Good job on high jump. I’ll never figure out how you get that height.”
“Come here, I’ll show you.”
I climb onto the mat. He leans in really close to me. Oh my god, is he going to kiss me right here in the middle of the field in the light of the waning sun? His eyes are really close to my eyes and his lips are really close to my lips. I’m not sure how I feel about this.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” I say back softly and nervously.
“Let me show you the Fosbury Flop.” He’s still whispering.
What on Earth is he talking about? I keep staring at him, wondering what is happening here. He bursts out laughing, and this time his tongue is in full view, pink and smooth. Finally he speaks in a normal voice.
“The Fosbury Flop is a high jump technique where you arch over the bar to lower your center of gravity.”
For the next half-hour, Luke teaches me how to high jump. He lowers the bar to four feet, which is a whole lot lower than the height he clears. He teaches me the ten steps of the approach, in the shape of a J. He makes fun of my J, calling it lowercase, which makes me laugh. He then demonstrates the takeoff and grabs my hands to show me that they should move forward and up. The real fun starts when it’s time to learn how to move in the air. Having the boy I like teach me how to thrust my hips and tilt my head back is an experience like no other. Who knew the high jump could be so exciting?
Afterward, Luke drives me home, and again, we’re sitting in his car in front of my house.
“Can we do something Friday night?” he wants to know. Wow, that sounds like a real date, not one that needs a kiss to qualify it. Naturally, my first instinct is to scream YES YES YES! at the top of my lungs, but then I remember my dad and how we made a plan to have sushi Friday night.
“I can’t,” I say.
I can see him try to cover his surprise. “Hot date with a faster runner?”
“Not quite. My father.” I tell him how things with the separation are escalating and that it’s starting to feel real. He is so understanding, which makes me like him more, if that’s even possible.
“How about you save room for dessert and call me when you get home from sushi?” he says.
“That sounds good,” I say.
He leans in and gives me a soft kiss on the lips. Nothing sexy or smoochy; just soft, sweet, and delicious. It feels like just the right kind of kiss to get from a boy after you’ve talked about your parents’ divorce. The irony of the timing is not lost on me: I’m starting up a romance while my parents’ romance, the only real reference point I have for relationships, is dissolving.
Chapter Ten
It’s Friday evening and there’s a lot in store for me tonight—dinner with my dad, which is sure to be weird because he’s going to want to talk about everything. My dad is all about communication. He always digs deep, wanting to know my feelings, reactions, and opinions about every challenge I face. He’s not going to let me get away with one-word answers or I don’t know responses to his questions. I guess when you have only one kid, you put all your eggs in that basket and you want to make sure you’re doing it right. My parents have always rejected the term only child in favor of exclusive child, which I find ridiculous, yet sort of endearing.
And then round two will be dessert with Luke. Where will we go? How late will we stay out? Should I pay for dessert since he bought smoothies? Do I invite him to come into the house when he drops me off ? It might be time to open up to Danielle and Sloan, at least so I can get answers to these logistical questions. These are things girls share with their best friends, and I desperately want to tell someone how excited I am. Besides, I could really use some coaching.
When I think about clothing choices for the evening, I almost laugh, picturing myself dressed in a frumpy librarian frock for dinner with Dad and then ducking into a phone booth à la Superman, emerging moments later in a sexy black number for my dessert date with Luke. But the truth is, I don’t own a sexy black number. I decide that jeans, boots, and a sweater will work for both parts of my double-header.
Now, sitting at the far end of the sushi bar at Sushi Mori, I stare at my dad, and I swear he looks different. I’m not sure I’d say he looks happier, but he seems lighter, brighter, more easygoing. It could be that he’s making every effort to make sure we have a good time, but I really think it’s more than that. I need to try not to take it personally that maybe he’s enjoying his freedom. But how can I not take that personally?
We gloss over the usual topics: the weather, school, track, friends, his work, and the Lakers (it’s tragic that there’s no NBA team in San Diego). When our waitress comes to take our order, Dad motions to me and tells me not to hold back, so I really go for it and order all my favorite rolls. I figure at some point this dinner is going to get strange, so I might as well have plenty of yellowtail, salmon, and albacore to ease the discomfort.
As soon as the waitress takes one step away from our table, Dad grabs my hand.
“I miss being at home with you,” he says. Here we go.
“I miss you, too,” I say. I get that lump in my throat and blink about a hundred times, hoping the tears will stay inside my eyes instead of rolling onto my cheeks.
“I want us to be able to talk about this. I know you probably have a lot of questions, and you’re old enough to know the answers. I’m here to indulge your curiosities.” That is so Dad.
“Were you on a date the other night?” I ask.
He does not hesitate before responding: “No.” I practically crumble in relief. “But I do have a sort-of date tomorrow night.” Blink blink blink.
“Who is she?” I hear the edge and judgment in my voice. I can’t help it. My dad hears it as well, loud and clear. His tone is calming, a little defensive.
“I’ve never even met her, so before you go thinking anything improper happened, I’ll tell you right now that you would be wrong. This separation is a mutual decision between Mom and me. No one has come between us.”
I sigh. I remove all sharpness and criticism from my tone.
“Who is she?” I ask with exaggerated cheerfulness and a plastic grin.
“Very funny. She’s a lawyer in Uncle Ed’s office. She’s recently separated as well, and Ed thought we could be friends. We had one phone conversation, and I’m meeting her for a drink tomorrow. Not even dinner.”
I bust out my phone.
“What’s her name? Let’s look her up on Facebook.”
“That is not happening. I’m not going to cyberstalk her. I’m go
ing to get to know her the old-fashioned way.”
“You’re no fun,” I say. This time my smile is genuine.
“I’m sure it must be strange for you to know I will be on a date. You’re the one who should be dating, right?” He leans in ever so subtly, his smirk giving him away.
“Mom told you.” I should have known. Those two tell each other everything. If I so much as sneeze in front of Mom, Dad will hear all about it.
“Yeah. But if there’s anything more you want to share, I’d love to know,” he says.
“There’s nothing to tell. He drove me home from practice a couple of times. He’s nice.” That seems to be all the information Dad needs. He’s clearly not looking for graphic details.
“I guess we’re all going through some changes,” he says softly.
“Guess so.” Just the thought of Luke puts me in a better mood.
The food comes and we actually end up having a really good time together. I laugh watching my dad pretend to enjoy the yellowtail when I know he’d much rather be scarfing down a burger and fries. He tells me that he’s renting a little apartment near the beach in Del Mar and he wants me to come see it. I’ll have my own room there, and we can decorate it however I’d like. I promise that next week, when he gets back from his trip to Washington and Oregon, I’ll spend the night at his new place.
After Dad pays the bill, we head outside and start walking toward the car.
“Want to get some ice cream?” Dad wants to know.
“No thanks.” I feel bad. Clearly he wants our time together to continue.
He does a whole dramatic heartbroken routine.
“What? No ice cream? Are you saying I have to eat ice cream all by myself ?” he asks with mock tears.
“Um . . . well . . . the thing is . . .”
Now he’s ultra-curious. He stops walking and looks at me questioningly.
“What’s the thing, Janey dear?”
“I’m supposed to meet Luke for dessert,” I say apologetically.
“What, are you speed dating or something?”
“No. It’s just that he wanted to do something tonight, but I was seeing you for dinner, so he asked if we could have dessert. Are you angry?”
Again, he does a big performance of a crushed heart and crocodile tears.
“Of course I’m not angry. Let’s get you home so you can have your dessert and still get to bed at a decent time. ALONE!”
“DAD!” I can’t believe him. My dad’s always been really open and easy to talk to. However, I am completely unprepared for references to me and actual sexual activity with an actual boy.
I text Luke when we leave the restaurant, and when Dad pulls up to my house (I guess I can’t say our house anymore), Luke’s Jeep is parked at the curb and he’s sitting on our front porch. He looks so cute, I can feel my insides quicken to the point where I have to take a deep breath. Dad notices my reaction, but thankfully says nothing, which must be excruciating for him. We get out of the car and Luke walks toward us. We all meet halfway up the walkway.
I’m so uncomfortable having Luke and my dad approaching each other, I wish I could slip into one of the cracks in the pavement.
“Dad, this is Luke. Luke, my dad.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. King.” Luke extends his hand and shakes my dad’s. Dad seems impressed; he’s always been a sucker for a kid with good manners.
“Pleasure to meet you, too, Luke. Don’t keep her out too late.” Guess he had to get some fatherly words in there. He squeezes me tight and gives me a kiss on the forehead before slowly making his way back to his car.
When we’re officially alone, Luke and I look at each other. He leans down and kisses me sweetly on the lips.
“That should answer any questions about whether this is a date,” he assures me.
“I’m so glad you cleared that up.” I can tell this is going to be the best dessert ever.
Luke takes me to a little place that has authentic gelato. He holds my hand as we walk from the car into Gelateria Frizzante. I love how he isn’t self-conscious about who might see us and what they might think. If not for his confidence, I would be dying inside, wondering if someone we knew from school was nearby and how the word would spread. I can’t help but think people would speculate about why the hunky Luke Hallstrom is with the nobody Janey King.
We walk up to the counter and gaze at all the gelato options. There are too many flavors to choose just one.
“Guess it would be easier if they had Peachy Keen,” Luke teases me.
“I will never live that down, will I?”
“Aw, come on, it’s adorable,” he says. “I’ve got this; you go grab a table.”
I go find a little table in the corner and wait. A few minutes later, Luke walks toward me weighed down by eight or nine cups of gelato.
“Hungry?” I ask him with a snicker.
“You need to try all of these. That way, next time we come, you’ll know exactly what you want.” OMG, we’re coming back again. Yay.
The little table is barely big enough to hold everything he bought. Luke arranges the cups strategically, making our table deliciously crowded. An older couple nearby watches curiously. Luke takes two spoons and a bunch of napkins out of his pockets.
“Choose your weapon,” he says.
I grab a spoon and dig right into the chocolate hazelnut. It’s heavenly. Then I try the piña colada, followed by the blood orange, which is Luke’s favorite by far.
Luke asks about my dinner with my dad. I tell him everything, a little floored by my own ability to be so candid with him. He listens attentively, looking at me while I talk, as if he really wants to know what’s going on.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this. You know I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”
“Thanks. That’s so nice. I guess I always thought we’d be a family forever.”
Luke reaches across the table and puts his hand on mine.
“What’s your family like?” I ask, trying lamely to take the spotlight off my sad broken home.
“They’re true Bostonians. My parents met in college when my dad was at Harvard and my mom was at BU. They were both on the T late one night and started talking. They got off the train together and ended up walking around and talking until the sun came up. The rest is history.”
“That’s pretty romantic,” I say, wishing my parents had a cool story like that, as opposed to the boring one where they had mutual friends and met at some Memorial Day barbecue. Where’s the romance in that?
“Yeah. They really love Boston. And each other, I guess. They’ve talked about moving back to the East Coast since I can remember.”
“And now it’s happening?” I ask.
“Yep, they have a realtor looking for houses there,” he says. “And they’re getting ready to sell our house here. The plan is that we’re all packing up and moving east right after graduation.”
“Do you think you’ll spend a lot of time with them while you’re at school?”
“When my brother left, I swear they wanted to move right on campus with him and make sure he ate three square meals a day. But, you know, I’m the third kid, so they’re practically counting the minutes until they have their freedom.”
“Hey, they’re moving to Boston to be close to their kids. So they aren’t looking for too much freedom,” I say.
“True. They’re all about family. They’ll probably figure out a way to make us all come for Sunday-night dinners,” he says.
“Maybe you’ll be very happy to have a home-cooked meal,” I say.
My mind starts racing ahead to the fall. Luke and his entire family will be in Massachusetts. He’ll have no reason to come back here. No visits over Thanksgiving or winter breaks. No long weekends in San Diego pretending he’s visiting his parents, but really here to see me. I take a huge bite of chocolate banana nut crunch and make myself focus on the here and now.
Luke and I close the place down. We don’t even co
me close to finishing all the gelato he bought. It was an absurd amount of food in the first place. Now it’s just melted pools of sugar and cream. When the guy from behind the counter starts putting chairs up on the tables and mopping the floors, we know it’s our cue to leave.
Back at my house, Luke walks me to the door. We’ve held hands all the way home, but he hasn’t kissed me since that sweet little peck on the lips right after my dad drove away. I’m wondering if I’m supposed to ask him to come in the house. If he does, what would we do? Where would we go? I couldn’t take him to my room. Would we watch TV? Would we hang out with my mom? It all seems so horribly awkward.
“I guess I should go,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, hoping he’ll never ever leave.
“That was fun,” he says. “You’re fun.” He leans toward me. His hands reach up and push my hair gently away from my face. His eyes stay on my eyes until his lips touch mine. My eyes close as he opens his mouth and his tongue finds mine. I feel myself grow weak and I lean back on the front door to keep from falling. I don’t know what to do with my hands and, as a result, my arms hang limply and lamely at my sides.
He leans into me, his body up against mine. It feels like he’s protecting and guarding me. For the next several minutes, he kisses me. Our lips never part. His hands stay in my hair while his tongue continues to play with mine. It’s both gentle and sexy at the same time. I could do this forever and ever. It’s like time stands still and nothing else matters. Not my parents’ divorce, nor debate, nor track, nor my friends. I am undeniably lost in Luke and only Luke. Waves of weakness and strength crash into each other throughout my body. Is this what falling in love feels like? This euphoria? This sense of being protected and adored? If so, then sign me up, because nothing has ever felt so good.
Chapter Eleven
My alarm goes off Saturday morning at seven and I can’t pull myself out from under my covers. I have a debate at Kearny High School and Brett is picking me up in twenty minutes. This morning is much different from recent mornings when I woke early for school, bounded out of bed, and launched right into a wardrobe and grooming routine unlike ever before. Knowing I won’t be seeing Luke today takes away all my motivation to rise and shine.