The Way Back to You

by Michelle Andreani

  My coat makes swishy noises as Kyle runs his palms flat down my back. When I tilt away to shrug the thing off, he moves with me and I grin against his mouth. With my hands free, we both pull at his hoodie. He helps me lift it up, but I’m too impatient; without waiting for it to clear his nose, I go straight for his lips. His arms are wrapped in the sleeves, and he’s grinning as I help him break loose.

  “Sorry,” I say. My voice is thick and very not-sorry, especially when his fingertips dip under the hem of my shirt.

  He smiles a swollen-lipped, dopey smile. My heart lurches, expands, makes even more room in it for Kyle Ocie.

  I arch back as he presses his mouth to my neck, making our hips meet. His fingers flex on my waist, and we’re kissing and breathing and moving together, holding each other tighter. The ends of my hair could singe from how strong his hands are, or the chocolate-minty taste on his tongue, or what his skin feels like through thin cotton.

  I want Kyle to know. I want to rewind to earlier—how long has it been?—when I should have been honest about how I’ve always felt about him, because I can’t lie to him anymore. For the first time, I can tell him.

  For the first time, it might mean something to him, too.

  Kyle

  Of everything that’s happened during the past week, Cloudy Marlowe and me making out in the dark next to a decapitated mannequin is, by far, the most unexpected.

  I mean, I did this. I kissed her first. But I couldn’t have predicted that she’d kiss me back so intently, she’d sit straddling me on this bench, or that, just like that, I’d become addicted to inhaling her coconut scent and feeling her body pressing against mine.

  My hands are on her hips, holding her steady, pulling her closer, always closer. I have no idea how many minutes have passed since we started this (five? ten?), but our lips haven’t taken a break for more than a second.

  I’ve constantly been sneaking glances at her. I want to see her. I need to. And I’m hoping, just once, she’ll open her eyes again and see me, too.

  The Bedrock City Jail has holes cut out for windows and doors, so some of the talking and laughter outside is coming through, but as Cloudy rakes her fingers through my hair, the sudden CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH! of shoes on gravel directly outside startles us both. We detach our mouths and sit frozen in place, listening. I keep my eyes on the doorway, but when no one comes inside after several seconds, I exhale and refocus on Cloudy.

  She’s finally looking at me, and I don’t have to guess whether she’s as glad as I am about what’s happening here with us: her dreamy expression says it all.

  As our lips touch this time, I don’t close my eyes and neither does she. She cups her palms around my face while I slide my hands underneath her shirt and all the way up her back. We’re looking into each other’s eyes and touching each other’s skin and kissing and shivering, and it’s so intense that a tiny part of me is relieved when crunching gravel interrupts again.

  Unfortunately, it’s then followed by Devynne’s voice getting closer. “Well, it’s ridiculous, is what it is. We’re all here to celebrate her birthday, and of course, she has to go and— Oh!”

  One phone flashlight shines directly at my eyes, and is joined by two more. It’s so bright I can’t see the faces of the people holding them. Instead, it’s three gleaming white circles cutting into blackness over three headless torsos.

  As I’m blinking and squinting, Cloudy covers her eyes and hops off my lap, landing awkwardly on the bench between me and the other headless body in this jail. “That’s kind of blinding,” she says.

  Devynne again. “Sorry!”

  The lights jump to new spots in the jail cell: one shines on the fake bones and net hanging above us, another lights up Wally’s body, and the last illuminates Wally’s head lying beside the heap, which happens to be Cloudy’s coat and my sweatshirt. My vision adjusts in time for Devynne and Sergio to exchange amused glances. Charlie is taking in the whole scene with his mouth hanging open.

  Devynne steps back. “Um, maybe we should—”

  “Yes,” Sergio says. “We definitely should.”

  The three of them scramble to the doorway, leaving Cloudy and me sitting in darkness once again.

  “It would be better,” I whisper, putting my arm around her, “if buildings from the Stone Age had doors.”

  Cloudy giggles. “Those won’t be invented for at least a million years.”

  Outside, Charlie announces, “That was utterly macabre.”

  Sergio and Devynne burst out laughing.

  “Hey!” From a distance, Will’s voice cuts in. “Have you guys seen Kyle or Cloudy?”

  “Both,” Sergio yells back.

  Devynne chimes in. “They’re kind of . . . busy in the jail right now.”

  “You mean, getting busy in jail,” Charlie says. “And now we do know someone who’s made out with Kyle at Bedrock City. Next to a severed head!”

  “Next to a what?” Will is much closer now.

  Cloudy sighs, and then calls out, “Will, what’s up?”

  He answers from somewhere near the doorway. “We’re getting ready to leave. In maybe ten minutes? I’ll be driving Hannah’s van back.”

  “Thank God,” says Sergio. “For the leaving and the you-driving concepts.”

  Soon their voices grow faint as they migrate elsewhere.

  Leaning in close, I kiss Cloudy’s lips one more time. “To be continued?”

  Nodding, she smiles back at me.

  AFTER CLOUDY AND I have set Wally’s head onto his neck where it belongs and slipped our discarded clothing items back on, we step out of the jail together, holding hands. I don’t care what Hannah has to say about it; I’m riding back to Sedona in whichever vehicle Cloudy and I can be in together.

  I’m about to tell that to Cloudy as we’re making our way past a Stone Age police trike, but the ground shifts, pitching me forward. I catch myself, somehow managing not to fall.

  She grips my hand tighter. “Are you okay?”

  “Was that an earthquake?”

  “If it was, I missed it.”

  I can’t keep upright, so I sit on the gravel, bring my knees up, and hold on to my legs with my eyes closed.

  “Did you get up too fast and make yourself dizzy?” Cloudy asks.

  She doesn’t feel it. How can she not feel that we’re dice in a Yahtzee cup? That everything is too hot and too bright and too swirly?

  “Kyle?”

  I hesitate until the world rights itself. “I’m fine now. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. You kind of freaked me out.” She takes both of my hands to help me up, but I can’t do it yet. I let myself fall backward and she falls with me. On me. We both laugh and it’s loud in my ears. I wrap my arms around her and shift our bodies until I’m flat on my back with her lying on top of me. Better. This is better.

  Strands of her hair hang over my face, and I peek through them at the sky. Overhead, it’s a black sheet with thousands of pinpricks of white light bleeding through. Her hair is making fine lines in front of it.

  “So,” Cloudy says softly by my ear, “what exactly are we doing on the ground?”

  I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. All I can think at this moment is: I need you so much closer.

  It’s the truth. I don’t know why it became the truth, but it is now. I hold on tighter. “I don’t want to go back.”

  She lifts herself up and kisses my cheek. “Now you want to stay forever?”

  What I meant is, I don’t want us to go back to how we used to be. I don’t correct her, though.

  As she settles down again and rests her face against my neck, the sky—it winks at me. It goes entirely black, then flashes bright white. Too bright. The stars become . . . superstars. Bigger than the sun. All of them. All at once. Then they contract so they’re sparkling flecks, as small as dust.

  They turn big again.

  Then medium-sized.

  Huge.

  Tiny.
/>   Then all the sizes, all at once.

  “The stars are weird tonight,” I say.

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. They’re . . . shiny.”

  She laughs. “Okayyyy.”

  “Sorry if I’m not making sense. I’m a little”—I don’t know. There’s a word for it. For what I am right now. I’m pretty sure there is. I can’t remember it, though. I’m trying. The word. The word is—I’m . . .—“tired,” I finish.

  “We’ve had a busy week.”

  I’ve felt like this before. Silly like this. I was twelve and my dad took me to Las Vegas for the weekend—

  “When you were twelve?” Cloudy asks.

  I hadn’t realized I was speaking aloud. “We did kid stuff. Riding roller coasters. Buying candy and T-shirts at the M&M store. A magic show. Have you ever been to Vegas?”

  “No.”

  “Well, on the Vegas Strip, everything seems so close. But once you start walking, you realize it isn’t. It’s like a—like that thing in the desert when people think they see water, but it isn’t water?”

  “A mirage?”

  “Yes. A mirage.” I pause. It’s so hard to remember words. “Except it’s like, you keep heading toward a place and it stays the same distance away no matter how many steps you take. So my dad and I were walking back to our hotel late. I don’t know why he didn’t get a cab, but he didn’t and I was exhausted. There was this picture I saw later. My dad had taken a picture of me in front of a statue. This winged horse. So I’m in the picture. I’m standing there. But I could swear I’ve never seen this Pegasus statue in my life. I don’t remember posing. And it was like. It was crazy.”

  I wait for Cloudy to say something. I wait a long time. Finally, she does. “Is there more?”

  “More what?”

  “You were saying the Vegas Strip is like a mirage.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then . . . did something specific happen?”

  I blink a few times. I already told her. I told her the whole story. “The winged horse picture!”

  “The what?”

  Did I not say that part aloud? Did I not say anything? What the hell is wrong with me? “I’ll show you when we get there. You’re going to like it.”

  “Okay.”

  She strokes my cheek. This is so confusing. Why did I tell her she’ll like a statue that I don’t know how to find? I should stop talking. And thinking. Just stop.

  S-T-O-P spells stop.

  Stop. Spot. Tops. Opts. Pots. Post.

  Four letters. Six words.

  S-T-O-P.

  S-P-O-T.

  T-O-P-S.

  O-P-T-S.

  P-O-T-S.

  P-O-S-T.

  S-P-O-T.

  S-T-O-P.

  It’s Sesame Street in my brain. I’m Elmo. Or Melmo. That’s how I said the puppet’s name as a kid. My parents thought it was hilarious.

  Melmo!

  I stifle a laugh and keep watching the sky. Every single one of those stars is about to fall. Fall onto my fingers running through Cloudy’s hair. Fall onto my face. It’s going to happen and all I can do is watch and wait for it.

  Wait for it.

  Wait.

  What am I waiting for?

  I’m waiting for . . . something.

  My thoughts are slipping, slipping, slipping, slipping thoughts. Thipping sloughts.

  Thipping sloughts?

  Cloudy whispers, “It’s always been you.”

  It has?

  What has?

  Is this her answer to my question? Did I ask a question?

  She’s still saying words, but I catch only the last four: “And I love you.”

  That isn’t what I asked. I would never even think to ask her something like that.

  “Cloudy—”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” She props herself up so her chest, her warmth, is no longer pressed against me. I miss it. I miss her. “I thought you should know the truth.”

  “That you . . . love me?”

  She nods.

  Her face. Is mesmerizing. Her mouth is so. Pretty. And her nose. Her cheekbones. They’re so—

  Today she held my hand. I kissed her. I wanted to kiss her, so I kissed her. We kissed each other. We kissed a whole bunch of times.

  And now. We love each other?

  Maybe.

  It makes sense.

  I think it does.

  Her lips are so perfect. And her eyes. They’re so . . . big. I place my hands on either side of her face. It’s the regular size, I think. I mean, it feels normal in my hands. But it looks—it looks like— “How are you doing that?”

  She smiles down at me. With her huge mouth. So. Huge. “Doing what?”

  “Your face. Your whole face. It’s so— It’s like— Expanding. How? How can you make it that big?”

  “What?”

  Her screeching voice makes me laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh—

  “For real, Kyle.” She climbs off me and plops onto the rocks. “Are you drunk?”

  —and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh—

  “Kyle!”

  “Sprite!” I explain, forcing my laugh to be small. To be tiny. Tiny giggles piled on top of tinier giggles. Like soda bubbles. I try to sit up like she is. I fall back again. “I only drank Sprite. I ate a burrito. Remember? And a cookie. No. My cookie. Your cookie. Two cookies.” My tiny giggles turn into big ones. They clog my throat. I can hardly breathe. “I’m not Melmo. I’m Cookie Monster.”

  “Oh. My. God,” Cloudy says. “It’s the cookies.”

  Cloudy

  No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no.

  The cookies.

  THE COOKIES.

  I drop my head in my hands. I’m hollowed out and overflowing at the same time. Empty and bursting. Every emotion courses through me at once, ribbons that are too tangled to separate and pick apart.

  Gutted. Charged. Lost. Hopeful. Terrified. In love. Alone.

  And angry. That one stands out in the balled-up mess of my insides, prominent and familiar, easiest to grab on to. A flush spreads through me, burning so hot that I’m sure I’ll leave a scorched imprint on the ground.

  Rolling forward onto my knees, I bend over Kyle. He’s outstretched on the dirt, still laughing and beaming up at the sky. “Kyle, there was pot in those cookies.” My voice quakes, so I hold my breath to steady it.

  “Ohhhh.”

  “That’s why you’re . . . like this.” I can’t be mad at him; I shouldn’t be. But why couldn’t he have forgotten he had the cookies?

  Why did he kiss me?

  Kyle’s dazed stare meets mine, and he reaches up to softly tug at my hair, coiling it clumsily around his fingers before letting his hand slip away. “Your eyes, they’re so dark. But blue. Like that,” he says, pointing up. “But without the stars. Your eyes don’t have stars.”

  “Kyle, we’re leaving. Can you stand up?”

  He doesn’t answer, just keeps blinking at the stars.

  “You can sleep it off at Will’s, okay? But we need to get out of here.”

  Blink, blink. Blink.

  “Kyle,” I repeat, pleading, a sob in my throat. “Please.”

  He grins wide, so wide that his eyes stretch into a squint. Those are the only parts of him that move.

  My teeth clamp together to smother a scream. There’s no chance of getting him up and to the parking lot by myself. I pat his pockets for his phone so I can call Will, and he cackles and twists away like I’m tickling him. But even when I find it, I can’t think straight enough to tap in a security code that makes any sense. Numbers flash briefly in my brain but don’t stick around to make an impression.

  Panic swarms and, for a split second, I’m sure we’ve taken too long. Everyone’s left us here and we’ll have to
spend the night and what do I do? I can’t take care of Kyle like this; I can’t make things better when all I want to do is curl up somewhere, be small enough to disappear.

  But then I spot a shadowy movement between the beauty parlor and post office, thirty feet away, and I do the opposite. I stand on trembling legs, jumping and waving my arms, making myself bigger so whoever that is will notice me. The figure gets closer and its—Will’s—jog falters when he sees Kyle sprawled out. Then he speeds up into a sprint until he’s right in front us. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Will, Will, Will,” Kyle mumbles. He’s calming down some, but his fingers flex and claw at the dirt underneath him.

  I start pacing. “He’s high or something. He ate some cookies that Hannah’s friends gave him.”

  Will’s eyes go round as he squats down near Kyle’s head. “How many?”

  “Two.” A pain twists around my stomach. If Kyle had been aware of what those cookies were, he never would have eaten them—never would have offered one to me. I’d suspected and didn’t say anything. No one said anything. The thought snaps at me like a rubber band. “Did you know?”

  Will’s hand is flat against Kyle’s forehead. “That he ate some?” Will says. “No. Garrett mentioned bringing them, but I didn’t realize Kyle had any.”

  “You rode over here with him.” A cold sweat beads on the back of my neck as something that’s close to hysteria builds inside of me. “Are you saying you didn’t see anything?”

  “I was driving,” he tells me, his tone clipped. “I couldn’t pay attention to everything that happened, Cloudy.”

  I swallow a deep breath. An hour ago, I believed Will was a good guy—a good friend. I know this doesn’t change anything. You can’t watch over your friends all the time. I know that, too.

  I shake my head, feeling even worse now for barking at him. “Can you help me get him to the parking lot?”

  Without a word, Will props up a boneless Kyle. “We’re taking you back home, buddy,” he murmurs.

  I’m certain Kyle is too out of it to process this, let alone respond, but as I stoop to help lift him, I hear his lilting whisper. “Not home. Here. Forever.”

  It goes through me like a lightning bolt, and it aches all the more because he doesn’t know what he’s saying. It means nothing to him, like repeating a word in a foreign language. Everything he said after eating those cookies means nothing.