Picture Perfect

by Catherine Clark

  “It’s a room at a bed-and-breakfast,” Mom explained. There was a slight pause, and then she added, “I know I don’t need to say this, because we’re talking about Spencer, and you, and I know nothing would happen. But you might check and see in the lobby if there’s a cot available or a sofa. The proprietor of the B-and-B said the bed was a double, which is not very big at all. But in case something did happen—”

  I pressed the phone as tightly as I could to my ear. I did not want Spencer to hear what my mother was proposing. I couldn’t get out of the car because it was still pouring. Occasional lightning flashes lit up our faces.

  “You and I have talked and I know you’re practically an adult—okay, maybe you are an adult—but you’re still my baby, and I know you know to take precautions and be careful—”

  “Mom? Mom.” What else was she going to say? I didn’t want to know.

  I appreciated her concern, but this really wasn’t the time to go over things, when I didn’t have even a yard of privacy.

  “Well, honey, these things do happen,” she said.

  “Yes, but not to me,” I said. “Anyway—thanks for setting us up. I mean, for setting up everything for us. We’ll go find the B-and-B.” Maybe I didn’t want to go away to college, because sometimes her taking care of everything was nice. Maybe she does micromanage, but at least she’s good at it.

  “Call me if anything—if you need anything—we can come pick you up, if you like,” she offered.

  “Don’t be silly, Mom. Spencer and I will be fine. The weather’s rotten, and it’s late—we’ll just stay put.”

  “Are you sure?” Spencer whispered to me.

  I nodded. “We’ll call you in the morning, Mom, but just assume that we’re okay. Because we are.”

  I’m also nervous. Dying of anticipation. And freaking out. But okay.

  Chapter 16

  When the rain let up, Spencer and I ran most of the way to the B&B. Mom had given us exact directions from the parking area. I put my camera under my shirt to keep it dry, just in case the skies opened again. I was glad our clothes didn’t get drenched, since we’d likely be sleeping in them.

  At the bed-and-breakfast, this supersweet older couple named Mildred and Curt let us in, served us iced tea, and showed us to our room at the top of the third-floor stairs.

  “Now, it is only a double bed, but it’s a generously sized double bed,” Mildred explained.

  Spencer stood in the doorway, just staring at the overly flowered comforter, with matching curtains, borders, and floral prints on the wall. “It looks like a single bed,” Spencer said.

  Curt nodded. “You’re right. Sorry, I forgot. This is our mother-in-law room.”

  “That’s okay. I was going to sleep on the floor, anyway,” Spencer said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’ll go get some extra comforters—you can build yourself a little nest.”

  “What am I, a bird?” Spencer whispered to me as Mildred gave us a brief tour, showing us the tiny pink bathroom, and how the pink rotary phone worked, and where to find extra pink towels. We were both trying not to laugh, because the room couldn’t have been more not our style, even with effort.

  “You poor kids.” Mildred patted my shoulder as they prepared to leave us for the night. “Well, I hope you don’t mind that our inn is very romantical. I know you’re just friends and this is a dire situation—”

  “It’s not dire at all, actually,” I said. “We’re pleased to be here. Thanks so much for finding a place for us on such short notice.”

  We said good night and closed the door. Spencer pressed his ear to it and listened for a second, as if he wanted to hear them go back downstairs.

  “They don’t strike me as the eavesdropping type,” I said, wondering if my mom in her insanity had asked them to keep close tabs on the two of us.

  “You never know,” he said. “Is everyone else here already in bed? I mean, is this an inn or a retirement home?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, I feel like there are more vacant rooms than just this one. And our parents wanted to save money, so they booked us in the smallest room.”

  “If this is about sleeping on the floor, I’ll do it,” I said. “Because I don’t mind.”

  “No, but do you want a picture of my nest? It’s very romantical.”

  We both laughed. I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth with my index finger—it was a trick I’d learned on our various camping trips over the years. Spencer did the same thing, then settled onto his nest on the floor beside the bed. I climbed into the bed and looked over at him. “So.”

  “So.”

  “Here we are,” I said.

  “Right.” He suddenly got to his feet. “You know what? I need a book. I always read before bed.”

  “Didn’t you bring one?”

  “No.”

  “Wow. That has to be the first time in your life,” I said.

  “Ha-ha. I’ll go get one from the lobby—they said they had a library.”

  I lay there and waited, nearly holding my breath. Then I ran into the tiny bathroom and scrubbed my teeth one more time with my finger, using the guest toothpaste. Just in case.

  I was back in bed, under the covers in my T-shirt, just as Spencer came back into the room.

  “You won’t believe this, but all they have is horror novels,” he said. “Oh, and cookbooks.”

  “Horror novels? Them?”

  “I borrowed the one with the best blurbs. It’s about eight hundred pages long. Oh, and here. Mildred baked cookies.” He held out a napkin with a large ginger cookie on it.

  “Cookies? At this time of night? Um, I just brushed my teeth.” For the second time. Because apparently I have delusions that I’m going to get close to you.

  “Oh. Well, more for me—”

  “But I’m starving. Gimme.”

  “I thought you felt sick,” Spencer said.

  “That was hours ago.”

  “Yum. Cookies and a bloodbath novel. I’m going to sleep like a baby.” He snuggled back under the covers.

  “What time should we try to leave?” I asked.

  “As soon as the sun’s up.”

  “Yeah. Well, I guess it depends when Rustbucket sends someone to get the car fixed.”

  “True.”

  Did we really have this little to talk about?

  “Are you going to be able to sleep if I keep this light on?” he asked.

  “Oh, sure.” I was trying very hard to be agreeable. But the truth was that the longer I lay there, listening to him flip the flimsy pages, the brighter the light seemed to get. I covered my face with the light—pink—cotton blanket. It smelled vaguely like gingerbread cookies.

  Or maybe that was me.

  I peeked over the edge and made sure Spencer was lying down focused on reading, then I got up and scooted into the bathroom to brush my teeth for the third time, and wash my face. When I came out, Spencer was lying on his back, and he looked up at me. Our eyes met and I did this kind of awkward move, pulling down my T-shirt. What was I doing, walking around with hardly any clothes on in front of Spencer? I scurried back into bed and under the blanket.

  “You know what? There’s too much pink in here. There’s like a glow to the room. I can’t read a scary book in the middle of this environment.”

  “You’re so sensitive,” I teased him, getting comfy in bed again.

  “And you’re so obsessed about brushing your teeth.”

  “I was getting a drink of water,” I said.

  “Well. Um, you can turn the light off now,” Spencer said.

  “Okay.” I reached over and switched off the lamp on the nightstand. I rested my head on the pillow, lay back, and tried to relax. I couldn’t, though. I kept thinking about how disappointed I was in myself, that I hadn’t yet had the guts to tell Spencer how I felt. And if I was disappointed, Heather was going to be even more so. She’d helped create this opportunity. We were alo
ne. We were in the dark. If there was ever a good time to tell him, it was now.

  “Spencer?” I said softly. “Spencer?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you comfortable enough? Do you want another pillow?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll just use this book for a pillow. It’s big enough,” he said.

  I laughed. “Um, okay. Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Won’t it give you really bad dreams?” I asked.

  “Nah. Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. I’ve got this pillow from that chair over there, and it has a giant turkey on it. Very Thanksgiving. Wait a second. I’m hungry.”

  “Me too. Does the pillow smell like gingerbread, too? Because my blanket does,” I said.

  “Kind of. Do you think we’re in a fairy tale? Like, which was the one with the creepy witch and the oven? That is so Mildred.”

  “‘Hansel and Gretel.’ Which one am I?” I asked. “I could never remember which was the girl.”

  “You’re Rumpelstiltskin. No, wait—which was the one with the long hair? Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

  I slid over to the edge of the bed and leaned back, letting my hair fall onto him.

  “Ack!” he cried. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave you alone. Quit reading horror novels and you won’t be so on edge.” I scooted back to the middle of the bed, put my head back on my pillow and lay there for another five minutes. He might be sleepy, but I wasn’t. At all. I was keenly aware of how close he was, of how we could be talking, but weren’t. How we could be kissing, but weren’t. How this whole night was slipping through my fingers like beach sand.

  “Spencer? Are you asleep?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I want to talk to you about something,” I began.

  “Uh-oh. Is this going to be about me getting you another cookie?”

  “No,” I said.

  “If you need help falling asleep, I can go grab a cookbook for you to read,” he offered. “They must have Best Gingerbread Recipes of All Time.”

  “No. I want to talk about what happened the last time we all got together,” I finally said, as emphatically as I could.

  “You mean…the pizza party? When they forgot to deliver our pizza, and my dad insisted they—”

  “No!” I interrupted. “You know what? Forget it.” I turned over. “Good night.”

  “Yeah, okay. Good night to you, too.” Spencer sounded a little hurt. I couldn’t believe how difficult he was being.

  A few minutes later, he got up and crouched on the edge of the bed. I turned back over and held my breath, wondering what he was up to.

  “You know, when you said that stuff. Way back. Our last trip,” he stammered. “I was a real jerk about it. I’m sorry. That’s the reason I didn’t stay in touch. I just felt bad.”

  “Well, yeah, me too,” I said. “Obviously.”

  “I didn’t know how to react, so I didn’t say anything. That’s not a good excuse, it’s just…” He shrugged.

  “I guess it must have been kind of a shock.”

  “Not really. I mean, I…we did have a lot in common and we…well, anyway.”

  “Right,” I said like an idiot.

  “Right. So, um, good night.”

  “Night.” He slid off the bed, back into his nest of comforters on the floor.

  A second later, I turned the light back on. Clearly, this could take me all night. “Sorry. But all the things I said back then. They’re still true.” I said. “I mean—”

  “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Spencer asked, shielding his eyes from the light.

  “Oh. Tomorrow. Sure. Fine.” I switched off the lamp on the bedside table, turned over, and punched my pillow.

  Then I sat up again. Cringing inside. It was like preparing to have one of my baby teeth pulled out, waiting for my dad to slam the door that was attached to the string that was attached to my tooth. But I couldn’t cry, at least not yet.

  “Actually, no. We can’t. We have to talk now.” Oh, no. What am I doing? I’m going to be stuck out here—stranded—on an island that’s haunted by a pirate’s ghost, where I don’t know a soul, unless of course Blackbeard had a soul, but actually I don’t know him either, so…

  “Have to talk about what?” Spencer asked.

  “Everything.” I pulled off the cotton blanket, got out of bed, and sat beside Spencer, on the floor. “Would it maybe make more sense for us to both lie on the bed? It might be easier to sleep. And, uh, talk.”

  “No, I’m fine here,” he insisted.

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t ask.” I hugged my knees to my chest. “Listen. I know this is weird. And we’ve known each other…forever. So it shouldn’t be weird, but I actually think that’s what makes it so weird.”

  He raised his eyebrows and sat up, leaning back against the bed. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go to sleep?”

  “Yes! Come on. You know how hard this is. It’s like—you and that next-door girl. Megan. Magellan?”

  “Morgan.”

  “Whatever. You couldn’t tell her how you felt. And that’s how it is with me. And with you, too, I think.”

  Spencer looked over at me. “You want to ask me to your prom?”

  “Shut up. You are not making this easier.”

  “Should I?”

  I stared at the little scar near his ear. I wanted to kiss it. I wanted to kiss him. “Yeah. You should.”

  “Okay, then.” He reached for my hand, sending goose bumps up and down my arms. “How about if I say something for a change?”

  “Sounds good,” I said, scooting a little closer.

  “Here. Turkey pillow,” he offered, and I propped it behind my back, smiling.

  “Well, the first thing I have to know is…are you done trying to meet other guys on this trip? And if you’re not—could you be?”

  “Hmm. I’m not sure.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re not sure? What do you mean, you’re not sure?”

  “Give me a good reason,” I said.

  “I don’t think they’re worthy. Wait. I know they’re not,” he said. “Blake and his cheesy jalapeño tattoo.”

  I smiled, remembering how he’d insulted Blake for me. “So what are you saying?” I asked. “That you are worthy?”

  “Well, yeah, of course, but that wasn’t the point.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “No.”

  “It’s okay, you know.” I squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to be creative about this.”

  “What, do you think I can’t do it?” he replied, sounding offended. “Because I can be very creative with this sort of thing. At least…in my head.”

  “How about if I start by telling you…how I feel about things?” I asked. “I think that, uh, you’re the Spencerest of all the Spencers I know.” I’d told Heather that I’d never use that line, and here I was—stealing it. And it sounded just as stupid now as it had when she’d said it earlier in the day.

  “How many Spencers do you know?” His forehead creased with worry.

  “One. You.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “It’s a great thing. Only…you tend not to talk. At least, not about anything important. You read too much—”

  “Well, you take too many pictures,” he replied. “You never leave home without a camera of some kind.”

  “Well, you never leave home without a book—”

  “Ha! What about today?” he asked.

  “That was a fluke, but okay. Fine. So I’m obsessed. Get over it.”

  “No.” Spencer shook his head. “Get over here.”

  We both moved closer to each other, so we were sitting face to face. I felt like my tummy was doing somersaults. Spencer reached for my hair, which had gotten all mussed up from the trip on the ferry, the rain, the constant struggling to get comfy…He ran his fingers from my ear, down my neck, to my shoulder. I think I litera
lly shivered.

  “You can’t be the Emiliest of the Emilies, because that’s just wrong,” he said. “And it sounds like a French movie. But you’re…my favorite person. And I can’t believe how when I saw you, I nearly fell over, because it hit me that I’d been totally trying to avoid feeling this way about you for the past few years since you said that to me. And I’m such a chicken. I couldn’t say anything. It was killing me, but I couldn’t do it. You weren’t interested in me. You were interested in…Blake. Of all people.”

  “I wasn’t, really—I was just trying to, you know, have a fling, because Heather thought we should,” I said. “I was upset when it didn’t work out, but it didn’t take me long to realize I wanted to be with you and not him, from the beginning. I was just trying to avoid it—and you. And this kind of, um, situation.”

  “What kind?”

  I squirmed a little, feeling uncomfortable again, as if history was only bound to repeat itself here in a few seconds. “Where I tell you how I feel and you, uh, turn the other way.”

  “What? I didn’t do anything as bad as that,” Spencer said.

  I nodded. “You did.”

  “Really? Wow. I don’t remember it that way. I remember totally panicking, and thinking, we’re leaving the next day and our parents are in the next room and what if something weird happens—”

  “I thought all that stuff, too!” I said. “I just decided to take the chance.”

  “Yeah, well. You’re young. You take chances when you’re young.”

  “True. In fact, watch this.” I moved closer and kissed him quickly on the cheek, right by his small scar. Then I kissed his mouth, and it was nothing like the fast kiss Blake had given me in the grocery store—it was soft and gentle and kind of distracting me from my point. Then I nuzzled his neck, brushing my lips against the slight stubble he had now whenever he didn’t shave. He was so grown-up. What am I saying? I was so grown-up. I’d never done anything so bold in my life.

  “Some risks…are…worth…taking. I guess,” he murmured, and then he started kissing me back.

  Chapter 17

  “I’ve never had gingerbread pancakes before. Those were awesome,” Spencer commented as we walked to the car the next morning. “I kept thinking, with their love of cookbooks and slasher novels, maybe they’re trying to lure us into some evil plot, but I don’t care. Pass the syrup.”