by Shari Arnold
In my room I glance in the mirror, applying lip gloss and checking my hair. I throw on my dark green shirt, the one I’d planned to wear — not the flirty little dress Sheila wants me to wear. This shirt is fitted where it needs to be and slightly low in the back, and it looks great with these jeans. It also brings out the green flecks in my hazel eyes. One last turn in the mirror and I’m convinced I look fine. Maybe even a little better than fine. My face is flushed and that’s okay. Whatever James did to my hand has brightened my eyes, but I can’t think about that right now, because if I do I just might hyperventilate. And a paper bag isn’t quite the accessory I’d planned to bring with me tonight. Instead I slip on the diamond earrings my mother bought me two Christmases ago. I take a deep breath and let it out the way I learned to do in Yoga class and then I do it one more time.
“Soon,” I tell the flustered girl in the mirror. “Soon I will take a moment to think about the weirdness that is my life right now. Soon I will confront all these things that aren’t exactly normal. But not now. Not tonight.” The girl in the mirror nods her head with acceptance — if not denial. “Go!” she tells me, because what I really need is to get myself downstairs before my mother decides she has to meet this boy, Meyer. The boy who has secrets of his own.
James is waiting for me at the elevator.
“Are you ready?” I say and he smiles.
“We’ll continue our discussion another day,” he tells me and the look in his eyes leaves no room for debate.
“Bye, mom!” I call out and then she’s there, watching as I step into the elevator.
“No later than eleven,” she says just before the doors shut and I’m left alone with James.
“I’m sure you have questions.” James is standing next to me — not touching, but we might as well be. I’m more aware of him than I am my own breath.
“Always,” I mutter. “But the real question is, will you answer?”
James is quiet, waiting for me to continue.
“I don’t know what you want,” I say.
“Are you sure that’s really what has you concerned?”
“Can you stop talking in riddles, please? You’re supposed to be my Spanish tutor, not my psychologist!”
The elevator becomes thick with silence. The kind that goes on far too long or maybe not long enough because suddenly the doors open and there’s Meyer. He gives me a lopsided smile, his eyes heavy on mine. He opens his mouth to say something but the moment he catches sight of James his expression changes completely. His eyes widen with shock, or possibly recognition — it’s hard to know for sure. He takes a step back as though he’s desperate for more distance between us. For a second I’m afraid he’ll bolt. But he doesn’t. His feet ground him to the floor about ten paces from the elevator. His eyes have gone hard. So still is he that were I to touch him I might find that he’s frozen.
“Meyer?” I call out. But he’s ignoring me. His hard green eyes are locked on James, who steps off the elevator looking far more composed and relaxed than anyone should considering the bristling tension in the air.
“James Hale,” he says to Meyer, extending his right hand. “I am Livy’s tutor.”
Meyer reacts as if he’s been slapped. His body unfreezes, his lips curl and his eyes narrow into two tiny points of fire.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, ignoring James’ outstretched hand and brushing past him on his way toward me. “We should go, Livy. We mustn’t keep them waiting.”
“No,” James says. “Never that.”
I have just enough time to smooth my nervous hands along the side of my jeans before Meyer grabs my arm and tugs at me.
“Wait.” I pull back from Meyer and his narrowed eyes move from James to me. For a minute I think he might force us to make a run for it, but then his grip on my arm loosens.
“We were just discussing Ortego y Gasset,” James says, and I blink up at him until the familiar name strikes a memory.
“Yes. James is teaching me about Spanish philosophy.” I tug on Meyer’s hand, wishing he wouldn’t pull me so hard, but it’s like fighting with a wall.
“Is that right?” Meyer’s hooded expression is difficult to read but the strength behind his grip tells me he’s done here. I guess I’m not the only one uncomfortable around James.
“Ortega y Gasset believed that we cannot put off living until we are ready. That, as he put it, life is fired at us point-blank. In other words, you must live it, not escape it.”
“Right,” I say, studying James. There’s more to this lesson, I think. A message just for me.
“No time like the present.” Meyer’s hand is against my back, directing me toward the doorway. When I glance at him in surprise, he smiles, but there’s an edge to it.
“Have a good night, James,” I call over my shoulder and he dips his head to us in farewell.
“And you as well, children,” he says in return. “And you as well.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Meyer leads me down one flight of stairs to the parking garage and then waits while I search for my keys. The tension coming off him is as loud as an echo bouncing off the cement walls.
“We’re meeting Sheila and Grant at the party,” I explain once I pull out onto the street, but he just nods and stares out the window. “It’s at some kid’s house on Mercer Island,” I add. “So, not too far.” Pause. “Have you ever been to Mercer Island?” Again I’m met with silence. “It’s really beautiful,” I add softly, turning my attention back to the road.
The windshield wipers swish back and forth and I’m more aware of my driving than I have ever been before. My foot slips off the gas pedal twice causing the car to jerk slightly. Get it together, Livy. He’s just a boy, I tell myself. But who am I kidding? He’s not just anything.
If my GPS is correct we have another twenty minutes until we arrive at the party. But twenty minutes of silence could last a lifetime. An eternity.
“I forgot to bring your sweatshirt,” I tell him. Or rather I didn’t forget. I simply cannot bear to part with it. Especially when it still smells like him. But I’m not about to tell him that.
“Keep it,” he says without turning away from the window. “I have others.”
“Oh. Okay.” I glance over at him, noticing how the sweatshirt he has on tonight is similar to the one he leant me, but darker.
“Is something wrong?” I ask with a grimace. I hate that barely ten minutes into our first date I have to ask this question.
Is he mad about the kiss? Does he wish he were somewhere else? With someone else? All of these questions and doubts are pushing their way into my thoughts. I can barely concentrate. I swear something happened back in the lobby between Meyer and James. Could that be what’s bothering him? Could it be as simple as that? I got the distinct impression that either they know each other or recognized each other. Either way something’s up. The problem is neither of these mysterious new men in my life is capable of answering questions, so the puzzle is mine to solve. Alone.
Meyer picks up my iPhone and starts scanning my collection of music. I pray that he’ll put something on, anything — but then he sets it down and the painful silence stretches out past the dimensions of my car. I’m about ready to roll my window down and start talking to random people on the street when finally he speaks.
“James is… interesting,” he says. “How long has he been your tutor?” He’s looking at me, his face occasionally lit by the headlights of passing cars.
“Um. Not long… maybe a week or two? About as long as—” As long as I’ve known Meyer. But for some reason I stop myself before completing that thought “He’s just temporarily filling in. My real tutor is out of town.”
“Interesting,” he says again, drawing out the word.
“Yeah.” I sit up taller in my seat. “I know he comes off as pretty intense.” I clear my throat, not exactly sure how else to describe him. “He’s mainly helping me with my Spanish.” Which is the truth, actually.
We pull up to a stoplight and I take the opportunity to study Meyer. His hand is resting on his leg, his finger tapping against his knee. He keeps frowning out the window as if he’s attempting to work something out, and I know the feeling. If only we could work it out together.
“Did you, um, recognize James, or something? It kind of seemed like—”
“No.” He shakes his head and then says it again, “No.” And then as if to soften his response he smiles. “Just, you know, wasn’t expecting your tutor to be so dashing.”
“Dashing?” I say with a laugh.
“What? You have a better word to describe him?”
Intense? Intimidating? Sure, dashing also works.
“He makes me nervous,” I say and Meyer’s hand stops tapping on his leg.
“He should. He holds your fate in his hands.”
“What?” I say, glancing over at him with surprise.
“Without him you’ll never make it past high school, right?” Meyer gives me one of his trademark smirks, but I’m not buying it. Something in his voice tells me there’s more to that statement.
“Right,” I answer.
“I’m really looking forward to meeting your friends.” He relaxes back into his seat and that light of excitement brightens his eyes. The dark electricity from before has fizzled out and settled down near my feet. It’s not gone completely, just dormant for now.
“It should be fun,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure it won’t be. Parties really aren’t my scene. A year or so ago Sheila and I were desperate to be invited to a party like tonight’s, but now it just feels… I don’t know, different.
“Fun,” Meyer says, looking back out the window, “is just what we need.”
About twenty minutes later we pull up to a large log cabin-esque house overlooking the water. I can’t make out the number on the mailbox but the sheer volume of teenagers going in and out of the house tells me we’re at the right place. Not to mention the loud bass coming from the house.
“This must be it. We’re here.” I turn off the engine but remain in my seat.
“So,” Meyer says. “Shall we?”
He climbs out of the car and moves around to my side before I’ve even had time to remove my seatbelt. He opens my door and even takes my hand to help me to my feet.
“I like parties,” he says. Of course he does. To him this is just another adventure.
He tugs on my hand, dragging me toward the front door. He must sense I don’t really want to be here. But I follow him regardless.
“Heeeyyy!” says some guy I don’t recognize as we step up to the front door. “Welcome! Everyone is welcome!”
He slides up closer to me and I feel Meyer’s grip on my hand tighten.
“Especially you,” he continues. His finger circles the perimeters of my face as if he’s trying to touch me, but he’s so drunk he can’t figure out which one of me to touch. “I don’t know you, but you can come to my party.” Then he aims his pointed finger at Meyer. “But you, you I’m not so sure.” He starts laughing. “I’m just messing with you, man! Everyone is welcome!” He spreads his hands wide, nearly knocking me sideways.
“You’re too kind.” Meyer steers me around the guy and we head into the house. The music we could hear from just outside is much louder now, far less like sound, more like pressure. My chest is pounding from the bass, and my ears are ringing.
I don’t recognize anyone so far, not that I thought I would. This isn’t my world anymore. A few years out of school and the people I grew up with have moved on to new friends and new surroundings. I’m the girl who may look slightly familiar, but without the constant reminder at school, I’m nobody.
I follow Meyer down the hallway, dodging people left and right. He has hold of my hand, which is a good thing. I don’t want to lose him in the crowd.
We enter a large family room where about thirty or so kids are dancing. This is where I would normally find Sheila — dancing like the world is her stage — but I don’t see her anywhere. Meyer turns and says something to me and I shake my head in confusion. Even if he screamed it in my ear, I doubt I’d hear him in here.
“Outside,” he mouths, and then points to the back of the house where someone has just opened the sliding back door.
I nod with understanding and then follow him out onto the back deck.
Even though it’s still lightly raining the party has spread outside. There are at least a couple dozen kids hanging out around a large fire pit, in their hands are the ever-present red plastic cups that always seem to accompany a party. I feel a flicker of apprehension when I realize I don’t know much about Meyer, whether he drinks or, well, anything. More than likely he’s not like me, the girl who doesn’t mess with things that make her feel less in control. Truth is, not many are.
“Would you rather go back inside?” Meyer asks, as I stand frozen in the center of the deck. “You look cold.”
“No, I’m fine,” I say stiffly.
“Alright.” He buries his hands in his pockets. “Do you want a drink?”
“It’s really not my thing,” I tell him.
“What is your thing then?”
“I have lots of things,” I say, not exactly looking at him. “But getting drunk isn’t one of them.”
“Fair enough,” he says with a shrug. “So no drinks.”
Meyer is staring out at the trees and the darkness. Some of the tension from before still lingers around his eyes and mouth, but when he catches me studying him he forces it off.
“Don’t let me stop you,” I blurt out. “Just because I’m not into it—”
“Haven’t you figured me out yet, Livy?” he says.
“Um. You’re kidding, right?” I laugh, and he looks on in confusion. “Maybe I would if you’d give me a straight answer once in a while.” I pull my coat tighter sealing in what little body heat I have left. It’s so cold out here I can see my breath. When I look up Meyer is watching me, still waiting for an answer.
“Is this some kind of a test?” I joke.
Instead of answering, he crosses his arms in front of him.
“Alright,” I say, drawing out the word. “So you don’t drink.”
His only response is a subtle nod.
“And you don’t go to public school, at least nowhere in Seattle.”
He lifts a brow as if he’s curious how I came upon this knowledge since he never provided it, but he doesn’t deny it either.
“You’re more of an adrenaline junkie than anything else. Which is dangerous, but occasionally fun.”
Meyer bursts out laughing.
“Occasionally!” I repeat. “And you have an accent that I can’t quite trace, not that I’m some authority on accents. But sometimes it’s so strong and then other times it’s barely there.”
Meyer tilts his head, obviously enjoying this, and gestures for me to continue.
“Um...” I tap my finger against my lip, thinking, but when I notice he’s focused on the movement — on my mouth — I stop. Heat rises to my cheeks, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Meyer’s lips curve with amusement, but I continue as though everything’s normal.
“You hang out at the hospital a lot but I’m not sure why.”
His eyes cloud over, but then he nods. “Keep going. What else?”
An image of us hanging from the Ferris wheel comes to mind and I feel my body tremble in reaction. “You have a lot of secrets,” I whisper. “Things that I want to ask about, but I’m afraid to.”
Meyer stiffens, his eyes piercing mine. “You should never be afraid of me.”
I nod my head slowly. Truth is, I knew this already.
“What else?” he coaxes. “What else do you know about me?”
“Nothing,” I answer with a frustrated sigh, but as soon as the word is out there I know it’s a lie. I may not know the little details that make up Meyer, but I feel like I know him. Maybe even more than anyone else could claim. And judging by the look in his e
yes, I’m not alone in this theory. He must feel it too.
“What about me?” I say. “What do you know about me?” Because if we’re going to play this game I should also be given a turn.
A mysterious smile moves along his lips. “You, Livy,” he says, “well, let’s just say I thought I had you figured out.” He lifts his hand up to my face and I catch my breath the moment he touches me. It’s barely a touch at all, actually. He’s merely brushing my hair back, but with his touch comes warmth. It colors my cheeks and slides down my neck, pooling in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m not all that complicated,” I say, unable to look away from him.
“I didn’t say you were complicated.” He pauses. “Just different from what I was expecting.”
What were you expecting? The words are right there, gathering together, ready to fly. I open my mouth. I narrow my eyes.
“I expected the sadness,” he tells me, practically reading my mind. “I expected you to be mourning her.”
Jenna. So I’m right. He does know about her.
“But there’s more to you than that,” he continues. “There’s more to me as well.”
And with these words I feel the truth is so close, closer even than the short distance between us.
“Tell me,” I say, taking that last step that’s been keeping us apart. “Tell me everything.”
“You came!” Sheila appears from somewhere off in the darkness and wraps her arms around me, pulling me in for a tight hug. “I thought you’d chicken out,” she whispers in my ear.
“I told you I’d be here,” I say a little defensively, and she sticks her tongue out at me. I long to push her back into the darkness —at least until I can finish this moment with Meyer — but I don’t.
“Where is he?” Sheila spins around, her short black skirt pirouetting with her. “I’ve got to see the guy who—” and then she stops. Her eyes widen and her mouth forms a little oh. “You didn’t tell me it was sexy-hoodie guy!” She slaps my arm and I take a step back.
“He isn’t… I mean … I’m not…” Sigh. “I’m sorry,” I mutter to Meyer.