By Saturday, I’m back to a mostly regular routine. I can finally go on a long run, and though it’s painful at first, I’ve missed seeing my early-morning regulars and feeling that end-of-run exhilaration. I’m back at work, too. My brain exhales in relief, but my heart sinks when Ryan isn’t there. However, at the end of my shift when I walk into the employee lounge, Ryan has his head buried in one of the cubbies.
“Hey.” The word squeaks out as I freeze in the doorway.
He turns and his smile tears through my heart. “Hey, Loukas! Long time, no see.”
“Yeah...” I want to say more words, but even my cautious brain has been melted. His hair is still wet, and he smells like clean, pure soap.
“You leaving?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I quickly add, “Just finished.” At least I get two more words in this time. My feet finally uproot themselves, and I step forward into the room.
“Cool.” His almond-shaped eyes dart from me to the floor and back to me. “So...” he says. I study the chipped floor tile like it’s the site of an ancient discovery. “So, I’ve got practice tomorrow and won’t be here. I guess I’ll see you Monday?”
“Uh huh.” I look up, biting my lip. My heart drums so fast I’m breathless. I haven’t seen him in a while, and I forgot how his flawless caramel skin nearly glows. He’s like the most perfect shade of human.
He turns to leave, and my heart sends a jolt through my entire body. I know my brain says I don’t have time or space in my heart for a boy, but my heart is screaming, “There’s space right here! Don’t let him go!” He’s at the doorway and my chance is floating away. I can sense it will forever be gone if I don’t do something now.
“Wait!” I blurt out.
He turns.
“Do you... uh... uh... do want to maybe do something tonight after work?” My cheeks burn. He’s silent. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t or if you have other stuff to do. It’s no big deal.” My brain is taking charge.
His perfect blush-colored lips curl into a smile. “Are you asking me out, Loukas?”
Now, my neck and whole face heat up. “No. Yeah. I don’t know?” I babble. “I mean, like hanging out.”
“What did you have in mind?” He takes a step forward. “For this date?”
My shoulders relax. He’s just teasing me. “I don’t know.” I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The wheels spin. I’m going to have to tell him my story. I don’t want to go where there’s a big crowd of people, and if we go to the movies, we won’t be able to talk. “I don’t know, maybe do you just want to come over to my place?”
His eyebrows waggle. “Your place, huh?”
“Not like that.” I playfully roll my eyes.
“I know, I’m just teasing you. Yeah, that sounds good.”
I exhale. “Okay. I’ll text you the address.”
“Cool. I get off work around seven. I’ll come over after that?”
“Yeah.”
“Okey doke.” He sort of flinches after he says it and turns to leave. He pauses before he steps through the door and says, “You know, I’m great with parents.” He winks at me, then he’s out the door. Parents. Great. The drumming in my heart restarts, but this time it’s more like a funeral call.
Grandma clasps her hands and beams wide eyes at me when I announce that I’ve invited a boy over to the house. She reminds me of Dad with her nosy Greekness needing to catalogue every detail about him. Together, we clean the house, and Grandma laughs as I shift everything from one place to another and hide the fifth grade picture of me that she has on the end table. Afterward, I shower but break into a full-body sweat trying to tame my hair. I pull every piece of clothing I own from the closet and dresser drawers, but nothing looks right. Nothing says cute and casual. I group text Callie and Hannah for reinforcements, but I don’t hear from either of them. I check the time and do the math. They’re probably out. I now remember Callie saying something about a big party tonight. I toss the phone on the bed.
When I’ve finally settled on jeans (casual) and my white eyelet shirt with the sweetheart neckline (cute), I perch at the front window like a hawk—a cute and casual one. My grandmother doesn’t know that Ryan doesn’t know my whole story, and Ryan doesn’t know that there won’t be any parents in here. I’m guarding all angles. When Ryan’s black Jeep pulls into the driveway, I call to Grandma in the kitchen, “Ryan’s here. We’ll be inside in a minute.”
I step out to the porch as he approaches.
“Hey,” he says. “You... uh... wow, you look good.” His eyes blink abnormally fast.
My hands fidget with my shirt, and I brush off his compliment. “Thanks. I think I was covered in dog hair last time you saw me, so anything’s an improvement, right?”
He takes a step forward, but I’m still blocking the door. “Uh, before we go in, there’s something I have to tell you.”
His eyebrows draw together, and he stiffens. I can only imagine what he’s thinking he’ll find inside. “It’s nothing bad,” I assure him. “For you, I mean. There’s nothing weird in there.” I let out a nervous laugh.
His shoulders release a bit. I motion for him to sit on the porch step. He sits, and after stuttering and starting about fifty million times, I finally tell him my story, starting with my regrettable refusal to attend the baseball game. I narrate it as someone else’s tragedy, like I’m a voice hired to record an audiobook. It keeps the emotion at bay until I get to Mom’s cardiac arrest. Not even the stack of 300 figure eights I’ve traced on the porch with my finger can keep me detached. I wrap it up. The end.
I haven’t been paying attention to Ryan’s face. I was just trying to get through the story. I sneak a peek at him. His eyes aren’t wide. His head isn’t tilted, and he doesn’t seem to want to reach out and pet me like a stray dog as most people do. His eyes are softened, and he simply nods, lips slightly pursed.
He remains silent for a moment then says, “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sure people say that all the time. But that’s a horrible thing to have happen to you. I mean, I can’t even imagine...” His voice trails off and his eyes search the sky as if he really is trying to imagine it. When his gaze returns to me, he sees my smile and seems dazed.
“You know, you’re the first person not to tell me that everything is going to be okay? Or that things happen for a reason or that I’m strong and a survivor?” He’s the first person to simply validate how I feel. It’s awful. It’s horrible. And it sucks, and no one else can possibly imagine what it’s like.
We both stare at our feet and hands and let this huge revelation float between us. Finally, I know it’s time to discover the consequence of my truth. I say, “So, if you don’t want to stick around, I totally get it. Too much drama.”
His eyes bulge, and he springs to his feet. “Not stick around? Are you kidding me, Loukas? I’m even better with grandparents!” My heart turns a few cartwheels, and I stand to join him.
It takes all of five minutes for Grandma and Ryan to fall in love with each other. They gab about some festival the town has each Christmas and somehow get on the topic of a game Ryan plays. He sends Grandma for her iPad, and he downloads the game and explains it, slowly, as if he instinctively knows. None of us has eaten dinner yet; we interrupted Grandma’s usual 7:00 p.m. dinnertime. Ryan insists we try the best Chinese takeout in town, so we order a bunch of food. He even convinces Grandma to forgo her leftover meatloaf and join in.
After dinner, Grandma excuses herself to bed, and just like Dad would, she finds a loud way to suggest silently that it’s time for Ryan to go. “Don’t forget, Emma, we have church early in the morning.”
I smile. “I remember, Grandma.”
She disappears, and Ryan says to me, “Looks like that’s my cue to leave.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You heard that loud and clear, too?”
We walk outside, and it’s still warm out.
“Is it always this hot in December?” I ask him. “I haven’t even thought about w
earing a sweater yet.”
“The past few years, yeah.” He slows his steps, and it feels like neither one of us wants him to leave.
“You want to hang out here for a little bit?” I ask, motioning to the two red Adirondack chairs on the porch. “We didn’t really get much time to hang out with the lovefest between you and my grandma.” I giggle and sit down.
He flashes a sly grin and takes the other seat. “I told you I was good with grandparents.”
“You weren’t kidding,”
A few crickets chirp and a car drives by. Other than that, it’s silent. Neither of us seems to have anything to say. I’m wondering if I made a mistake when Ryan says, “So, what do you think of California so far?”
“It’s not bad... I mean, I love the beach and the weather. But I miss some things about Ohio and the Midwest.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I miss the first snow of the season. I love waking up one morning and the whole world has magically turned into a snow globe overnight.” A vision of our last snowfall flashes in my mind. “After those few magical moments, though, I’m done with snow. It’s nothing but a pain after that.” I laugh, and he joins in, sharing his first experience with snow while skiing. “And I miss the ice cream parlor in my town.” I pause and add, “But most of all, I think I miss the fireflies.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of those. They look really cool.”
“Yeah, on summer nights when I was little, I’d sit out on our back porch and count them with my dad. Connor and I used to have contests: who could count the most in a minute. When I was really little, my mom made a special jar and helped me catch some. I guess I liked it for a minute, but then I cried because I thought they were going to die.” I shrug. “At least that’s what they tell me.”
Ryan watches me intently. “Ohio sounds cool.”
“It is.” A wave of homesickness washes over me. It’s been a while since the last one, but the memories stir the waters tonight.
“Did you know that fireflies use their light as a warning to predators?” I announce. He shakes his head no. “When I was in kindergarten, I was afraid of the dark. After tucking me in, my parents would leave, then count down, ‘3, 2, 1...’ and I would appear downstairs. So my mom made me a firefly costume to wear to bed. She said, ‘Your light is your strength. You can fight off any predator.’ I wore it every night and even at Halloween. In fact, for three years in a row, I was a firefly for Halloween, long after I was over my fear of the dark. And I didn’t even care that some of the kids made fun of me. I loved being a firefly.”
Ryan laughs. “I was Batman four years in a row.”
“See, you get it,” I say. And he really does.
“Totally.” He nods and his gaze remains locked on me.
I shift around in my chair. “I should probably go. I don’t want to give my grandma any reason to fall out of love with you.” My ears catch fire at the mention of being in love with him.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” he jokes.
We both rise and stand face-to-face, close enough that his body heat mingles with mine. I stare at his chest and then at his lips. They’re parted slightly, as are mine. My heartbeat quickens as his hand flinches at his side. We’re both frozen in our indecision about what comes next. I panic and shove my hands in my pockets. Decision made. His shoulders slump, and he takes a step off the porch.
“See you Monday, Loukas. And don’t rush off after English. No hiding.” He waves a naughty finger at me.
“I won’t.” No hiding anymore.
Chapter 13
The summer weather in December and the way people say “the” before a freeway—as in the 405—aren’t the only odd things about California. Finals are after winter break. I guess it’s because school starts so late here. So, I’m not cramming for tests the week before vacation. And despite dreading the holiday, I’m sort of floating through the days. Ryan stops by at lunch more often now. Sometimes Mari pretends she has to get something from her locker in order to leave us alone. I’m not sure what she thinks is going to happen in the quad at school, but since he’s getting busier with basketball, it’s nice to have these few moments alone with him. I’ve learned he has a little brother Jake who’s in seventh grade, and Ryan has already gotten an offer to play basketball at San Diego State. His dad is an engineer, and his mom is a physical therapist who works her schedule around their school hours. He pretty much has a perfect life. He’s pretty much perfect himself.
And this whatever I have going with Ryan has also reignited my friendship with Callie. We’ve kept in touch, but there is more than just a bunch of states between us. We’ve drifted apart without the anchor of cheer and classes and our parents palling around. A little boy drama was just what we needed. I’m pretty sure by now Callie can sketch Ryan in her art pad, down to the tiny freckle beneath his left eye, and in hundreds of texts, she hasn’t once asked me if I’m doing okay.
Even at home, Grandma is doing really well. There’s a delay with the new nurse’s start date, but the independence has freed Grandma from her depression. She’s singing, cooking, and really obsessing over her iPad these days. She’s even started cleaning out the garage. All her appointments have been consolidated into two days each week, so it’s easy for us to get her a ride. She seems more like a mom these days than a grandma.
Since Grandma is so self-sufficient and I don’t have finals, I finish all my college applications this week. They’re not due until February 1, but I’m anxious to keep checking things off my list—one race down, half of my plane ticket to Greece earned, and my Ohio State application sent. I couldn’t get all the information together in time for early decision to Ohio State, and this means I’ll have to wait until April. That’s an eternity from now, but it feels good to be finished.
By Friday, my heart is so light that the fact that it’s the last day before vacation is just the icing on the cake. My second half-marathon is tomorrow. It’s closer this time, so I can drive over after school to pick up my race packet like all the other runners. Like Mom used to do. This puts me at ease as well as the fact that I have a handheld water bottle, hat, and tank top ready for tomorrow even though it’s expected to be chilly at the start. This race is already starting out better than the last one.
The start on Saturday isn’t even as awkward because Tim, the graduate assistant who works with my group at cross-country practice, is running the race and finds me in the crowd. He gives me some tips about the course and guides me through some stretching. In no time, it seems, it’s time to line up in our race corrals.
Even though I put all of my lessons from race one to work—hat, water, tank top, regular hydration, and don’t go out so fast—it’s still no day at Disney World. Sweat streams down my face that has heated up despite my hat, and at times my breathing is so loud I have to increase the volume of my music to drown it out. And I have to admit that I’m the teeniest bit disappointed my hopeful eyes haven’t spotted Ryan along the course.
Nevertheless, I make it all the way to the halfway point without stopping to walk, except through the water stations. I’m careful about the cup I take and choose a more appropriate mixed berry energy gel. I practiced with them twice on my Saturday runs, so I know what to expect now. It’s a much better experience at the midpoint this time, and I surge into the second half of the race.
The extreme pain and mental anguish, however, make their usual appearance. All the cross-country drills pay off as I’m better able to use my mind to power through the pain, but even a mind of steel eventually is no match for the brute force of leg fatigue. I’m starting to let it all overwhelm me—the heat, breathlessness, and pain—when I hear my name. “Loooooo-kas!” My head swivels left, and Ryan, along with Mari this time, stands in a clump of other cheering friends and family. Ryan waves his “Go Emma!” sign, and they give me a thumbs-up. My legs instantly rev up as a surge of power has electrified them. And for the rest of the race, just when I need that burst of energy to keep
going, they magically appear.
At the finish line, Ryan waits for me with a bottle of water. “Congrats!”
“Thanks,” I say, bending down to catch my breath. I straighten and add, “You came.”
“Of course I came. If you’re crazy enough to run these things, you deserve a cheering section.” He leads me away from the crowded finish area. “Mari says congrats. She had to take off.”
I smile. Of course she did.
“And actually, I have to go, too. Basketball practice.” He shrugs apologetically. “Sorry I can’t stay to hang out.”
I wave him off. “It’s totally fine. I’m grateful you came at all. You guys really helped me.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. You’re a beast, Loukas.” He playfully knocks me on the arm.
My hand immediately reaches to pat down my hair.
His cheeks flush. “No, I mean, you’re an animal... you’re like a monster...” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”
I laugh. “I know what you mean. And thanks.”
“I mean you’re great,” he says quietly.
I fidget with my water bottle. “Thanks.”
Ryan clears his throat. “All right, I’m out. Congrats again.” He leans in and we exchange an awkward hug as I try to keep my sweat and smell to myself.
He waves and walks away, and I head to the grassy area away from the crowd. I plop down and take a bite of banana. By no means am I that Prefontaine guy Coach talked about at our end-of-season party, but this wasn’t nearly the disaster that the last race was. And now I’m halfway done with Mom’s races. I lean back and stare at the sky. I’m almost there, guys.
My euphoria of late is much like the runner’s high I experience around mile four—it doesn’t last long. Each day that Christmas inches closer increases the weight that’s shackled to every part of me. I sense Grandma has a similar weight because she’s singing less and doing a lot more sitting in her armchair, staring at her book. We hardly talk about my dad or that day. We sidestep unintended references and gloss over the empty moments that pop up. Like me, I don’t think she wants to be buried in an avalanche of teardrops, so we avoid the topic. But the approach of Christmas makes that difficult.
The Brilliance of Fireflies Page 11