Spark

by Melissa Dereberry

  She huffed and leaned back in her seat. “What’s wrong with me?” Those pouty lips were coming out in full force.

  “Nothing—you’re beautiful—you’re my best friend… and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

  “Oh come on,” she said. “Haven’t you ever heard of friends with benefits?”

  “Um, no. Not really.”

  “Well…” she said, leaning on me again. “What do you think?” She traced her finger across my chest.

  “Dani, you have no idea how much that idea appeals to me, but not like this. Not when you’ve been drinking. What if you regret this?”

  “I won’t.” She flashed a gorgeous grin and I found myself raising my hand to touch her hair. I could smell her perfume then, a musky floral scent like some exotic lily wet with dew, in a forest. I couldn’t resist any longer. I put my hand behind her head. I kissed her this time, softly and tentatively, in quick romantic spurts. Then I lost all composure and simply covered her face, her hair, her neck with my lips, over and over. I knew we went too far because the car windows started to steam up. I wanted to continue, but the voice of reason in my head told me to stop, which thankfully took over just in time, because all of a sudden she gagged, flung open the car door and threw up, all over the ground.

  And that was the extent of Dani and Zach as the hot couple about town. That night in the car was our understated little secret, pushed under the rug, from that moment on. She went on her usual quest to find the perfect guy, and I became the best friend, once removed, who knew way more about her than I should, yet swallowed my pride because I cared more than she would ever know.

  *

  After the epic fail with Dani, I buried myself in schoolwork and books, while Dani hooked back up with Braden. I was furious at Dani for getting back together with him—I mean, seriously, who does that, after the guy acted like such a jerk? I wanted to ask her that very question, on numerous occasions, but never got up the nerve. To do so would breach the unspoken pact we’d made to never talk about what happened that night, after rescuing her from the date from hell. It was just as well, though, because I really didn’t want to talk about it. It was embarrassing and we had managed to still stay friends like before, which made me wonder if she even remembered the incident. Could it be that she’d been so drunk that the whole evening was a complete blur? That would explain, I guess, why she was so natural around me, her same, comfortable self. I, on the other hand, was carrying around a hefty piece of baggage, filled with guilt, shame, and, yes, regret. Even though it was a really nice memory for the most part, I still regretted doing it in the first place. It wasn’t my style. I’d only kissed two other people in my life. I hated that Dani had probably far surpassed that number.

  So, as I said, I decided to stop thinking about it and work on the pursuit of knowledge. I read everything I could get my hands on—from Socrates to Stephen King, Voltaire to Mark Twain. Looking back, I know that was just my way of re-connecting with my dad, who loved books. He had been gone for several years at that point, dying way too young of a bad heart. I found myself, one rainy Sunday morning, sitting on the floor of our attic, going through the boxes that contained his things. I sorted through old yearbooks, basketball trophies, and pictures until late in the afternoon. Finally, in the bottom of one of his boxes, I found a worn copy of H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine. Immediately intrigued, I sat there until dinner time reading the entire book. And it was this moment more than any other I had experienced with my dad that drew me deeper into the labyrinth that was his mind.

  In the book, the precocious Time Traveler attempts to explain the sensation of time travelling to his friends, describing how the days seemed to speed up and blur into one another, how he felt like he’d fallen into a “helpless headlong motion.” And then comes my favorite line: “I saw the sun hopping swiftly across the sky, leaping it every minute, and every minute marking a day.”

  I carried the book with me everywhere, keeping it in my backpack at school, taking it out from time to time to recall a particular passage, or to make a note of some observation. I probably read the story from beginning to end at least three times. And in all that, I began to imagine, myself, what it would be like to travel through time. Where would I go? What would I do? Would I change a mistake I’d made in the past? Would I look with fear upon what was to come? I thought of Ebenezer Scrooge and when the Ghost of Christmas to Come took him to the foot of his own grave. While everyone knows he will die, I thought, to stare straight into the cold hard reality of it is too close for comfort.

  My first thought was this: I would make sure I’d never met Dani Chase. Then, I’d never have to worry about falling in love with her and getting trumped with the friend card. I’d never had to live through the best night of my life—her sweet kisses and the flowery smell of her hair in my face—and have to pretend like it never happened. I’d never have to put my arm around her, smile at her, say her name, all the while giving her my best brotherly, and completely platonic, grin.

  I’d never have to fall in love like that. I could make sure it wouldn’t happen. Time travel could definitely have its advantages. The deeper I got into my dad’s notebooks, the more I realized how immersed in the idea of time travel and the implications of it my dad had gotten. It was quite fascinating to see his progression of thoughts, through his research, his little frustrations and gems of wisdom along the way. I will never forget what he’d written, on the last page of one of the last journals he wrote: Oh, that the lovely moments were tangible, we could slip them in our pockets to carry with us forever.

  I loved that—the idea that one could pick up a moment, look at it, savor it, and tuck it away safely, to be taken out again, sometime in the future. But we can’t. We can’t see, taste or touch moments. Because moments become memories in the blink of an eye.

  And they return in unexpected ways. Sometimes, I will catch a lingering scent in my house that reminds me of my dad—a whiff of his musky aftershave in a closet, the smell of polished leather, the smell of books—the somewhat tangible pieces of memory that will, I suppose, linger with me forever. Maybe that’s what my dad had in mind.

  To travel through time, as Wells had suggested, would be like seeing days pass like moments, as the sun raced across the sky. How many days can exist in a single moment? Maybe all of them. And maybe we are the sum of all those moments.

  Tess

  Here’s the thing that really gets me. My dad had said Zach was “Dani’s friend.” The gravity of those words presses its cold hands down my aching head as I sit on the front step, in my pink and black sneakers, waiting for Dani to pick me up for the game. I roll the concept around in my head, turn it every which way, try to squish it into something that remotely resembles a benign coincidence, but to no avail. The fact is that in my dad’s mind, Zach is Dani’s friend, which means he associates Zach with her preceding any association with me. It dawns on me that I had not only time traveled and changed a sequence of events, but I had also altered the very reality I find myself in at this very moment in the process. Then the absolute kicker of the century: Dani has been alive for the last four years. Which means that she’s had all that time to get to know Zach. She’s literally known him longer than I have.

  What does a girl do with that?

  Before I have time to put much thought into it, I see Zach’s car pull up to the curb. It’s the same gray sedan that he drove on our first date to Deer Creek Canyon State Park. I remember how the mountains looked, reflected in his eyes. But why is Zach here? Dani was supposed to pick me up. The car stops, shifts into park, and I sit there dumbly on the step not sure what to do. The passenger door opens and Dani emerges, dressed in a cute black hoodie with the words “Rock Star” across the front in silver sequins. She has on black flats with bows on them. I glance down at my shoes, thinking they look like I’m getting ready to go to second grade gym class.

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nbsp; “Hey girl, you ready?” She asks, her blonde ponytail bouncing as she walks. “Zach offered to drive us. We’ll get there early enough to get a good seat.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. When we get to the car, I realize that I will be sitting in the back seat, which feels completely wrong. As I crawl in—literally, because I suddenly feel like a complete lowlife—I notice Zach nod in my direction and mutter something that sounds like “Hello.” His arm is across the seat, and his fingers are just inches from Dani’s shoulder. I stare at his hand the whole way, thinking I might just scream if he touches her shoulder.

  My eyes are glued to Zach’s hand—his tan, long fingers, the tiny blonde hairs above his knuckles. That is the hand that he placed against my cheek, his eyes blazing with determination—to win my trust and love. These are the fingers that riffled through my hair, the hands that held me with such boldness—the unspoken words—you are mine… Do those hands remember touching me? Does Zach remember kissing me? Or has everything changed?

  Dani laughs at something on the radio, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and some strands land on Zach’s fingers. He lightly twirls a piece, glancing slightly at her, and I can’t help but think, They are a couple—boyfriend and girlfriend. How could I have been so stupid not to have figured this out until now? How could he not love Dani? She’s smart, beautiful, and outgoing. She’s as close to perfect as any girl I’ve ever known, which is the polar opposite of me. Suddenly, I want to be literally anywhere on this earth but in this car. I toy with the idea of feigning an illness just so I can go back home. When my stomach starts churning at will, I think I may not have to fake it.

  When we get to the football stadium, Dani grabs my arm and walks close to me up to the ticket booth, while Zach loads up his equipment and heads to the locker room. “Good luck!” Dani calls. Zach nods over his shoulder, flashes her a grin, and I want to die right here. Because that would be easier than the slow death I’m going to endure for the next few hours.

  We get some sodas and head to our seats. Dani recognizes some of her friends close to the field and they wave us over. We are sitting right behind the sidelines, and I see Zach and his team members warming up, doing various jumping exercises and stretches. We sit down and Dani starts chatting excitedly with another girl with short red hair and pink lipstick. I recognize her from school, but I can’t remember her name. As if she read my mind, Dani introduces us. She tells me her name is Mindy. Soon, I learn the names of the rest of them—Graham, John, Stephanie, and another girl named Jennifer. "And here is Alex," Dani said. I feel a sense of relief that he’s here, even though technically, we don’t know each other. Zach looks up and waves at us. I almost wave back before I remember that he doesn’t even know I’m alive. I start to feel sick all over again. I’m just about ready to get up and find a bathroom when Alex sits down next to me.

  “Hi, I’m Alex,” he says, extending his hand. I take it, feeling grateful to have someone to take my mind off Zach. I recognize Alex as the Student Body President at Jefferson High.

  “Tess,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’ve seen you around school but haven’t gotten a chance to meet you yet.” He looks at me nervously, as if he’s not sure what to say. I can tell he’s curious about me. Of course, he must know at least part of my story… I’m the “new girl,” the one that was in the coma. His look is the same one I get every day, from people everywhere I go—people who recognize me from four years ago but don’t know what to say; people who are new and have only heard the rumors. I get tired of telling people that I’m fine now, that yes, I remember them and no, they don’t have to worry about me passing out in front of them or something… and no, I’m not crazy or particularly fragile, or mentally deficient in some way. Sometimes I feel like getting up in front of the whole school and telling my story just to get it all over with at once.

  “Yeah, it’s taken some getting used to… like starting kindergarten all over again,” I say lightheartedly.

  Alex chuckles. “Well, I’m glad to meet you. And—glad you’re ok. That must have been rough… going through all that.”

  “It’s all good,” I reply. “I’m fully recovered, thankfully.”

  The game has started, so Alex’ attention moves to the field, where the players in their brilliant white and blue uniforms are moving into position. Zach isn’t starting, so I take advantage of the moment and simply stare at his back, his broad shoulders, the number 17 and “Webb” on his jersey. I notice that the other guy, Graham, has sat down next to Dani and is sitting rather close to her, talking lowly. She is giggling under her breath, her head close to his. He looks older than us and I imagine that he must be in college—a freshman maybe. I am still staring at Zach when he turns around and looks in my direction. I have my sunglasses on, so I just turn my head slightly so it doesn’t appear that I’m shamelessly staring at him, but I can still see his face. He is staring, his jaw rigged, his eyes smoldering. He looks upset—angry maybe. I am confused, thinking he is looking at me and Alex. Then, I realize he is looking at Dani and Graham. And he doesn’t like what he sees. He’s jealous—of Graham—thus, confirming that he is in love with Dani and not me. All over again, my stomach twists up into a ball and I want to disappear and end up somewhere far, far away from here.

  I glance at Dani and she smiles at me, her eyes shifting approvingly toward Graham. It’s clear she likes him, and a glimmer of hope stirs inside me. Maybe, just maybe, Dani doesn’t feel the same way about Zach. Maybe they aren’t a couple—which means he is available. But the sad reality is that Zach obviously loves Dani, and I now know a bit about loving someone who doesn’t know you exist. The only thing you see is him… and all you want is for him to look back. And right now my chances of that happening with Zach are next to nil.

  Zach

  As I’m standing here watching her it becomes painfully clear how long I’ve been kidding myself. She will never love me like I love her. She can have any guy she wants; why would she pick me? Graham Jenson is just the kind of guy she needs—tall, muscular, lean—a frat guy with a gregarious personality, a polished, life-of-the-party kind of guy who would earn an MBA and work in some stiff white collar job. He’s the type that could sweep her off her feet with ease. They are leaning in close to each other, talking and laughing, and I realize I’m staring. I simply have to pull myself together and focus on the game.

  One of our team members gets injured, and the coach puts me in the game. I play harder than I’ve ever played in my life—out of pure determination or anger and aggression, I’m not sure, but I end up staying in the entire game, scoring three touchdowns, all the while resisting the urge to check the stands to see if Dani and Graham are still sitting by each other. By the time the game is over, the crowd is roaring and we have won the game. I get so caught up in the exuberance of the win and the excitement on the field that I forget all about Dani, until we meet back out at the car after the game.

  I’m relieved to see that she’s with Tess. The others have apparently gone home. She’s leaning up against my car, the sunlight shining on her hair. I almost lose myself in the moment again, forgetting the revelation I’d had earlier. Dani isn’t interested in me beyond anything but friendship. Still, I can’t help but think she sometimes does it on purpose, like right now—taunting me with that billowing blonde hair and that smile. If I could reach up and smack myself, I would, I swear.

  “Zach!” She races up and hugs me. “You were awesome!” Tess chimes in, “Good game, Zach!”

  “We played well,” I say with a shrug, my anger dissipating. After all, Dani is one of my best friends. It feels good to have her support, and I’m glad she’s here to celebrate this win.

  “Hey, you want to go over to Graham’s house to celebrate?” She asks, pulling her hair up into a loose ponytail. “He’s hosting the after party.”

  “I really should be getting home,” Tess says. />
  “Oh, come on!” Dani protests, with a fake pout. “Come on, you guys! We have to celebrate!” She throws one arm around each of us and pulls us close. “Please?” She’s really good at this sort of thing, putting on the sweet charm until you can’t say no.

  “Ok,” I say. “Maybe just for a little while.” I could kick myself, seriously. Dani squeals and hugs me tight. Tess just stands there, looking at me. She doesn’t say anything. She just has the oddest expression—a mixture of skepticism and regret. I can’t quite place it, but for some reason, it seems important, like I should make an effort to respond somehow. But how? And why? I barely know Tess. Why is she staring at me? Stray strands of her dark hair slip dramatically across her cheek in the wind, like ribbons across her fair, smooth skin. When she looks away, her green eyes are draped with naturally thick, feathery dark lashes and I am struck by how pretty she is.

  Disoriented, it takes me a few seconds to realize that it’s time to go and I have the keys. I fumble around and find them in my pocket. As we’re getting in the car, I swear I feel Tess reach out and brush her hand against my arm. Stranger still, it feels nice. It feels like something I remember, but can’t quite grasp… like the warm lull of breezy sunlight on my skin. Like the gentle touch of lingering sleep.

  As Dani chatters on in the car, I happen to glance in my rearview mirror and I see Tess’s profile as she looks out the window through those lashes and those big, beautiful eyes. For some reason, I start thinking about when we used to sit by each other on the bus as kids. Funny, her face looks almost the same. She hasn’t changed a bit. She was just as quiet and mysterious back then—only, I remember thinking there was something interesting about her—I always wanted to get to know her better, but I never had the chance. The incident at Fuller Park became the stuff of local legend, an unfortunate accident that could have been a full-blown tragedy. Someone could have gotten killed that day. After that, the park had a bad stain on it. It deteriorated, and became the local hangout for teens who wanted to drink or use drugs.