by Cyn Balog
I feel a tear slide down my cheek. "You know I love you. One, two, three," I say, bringing the middle three fingers to my lips.
He grins, takes my hand, and kisses it. "And four, five, six. And seven, eight, nine. And on and on. I know. And I do, too. No matter what world I'm in."
We lean our heads together, and our kiss is shaky and wet, because I'm crying so hard that my whole body heaves with every breath.
"I have to go now," he says.
"They say I won’t remember you tomorrow." I hold tight to his shirt. "But I will. I know I will."
He stands up. "I left you a birthday present back home.”
And with that, he lets go of my hands. I can still feel them smooth in my own when he fades slowly away, and then the drizzle swirls, ghostlike, through the air that enveloped him.
Chapter Forty-nine
THE MORNING SUN filters through the blinds when I wake that Saturday. I'm wearing my pajamas and my face has been scrubbed clean, but everything about the night before is a haze. The party seems like it happened decades ago. I can't recall returning to the party, the music dwindling into the night, saying goodbye to any of the guests. All I can remember are disjointed flashes of the car ride home, the side of my head pressed against the cool window, someone's arms around me. Feeling drowsy but comfortable. Lucky. Safe.
I pull up on my elbows and immediately see it, a little box almost hidden by a big pink bow on my nightstand, right next to the roller coaster picture. I untie the bow and open the lid, and find a beautiful, solid-gold fortune cookie on a chain. Lifting it from its cotton gauze bed and turning it in my fingers, I see a hinge in the center. I slowly open the cookie and pull out a message that says, MORGAN SPARKS CAN DO ANYTHING.
I smile for a moment, then lean back in my bed, savoring it. Yes, at this moment, I feel like I can do anything. And maybe it’s because I can’t remember the responsibilities of yesterday, but it feels like so much more. I'm sixteen. The world is bright and filled with possibilities.
I see more markings on the back of the paper, so I turn it over and read: MAGIC NUMBERS: 1-2-3.
I look at it. Look away. Then look back again. For some reason, it feels like there is a deeper meaning there.
Throwing on my hoodie and jeans, I fasten the chain around my neck and head to the stairs. When I'm halfway down, I grin. Standing there, looking out the window, wearing a baseball cap and jeans and looking utterly scrumptious, is Pip. I feel like I haven't seen him in ages, so I shout, "Hey, you," from the top step as I bound down to meet him.
He turns, and automatically I jump into his arms and give him a long, lingering kiss. His arms around me, that woodsy-clean scent I've come to know and love-it all feels so comfortable, so perfect. "You know, I've wanted to do that forever."
"Morgan"-he laughs-"I saw you last night."
"I know," I say, pulling him to me.
"Are you ready to go?" he murmurs, snuggling into my hair.
I pull the necklace from against my neck and hold it up to him. "Look."
He gives me a questioning glance. "A fortune cookie? Who gave you that?"
In a glimmer, I remember the name. It comes flooding back, everything, so much so that my heart jumps. Breathlessly, I say, "Cam."
Pip's face is blank. "Who?"
"Cam." I repeat the name again and again. "He's in Otherworld. Don't you remember?"
He squints at me, confused but still grinning. "You've been reading too many fantasy books, I think."
But I know it wasn't fantasy. I know it was real. And I remember.
Not so much the past, but the way I felt when we were together.
It was a feeling like I could do anything.
It's still here.
And I know that's because Cam is looking out for me.
10/13/2009
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10/15/2009