I sigh—of course she wants to dance with Cy—but then she grabs my hand and leads me toward the group of people. Up close I see they’re almost all my age. She jumps into the middle of the dancers, taking me with her. As she twirls me in a circle, I spot Cy standing back by the fire, an amused look on his face.
The song changes to something faster, with instruments I can’t name and lyrics in a language I don’t speak. Three more people join us, yelling happily when they recognize the pulsing song. For a second I stand still, Liss and her friends spinning all around me. But the beat of the music, the beautiful melody, the laughing dancers—it fills me up all at once, and I realize there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
Someone grabs my shoulder from behind and twirls me toward them. It’s an older woman who looks just like Liss and her brother. She turns me in two quick circles, then jumps into the air. I jump too, laughing. Someone else jumps next to me, and before long everyone is jumping and calling out, all smiles and happy screams. It’s different than dancing at the Red Rooster—I’m not following a predetermined set of steps. I’m doing whatever feels right, whatever makes me happy in the moment. Sweat drips down my back, and I pull off my sweater and throw it. It disappears into the trees on the edge of the clearing, but I don’t care. My heart is thumping inside me and I feel like I can dance, dance, dance all night.
The song changes and Cyrus appears in front of me. He’s got a huge smile on his face, like he’s never been so happy. Without speaking, we grab each other and spin around in a circle, laughing. But it’s not long before Liss tugs us apart. I reach for him, but Liss keeps pulling me, and her brother has his arm around Cyrus’ shoulder, and there’s no use, so I give up and keep dancing.
The group is bigger now, people coming from the trees, other campsites—who knows where. Everyone forms a giant circle, leaving room in the middle. Someone does a cartwheel into the middle of the circle before running around the edge, his hand held out for high fives as he passes. Just as he reaches me, another person runs into the circle and does the Moonwalk. When he leaves, a third girl runs forward, but just before she reaches the middle of the circle, she does a backflip. The crowd cheers, and she runs back to her place.
It goes on like this, single dancers, couples, and small groups taking center stage just long enough to show off their best moves. I run across the circle and pull Cyrus into the middle with me. We twirl around, holding hands, and then he picks me up and I throw my arms into the air. I was happy before, but it isn’t until now, with his arms around me, that I feel so completely alive.
The song changes, and another couple joins us. Then another, and before I know it everyone is crowded together again. But even as they push in on us, Cyrus and I stay together, our bodies moving in sync. We don’t touch, but every fiber of my being feels connected to his, like our bodies are magnetic.
Then he grabs my hand and leads me out of the circle. We step into the trees. “Dessa,” he says, so out of breath he can barely speak, “I love you.”
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and kiss him. He lets out a groan of pleasure as his tongue enters my mouth. I grab his waist, pulling him toward me so that every inch of our bodies is touching. His hands travel up my back, and there is nothing, nothing in the world but this moment. The way he smells—like campfire smoke and pine. The way we cling to one another, like we need each other to breathe. It doesn’t matter that we grew up together, that we’re travelers. It doesn’t matter that there were other guys, or other girls. It doesn’t matter that the future is unsure, or that our families might not approve. All that matters is that when I’m with Cy, I know who I am and I know what I want.
When I’m with Cy, I’m home.
Cy pushes me against a tree, not taking his mouth off mine. I wrap my legs around him, my feet leaving the ground entirely. His hands travel up my stomach, his fingers warm on my skin. My heart pounds in my chest, my head, and god I want him to keep touching me, but just as I’m about to tear the shirt off his back, he eases me down, and steps back.
“That was—wow.” He stares at me, like he’s never seen me before.
“Let’s go back,” I say, breathlessly.
“Okay.”
I catch Liss’ eye. She waves, then goes back to dancing.
We run back through the trees, holding hands and laughing. I’m flush with the heat of dancing and of Cyrus’ kiss. When we reach our campsite, Cy pulls me over to our sleeping bag. His mouth is on mine before we even hit the ground. The fire is totally dead now, but it doesn’t matter, because within seconds I’ve pulled my shirt over my head and pressed myself against Cy’s chest. He yanks his own T-shirt off, and then he’s on top of me, kissing me deeply as his hands roam my body. I wrap my legs around his waist. He whispers my name, sending shivers down my spine, and I finally tell him for the first time—
“I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 20
I wake up shivering the next morning. I feel around for my sweater, only to remember that I threw it off while we were dancing, and forgot to find it again. I could go back for it, but it’s a little early to go poking around someone’s campsite. Instead, I snuggle closer to Cyrus, lifting his arm so it’s draped over my body, and press my back against his bare chest. I start to doze off again, but he rubs his hand up and down my arm and murmurs, “Goosebumps.”
“It’s cold.”
He nuzzles the back of my neck and holds me tighter. “You’re warm.”
I roll over so we’re face-to-face. “Actually, I’m freezing. Do you have an extra hoodie? I lost my sweater last night.”
“Mm. Backpack.” He waves his hand toward the other side of the clearing. I kiss him on the nose, and stand up, quickly pulling my shirt on over my jeans.
“Do you want breakfast?” he asks as I start to dig through his bag.
“What do we have?”
“Uh, not much. Granola bar, leftover chips . . .”
I pull his hoodie over my head and smile into the fabric. It smells like him. Cy comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “You woke up early,” he says, and kisses me on the cheek. “You must have slept better than I did.”
The last thing I remember before falling asleep was the sun rising through the trees as I tried to calm my racing heart. We didn’t have sex, but we’d come very, very close. No one sleeps well after a night like that.
“Are you going to work when you get home?”
“Definitely. I have a ton to do.”
“Then I better do this now, while I have a chance.” He leans forward and kisses me, soft and sweet.
I rub my nose against his and pull away. As ecstatic as I am to be with him after all these years, I still don’t want to talk about what this means for the future. I need to focus on getting through the next few days—finishing my project, helping Jordan set up the show. After that . . . we’ll see.
We pack up the campsite, taking special care not to leave behind any trash. We can’t carry my supplies back on the bike, but Cy insists that he doesn’t mind coming back later. “It’s an excuse to ride the Suzuki again,” he says.
When everything is packed up and stowed behind a tree, we walk back down the path to where the bike is waiting. He throws his leg over, then hands me the helmet. “Ready?”
“I guess.” I pull the helmet on, then take a seat behind him. Cy starts the bike, sending the vibrations of the engine through my legs and up my body. He eases the bike down the dirt lane that connects to the highway, taking it nice and slow, but even at ten miles an hour I feel like the ground is flying by. When he pulls the bike onto the main road, I grab hold of him more tightly still, and fight against the urge to close my eyes. I kept them closed the whole way here, but today is a new day, and I want it to be different. I don’t want to be afraid.
The road slopes down as we ride back toward Santa Fe. He picks up speed. The trees whip past, a blur of green and brown. I take a shuddering breath and force myself to ease my
death grip on Cy. As soon as I do, I feel his ribs expand. I must have been holding on pretty tight.
“You okay?” he yells over his shoulder. “Should I slow down?”
“No!”
He looks back at me. “Should I speed up?”
I shake my head and scream, “Watch the road!”
His shoulders jerk up and down, and I realize he’s laughing. I reach around to pinch his thigh, but then I start laughing too. Suddenly I no longer feel like I’m on a bike hurtling through space. Instead I’m perched on the wind, with only the feeling of Cyrus anchoring me to the earth. Before I can second-guess myself, I lift my hands into the air, spreading my fingers to let the wind thread through them. If I could float up into the trees, I would.
• • •
The door to Fiona’s studio is open when Cy drops me off. Hard rock blasts out of the wall-mounted speakers. I scream her name three times, then finally give up and walk over to where she’s standing in front of an easel, and tap her on the shoulder. She jumps about a foot in the air.
“Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me,” she says when the music is finally off. “Why didn’t you just say something?”
“I did, but it was so loud you couldn’t hear me screaming. You’re going to go deaf.”
She laughs. “Anyway, I have good news. While you were gone I called the newspaper, and you were right. They gave us extra coverage for free. I also did a quick walk-through at the gallery with Jordan yesterday. We’re ready to go.”
“That’s great.” I feel a twinge of jealousy that I wasn’t here for the finishing touches, but it’s for the best that I got away for a few days. If I hadn’t, Cy and I would still be stuck in the same awful place, full of silence and anger, and I’d probably still be staring at my blank sketchbook.
Fiona wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a smear of blue paint on her skin. “So what brings you here so early?”
“I finally figured out what I’m going to make for the show. Better late than never, right?”
“Hell yes!” she says, swatting at me with the back of her hand. “I knew you could do it. What are you making? No, don’t tell me. I want to be surprised.”
I grin. “Okay, but I have a favor to ask. Would it be okay if I borrow some tools from you, and maybe a drop cloth? I’ve got a long night ahead of me, and it’s going to be even longer if I have to figure out a way to break tile with the heel of a shoe.”
She sits back and taps her lip with her thumb. “Tell you what. I’m going to call my friend Sarah and see if I can work out of her garage tonight. You can stay here and use the studio, plus all the supplies you need.”
“Really?” A thrill runs through me at the thought of having the entire place to myself.
“Why not? If I were you, I’d bring a couple blankets and a toothbrush and I’d camp out. Stay here until the work is done.”
I look around the workspace, at the stacks of newspapers and the dirty paintbrushes, at the picture window in need of cleaning, and at the table in the middle of the room, covered in the materials we brought back from the junkyard. A few weeks ago this place felt cluttered and messy, and I couldn’t imagine working amid the chaos. But now, I can see a sort of magic in the mayhem, and more than anything, I want to throw myself in the middle of it and see what I can create.
“I promise I won’t make a mess.”
Fiona laughs. “Do you think I’d notice if you did?”
• • •
It takes me an hour to pack up all my materials—including the box of my grandfather’s tiles, which YiaYia said I could have—plus an overnight bag and a plastic container of Greek cookies to snack on. I’m almost ready to go when Mom appears in the doorway. “Do you have a minute to talk before you go?” she asks, a crease between her eyes.
“Sure,” I say, and follow her into the bedroom at the back of the RV.
She sits down on the edge of the bed and gazes at my packed overnight bag leaning against the kitchen table a few feet away. “You’re only leaving for one night, right?” she asks.
“Yep.”
“Good, good,” she says, her hands in constant motion as she twists her rings around her fingers.
“Mom. It’s going to be fine. I don’t know why you’re so worried.”
“It’s not that. . . .” She glances toward the front of the RV, as if someone might actually be able to hide in this miniscule space. “You’ve been busy with your internship, and your dad’s been distracted. . . .”
I sit down next to her on the bed. “I don’t have to go. I could work here.”
“No, no. You go. I don’t want you to worry about me,” she says, sniffling. “I just miss being all together on the road.”
I want to tell her things will be back to normal soon, but I’m not sure that’s true. Instead I just say, “I love you, Mom.”
She sniffs again, and then the dam breaks and tears pour down her face. “I love you, too,” she says, and throws her arms around me.
Rodney drops down from the cabover bed, his Game Boy clutched in his hand. Apparently, you can hide in the RV after all. “What did you do to her?” he asks me.
“Nothing!”
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” he says, unconvinced.
I reach over and knock the Game Boy out of his hands and onto the bed. “You’re a punk, you know that?”
He grins. “At least I didn’t make Mom cry.”
I pat Mom on the back, and she sits up and wipes her face. “I’m sorry,” she says, smiling a little. “I wanted to give you something, and here I am, old waterworks. . . .”
She reaches into the drawer next to her bed and hands me a plastic baggy full to the brim with shards of glass. But instead of just the blues and greens the families helped me collect for months, she’s filled the bag with brilliant yellows, warm oranges, and shining reds.
“You probably don’t want to work on the Santa Monica mosaic anymore now that you’re not—well, you know what I mean,” Mom says. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t start collecting new colors, right? Maybe try something different? I bet you can still make something beautiful even if your original plan didn’t work out.”
I stare down at the bag, the sharp edges of the glass poking at me through the plastic. The colors are incredible, and absolutely perfect for what I have planned. And best of all, they came from her.
“Do you like it?” Mom asks nervously.
“I love it.”
Mom ushers Rodney out of the RV to give me space to finish packing. As soon as they’re gone, I get down on my hands and knees to feel around under the bench seat in the kitchen until my fingers bump into the edge of a small box.
I pull it out and stare down into the cardboard box of broken glass. It feels like forever since this glass filled me with anything but dread and disappointment. I’d been so fixated on what these pieces of glass meant to me, that I’d completely forgotten that they originally belonged to glass bottles, to broken car windows, to light bulbs and vases. The pieces all had an initial purpose, but when they shattered on the street or broke apart in my hands, I’d imbued them with the potential to be anything. Anything at all.
• • •
Sweat drips down my brow, but I brush it away and grip the utility knife. One more cut and the drywall will be ready. I slide the utility knife down the side of the ruler, taking care not to scratch the table underneath, even though a lifetime of living in Fiona’s studio already has it looking pretty beat up. When I’m finished, I hold up the drywall and examine my work.
Plink. Plink.
I look around for the source of the noise, but it’s stopped. I shrug and turn back to my work, but just as I’m picking up the spare bits of drywall, I hear it again.
Plink.
It sounds like something little falling to the floor. I put down the piece of drywall, and get down on my hands and knees. Nothing.
Plink.
I crawl across Fiona’s studio, pee
ring under tables and chairs. But I can’t find anything that would make that weird noise. I stand up and brush off my jeans and look around the room, but there’s nothing moving, nothing falling, nothing making any sound at all.
Plink.
I spin around and look at the covered windows facing the street. Maybe the noise is coming from outside. I peel back a piece of blue construction paper and peer out into the night. Down on the sidewalk, standing under a streetlight, is Cyrus, pebbles in one hand and a paper shopping bag in the other.
He waves frantically and mouths something to me, but I can’t hear him. I make a “just a minute” sign, and run out the door and down the rickety steps to the street. When I throw open the heavy front door, Cy is standing there.
“Finally,” he says, throwing the rocks over his shoulder. They skitter across the sidewalk and into the gutter. “I’ve been out here for almost five minutes.”
“Why didn’t you just call?”
“Ran out of minutes. Let me up?”
My mind immediately goes to all the things that could happen between us upstairs in Fiona’s studio, and how close we came to having sex last night in the woods. One kiss could turn into two, and before I know it, it’ll be morning and I’ll have forgotten all about the work I’m supposed to be doing.
He must see my hesitation, because he holds up the shopping bag. “I brought food. When’s the last time you ate?”
“Um, I haven’t?”
“Uh-huh. I’m coming up.” He pushes past me into the stairwell and starts to climb the steps. I consider stopping him, but then the incredible smell of roast chicken floats down to me. “Did you bring that from YiaYia’s?” I ask, hurrying after him.
“Nope, I made it. Well, she did give me one thing, but it’s a surprise.”
We reach the top of the stairs and I open the door to Fiona’s studio. Cyrus nods in appreciation. “This place is incredible. I can’t believe you have it all to yourself. . . .”
“Don’t get any ideas.” I lean in to kiss him on the cheek, but he turns his face at the last second and our lips meet. It sends a shock through me. It’s been less than twelve hours since the last time he kissed me, but it feels like much, much longer.
Your Destination Is on the Left Page 19