He threw more water in my direction, and I upped the ante. I jumped forward, kicking my feet so that waves would hit him.
He started laughing. “Is that how you want to play?” He dove, and the next thing I knew, he was beneath me, lifting me out of the water.
“Oh my God! Put me down.” I was full-on laughing and screaming.
“Okay, but remember you asked.”
Then he threw me back in the water.
“Oh, no you didn’t,” I said when I got back up, then I put my arm under the water, pushing it in his direction with all my might.
It was the move that may have officially launched our splash war. We were bobbing up and down, flinging water at each other, and dodging out of the way of attacks, all at the same time. The only downside was I was laughing so hard, that I gulped down what was probably an equivalent of a gallon of pool water.
“Watch it,” one of the women at the table snapped after we’d gotten her wet.
“Sorry!” Fitz called out before turning back to me. “Can’t have you assaulting poor little old ladies.” He went to grab me.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I said, jumping up and trying to push him down into the water. He was strong. I wound up clinging to his back, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling with all my might, but I couldn’t get him to fall backward. He turned to face me, and I caught his eyes. They were nice eyes. Really nice eyes. But my stomach sank. They were nice, but they weren’t Zev’s.
“Truce, truce,” I said, holding up my hands and floating away from him a little. This had been a nice distraction, but that’s all it was. His wasn’t the body I wanted pressed up against mine, despite how amazing it was. I would move on from Zev, I knew that, but not this quickly.
We got out of the pool and laid down on two beach chairs next to each other and just talked. A friend I could handle. He told me more about his after-school program, and NYU, and about skipping out on the Bahamas with some of his friends so he could save some money and because he worried his grandpa was lonely. Fitz’s grandma passed away last year. I told him about school, and my dreams of being a singer, and that money (or lack thereof) was an issue for me, too, and how I had no idea what I was doing for the summer. I left out any mention of Zev, but Fitz could probably sense something was up. A lot of my stories had conspicuous gaps when you left Zev out of them.
I glanced at my phone. We’d been out there for over an hour. “I should get going,” I said, “see what my grandma is up to.”
“We should hang out tomorrow,” Fitz offered. “I didn’t even get to hear you play your guitar.”
I liked hanging out with him, but—and I knew Trina would say I was crazy—I kind of wanted time to myself. Not to sit and sulk, but to work on my music and, frankly, just to figure things out. Everything was going to be different now. “I think tomorrow is my grandma day,” I said.
“Totally,” he said. “But if you change your mind…” He put out his hand for my phone, and I gave it to him. He typed in his number and handed it back. “It’s under Fitz.”
I got up to leave, and he put out his hand for another fist bump.
This time I didn’t hesitate. He really was a nice guy. Maybe he was Captain America, because he’d done something monumental, something only a hero could do. For a short while, he’d helped me to actually have a good time. I smiled my whole walk home. Until I got to Gram’s front door.
Standing there with a bouquet of flowers was Zev.
EIGHT
Zev was there. At Gram’s. Waiting for me.
Oh, please no.
I pulled my towel tighter around me like a cocoon. I wished it would swallow me up until he was out of my sight.
I didn’t say anything, I just pushed past him.
“Sari, wait. Please.”
I stopped just shy of the door, my back to him. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You haven’t answered any of my texts or calls. I had to try something.”
“Or you could have taken a hint. I obviously don’t want anything to do with you.” I braced myself against the side of the condo just in case my knees buckled.
He ignored my comment. “I brought you these.” He held out a bouquet of light-pink peonies. My favorite.
I willed myself not to cry. “I don’t want them. I don’t want anything from you.”
“We can work this out, Sari. We’re meant to be together.” He put his hand on my shoulder, and I flinched.
I turned back to face him. “It doesn’t work like that, Zev. You can’t just get me flowers and expect everything to be okay. This isn’t a rom-com, you can’t buy my forgiveness, you can’t play a song outside of my window or do some half-baked gesture and have me fall into your arms. This is bigger than that.”
“I know.”
I took a step back and looked up at him. He still towered over me, yet somehow didn’t look tall. And his eyes. They were sunken and red. Had he been crying, too? I felt that now all-too-familiar tightness in my chest. I was about to bawl again. I needed to get away from him. “You should go.”
“I want to talk. Please. I love you, Sari. I just want to explain.”
“And I just wanted a boyfriend I could trust. We don’t always get what we want.” I ran into the condo and slammed the door shut behind me.
My grandmother was standing there, probably had been watching the whole thing. “Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “I will be.”
I picked up my phone and texted Fitz. Guess what? I actually do have some time tomorrow. Let’s hang out!
NINE
“You should definitely kiss Fitz,” Trina told me for the umpteenth time since Zev showed up at my door yesterday. “It will make you feel better.”
I doubted that. I was already second-guessing my decision to hang out with him at all. “It’s not fair to use him as a rebound.”
“Trust me, he won’t mind.”
But I would. “I told you,” I said, switching the phone to my other ear. “This is just a friendly hangout with the only other person my age around here.”
Well, close to my age. Trina did some digging after I told her about him, and if engineering didn’t work out for her, detective work certainly would. With just the name Fitz, NYU, his major, and the after-school program he volunteered at, she was able to get the dirt on him. Cameron “Fitz” Fitzberg was a junior, a black belt in jujitsu, liked to surf, rock climb, and meditate in the park. At least that’s what Trina got from his GroupIt page. He had more friends there than the two of us combined—and that was saying something. Her sister, Keisha, didn’t know him from school, but after getting a look at his pictures, she wanted to.
“A wasted opportunity,” Trina said. “I beg you to reconsider.” When I didn’t respond, she changed the subject. “Any more surprise visits from Voldemort? Or did you vanquish him?”
The texts hadn’t stopped (although I still refused to read them), but at least he hadn’t returned in person. “I—”
“Sari,” my gram interrupted. “It’s your mom.”
“Can I call her back?”
“She says it’s important.”
I had been putting off talking to her. I sent a few texts but ignored the calls. Even when she’d reach out to Gram, I’d find an excuse not to get on the line. I’d have Gram tell her I said hi and that I sent my love. I just didn’t want to answer questions about Zev, but it seemed like it was time for the inevitable. I told Trina I’d call her later and took the phone from Gram.
“Hi, Mom.”
As expected, I got a mini guilt trip about not calling or answering the phone.
“I know Gram told you that Zev and I ended things,” I explained, “and I wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. I’m still not.”
I knew she was concerned and wanted to know what was going on, but talking to her about it was harder than talking to Trina. I didn’t want to break down again. I hadn’t cried yet today, and I wanted to keep that streak going.
I did my best to suppress a groan.
My mother was obsessed with the weather. Seriously. She’d actually flip channels to compare what was being said on each station. And the way she talked about Audrey Puente, one of the Fox 5 meteorologists, you’d think the two were best friends. “Audrey said this … Audrey said that…” And it wasn’t just Audrey. Any time Mike Woods, Nick Gregory, or any forecaster came on, my mother made everyone in the room stop talking so she could listen—even if she’d just heard the weather report five minutes earlier. I’d learned to tune it out.
“Yeah, what about it?” I asked, lying back on the couch.
“Audrey…” (I really wasn’t kidding about the Audrey thing.)
“Audrey said severe thunderstorms could rip through the area due to the unusually warm weather we’ve been having. I’m not sure you’ll make it back on Friday.”
Mom went on about a hot spell and a cold front, and I don’t know … I was already zoning. Basically, she said she’d be monitoring the situation, but that if everything stayed on course, there was a good chance my flight would be canceled and I’d have to stay in Florida until Sunday.
I thanked her for the heads-up, but honestly, I didn’t know why she was making such a big deal out of it. A few more days in Florida sounded nice. Bonus prize—I probably wouldn’t be on the same flight back home as Zev anymore.
After I hung up, I grabbed my guitar and said good-bye to Gram. It was time to meet up with Fitz.
TEN
Zev’s flowers were still sitting outside the door where he left them. I wouldn’t let Gram bring them in last night. I did not need any reminders of my ex. I kicked them into the shrubs. It was time to think about my music. What should I play for Fitz? I debated it as I walked to meet him. I tended to go for a good love ballad when I played for someone the first time, but I didn’t want to send the wrong message. Maybe something upbeat and fun instead. I wrote a song last year after having the most perfect day on Coney Island with Trina and Trevor. It was all about friendship and summer. That seemed like the best bet.
The community center where Fitz and I were set to meet was right past the pool, and it was gigantic. Anyone who lived in the retirement village was welcome to use it. The place had a ton of rooms where they held different events, and the lobby had couches and little tables set up for people to hang out. There were even a few early risers there now.
I checked out the corkboard hanging on the wall. It was filled with posters offering everything from swimming lessons and Zumba classes to card tournaments and various outings. I understood why Gram decided to move here. It was kind of like college for senior citizens without the tests and papers.
“Excuse me,” I asked two women sitting down drinking coffee. “Can you point me to the gym?” That was where Fitz said he’d be all morning.
“Right down the hall and take the elevator down one flight. You won’t miss it,” the first one said.
“You picked a good time,” the other added, leaning closer to me. “I saw a very handsome young man go down there a little while ago. On the short side, but for you it will do nicely.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Oh, yeah, we’re just friends,” I kind of sputtered out.
She raised an eyebrow. “You can change that.”
“Maybe.” I was getting it from everywhere. First Trina, now a stranger? Were they onto something I wasn’t? No. I knew what was best for me, and I wasn’t about to get into another discussion about my love life. Trina and I dissected it enough, so I excused myself and took the elevator down to the gym.
Fitz was the only one inside. He was lying back on the bench, a bar with an unnatural amount of weight attached to it held over his head.
“Hi,” I said tentatively, not wanting to startle him. No way I was going to be responsible for that thing falling down and crushing him.
He put the weight down, and wiped some sweat off his brow with his forearm. “Hey.”
I sat down on a leg-lift machine across from him. “That looked heavy.”
He sat up and shrugged. “Usually do a lot more, but without a spotter I take it easy.”
Easy? He and I had very different definitions of the term. Maybe he was bragging, although that didn’t seem his style. He could have been looking for an offer of assistance, but I was not biting. Lifting heavy metal discs—even as backup help—was certainly not how I wanted to spend my vacation. Instead I asked him about his morning.
Fitz had been up since before seven. He said he liked to get up with the sun. We were definitely opposites. If I hadn’t heard Gram yammering away on the phone at nine, I probably would have still been asleep now. “You get up that early every day?”
“Try,” he said. “At school it’s harder. Here it’s easy to go to bed early.”
I guess that depended on who you were. My gram was out late all the time. She canceled most of her usual plans because I was visiting, but from my eavesdropping (both past and present), I gathered my gram knew how to party. I must have gotten the gene from her. My parents were the ultimate homebodies—even though we lived in a city with a gazillion incredible things to do. How they didn’t take advantage of it was beyond me.
“So are you going to play me something?” he asked, and jutted his chin toward my guitar.
“Here?” I’d never played in a gym before, but it was far from the worst place I’d ever played. Or even the smelliest. I sometimes went down to the subway station near my apartment. I liked singing at full blast when the trains approached. The noise masked the volume, and let me get out any pent-up emotion that I was having trouble accessing. I even wrote two of my favorite songs after my mini subway sessions.
“No one’s around,” he said. “Unless you have somewhere else in mind.”
“This works.” I took Ruby out of her case and breathed her in. Spruce, mahogany, and a twinge of something metallic. I loved that smell.
“This one is called ‘Wonder of It,’” I said, and pulled Ruby closer. For this particular song I didn’t use a pick. I preferred the combo of my fingers plucking the strings and my nails striking at them. It gave a soft, warm tone while also creating a rich sound.
The room was quiet. I took a breath and got started. After a few chords, I didn’t need to think anymore. I just felt. I let my fingers do what they knew to do, and I began to sing, getting lost in the sounds and lyrics.
When I finished, my whole body got those little chills it always got from playing. For the first time in days, I felt like myself again. Why had I waited so long to get out my guitar? It always made me feel better. Mom would say it’s because music releases dopamine, but I didn’t care about the science. I cared about the feeling, and it was that surge of happiness I needed.
“Sweet,” Fitz said, and put out his fist.
I had almost forgotten he was there. “Thanks,” I said, with a tentative bump back.
We talked a little about my music. Like the fact that I’d been playing forever. My dad dabbled with the guitar. Apparently, he was cool at one point in time.
“Ruby was actually my father’s,” I said, patting my baby.
“Did you name your guitar?”
The look on his face made me laugh. “Yes, it is not that weird. At least not any weirder than people who name their cars.”
He was still looking at me funny.
“I did it when I was five!” I explained. “My dad had it out in the living room one day, and I had just gotten all these rhinestone stickers. And I, being the delightful daughter that I am, thought it would be a nice surprise to decorate his guitar for him.”
“I’m sure he appreciated it,” Fitz said, laughing.
I scrunched up my face. “The story goes that he turned purple when he saw my masterful artwork, but I was so excited, that he pretended he was, too, and left them on. Lucky for him, the jewel stickers were pretty cheap and fell off
by the end of the week. Except for one. A ruby. So that’s what I started calling the guitar. Then on my bat mitzvah, my dad gave it to me. The ruby is still there,” I said, pointing to the gemstone at the base of the guitar, “and it’s still holding strong today.”
“All right; that explanation gets a pass,” he said, smiling at me.
“I’m so glad it meets your approval,” I said, and winked at him. Winked. What was wrong with me? Stop flirting, Sari Silver. You’re the one who said you weren’t ready for anything new. Change the subject. Now.
“Speaking of names,” I said. “Fitz. First name, last name?” He didn’t need to know that I already knew the answer, and it was a safe, platonic topic.
“It’s Cameron Fitzberg, but most people call me Fitz. Even my parents say it now. They got used to hearing it from my friends, my coaches, announcers at my matches. The only ones who really use Cameron or Cam are my grandparents and my dad’s side of the family.”
“Cam, huh? I like that, too. A strong name. Fitting.”
“Well, you, can call me whatever you want,” he said, and winked back at me.
Oh my God. I was doing it again, and he was doing it back. Trina and Zev had teased me in the past about being a flirt, but I thought they were exaggerating. I was just friendly. I was in a relationship, I didn’t think anything of it. But now I realized that they might have been right. I needed to rein it in. “If your friends call you Fitz,” I said, “then that’s what I’ll call you, too.” I grabbed my phone as an excuse to break eye contact.
More text messages from Zev. When was he going to clue in that I was always going to ignore them?
I also had a missed call. A non-Zev one. It was from a 212 area code.
“I’m sorry,” I told Fitz. “I just need to check this message. I don’t recognize the number.”
“Sure.”
Fitz was still his relaxed, easygoing self. If he was fazed by my on-and-off-again flirting, he didn’t show it. Hopefully, he didn’t even notice.
I played the message, and those little chills I had earlier turned into full-blown goose bumps. “No way, no way, NO WAY!!”
Airports, Exes, and Other Things I'm Over Page 4