by Anna Davies
“Um …” The conversation was jumping around too quickly, and I couldn’t latch on. Did Keely spread the Will rumor? Did Keely tell sleepwalking me to make out with Will and did I do it because of some weird subconscious thing? Did Matt like Erin? I didn’t even know which question to focus on, so I decided to start with the easiest: food. “I think there’s, like, eggs and stuff. But, seriously, the Will thing is just … it’s nothing.” At least nothing I can explain.
Without prompting, Matt opened the fridge. “I need pancakes,” he announced.
“Um, okay …” Pancakes? What was that teen code for?
But Matt had already reached toward the cabinet with the broken hinge and pulled out sugar, flour, and the carob chips Mom insisted tasted just the same as chocolate.
“This is fine,” he murmured as he spread the ingredients along the cracked laminate counter. “Just a warning. I make shapes, but I don’t take requests. Just respect my vision.”
“Wait, you’re making pancakes? Like, for real?”
Matt turned and gave me a crooked smile. “Isn’t that what I said I was going to do?”
“Yeah … it’s just … Nothing. Cool.” All right. So this was how normal teens spent normal Saturday nights. Or, at least, how a secret child spelling champ and a valedictorian wannabe spent a Saturday night. I kind of wished I’d known that earlier. As Matt got to work, I pulled open my laptop. I went to my e-mail inbox. There was one lone e-mail.
Important Announcement from the Ainsworth Committee
I eagerly clicked on the message.
To: All Ainsworth semifinalists (New Hampshire)
From: Ainsworth Committee, Northeast Chapter
Re: Sad news
It is with deep sadness that we inform you of the death of Leah Kirkpatrick. Leah, 18, from Grand Falls, was a senior at Grand Falls Regional High School. A National Merit Finalist who was, at the time of her death, ranked #1 in her class, Leah’s academic ambition was matched only by her personal passions. An accomplished swimmer and equestrian, Leah also founded a club to raise money for the pediatric unit of the Grand Falls Children’s Hospital. Her family and friends will remain in all of our thoughts. For those who would like to pay their respects, a memorial viewing will be held tomorrow, Sunday the 18th, at Bradley Family Funeral Home in Kennilworth, New Hampshire, from 2 p.m. to 8 p.m.
Please note that in light of this tragedy, the committee will not be releasing rankings from the Ainsworth interviews, but will be privately contacting the schools of those winners who’ve moved on to the next level.
A picture of a smiling girl leaning against a tree was attached to the e-mail. I instantly knew who it was. It was the blonde from the parking lot who’d wanted us to have lunch together.
The image swam to my memory. Her hair blowing around her face, the way she’d caught her lip with her front teeth. I quickly Googled her, recoiling when the autofill added car crash after her name.
Car crash. I thought of the way she’d asked me to lunch and I’d brushed her off. If I’d agreed, would she still be alive? Or would we both be dead?
Plane crash theory. The term floated into my head. It was the idea that, for something horrible to go wrong, a million tiny things — the exact amount of rainfall, the time you left the house — had to click into place. I wondered if I’d been one of the links in the chain that had led to Leah’s death — if I hadn’t looked upset, she wouldn’t have talked to me, and would have made her way to her car two minutes earlier. And those two minutes could have meant the difference between life and death for her.
A shiver crept up my spine, causing my entire body to shake uncontrollably.
“You okay?” Matt turned away from the stove and faced me, spatula in hand.
“Yeah.” I sat heavily down at the wooden table, cradling my head in my hands. “I’m fine. It’s just … this girl. I met her at the scholarship competition. And she died.”
“No way.” Matt walked behind me and draped his arms around my shoulders.
I quickly shrugged off his arms and turned the computer to face him, so he could read the e-mail. He read quickly, his eyes darting across the screen.
“How did it happen?” Matt asked.
I shrugged. “It didn’t say. It’s fine. It was a car accident, I guess. Those things happen. I didn’t know her at all. It’s just sad.” I slammed the laptop shut and scraped my chair back under the pretense of examining the pancakes. “How’s it going over there?”
“Don’t look!” Matt raced me toward the stove, outstretching his arms to barricade my view.
“Hey!” I squealed a little too loudly. But the noise seemed to break the mood, and Matt turned to me with a wide grin on his face.
“What did I tell you about my vision? You can’t peek!” Matt poked me in the center of the chest with the spatula, the touch feeling like lightning running up my spine. For the second time in fewer than five minutes, I gave in to a full-body shiver.
“Now, sit back down and let me do my work.”
I perched on the counter, swinging my legs back and forth, trying to push any thoughts of Leah out of my mind. Outside, the wind was howling, and condensation on the windows made the glass steam up, but the stove was warm, and for the first time in a while, despite everything, I felt safe. I wanted to stay here, with him, forever. I picked up his iPod from the counter, clicking through until I found his Bob Marley playlist. I plugged it into the dock on the counter and reggae music filled the air.
“Nice.” He bopped his head to the beat, but didn’t look back at me. I watched him work, ultra-aware of the sinewy muscles moving between the thin fabric of his still-damp Bainbridge Soccer T-shirt.
“Thanks for doing this,” I said.
“It’s cool. I like getting my Anthony Bourdain on.” Matt walked to the table, holding the still-steaming pan in front of him. “All right, dinner is served.”
“I’ll get plates.” Hastily, I grabbed two chipped red dinner plates and put them down on the table.
“Cool.” Matt put three misshapen pancakes on my plate, then four on his. After dumping the pan in the sink, he sat opposite me. He wordlessly picked up a pancake and held it up in a mock toast.
“Here’s to … carpe diem. Or whatever we should toast to. The girl who died. Your scholarship. The fact that we’re finally hanging out. Whatever you want.”
“Nice. You know, I do have forks. If you want one.” I hastily went to the silverware drawer and grabbed two.
“Unnecessary.” He took a large bite of his pancake.
“Gross.” I wrinkled my nose.
“Sorry.” Matt grinned. “So, what are you thinking?”
“That I’m going to use a fork,” I shot back, avoiding the question.
“What else?” he prompted. “You know what I’m thinking?” Matt asked, not waiting for an answer. “What it’d be like if I died today. You know? Like, that Leah chick had no idea what was coming.”
“None of us do, really,” I said. “Anyway, isn’t this kind of heavy stuff to talk about over breakfast? Or … whatever this is?” I asked when I realized the time blinking above the stove read two a.m.
Matt picked up another pancake and ripped it apart with his fingers. “Nah, you need to talk about heavy stuff over breakfast. Carbs make everything go down easier. And it’s heady stuff. I feel like if I died, I’d be all right. I mean, I’d be dead, but I’d have lived a pretty sweet life. No complaints. Listened to some good tunes, had some fun, made friends. I don’t think I’d regret anything.”
“Then you’re lucky,” I murmured. Would I be happy with myself or proud of my life if I’d died today? No. No one would remember me, not really. I’d be an almost. She almost won the Ainsworth. She almost was valedictorian. She almost was starting to have friends. She almost learned to lighten up. Almost wasn’t enough. Ever. Almost was a sign I was slipping. Once I was valedictorian, once I was an Ainsworth scholar … that was when I’d let myself be happy.
“Anyway
…” I trailed off, unsure how to change the subject from life and death to something even a tiny bit more typical. “So, have you started your college apps yet?” Ugh.
“Not really.” Matt shrugged. “I mean, I guess I’ll just go to the U, if I get in. Does it really matter?”
“Does it really matter?” I repeated. “Um, yeah it does.”
“Why? It’s still college. Harvard or wherever doesn’t own knowledge. You get whatever you put into it. And I feel like they’ll be plenty of good people and good times at the U. And in the end, isn’t that all that really matters?”
“Not really. College isn’t like high school. It’s not about good times. It’s about … finding yourself.” I sounded like a lame college brochure and I knew it. “I mean, it’s about challenging yourself and pushing yourself and becoming better.”
“Becoming better?” Matt raised an eyebrow skeptically. “What does that mean? The way I see it, I’m me no matter what, and as long as I’m chilling and having a good time and not hurting anyone, then what’s the big deal? I don’t think getting, like, an A makes me a better person. Do you really think that it does?”
I shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing, either.”
“Right. But there’s so much other stuff, is all I’m saying. And if you don’t take the opportunities when they present themselves, then you miss out. And I don’t want to miss out on anything. Especially the important things.”
“So what’s an example of an important thing?”
But Matt didn’t speak. Instead, he leaned toward me and pressed his thumb against my chin. I tilted my head as my heart started thumping against my chest so loudly that I was sure Matt could hear it.
Our lips touched, then he slowly pulled away.
“That,” he said, smiling.
I touched my mouth, then self-consciously dropped my hand to my lap.
I leaned toward him. “Carpe diem,” I whispered. Our lips met, and already I felt like his mouth was familiar. I tilted my head, feeling his breath on the side of my neck.
I wasn’t sure if it was the ticklish sensation of his breath or just the entire situation, but suddenly, I had the uncontrollable urge to giggle. I pulled away.
“What?” Matt asked.
“It’s just funny. You and me here. It’s weird.”
“I’ll take weird.” Matt leaned toward me again, this time weaving his fingers through my hair.
We kissed again. I wanted the moment to last forever, but I also knew how dangerous that would be.
I pulled away a third time.
“We need to stop.”
A cloud of confusion crossed Matt’s face.
“Why?”
“It’s getting late. I need to go to bed. You can sleep over. I mean, not sleep sleep over, but stay over. If that makes sense?” I stood up and hurried into the cluttered living room. He could sleep on our enormous purple couch.
Matt trailed behind me.
“You can sleep there. It’s comfortable,” I chattered.
Matt plopped onto the lumpy cushion, his eyes glazed. He pulled one shoe off, then another, and swung his long legs onto the couch.
“This feels good. Come join me?”
“Okay.” My heart pounding, I slipped onto the couch next to him. He gently threw his arm over my waist. I expected to have to explain to him why we couldn’t kiss anymore, but he didn’t try. Instead, his breathing got deeper and deeper until I realized that he’d fallen asleep.
And soon, I did, too, realizing just before I lost consciousness that I hadn’t thought once about the profile, the weird comments from the party, or the now-I-saw-it-now-I-didn’t photo.
I woke up to a raging headache, a cramp in my shoulder, and a realization that I was entirely dressed — and the elastic from the pantyhose I’d selected to wear to the Ainsworth over twenty-four hours ago were still digging uncomfortably into my hip.
And, of course, Matt Hartnett was snoring next to me.
I wiggled out of his arms, causing him to stir. His eyes opened, and a sleepy smile crossed his face. He stretched, revealing an irresistible sliver of skin at his waist, and smiled up at me.
“Westin.” He blinked his eyes at me and I took a step backward.
“How did you sleep?” I perched back on the edge of the lumpy couch, but that felt too oddly intimate. I slipped onto the floor and hugged my knees to my chest. Much safer.
“Oh man.” He blearily rubbed his eyes. “That couch is my friend. Seriously, I slept awesome.”
“We call it the Purple People Seater. My mom named it.” I glanced around our tiny living room and imagined what it looked like to him: the lumpy, mismatched furniture. The haphazard stacks of used books. The tumbleweed-like tangle of dog fur under one of the blond wood shelves. Last night, he’d made me feel like I’d been the one he was missing out on, the one he’d do anything to kiss. Today, I wondered if he felt like he’d settled. I was the girl who’d freaked out twice in front of him, who’d only offered him flat soda, who’d pulled away from a kiss. I wasn’t giggly and energetic like Erin Carlson. I was nervous and weird. And if he hadn’t noticed last night, there was no way he wouldn’t notice now.
“Cool. Purple People Seater, you’ve done well.” He caressed the couch with his hand and blinked sleepily up at me. “So, is anyone else here?”
I shook my head. “We came here after Alyssa’s….” Remember? I wanted to say. But I didn’t. Because what if it hadn’t happened? What if this was another weird half-waking thing and he was only here because I’d fainted or dragged him or who even knows what.
“Yeah. Yeah. Of course. Fun times.” He swung his legs off the couch, stood up, and stretched. “Well, I guess I should go, huh? Don’t want to get in your way. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of stuff to do.”
“I don’t. Not really.” I was surprised by how much I wanted him to stay.
“Oh. Well, I mean, I have to go. Soccer practice.” He leaned down to grab his shoes.
“Right!” I stood up so quickly that the top of my head collided into his chin.
“Ouch!” I yelped, more for show than anything. I hoped he’d remember how we’d had a similar collision the first time I went to Alyssa’s barn. I wanted him to make a joke about how we had to stop bumping into each other like this, anything that would bring back the quirky guy who’d been in my kitchen the night before. But he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned toward me. “You okay?” His eyes widened, and for a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he gently brushed my cheek with his index finger and held up an eyelash.
“You know how you’re supposed to make a wish on these?” Matt asked.
“You want me to?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
I closed my eyes and blew, but there were too many thoughts circling my mind to focus. I opened my eyes, noticing the eyelash still sitting on his finger.
“Better luck next time, right?” I shook my head and walked toward the kitchen to let him out. As I opened the door, I noticed the pancakes on the table, a sign that at least that hadn’t been a dream.
I opened the door to the back porch.
“Bye,” I said.
“See you around, Westin.”
I didn’t go inside after Matt left. Instead, I sat on the porch steps, hugging my knees to my chest and staring out toward the pastures in the distance. The rain had stopped, but the air still felt heavy with dampness. Usually, rain made me feel refreshed, like everything bad had been washed away, but now I felt empty and sad and exhausted, as if every all-nighter, every early morning spent studying, every stressed-out Saturday night had piled on top of me.
I grabbed a rock and threw it as hard as I could into a bush, imagining I was aiming at Matt’s head. But that didn’t make me feel any better. I was angry with myself. I’d driven myself to an almost nervous breakdown. I’d stayed out and partied and for what? I was still alone. I was still the ex–Spectrum editor. And I still had to deal with this ghost or my sub
conscious or whatever was haunting me. If anything, I’d given it even more ammo than it had before.
Stupid. I stood up and brushed the dirt off the back of my jeans, then walked into the house.
And then, I screamed.
On the table, in between the two jam jars we’d used for our drinks, was one single, tiny, pink baby shoe, sitting there as though it had been there all night.
Underneath it was a Sound and the Story Post-it, placed carefully on top of a yellowing envelope.
Don’t worry, Hayley. Some of us don’t ever find our soul mates. And some of us need to search a little harder. You need to get a clue. But for now, I’m giving you one.
I screamed.
Then, the doorbell rang. I screamed again.
“Hayley? Hayley!” It was a male voice.
“Go away!” I yelled. My heart thumped in my chest as I grabbed a fork and the envelope from the table.
“Hayley, it’s Adam!”
Adam?
I edged toward the back door, holding the fork in front of me like a weapon, and peered through the window.
It was Adam, shuffling from one foot to another, a book in his hand.
“What are you doing?” I opened the door a crack.
“I came to talk. I saw you on the porch, I tried to call for you, then you went inside and started screaming. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just … a bug. What are you doing here?” I croaked.
“I was worried about you,” he continued. “I wanted to see if everything was all right. You weren’t answering your phone, and then I thought, with that e-mail we got … that you might be freaked out,” Adam said finally.
“About the girl dying?” I asked, opening the door and standing in front of him on the porch. The envelope crackled between my fingers. He’d called? I tried to remember the last time I’d checked my phone.
“Yeah, because it pushes the Ainsworth date back a week, and I know you’ve got this whole schedule. I don’t know, you just seemed really on edge yesterday. So I feel like that news could have pushed you over the edge. And no offense, but I feel like it kind of did. I thought you were going to kill me with that fork.”