The Promise of Amazing

by Robin Constantine

  Heart attack.

  Why hadn’t I answered the phone earlier? It wasn’t like Tiff called after school every day. I tortured myself, milling around the parking lot, blind to where I’d parked my car. My teeth chattered as I searched the lot and finally located the mud-brown soft-top of the Chrysler. I fumbled for my keys and realized I’d left my jacket inside. I turned back toward the diner to see Wren coming down the stairs, my jacket draped over her arm. Her hair fanned away from her face as she trotted toward me.

  “You forgot this,” she said, handing me the jacket.

  Thank you, I thought, though the words never quite made it to my lips. I shivered as I pushed my arms through the sleeves. Wren dropped her bag by her feet and unwound the blue knit scarf from her neck.

  “Here,” she said, her breath disappearing in a puff of white. She reached up, on tiptoe, and tossed the scarf over my shoulders, winding it around my neck twice. The wool was still warm from her body.

  My teeth chattered as I stuffed the fringy ends of the scarf inside my jacket.

  “You’ll be okay?” she asked.

  Mute, I nodded.

  “I can walk from here,” she said, staring down the expanse of Broadway.

  “I c-c-can give you a ride,” I stuttered. When did it get so cold?

  “No, you need to get to your dad,” she answered, slinging her bag over her shoulder. I nodded again and watched her walk away, the word good-bye forming a lump in my throat. She was right, I needed to get to the hospital, but my feet wouldn’t move.

  Wren came back.

  “I’ll drive,” she said, eyes sweeping the parking lot.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be behind the wheel right now. Hand over the keys.”

  No one had ever driven the Chrysler but me and Pop. It wasn’t a sweet ride, but it was mine. The guys had always given me shit about how neat I kept it. How I practically made them take their shoes off before they set foot in it. Without protest I dropped the keys into her open palm.

  Getting into the passenger side was alien. Wren tossed her messenger bag into the back and slid into the driver’s side. Her plaid skirt hiked up to reveal another two inches of milky white thigh that I couldn’t tear my eyes from. The sight of her bare skin sent a current of desire through me.

  Grayson Matthew, you filthy horndog. My conscience took on Tiff’s voice. Your father could be dying, and you’re thinking with your prick.

  Wren put the car into Drive. We lurched forward out of the spot as she lead-footed the brake to let another car back up out of a space directly across from us. The near miss wiped my brain of pervy thoughts.

  “Sorry, I’m used to driving my dad’s car,” she explained, tucking a few strands of static-charged hair behind her ear. I cranked up the heat, then reached across her to switch on the headlights.

  “It’s dusk. You’ll need those,” I said, leaning back into the passenger seat.

  Gripping the wheel in the perfect ten and two o’clock position, Wren maneuvered out of the spot as if the car were the size of a boat. In the time it took her to get out of the parking lot, I could have been to Bergen Point Memorial and back.

  Once we hit Broadway, she visibly relaxed. She kept doing all those things new drivers do—checking the side mirror and rearview, slowing down as the light changed to yellow. Conscientious. Adorable, even. But fucking three-toed-sloth slow. My knee bounced up and down with pent-up energy. I chewed on my thumbnail as we stopped for our third red light in what seemed like two minutes.

  “This is a bit of a shock?” she asked, her voice unsure as she stepped on the gas again.

  “Yes,” I answered quickly, but then thought about it. “No, I guess not really. Pop doesn’t take care of himself. Tiff’s been trying to get him to eat better for years. And he smokes. Maybe not as much as he used to, but probably more than he lets us know. So not a total shock. But. I didn’t really think this is how I’d be spending my day.”

  “You call your mother ‘Tiff’?” she asked, clicking on the directional. A few cars sped by before she could make the left turn onto the same block as the hospital.

  “Tiff’s my stepmom. Five years. My mom lives in Connecticut. I don’t see her that much. There’s a spot,” I said, almost ready to jump on her lap and take over the wheel.

  I was out the door before she killed the ignition. She caught up to me halfway down the street. Then I felt the warmth of her hand wrapping around mine. Surprised, I glanced at her. She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. I held on, and she took the lead.

  We barreled through the sliding doors at the entrance and tore across the lobby. A stout security guy who must have lived for moments like this sat at a podium in front of the archway that led to the rest of the hospital. He held up his hand, and we skidded short across the marble floor in front of him.

  “Visiting hours are—”

  “My dad’s in the emergency room.”

  “Your best bet would be to go back outside—”

  “Can’t we get in through here?” I asked, cutting him off again and gesturing toward a sign that said ER with an arrow pointing down another hallway.

  He soured as his eyes shifted to Wren. “Are you family?”

  I glared at him, ready to verbally tear him a new one, but Wren intervened.

  “Sir, he’s a mess. I want to make sure he gets where he needs to be, then I’ll leave, I promise,” she said, voice calm, working some sort of spell on him with her eyes. With a jerk of his head he gave us a quick, “Go.” We race-walked down a hallway and through so many doors, it would have been funny if I wasn’t so panicked. By the time we got to the last one, I half expected to be outside again.

  We emptied into the grubby, basic white waiting room of the ER. A woman cradled a crying infant in front of a small reception window that slid open and closed. The old woman behind it either didn’t hear or didn’t care. Her name tag read Myrtle. I knocked, and she peered at me through rimless glasses.

  “My father was brought in about an hour ago,” I said, fingers twitching to reach for the magic door she had to buzz me through.

  She picked up a clipboard, sliding a pen into the top clip, and paused to cough into her shoulder.

  “Name,” she said, placing the clipboard between us.

  “No, I’m not here for me. I’m here for my father,” I said, pushing it back toward her.

  “You have to sign in, son,” she said. I grabbed the pen and scrawled something in one of the sign-in spots.

  “Ma’am, he had a heart attack. I’d really like to see him,” I said, handing her the clipboard. She glared at me and pushed the magic button.

  I pulled Wren through with me, ignoring Myrtle’s outcry of “Family only!” We hurried toward the back of the large room, which was completely devoid of ER-type activity. Tiff stood at the end of a row of curtained-off spaces. Her arms were folded across her chest, her hand up to her mouth. My heart dropped to my feet then shot up into my throat. I wanted to go back to the diner, the car, my fantasy starring Wren’s thigh, anything to escape facing what was behind the curtain.

  “Grayson,” Tiffany said, opening her arms. I released Wren’s hand from my vise grip and gave Tiff a quick hug.

  “How is he?” I asked, going past her.

  “See for yourself,” she answered. I walked into the curtained makeshift room to see Pop sitting up straight, arms folded across his chest, IV drip next to him. A rush of breath escaped my lips. He was alive.

  “Pop, you okay?” I asked, gripping the rail on the side of the gurney.

  “Tiff, I told you not to worry him,” he said, looking past me at Tiffany and then noticing Wren. The gleam in his eye told me that, for the moment, things were okay.

  “I thought you were on your deathbed,” I said.

  “Tiff thought so too. Doc said I just have angina,” he said, patting his chest.

  “Yes, he needs to take care of it. It’s like a warning sign of things to
come—if you let it get out of hand. Which I won’t let you do.” I noticed for the first time that Tiff wasn’t her usual put-together self. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she had on the fuzzy black tracksuit she wore on her self-proclaimed schlep days.

  “What are you gonna do, Tiff? None of us gets out of here alive.”

  “Blake.”

  “Pop, come on.”

  “Are you going to introduce your friend, Grayson?” he asked, tilting his chin toward Wren. Now that things had calmed down, both he and Tiffany gave Wren their full attention. She stood at the foot of the gurney, chewing her bottom lip, hands in pockets, eyes shifting from Tiffany to Pop to me.

  I’d never brought a girl home to meet them. There was prom, and special occasions where they’d catch a glimpse of my social life, but not like this. Not this personal. This was new territory for me too.

  “Hi, I’m Wren. Wren Caswell,” she said, reaching out to shake my father’s extended hand. “Hope you’re feeling better, Mr. Barrett.”

  “Caswell?” Pop asked. “She’s the girl who—”

  “—saved my life,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Yep.”

  He grabbed her hand with both of his.

  Wren flushed bright pink as she accepted Pop’s gushing thank-you. Tiffany moved toward Wren and pulled her in for a hug. Wren gave Tiff a quick squeeze. She bowed her head, professing it was “nothing, really, anyone would have done it,” as she stepped from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable with the attention.

  “I played football with your dad in high school,” Pop said.

  “You were a Crusader?” Wren asked.

  “Yep, running back. Your father was defensive tackle. No one could get by him. Tell him I was asking about him.”

  “I will,” she said.

  “When all of this drama calms down, Wren, you’ll have to come over for dinner,” Tiff said.

  “That’s all I’m worth, a dinner?” I asked, joking. Tiff frowned and clipped me playfully on the arm. I scowled, exaggerating how much it hurt. Wren laughed.

  “I’d like that,” Wren said to Tiffany.

  We stood there grinning for a moment, until Wren finally spoke. “I’d better get going.”

  “Okay, I’ll walk you out,” I said.

  Wren waved good-bye to Pop and Tiff. When she turned her back on them, they both gave me faces of approval. I shook my head. It’s not what you think.

  But what was it?

  We walked out of the ER entrance, back into the cold. It was dark now, the sounds of rush hour echoing through the streets. Wren zipped her coat up to her chin. I burrowed deeper into the scarf she’d wrapped around my neck. The chivalrous thing would have been to give it back, but I couldn’t. Her scent, something citrus and tropical, surrounded me, making me think of summer.

  “I forgot my bag,” she said, digging in her pocket.

  “Why don’t you just take the car? I can swing by and pick it up later,” I said.

  She held out the keys.

  “No, really, I insist,” I said, touching her hand lightly and pushing the keys back toward her. She flipped them around her fingers.

  “No, really. I can’t,” she said.

  I took the keys from her. “C’mon, I’ll get your bag.”

  We walked side by side to the car. I wanted to hold her hand again. Like at the diner. Or like before, when we ran into the hospital. Now, without a reason . . . would she let me? I opened the car and grabbed her messenger bag from the backseat.

  “You sure you don’t want the car? Really, I trust you with it,” I said, trying another angle.

  “Gray, thanks for the offer, but . . .”

  “I know, I know,” I answered. “You don’t want to be seen driving it.”

  “No, no, that’s not it at all,” she said. “I can’t drive.”

  “What?”

  “I mean I can, my dad’s taken me out a few times, but I’m supposed to be supervised by a legal adult. I didn’t want to get into it back at the diner because I thought you might say no if you knew and I didn’t want you to drive here by yourself and I—”

  Without thinking I brought my mouth down to hers and swallowed up whatever else she was going to say. She was stiff with surprise at first, but then her lips softened under mine, parting, kissing me back. My hand found her face, my thumb caressing her cheek. Her tongue was warm and tasted like chocolate. It wasn’t my sexiest effort, but it felt right for the moment. Wren pulled away first. Had I just blown it?

  She looked down, her face hidden behind her hair. Then she tipped back her head and laughed. God, her smile nearly knocked me over. I reached for her hand and brought it to my mouth. She got quiet.

  “So you broke the law for me,” I said, my lips slowly grazing her knuckles.

  “Um . . . yeah . . . I guess you could say that, but it was for a good cause.”

  “Then at least let me give you a ride home,” I said. She gently pulled her hand away then gripped the strap of her messenger bag.

  “No. After all that rushing and breaking the law? You should go back to your father. But wait,” she said, opening the flap of her bag and rummaging through the main compartment until she pulled out her phone.

  “What’s your number?” she asked. I rattled off the digits. My phone rang. I grabbed it out of my pocket and answered.

  “Hey, ’sup,” I joked.

  She added the number to her contacts. “Call me later. Let me know how your dad is doing. Crazy that our fathers knew each other in high school, huh?”

  “Yeah, really,” I said.

  We lingered a moment longer before Wren came closer, put her hand on my shoulder, and brushed her lips softly across mine.

  “I had fun breaking the law with you,” she whispered. “Bye.”

  I watched her disappear up the block, her plaid skirt swaying. When she was out of sight, I landed with a thud and walked back to the reality of the ER. I pulled Wren’s scarf up to my nose, inhaling her scent and getting dizzy all over again. I was happy to have my face covered—no one walks into the hospital with a grin that wide unless he’s heading to the psych ward. But I couldn’t help it.

  She kissed me.

  ELEVEN

  WREN

  Oh the weather outside is frightful

  So come inside and get good and schnockered

  Andy’s house

  Dec 4—8:00 p.m. till whenevs

  Be there, or don’t

  So, no work tomorrow—wanna go? G.

  I stared at the text invite, silent, like any false move would make my phone explode. We were in a mandatory yearbook meeting, and although it was technically after school, and checking my text messages wouldn’t garner me detention, I knew Mr. Fuller, our new yearbook company liaison, might freak at me squealing out loud.

  I slipped my phone to Jazz, who was sitting next to me and paying way too much attention to a recap of how we were supposed to upload text and pictures to the yearbook for our midyear deadline. She mouthed the word schnockered, then passed the phone on to Maddie. To my horror Mads texted something back to Grayson.

  I waggled my hand for her to give it back.

  “Are you getting this?” Mr. Fuller asked, zeroing in on the three of us.

  “Yes, Mr. Fuller. We need to minimize the photos before the initial upload,” I answered.

  Satisfied, he continued with the presentation. Maddie’s eyes lit up at an incoming text and at lightning speed texted something back before handing me the phone. When I checked the message log I nearly fainted.

  “Mads, I would never say ‘fuckin’ A’ in response, are you crazy?” I said, once we were outside heading toward the bus. I tried to sound mad, but I couldn’t. The thought of Grayson’s reaction was too funny.

  “Sorry! When he said ‘hells yeah’ after I asked him if Mads and Jazz could come, well, I got caught up in the moment.”

  “Who said I want to get good and schnockered this weekend?” Jazz asked. “And who’s Andy? We do
n’t even know these people.”

  Maddie jumped in front of both of us, hand up, like an elfin traffic cop with her woolen newsboy cap slightly askew and her blond, spiky tufts sticking out. “Would the two of you get over yourselves?”

  Jazz opened her mouth, but Maddie interrupted again.

  “Look, I applaud your decision to do a half marathon, but missing one training run to go to what sounds like a helluva party isn’t going to ruin your finish time. And you?” she continued, focusing on me. “You keep debating whether Grayson likes you as more than a friend—well, get a clue—he just invited you to a party! Probably with plans to continue where he left off the other day. Hells bells, chicas, we need this.”

  “Mads, stop,” I said, reddening at the thought of Grayson’s ambush kiss. It had been stunning and warm and incredible. And scary . . . I’d never felt such an immediate rush with anyone. If I hadn’t pulled away, I might have still been there. But anytime I thought of continuing where we left off, it completely consumed me.

  “I never said I wouldn’t go,” Jazz said, her eyes wary. “Just wanted to think about it.”

  “What’s to think about? I don’t know Andy either, but he uses the word schnockered, and I kind of love that in a person. And your potential new boyfriend just earned major friend points by being enthusiastic about our presence at said party. It’s a win-win sitch.”

  “Fine then, I’m in, but I’m not getting schnockered,” Jazz said.

  “Yay, she’s agreed to go,” Maddie said, linking her arm through Jazz’s. “We’ll work on the schnockered bit. Wren, make sure you get the deetz. Could this really be happening? Could the three of us have plans together for the weekend?”

  After dinner I called Grayson for the deetz.

  “‘Fuckin’ A,’ Wren, really?” he asked, laughing.

  “So you know that wasn’t me?”

  “Maddie got a hold of your phone?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “So you don’t want to go?”

  “I do, yeah. Want to go. It’s okay for you to go? With your dad and everything?”

  “Tiff’s got everything covered. He just needs to take it easy and, well, yeah, when Andy sent me the text, I didn’t think twice. This is just what we need. Don’t you think?”