The Boy on the Bridge

by Sam Mariano

  That gnawing feeling threatens to flood my stomach with guilt just thinking about it, but I push out the guilt and replace it with excitement. Mom’s arbitrary rule about me not dating yet isn’t reasonable, so is it really that bad to find a way around an unfair rule? I like Hunter and he likes me. How old we are shouldn’t matter.

  By the time Mom gets home, I have a plan. I’ve already called Sara and clued her in so she’ll be my alibi in case my mom calls to verify, but I’m going to tell Mom Sara wants to hang out. Sara doesn’t live far away so she’ll probably let me walk there, but even if she doesn’t, I have a backup plan. I will go in and pretend I’m gonna stay, but very quickly I will develop a stomachache or headache or some kind of ache and decide to go back home. I’ll insist on walking—fresh air will help my ailment—and instead of walking to my house, I’ll walk right past it, cut through the woods, and meet Hunter at his house.

  I’m pretty sure it will work as long as I don’t crack under pressure, but as soon as I hear my mom pull in the driveway, my stomach begins gymnastics training for the winter Olympics.

  Since I’m anxious, I’m fidgety when Mom comes in. She tosses her keys in her purse and drops it on the table just inside the doorway, then she walks over to the couch, flings herself down dramatically, and sprawls out.

  “I am exhausted. Being an adult is terrible.”

  I crack a smile. “Long day?”

  “Literally everyone I work with took stupid pills today—and not their normal dose, either. These were extra strength stupid pills.”

  I walk around the couch and take a much less dramatic seat beside her. “I’m sorry.”

  “I need an infusion of joy—and a personal chef, ’cause Momma ain’t cookin’ tonight.” She sighs, sinking even deeper into the couch. “Why didn’t I marry rich and become a trophy wife?”

  “You’re too picky,” I point out. “Trophy wives might get bank accounts full of money to play with, but they can’t usually be as selective as you are.”

  “That is true. Damn my standards!”

  I get a little less comfortable knowing I’m about to lie, but I don’t keep my gaze averted for long so she doesn’t get suspicious. “Well, in that case I have good news.”

  “You learned how to cook while I was at work today?”

  “No, but you don’t have to feed me, after all. Sara asked if I could come over. I know we were supposed to veg out and watch TV tonight, but I have a science test coming up that I’m super not ready for. Since Sara is so good at science, I was hoping it would be okay with you if I went over so she could help me study.”

  “Aw, man. I was looking forward to bingeing bad movies with you.”

  “I know, me too,” I say, and I mean it. My stomach twists into so many knots, I start reflexively doubting my decision.

  I mentally review Hunter’s playful texts from earlier to renew my dedication to my cause. I want to go out with him. Maybe Mom thinks I’m too young, but I don’t, and it’s not her life.

  “But school comes first,” Mom says, nodding and not even questioning our change of plans. And why would she? She’s always been able to trust me before.

  Before Hunter.

  My mood threatens to sink again, doubts about her being right fighting to the surface, but I shove them down.

  “So, I can go?”

  “Yeah. Now I don’t have to be a responsible adult and make dinner, I can just have a bowl of cereal in my PJs. What time do you need me to take you so I can mentally prepare for standing again?”

  I shake my head. “Cool, I’ll text her and see what time she wants me to come. You don’t have to take me. I’ll just walk over.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod, standing up and making my way back to the kitchen. I need privacy to text Hunter because I have a feeling it would only take one look at my face and my mom would know it’s not Sara I’m talking to.

  “The ‘yes’ is secured. I repeat, the ‘yes’ is secured,” I text him. “What time/where should we meet up?”

  My heart pounds as I stare at the screen and wait for him to read my message and respond. It only takes a few heartbeats, then he answers back, “I knew you could be devious” with a winking emoji.

  “Don’t say that, I’ll back out,” I joke.

  “Let’s meet on the bridge, then we’ll walk to the movie theater.”

  My brow furrows in mild confusion. “I thought we were going to watch a movie at your house?”

  “We can if you want. I thought you might be more comfortable going out.”

  “More comfortable?” I question.

  “You, me, alone in my house. It’s dark. The movie’s probably scary… maybe you should come a little closer.”

  My eyes widen and I type back. “Movie theater—good call. What time?”

  “How’s 7?”

  I flick a glance at the clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen. “Works for me. We won’t have time to eat first though. I don’t have a curfew, but I told my mom I’m studying at Sara’s so I have to be home before ten.”

  “Not ideal, but doable. We can get hot dogs and nachos at the theater,” he sends back. “Next time we make a secret date, we should start planning earlier so we have more time.”

  Next time. We haven’t even gone on a first date yet and he’s already assuming there will be a second. I want to play it cool and flirt back about how cocky he is to assume I’ll even go out with him again, but I’m too excited.

  I feel floaty again as I head to my bedroom to get ready for my first date. I hate that my mom doesn’t know about it, though. I always imagined her sitting on my bed helping me pick an outfit the night of my first date. Like Hunter pointed out, I’m not super fashionable, so I would’ve felt a little more confident with her input.

  This is how it has to be for now, though. Once she gets to know Hunter, maybe she’ll bend on her no dating rule. We can have a do-over first date that she can help me get ready for.

  It still won’t be the same, though. It’ll just be another lie I have to tell to be with Hunter.

  For a moment, that reality bums me out, but I shove it away and continue getting ready. I keep it casual with the black leggings Hunter’s mom bought me and one of the tops. I survey myself in the mirror, smoothing down my hair and frowning. I don’t like my hair, so I put it up in a high ponytail instead, then I carefully pull a few tendrils down on each side of my face.

  I’m satisfied with my appearance, but I think I could do a little better.

  I look over at my closet door. The purse I had with me at the mall is hanging there, so I go over and grab it, fishing around for the tube of mascara Hunter’s mom bought me. After locating it, I go back to the mirror and carefully apply a coat.

  I smile at my reflection, imagining several different scenarios of Hunter reacting when he sees me. They’re all good, and I’m so happy I could ride a cloud to the bridge.

  Once I’m ready, I slide my stylish new jacket on, completing the look, and head out the door.

  I’m full of nervous energy for the first two minutes of my walk. I get lost in daydreams after that. I think about what movie we’ll see, but I don’t even care about that. It’s the little things. Will he hold my hand? Will he give me a tight, lingering hug at the end before I go home? Will he kiss me?

  My imagination is brimming with possibilities.

  I left a few minutes early, so I get to the bridge a few minutes early, too. I’m just in time to see the sunset through the trees. I sit down on the bridge and dangle my feet over the edge like Hunter did that first day we talked.

  I would have never imagined that day that anything would come of it, let alone this.

  Sitting here in the woods and waiting for Hunter to show up for our secret date, I can’t help smiling as I imagine his response when he gets here and I liken it to Gale and Katniss sneaking out to hunt in the woods.

  I know he’ll be entertained. I’m sure he’ll call me a dork. He might even weaken my kne
es and call me Catnip again before he reaches down and takes my hand.

  I guess I never know exactly what Hunter will do, but man, I can’t wait to find out.

  Chapter Eight

  It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight. At least, I didn’t think it was. But here I sit on the footbridge with my feet hanging over the edge, watching raindrops pelt the water below.

  I’m drenched. When the rain first started, I was worried about dumb stuff—it was going to soak my hair and cause my mascara to run down my face like it does in the movies. I shrugged my coat off and held it over my head for a while to try to protect my appearance, but eventually I gave up.

  That was a half hour ago. My arms got tired. My heart did, too.

  Hunter never showed up.

  I put my coat back on, no longer caring if the rain ruined my hair or made my makeup run. I don’t know how many times I can text him without appearing crazy. I went with three. One text for every half hour I’ve spent sitting on this bridge like an idiot, waiting for a guy that wasn’t on his way.

  I thought about walking to his house a couple times. It’s not like it’s far. The first time I told myself to be patient. If I walked to his house, what if he came another way and got to the bridge while I was gone? What if his phone had died so he couldn’t text me to let me know he was running late?

  The second time I was more stubborn. I’m not walking to his house to remind him he was supposed to go on a date with me. If he got busy and forgot, then screw him. If it’s more than that… I don’t even know.

  As if the weather is keeping up with my mood, the rain starts to fall harder. It’s coming down so hard it stings a little when it hits my face, so I finally push myself up off the ground, fix my purse strap on my shoulder, and turn around.

  Even though there’s no reason he would be, no reason he would stand there without saying anything and torture me, my foolish heart hopes he’ll be standing there, just as wet as I am, looking back at me.

  He’s not.

  As light as I felt earlier, now it feels like I’m carrying the weight of the world as I trudge through the muddy path back to my road.

  I can’t believe he didn’t show up. I don’t understand.

  Somewhere along the walk, the rain and my tears start to mix together. I’m thankful for the bad weather when I open my front door and step inside, sopping wet. I’m a mess, but at least Mom won’t be able to tell I’ve been crying.

  The TV is on and Mom is sitting on the couch, enjoying our night in without me. Tears threaten to fall again, but I hold them back as she turns around to greet me.

  Her eyes widen in sudden horror at the sight of me. “Oh my God, Riley! Honey, why didn’t you call me? It’s a downpour out there. You shouldn’t have walked home in this.”

  I shrug off my coat, holding it over the mat just inside the door so it doesn’t drip on the hardwood floor. “I didn’t realize how bad it was, then once I started walking I figured I was already wet, no point turning back.”

  Shooting up off the couch and zooming around it, she chides, “You’ll catch your death. What are you thinking?”

  She races to the hall closet and comes back with towels. Immediately, she drapes one over my shoulders and starts patting me dry with the other one. Emotion wells up inside me. I know we were only supposed to sit on the couch and watch stupid movies, but I’d have preferred that to sitting alone on a bridge in the rain and having my heart dinged up.

  Maybe this is what I get for lying and sneaking around and doing something I knew I wasn’t allowed to do.

  Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I look up at her and offer a wobbly, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  Her eyes widen in alarm, then soften with concern. “Oh, honey.” She wraps her arms around me, even though I’m soaking wet. “You don’t have to be sorry, silly girl, I just don’t want you to get sick.”

  I know she doesn’t know what I’m sorry for, but I do and I need a hug anyway, so I wrap my arms around her and give her a big, wet hug. “Now I’m also sorry for getting you all wet.”

  “Come here, you,” she says, tugging me close and settling my head on her shoulder.

  “I’m really, really sorry.”

  She holds onto me for a while, murmuring comforting nonsense words while I settle down. Once I’m calm and no longer an emotional mess, she tells me to go change into something dry while she microwaves some popcorn.

  I feel worse about lying to her to sneak out with Hunter, but a lot better at the prospect of salvaging what’s left of our bad movie night. I towel off in the bathroom and strip off my sopping wet clothes, then I change into a pair of blue flannel pajama shorts and a white tank top. I take my hair out of the rat’s nest pony tail it turned into and brush out the knots, then I wash my face, but the mascara doesn’t want to come all the way off.

  I panic, realizing my mom probably noticed the mascara when I came in. Maybe she didn’t since I was an emotional mess. Maybe she was distracted.

  I wash my face twice until I finally get all the mascara off, then when my face is fresh and bare, I put my hair back up and go back to the living room for movie night.

  Since I got Mom all wet, she had to change too. She’s sitting on the couch in a pink t-shirt with leopard print pajama pants. She perks up when she sees me come in.

  “Ready?”

  I flop down on the couch beside her and reach over to grab a handful of popcorn. Since I was planning to eat at the theater with Hunter, I’m famished. “I was born ready,” I tell her.

  Mom smiles, grabs the remote control, and starts the movie back over at the beginning so I don’t miss anything.

  ___

  When our bad movie mini-marathon comes to an end, it’s time to go to bed. Ordinarily Mom wouldn’t accompany to my room since I’m not a little kid anymore, but tonight she does. She hangs out in the doorway as I check my backpack to make sure everything I need for school tomorrow is inside. The sight of my backpack makes me feel a bit sad.

  Hunter never texted me back. Despite feeling wretched for doing it, I texted him one more time after I got home to let him know I gave up waiting on him and went home, but if he’s read a single one of my texts, I certainly can’t tell.

  My stomach aches when I think about it. I dread going to bed because I know I won’t fall right to sleep. I’ll lie there torturing myself with my thoughts. They started seeping in even while we watched the movie, but alone in the dark, trying to fall asleep? The torture is inevitable.

  I sigh to myself and zip my backpack up, then I turn around to look at my mom. She’s still in the doorway, a funny little smile on her face—almost sad—as she stares at my backpack.

  “You know what I was thinking earlier?” she asks, her gaze still fixed on my school bag.

  “What?”

  She shifts her gaze to me, putting a little more effort into her smile, but it looks no less sad. “If you were going to Sara’s house to study for your science test… why didn’t you take any of your school books?”

  My heart sinks so low, it practically drops out of my body. “What?”

  Arms crossed, she shrugs. “Doesn’t really make sense, does it? Plus, why would you put on makeup just to study with Sara?”

  Oh, crap.

  She knows.

  Of course she knows.

  I’m so stupid. I can’t believe I thought I could get away with this.

  Swallowing past the knot of shame and sadness blocking my throat, I avert my gaze downward. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”

  “Hunter?” she asks knowingly.

  I nod my head, feeling a sting behind my eyes, but I fight it. “He told me he wanted to go see a movie, but I knew you’d say no because it would sound too much like a date. I didn’t want to lie to you,” I add, looking up at her. “I really didn’t. I hated it.”

  I expect her to get mad—I kinda wish she’d get mad, because it’s so much worse that she looks sad instead. After a minute, she says, “Man. I wasn’t ready f
or this to start yet.”

  I shake my head, looking down again. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it. He didn’t show up.”

  Now she frowns at me. “What?”

  “We were supposed to meet up and walk to the movie theater together, but he… he didn’t come. I literally spent the whole time waiting and getting rained on.” My voice wobbles toward the end as I begin to relive the disappointment and embarrassment in my head.

  Mom gasps, her sadness turning to anger now, and she rushes into my room to give me a hug. “Oh, honey. Your first date stood you up?”

  “I don’t know why,” I say, hugging her back. “I mean, I really thought he liked me. I know I’m not the type of girl he usually hangs out with, but…”

  “You are incredible, and anyone who doesn’t agree can fight me,” she states.

  I crack a smile, squeezing her a little tighter. “I’m just sad. I’ll get over it.”

  She sighs, rubbing my back. “You should have told me. We could’ve talked instead of watching terrible movies.”

  “I didn’t want you to know. I felt so stupid, especially after we’ve fought over him. And it really doesn’t make sense. Maybe there’s some explanation. Maybe he got in trouble and his mom grounded him or something. Maybe she took his phone so he couldn’t text me and let me know he wasn’t coming. There could be a reasonable excuse…”

  Mom grabs my shoulders and pulls me back, grimacing. “Or… honey… he could just be a dick. You know my ‘this kid’s a dick’ senses have been going off since you met him. I know it’s more hurtful, but it might be time to consider that maybe I’m right about him.”

  I swallow, knowing she might be right, but desperately wanting her to be wrong.

  Especially because the only scenario I can conjure where she’s right is a really mean one, and it makes me feel really stupid.

  In the darkest moments as I sat there on that stupid bridge and waited for him, as I sat on the couch afterward and tried to focus on the movie but my thoughts drifted to what could explain why Hunter would do this to me, a darker idea occurred to me.