Stir Me Up

by Sabrina Elkins

  Lake Spofford isn’t gorgeous or anything. It’s just a normal lake, and I’ve known most of these guys ever since we were little. Still, I’ve never seen them naked before. They could care less that a half-dozen girls are staring at them. They’re making jumps from the canoes and almost capsizing us. They’re hooting and hollering and showing off as everything starts to fade and get hazy. I wish I was one of those guys. I wish I could stop clinging to the side of the canoe and just dive in and join them. Just do it, you know? Then suddenly, as if reading my mind, Taryn takes off her shoes, shirt and shorts and stands there in her bra and panties and does a perfect dive right into the water. The guys go nuts. Taryn comes up grinning. “Come in!” she yells, waving at me. “The water’s fine!”

  Well, if I don’t do it now, I’ll always regret it. So, you know what? Screw it. I pull off my stupid shirt and shoes and pull down my stupid shorts and stand there in my thankfully-black bra and panties and jump in too. Cannonball style. Hollering like an idiot before the splash.

  Eventually, it starts turning truly dark and cold and we pull ourselves out and battle dry clothes over our wet shivering bodies. The canoes are paddled to shore. A bunch of the guys make a pathetic little excuse of a bonfire because they’re worried someone will call the cops on us. I’m not even sure Zach’s grandparents know we’re there. We haven’t been in the house—just the boathouse. Taryn and I sit together on the strip of sand by the fire, trying to get warm.

  “So, you’re going for it, then?” Taryn asks.

  She means my big plan for the next year. “Yep.”

  “Just think of how much you’ll have accomplished by this time next year.”

  I give her a hug. “Just think of how much you will. Movie star.”

  “Hopefully,” she says. She stares into the fire. “Guess we won’t be seeing much of each other soon.”

  “I’ll still be in touch, you know.”

  “Yeah, sure. So will I.” She notices I’m holding my keys. “You heading out now?”

  I nod.

  “Huh,” she says, kicking a rock by her foot. “You’ll miss s’mores.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “What?” She looks at me.

  “I think everything you want is going to happen. I think you’ll be huge.”

  Tears come to Taryn’s eyes. “Thanks.”

  I give her one last hug, say my goodbyes and head home.

  Maybe it’s because I’m going away soon, but I’m starting to feel a little sorry about leaving Dad. Maybe because of how supportive he’s been about helping me with my big plan. It kind of reminds me of how it was before Estella, when it was just him and me for all those years.

  Estella sees me come in first. She’s in the kitchen. “You’re home early.”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d hang out with Dad.”

  “He’s on the sofa,” she says with a smile. “Moping.”

  “Moping?”

  I go into the living room—he is on the sofa and does look pretty miserable, eyes sad, hanging his head.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hey.” He seems surprised to see me.

  I plop down in the chair beside him. “Want to watch a movie?”

  “What about your party?”

  “I left it.”

  “What about Julian?”

  “He’s at Brandon’s.”

  “Did you tell him about your plans yet?” Dad asks.

  “Nope. Not yet.”

  “Did he ask?”

  “No. I think he’s still afraid of me chickening out or changing my mind because of him. He’ll make me wait until I’m on the plane to tell him.”

  “I actually like that.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. He’s a good man.”

  “Wait.” I toss the chair pillow to the floor. “You think he’s a good man now?”

  “I like that he’s being careful not to limit your options. Do you know what his plans are?”

  “Nope. Estella won’t tell me.”

  “She won’t tell me, either.”

  “Really?” I look at Dad, surprised.

  “Yes. Really. I’d tell you if I knew.”

  I frown. “Hmph.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dad says, reading my mind. “A year passes quickly when you’re travelling. And I know he’s planning to fly out and see you.”

  “True. So, do you want to pick a movie?”

  “Sure,” Dad says, a bit gruffly. “Should we make popcorn?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Butter and salt?”

  “I’ll do the butter. You put on too much.”

  “No, I don’t.” We head for the kitchen. “I don’t put on too much.”

  “Two full sticks is a bit much, Dad.”

  “Butter is good.”

  “More important than guns?”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a theory I learned in econ this year. Do you want, with limited resources, to use your money on guns or butter, assuming you can’t have both?”

  “Butter, of course. Guns taste terrible.”

  I laugh. “Did I ever tell you about the time Julian tried to help me make popcorn?”

  “No.” He smiles and looks over at me. “But I’d like to hear.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Have a great time,” Taryn says brightly, from my driveway. “Don’t forget to keep in touch.”

  “I will. Don’t hug me,” I warn, fighting back tears.

  “I’m not hugging you.”

  “And don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying.” She grins. “You’ve got this. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

  I look at Julian, who is standing next to her, waiting to see me off. He looks gorgeous—and like he’s genuinely pleased for me. Which makes having to leave him feel even worse. Plus, he’s holding Shelby, who now gets to see him more than me.

  I walk up and pet her, then meet his eyes and shake my head no. “I...”

  “Get in the car,” he says with a smile.

  “Forget the rule about the no kissing.”

  “No, it’s a good rule.”

  “It’s a bad rule.” I start to cry.

  “I’ll see you soon. I promise, don’t worry.”

  I nod. And force myself to turn and get in the backseat of Estella’s car.

  Dad’s driving. He and Estella get in and pull out of the driveway. I wave goodbye to my boyfriend, dog and best friend and feel basically like my whole world is ending.

  “You have the copy of your itinerary?” Dad asks.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll call when you get in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Call every day. Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t.” I stare out the window awhile. “So, you think I’m stupid and crazy and should have gone to college?” I ask.

  “No,” Dad says.

  “Definitely no,” agrees Estella.

  I sigh and try to reassure myself that I’m not nuts and that my grand plan is smart and logical and sensible...

  It seems that Georges, my longtime mentor, is making plans to open his own restaurant in Napa Valley. He says a job is waiting for me whenever I’m ready. His restaurant is going to be more eclectic, encompassing food from the many different regions of France in a style that he calls California-French fusion —which sounds awesome, very creative and innovative. A job there means developing my own unique culinary style outside of Dad’s influence, at a higher-level position for more pay in beautiful Napa Valley. Working for Georges is my plan for next year.

  Meanwhile for this year, Dad’s set me up with a cousin of his who owns a restaurant in Morocco, my first stop. I’ll live and work with her for four weeks. Then I’ll head to Provence, where I’ll work for one of Dad’s chef friends for two to six months, depending on how long that chef can stand me. Fortunately we have family in the area I can stay with.

  Then comes the best part, the part I came up with the morni
ng after the prom: I’m taking the rest of the time and the money I’ve earned from working to travel around Europe on my own. First, I’m going all over France, spending time in each region so I can be ready to work in a more regional French restaurant. Then I’m heading up to Belgium, Germany, three weeks in Italy, fly to London, spend two weeks in England, and from there I go home.

  My main concern in all this is personal safety. But I’m staying first with Dad’s cousin, then with our family in Provence, and after that Dad’s lined up more family and friends for me to stay within each of the cities I’ll be visiting. I have a year-long Eurail pass and an open-ended plane ticket, so I can always come back if I want. I’ll probably make friends along the way. I should be all right....

  Oh God. Who am I kidding? I’m not going to be all right. What am I getting myself into?

  I can’t do this! I text Taryn from the backseat.

  OF COURSE YOU CAN!! LOVE YOU BABE! LOVE! YOU!!!

  I smile. But don’t text Julian. Should I text Julian? No. No. Yes? No. Yes? What if I don’t see him until Christmas; what if he means well but we just drift apart because we never see each other?

  “Remember, you can always come home,” Estella says once we reach the airport.

  “We’ll send you money whenever you need,” Dad says. “Just call. Call. And be safe. No wandering around dangerous places alone at night. Stay where there are a lot of people. And we’ll see you in Provence in August.”

  “Right.”

  Dad gives me a hug. “Je t’aime, mon coeur,” he says. I love you, sweetheart.

  “Je t’aime, aussi, Papa. And thanks again for doing all this for me, lining it all up and helping me figure it out.”

  “Sure.”

  I hug Estella, too. They’re both coming to visit family—and me—at the end of the summer. Should be nice. I wonder if Dad’ll survive without his restaurant for two whole weeks. Or maybe he’ll love it so much he’ll sell the place and move back to Arles. “Okay. Bye!”

  “Have fun,” Estella says—she’s smiling kind of strangely.

  I hug her and Dad once more and then get in line for security.

  Once they’re gone and I’m really alone, my anxiety hits full force. I stare at the door they just walked out of and think of what I’m doing and where I’m going and how I’ll be so alone and without them and I start to cry. I consider stepping out of line and calling them back and cancelling everything. Finding out where Julian will be and going there. Then the line of people starts moving in front of me.

  This is it. This is my chance. My choice. If I give up now and call Dad and Estella, they’d support me but be disappointed. So would Taryn, and of course Julian. But, more important, so would I. I’d be disappointed, too. Because the truth is I think Julian has a point with all this. It’s not enough to know I don’t want college; it’s not enough even knowing how much I love him. What I need to do is go out there and find out who I am. Explore the world a little. Taste it, take a bite of it. And then when I come back, not step into a footprint my father or boyfriend or anyone else made for me, but find my own way to make a footprint myself.

  You have to do this on your own, Julian said to me. And he was right. And I will. I sure as hell will.

  I make it through security and find my gate. There it is. My flight. I look at the board behind the reservation desk and see the Air France sign with the destinations. London. Marrakesh. I stare at the sign and it hits me. I’m doing it. I’m really doing it! Oh my GOD!! I set my bag down and sit down and my arms and legs do this little happy dance. The old woman next to me stares at me like I’m crazy. I don’t care—I’m off on the adventure of a lifetime! It’s real! Really happening!

  I try to calm down. Try to act normal. There’s still over an hour before they’ll even think of boarding us, so I take out the new super-lightweight laptop Dad and Estella got me as a graduation present. My first order of business: to finally tell Julian what I’m doing. And to find out what he’s doing. Finally! Ach—should I wait until I’m on the plane? No. Damn it! I’m not turning back now. It’s safe. I scan my inbox and see an email from him. My heart lurches. Huh. Guess he beat me to it. I click on it. All it says is:

  Please check out my new blog:

  www.oneman-twocontinents.com

  Double-huh. I click on the link. There, in front of me, is a picture of Julian taken recently. It’s a good one of him. He’s smiling, holding a duffel bag and wearing his fancy new permanent leg. The caption below him reads:

  One man

  One and a half legs

  Two continents

  An Amputee Vet’s Quest for Personal Fulfillment

  or

  A Damn Good Excuse for Deferring College for a Year

  Below this there are links: About Me, Maps, Itinerary, Contact Me, More Information. I’m tempted to click on “about me” right away, but below the links there’s a message:

  Dear Readers,

  Today I embark on a lifelong dream to uncover the secrets of two of the most vibrant and dichotomous continents of the world, Europe and Africa. Thanks to a hefty inheritance, a generous year of leave from U.C. Berkeley, and a great excuse—namely, to jump-start my career in either politics or journalism by writing a blog of this trip for you—you are about to join me on this quest.

  Our first stop is Morocco. Why Morocco? Because Africa is first on our list, and first on my personal agenda is to pay a visit to a charming, beautiful and completely unsuspecting young chef I know who is planning to be there. Yeah sure, I know what you’re thinking. It’s a long way to go to crash and burn with a girl. But, for one thing, Morocco is a perfect place to start my African journey. And for another, this trip is being done in the spirit of adventure—we do not shy away from risks! We set out. On whatever two legs we have.

  And so it begins.

  More later on Morocco. And the girl.

  Julian

  So, that’s it then. He’s touring Africa and Europe for a year and then going to Berkeley. Wow. And he’s starting in Morocco so he can see me. Cool! No wonder Estella was fighting not to smile—she must have told him where I’d be. Wait—did Dad know about this? He said he didn’t, but I wonder... Look at me, I’m hugging myself and can’t stop grinning. I’m going to see him! I mean, he promised we’d still see each other, but this is way more than I expected.

  I think about posting a message on Julian’s blog, and then decide no, too public. So instead, I grab my phone and text him this:

  Nice blog. Who’s the girl?

  Two minutes later, I have a response:

  Guess. So, will you have dinner with me when you get to Marrakesh? My readers are curious. Both of them.

  I smile and text him back:

  Well, seeing as how you’ll be in the neighborhood. ;) Speaking of which, how long will you be in Marrakesh?

  I wonder what his travel plans are, how often our paths will intersect. This is exciting! He’s going to Europe, too, so I might see him there as well. I’ll be doing my own thing—and seeing Julian. This is fantastic! I can’t wait to discuss this all with him, ask him what his whole itinerary is. And then it’s Berkeley? That’s a great school, and I think...wait...how far is Berkeley from Napa? They’re both in Northern California, right? I do some research and discover they’re only about forty-five minutes away from each other—Hooray! I check my phone again. And read:

  For a few weeks. Then I’m off to Cairo.

  You dropped your sunglasses.

  My heart stops. I pick up my sunglasses and turn around.

  Julian’s two rows behind me—slouched seemingly carelessly in his chair, head tilted down, eyes focused up at me, mouth curved in amusement.

  I stare at him, stunned for a moment, and then get up out of my seat.

  He grins and gets up from his.

  And I start climbing over the backs of chairs.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for special recipes from Cami!

  Apple Muffins with Cinnamo
n Swirl and Streusel Topping

  WARNING: These muffins have a tendency—when hurled at guys—to make them fall in love with you.

  INGREDIENTS FOR MUFFIN BASE:

  Dry:

  2 cups flour, all-purpose unbleached

  2 tsp. baking powder

  1 tsp. baking soda

  ½ tsp. salt

  Wet:

  2 eggs

  1 c. sour cream (or plain Greek yogurt)

  1 tsp. vanilla

  2/3 c. sugar

  ½ cup (8 Tbsp.) unsalted butter, melted

  INGREDIENTS FOR FILLING:

  1 jumbo apple, peeled and diced or sliced

  2 Tbsp. cinnamon sugar

  INGREDIENTS FOR STREUSEL TOPPING:

  1/2 cup sugar

  ¼ cup plus 2 Tbsp. flour

  2 Tbsp. butter, room temperature

  1/8 tsp. salt