“It’s hard, though, isn’t it?” I say.
“What?”
“Giving up an opportunity that other people would kill for? It makes you feel stupid. Or crazy.”
“Or both,” he agrees. “But is that enough of a reason to say yes?”
“Fear of being wrong is pretty powerful.”
“How can it be wrong if it’s what you want?” He starts jogging again but flips around so he’s running almost backward, which he knows drives me crazy. “Let me ask you a question.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m not going to fall.”
“That’s what people say right before they fall.”
He flips back around, his gait smooth and easy. For a lanky guy, six foot and still growing, he’s got great balance. But if he goes down, he’ll take me with him.
“What if you could do anything you want?” he asks.
“For the rest of my life, you mean?”
“Forget forever. Let’s start small. Say…for the next ten minutes. What would you do? Not worrying about what anyone else thought or what you should do—just, what?”
I look up ahead at the open trail, the sun creeping higher and the blue of the sky that’s so clear it looks like a never-ending sea. Suddenly, I have a lifting sensation like if I can just run fast enough I’ll fly up into that sky. “I want to go back to the hill behind us and I want to run to the top, and then I want to sit there in the dirt and do absolutely nothing.”
He stops, his brown hair a sweaty mess over his eyes, one dimple just visible in his left cheek. “Let’s go.”
“Jace—”
But he’s already turned around and gestures for me to follow. As I stare at his back, something inside of me cracks open and I want to laugh. But I can’t. He’s already at a sprint and it takes everything I have to try and catch him. There’s no talking now as he turns up the trail we just passed and though it’s not a big hill, it’s steep toward the top and I’m panting and breathless when I pull up beside him.
He pushes waves of hair off his forehead and looks around. He isn’t as winded as I am, but at least his T-shirt is rising and falling a little more quickly. “Nice.”
It is. The air feels cleaner up here and there’s no broken glass or crushed cans. The hill is one of a series of rolling hills and from here I can see the trail wind up and down like a snake. The thought startles me and I look around my feet.
“No snakes,” he says, reading my mind. “Just a few ants over there.” He kicks loose some pebbles and flattens out a spot in the dirt for us, then sits. “Pretty safe right here.”
My heart finally slowing, I sit beside him and glance at my watch.
“Not allowed,” he says.
“It’s been ten minutes.”
“We’ll get crazy and make it twenty.”
So I rest my arms around my knees and let the sun warm my shoulders.
A few minutes pass and then Jace asks, “How’s the research going?”
“I haven’t gotten as much done as I wanted,” I admit. “But I’m going to stay home today and really dig in. Pardon the pun.”
“You archaeologists are such jokesters.”
I smack him on the arm.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him fight back a smile. “So is your Pompeii idea going to work?”
“Believe it or not,” I say, “I think it is. From what I can tell, the ring is made out of gold and with the snake motif, and the general design it fits the criteria of something from that part of the world, somewhere between the first and third centuries. So it could have been Anna’s.”
“Who is Anna?”
“That’s what I call her.” I explain about the fresco and how I’ve always wondered who the girl might have been.
He stares at me with a strange smile on his face.
“What?” I ask. I feel a blush and I’m not sure why.
“You’re perfect for this,” he says. “I’d love the research and figuring out where something came from and how it was made. But the way you’re taking this ring and creating a life out of it—that’s cool.”
“Well.” The temperature in my cheeks goes up a few more degrees. “I haven’t done it yet.” I pause to follow the fluffy white vapor trail of a small plane overhead. “So anything new on the coin? You said you had to check another source.”
“Yeah, I meant to tell you. I was wrong about the back. It’s not Faustina. It’s Fortuna.”
“Fortuna?” I rifle through my memory. “Roman goddess of good luck?”
“Not as exciting as a murdering adulteress, but they have very similar hairstyles.”
“I’m sure they were often confused,” I say. “What about the front of the coin?”
“It’s got to be an emperor. The downside to a civilization that lasted five hundred years is that there are a lot of those.”
“I’ll get online today. See what I can find in the university’s library.”
“Check out the emperor Trajan. That’s my best guess.”
“Thanks.” I stretch my arms to the sky. I’m already feeling the itch to get to work. To discover. To uncover. “This time next year I could be jogging through Rome,” I say. I squint as a bit of sunlight flashes against something bright in the distance, creating a prism effect. Beyond the hills and the park, I can see neighborhoods of red tile roofs and the top of the school’s stadium lights.
“If this were Rome, you’d be looking out at St. Peter’s Basilica right now,” Jace says.
I dig my hand in the sandy dirt, rubbing the grit between my fingers. “Supposedly it’s like a lasagna.”
“What is?”
“Rome. When you dig down, every layer is a different time period. There’s a church, the Basilica of San Clemente, where the main floor was built in the eleventh century and you can descend one flight of stairs and be in the fourth century and descend a second flight of stairs and be in the second century.”
“I want to see pictures of that.”
“I want to take pictures of that.”
Our eyes meet and we both smile.
“You have to go, Emma. This is too perfect for you.”
“I want to.”
“But?”
“But the competition is going to be tough. And there’s Dillon. I don’t feel right leaving him unless he’s okay with it.”
“It’s just an internship.”
“Hey,” I say. “That’s my line.”
He meets my grin with one of his own and we go back to looking out at the view. The sun has moved higher in the sky, but I don’t want to go. Not yet. Up here I don’t have to think about melted wax or dented cars. Except that it’s hard not to. “I thought about asking Mrs. Lyght if I could get a deferral,” I say.
“What does that mean?”
“See if Dr. Abella might let me go next year.”
“Why would he do that?”
“If I turn in a really great application, he might.” But doubts nibble at me. Next year, Dr. Abella will have time to choose from grad students. Why hold the spot for me?
Jace turns away.
“You don’t like the idea?”
“It sounds a lot like Diaz’s plan for me to take the scholarship for a year.”
“Well.” I shrug. “Compromise is good, right?”
“And what if there is no next year?” he asks. “What if you stay here and I go to college and we all contract an antibiotic-resistant strain of infection and we’re dead in a year?”
I roll my eyes at the question. “We wouldn’t all die,” I say. “Even resistant bacteria doesn’t kill everyone.”
“Conjecture.”
“Historical fact. Spanish flu epidemic of 1918, Black Death in the Middle Ages, even smallpox. People always survive.”
“History only exists where it can be recorded,” he argues. “You’re forgetting about the societies that were completely wiped out by disease.”
“Which societies?”
“The one
s we don’t know about because no one survived.”
I groan. “You’re going to turn down the Bergen Scholarship and skip college because of societies that may or may not have existed in centuries past?”
“No,” he says. The teasing note in his voice is gone and he sounds tired. “I’ll probably take the damn scholarship and finish first in my class and then die of toxins consumed from plastics in our landfills polluting our water sources.” He turns to look at me, his eyes serious. “That’s why you can’t defer. Why you have to go to Rome. It’s my dying wish.”
I muster a smile, wishing it were easier—for both of us. “We’ll see. I haven’t even asked Mrs. Lyght about the deferral. I figured I’d go in early Monday morning. I have to ask her about how to format my catalog entries anyway.”
“About that,” he says. “I saw it on the assignment sheet and was wondering if you wanted to look at my coin catalogs. Maybe steal ideas from how it’s done? I could bring them in on Monday and you could get Mrs. Lyght’s opinion, too.”
“That’s a great idea. You wouldn’t mind?”
He pushes himself to his feet and reaches down a hand. I slip my dusty palm in his and let him pull me up. “For you, Emma, anything.”
“Anything?” I tease as I brush dirt from my butt. “Wear plain white sneakers?”
“Let’s not get crazy.”
I laugh and adjust my visor against the sun. Then we head back down the hill.
When I turn the corner onto my street, my feet slow. Dillon’s truck is parked in front of my house. He’s leaning against the front grill, wearing the blue Henley I bought him because it matched his eyes. I remember the night I gave it to him and he pulled it on without undoing the buttons and it got stuck on his head. Laughing at him, I slid open each button from the bottom and kissed the bit of face revealed—his jaw, his bottom lip, the underside of his nose. It’s always been such a good memory, but now it’s shaded by what happened last night. Burning wax is part of our history now, and I don’t know how to handle that.
The shirt has long sleeves, so his wrist is covered. If the burn is still bandaged, I can’t see. Will it leave a scar? Will it be there as a daily reminder?
Why is it that the things you want to forget are the things you never will?
“Where were you?” he asks.
“Running.” I slow to a walk and stop a few paces in front of him. Is he wearing the Henley because I bought it—or because of the long sleeves? I pull off my visor and fluff my fingers through my sweaty bangs.
“I’ve been waiting awhile.”
He gives me his teasing smile, the one that shows the chip in his side tooth and always makes him look impossibly sexy. But my heart doesn’t somersault. My stomach doesn’t turn warm and liquid. Instead, I’m mad. How dare he look so rested—seem so happy?
“I didn’t know you were coming over,” I say. “I bumped into Jace. We ran the loop together.”
He frowns as he looks down at my legs. “Did you fall? Your legs are streaked with dirt.”
I shake my head. “What are you doing up so early on a Saturday?”
“I finally slept a little last night.” He reaches down and I notice a plastic cup resting on the bumper. “I brought you a strawberry Frap. It’s probably melted by now.”
“Melted is still good. Thanks.” The cup is almost a shock it’s so cold and wet in my sweaty hand. I pull off the straw wrapper and take a long swallow. “Mmmm,” I murmur. It is good—sweet and still icy. Is this my Apology Frap? I imagine myself asking.
He looks me over, his smile widening. “Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere. Just you and me for the whole day. Your dad won’t care, right?”
I take another sip and lick my lips. “I really shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, you should.” He pushes himself straighter and reaches out a hand toward my hair, but I step back and wave the drink in front of me.
“Dillon, no. I have to work on my application. I hardly got anything done all last week.”
“You’re going to get a deferral.”
“I’m going to ask for one,” I correct. I grip the cup in both hands and force myself to look straight into his eyes. “Was last night just a way to shock me into doing what you want?”
His surprise is genuine. “No! Emma, that’s not it. This isn’t a game to me and I know it’s not a game to you. But you chose, don’t you see? By asking for a deferral, you told me that I matter more to you than Rome.” He pats his chest over his heart. “That’s what matters.”
“Then you can stop feeling insecure about us?”
“I know I’ve been an ass this week,” he says. “But that’s why I’m here. I want to make it up to you. Today is your day—anything you want.”
I shake my head. “I can’t today. In fact, I really need to work all weekend and I already promised to shop with Hannah for prom dresses. That’ll take up most of tomorrow afternoon.”
“But—”
“If I want to ask for a deferral,” I say sharply, “it actually means I have to turn in an even more impressive application. Next year Dr. Abella will have way more options.”
He reaches for my drink and sets it back on the bumper. Then he takes both my hands in his. My fingers are cold from the cup, and his feel almost feverishly warm. “Then just a few hours. Half of a day.”
“I have a lot of research to do.”
“I’ll help you with it. Later.” His eyelids lower. “Come on. I promise you’ll have a good time. We haven’t been together, just you and me, in so long. I miss you,” he whispers. His lips part in a breathless smile. He slips his hands around my waist, tugging me closer.
I push at his shoulders. “Quit!”
He blinks. A dark flush colors his cheeks.
“I’m covered in sweat, okay? I just got back from a run.” I wrap my arms over the bare skin of my stomach. “Give me a little space, please? Just until I get this assignment done.”
His jaw squares and his eyes narrow. Exaggerating the motion, he takes one step back. “Is this enough space?” He steps back again. “How about this?” He backs around the side of the truck, yanks open the door, and climbs in. “Is this enough fucking space for you?” The engine fires to life and he revs the motor. Tears burn behind my eyes as I stumble up to the sidewalk. He drives off, my drink flying off the bumper. Strawberry Frappuccino is spread like an abstract painting across the asphalt. I bend to pick up the crushed cup.
Great. That went well.
Slowly I walk up the drive. I think I might start the morning with a bath and a really good cry.
“I feel like a giant blue cream puff.”
Hannah comes out of the dressing room in a strapless blue dress with a poufy skirt layered in feathers and lace and glittering with sequins.
Normally, I’d be fighting off laughter, but nothing is normal anymore. Not even a shopping trip. “At least you won’t have to worry about anyone else showing up to prom in the same dress.”
Her lips twist in a wry Hannah-smile. I’m still mad at her about lunch the other day. I’m pretending not to be, but I’m too tired to give a very convincing performance.
Another girl moves off the platform and Hannah steps up beside me, the blue glittering from every angle in the wide expanse of mirrors set up at the back of the dressing room. We’re not the only ones who are still looking for dresses on Sunday morning, two weeks before prom. The department store has a huge selection and it looks like half of them are back here. The racks are full of discarded gowns, and more hang over the dressing room doors. An exhausted-looking salesgirl, half buried in pink satin, is trying to clear dresses as fast as she can while girls come in with new armloads.
Hannah slips on a black stiletto that’s lying in a pile on the platform.
“Now you look like a tall blue cream puff,” I say.
“Why can’t I find anything in blue that wasn’t designed by a peacock?” She kicks off the shoe and turns her attention to my dress. “Oh, that one’s beautiful, Emm
a. Total Cinderella.”
I look at myself in the mirror, feeling a little like a princess. The sheath dress is made of apricot satin and hugs me from bust to hips and then flares around my knees. I shift to see myself from the back.
“Don’t even think of asking about your ass or I’ll have to shoot you.” Hannah sighs. “I’d look like an asparagus in that dress.”
I can’t help smiling as I twist to make the fabric swirl around my legs. This is the fourth dress I’ve tried and it really is perfect. “I think this is the one.”
“The color is great with your hair.” Then her gaze shifts back to her own reflection. “Mine, on the other hand…”
“Why does it have to be blue?” I ask.
“Spence thinks retro is cool. But a vintage blue bow tie is way easier to find than a dress.” Someone squeals near the front of the dressing room.
Hannah rolls her eyes. “Another happy customer.”
“We’ll find you one.”
“I think I’ve exhausted my options here. I’m going to try the boutique that just opened by the gym.”
We’re barely off the platform before another group of girls takes our spot. Hannah leads the way to our dressing room and holds open the door for me. We’re in a large corner room big enough for the two of us. As soon as we’re inside, Hannah bends for the zipper under her arm. “So Spence said you guys are meeting us for pictures and then doing dinner on your own?”
“That’s the plan,” I say, focusing on my own zipper. Though Dillon hasn’t said much about prom or anything. We’re back in silent mode, but this time I’m glad. He needs to pull himself together and I need to finish this application. Once I do, I think things will be easier.
She pulls her dress down over a strapless bra and orange polka-dot thong. “I just wish Jace would find a date.”
“I thought he didn’t want to go?” I shimmy out of my dress, careful not to catch the fabric when I step free.
“If Lydia were still here, he’d go with her.”
“As friends?”
“Or more. Who knows.” Hannah snaps her shorts and straightens the hem of her yellow tank in the mirror. “You hardly knew her, but she was pretty great. Big heart. Always worried about everyone else first.”
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