Take Me On

by Katie McGarry

  My grandpa once told me never to provoke an injured bear, especially one nursing its wounds, but sometimes the bear needs to be poked. “Who’s the runner now?”

  A flash of fear shivers up my spine at the way her ice-cold blue eyes strike through me. “Excuse me?”

  Hope I know what I’m doing. “I came here for you, Lila. For the girl who would never let anyone walk all over her. For the girl who wouldn’t be feeling sorry for herself because someone pranked her. Maybe I’m not the only one who told a lie. Maybe you invented the girl in the letters.”

  Her mouth drops open; her cheeks redden as if I had physically slapped her. “You are a jerk!”

  “You mad now?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good. Now stop focusing on what you can’t control and start focusing on what you can.” Like summer school, working toward college, applying for spring admissions and not on my parents, my sister, my nephew...my brother’s death.

  Lila shakes her head, as if she’s waking from a dream. She leans against the desk for support and runs her hands through her hair. “You’re right.”

  This is the girl I know: 100 percent in or out. No waffling. A girl who treats life like a missile with a locked-in course.

  Her eyes roam over me and I’m confused by the slant of her lips.

  “Lincoln?” she says as the silly smile grows.

  “Yes?’

  “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

  Embarrassment heats my body and my hand darts to my chest, feeling the exposed skin. “Sorry.”

  Those blue eyes smolder. “I’m not. But you may want to get dressed for this.”

  Lila

  ...and on the rock climbing—I think you’re underestimating yourself.

  ~ Lincoln

  Lincoln walks beside me through the open field toward the tree line. He has a wide gait and I struggle to appear casual as I attempt to match his stride. His shirt’s back on, which is a sin. He could definitely give Echo’s guy a run for his money in the abs department.

  At the wooden shed, the combination lock whines as I spin it to the right, the left and then back to the right. With a click, I unlatch the lock and open the door. Sunlight streams in and dust particles dance in the beams.

  “Want to tell me what we’re doing out here?” Lincoln asks.

  “Reclaiming my pride.” Stupid Stephen and stupid me. The past six months of our relationship flip through my mind like a bad award show montage: how I told him I was going to Florida, how he balked and then started talking about how scared I’d be once I moved. He played me. He played me so well that I almost abandoned my dreams.

  If I’m being deep-down honest, though, Stephen’s prank was just the excuse I’d been searching for to drop Florida. And I could include my anxiety over Echo leaving and Lincoln not heading to Florida in the fall in the pathetic-excuse category. The truth is I’ve doubted going away to school because I’ve doubted me. I’m afraid of being alone.

  I don’t know how to fix my fear, but I do know how to fix Stephen.

  Once my eyes adjust to the darkness of the shed, I walk in and grab my brothers’ paintball guns. Lincoln was completely right. It’s time to stop being scared and start being proactive. It’s time someone turned the tables on the slimy little bastard.

  I toss Lincoln one of the guns. He raises his eyebrows once he realizes what he holds in his hands.

  “Shoot for their feet,” I say. “Their shoes cost two hundred and fifty dollars and they’d be pissed if they got stained.”

  His wicked smile answers that he understands the plan and that he’s on board. “Have you ever used one of these?”

  “Yep.” But it’s nothing I’ve ever broadcast to the world. “Have you?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  Good. “We’ve got six hours until sunset, and then it’s on.”

  Lincoln’s eyes travel over my body, his gaze lingering on my curves. “I think I’m falling in love.”

  At the word love, my insides flutter. I tuck my hair behind my ear, trying to imagine how sexy I could possibly be while wearing a pair of ratty cutoff jeans and a T-shirt and cradling a paintball gun. And then I wonder what it would be like if he really was falling for me, because Lincoln in real life is a million times more intense than Lincoln in letters...and I’m seriously falling for him.

  Lincoln

  Will you go outside on the 28th and watch the meteor shower? I know what you’re thinking: 3:00 a.m.? But I think it will be beautiful. Besides, it will be cool to know that you’re watching the sky at the same exact time as me.

  ~ Lila

  With a hip cocked in the doorframe of Lila’s room, I watch as she towel-dries her hair. Earlier, I witnessed Lila hit bull’s-eye after bull’s-eye with that paintball gun. The girl ain’t playing. Experiencing her Rambo side brought on some fear.

  I chuckle to myself. It also turned me on.

  The late-afternoon sun floats into her bedroom. We’ve got a few hours until nightfall. Being a natural climber, I called the high position in the trees. Lila plans to be at ground level.

  She tosses the towel into a hamper and combs through her hair. “When will you have to leave?” she asks.

  “I called my parents while you were in the shower. I told them I’d be home by Monday morning.” I also told them to expect major changes when I finally did arrive home—that I was going to focus on my future, not on the past. They weren’t happy I left so suddenly and that I didn’t graduate, but they weren’t irate.

  She bites her lower lip and sinks to her bed. “So you’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m glad you came,” she says.

  “Me, too.” Our gazes meet, and it’s the most comfortable I’ve ever felt staring into someone else’s eyes. “Will you be okay by yourself?”

  She nods. “I’ll probably wake to every little sound, but I’ll be fine.”

  “That’s my girl.” My eyes widen as I realize what I said. Lila’s not my girl. I want her to be, but... “I mean—”

  “No, I like what you said.” Lila glances away, her hair swinging into her face.

  Could she possibly feel what I feel? Lila and I were once strangers who met at a funeral. We became friends through letters, bonded by a shared dream of college in another state, and then I fell for her. Could she have also fallen for me?

  In a handful of hours, I’m going to head home, and the one lesson I learned from Josh’s death is that life has to be lived now; the future isn’t always guaranteed. I have this one shot with her, and I’m going to take it. “This past fall you told me that you felt close to me even though we’re hundreds of miles away.”

  Lila’s eyes jump to mine, I guess in shock that I remembered.

  “Well,” I continue, “that’s what it’s been like for me, too. I’ve never shared my private thoughts with someone other than you, and I can’t imagine sharing them with anyone else.”

  I pause, terrified to continue. If I’m wrong on this, I’ll ruin the relationship Lila and I share. Lila fidgets with a strand of her wet hair and keeps those gorgeous innocent eyes locked on me. No, I’ve fallen for her and I’ll regret walking away from this moment.

  “I like you, Lila. As more than a friend. I wake up in the morning and I think of you. I go to bed at night and you’re the last thought in my mind. I dream of you. The best days of the week are the ones when I get your letters.”

  She blinks once, her face frozen. My stomach sinks. “But if you don’t feel the same way, it’s okay. I swear—”

  “Lincoln,” she says before I can finish. “I feel that same way...for you.”

  I inhale as if it’s the first breath I’ve ever taken. Lila cares for me. I step into her room and pause beside her. “Can
I sit?” Because it’s her bed and there’s no way I’m assuming I’ve got permission for a place as sacred as that.

  She scoots over, creating a space for me. I lower onto the bed and my heart picks up speed. I rub my hands against my jeans and release a slow, steady stream of air. “I’ll be starting summer school on Monday.”

  Lila angles her body toward me, a sure sign I’ve got her attention.

  “My guidance counselor said that I’ve got a good chance at spring admission to the University of Florida because of my ACT and SAT scores and my grades before this year. He thinks if I can focus on summer school and write a kick-ass essay on how I learned from my screwup, the admissions board will look past my mistakes.

  “I’m going to admit, until I came here, I was still ignoring what needed to be done. I knew I wanted to fix us, but watching you tackle your fears has helped me realize that I’ve got to tackle mine. I’ve made mistakes and I’m going to make it right.”

  Her thin, delicate fingers rest on her knee. Two and a half years ago, Lila and I sat outside a funeral home and she had the courage to reach over to me when I described my relationship with my older brother. No, I didn’t cry at Josh’s funeral, but what I never told anyone was how I wept like a baby to a girl I had never met before...to Lila.

  Channeling the same strength she showed that night, I place my hand over hers. Lila immediately laces her fingers with mine.

  I continue. “I should have told you the truth about not graduating before, but I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me—I didn’t want to admit that I let you down. I know I’m going to be a semester late, but I’m coming to Florida, Lila, and I swear I won’t let you down again.”

  A tender smile eases onto her lips. “And I’ll be there—waiting.”

  My chest expands as I lean into her. Her lavender scent engulfs me, and those sky-blue eyes draw me in. “I like you,” I whisper as I nuzzle the satin skin of her cheek. More than like, but I don’t want to rush things.

  Lila tilts her head and whispers against my lips, “I like you, too.”

  Her kiss is soft and warm—inviting. We both explore, a hesitant dance as we glide over lines neither one of us imagined crossing. I let go of her hand to push the damp hair away from her face. My fingers trace her cheekbone, then drift to the nape of her neck.

  My skin vibrates when a feminine sigh escapes her lips—a sound of approval, a sound of longing. Lila shifts and I take advantage by wrapping an arm around her body. She weaves her fingers into my hair and pulls me closer. My blood heats and so does our kiss.

  I suck in her lower lip and in our next breath our tongues slide against one another. Hands—my hands, her hands—roam. Over arms, over backs, memorizing curves, lingering near shirt hems.

  We kiss and touch and continue to kiss. With hearts beating hard and breath difficult to catch, we press our lips together one final time, then break away.

  Yeah, we’ve crossed lines today, but there are some borders neither one of us is eager to breach. Lila’s eyes shining up at me confirm her approval of the new path we’ve chosen, and on this path we have time to explore, we have time to kiss, and we have all the time in the world to fall in love.

  Lila

  The entire sky erupted into hundreds of streaks of light. I never felt so alive. I wished that you were here with me or me with you. But I think you were. Call me crazy, but it was a moment, Lila, and I’m glad I shared it with you. Even if it was from a couple hundred miles away.

  ~ Lincoln

  “I need a code name,” Lincoln says over the walkie-talkie I confiscated from my youngest brother’s room. It’s midnight and the two of us have been hunkered in our positions since nine.

  If I squint and stare long enough, I can decipher Lincoln’s shadow fifteen feet in the air in the large oak tree near the front of the house. It almost looks as if the tree has a cancerous growth springing from it. For the first hour, I worried over how he dangled from the branch, but I soon discovered that Lincoln’s as comfortable with heights as I am at a sale at Macy’s.

  “What do you have in mind?” I ask. Behind the row of bushes and up against the trunk of a weeping willow, I scan the midnight horizon. The sky’s clear. Beautiful white stars twinkle down on us, but there’s no moon tonight. A good thing, as Stephen and his traveling band of hyenas won’t see us. A bad thing, as it makes it hard for us to spot them.

  “Something dangerous, like Razor or Blade.”

  I hear the tease in his voice and accept the bait. “How about Abe? Or Honest? Those sound like perfect code names.”

  “Har, har. How about you lay a president joke I haven’t heard before.”

  It’s been like this for the past three hours—a comfortable steady stream of conversation. Earlier, Lincoln kissed me...and I kissed him back. Before coming out here, we spent a couple of hours wrapped in each other’s arms on my bed, alternating between talking and kissing.

  My heart aches when I think of him leaving in the morning, but we have a plan and both of us are sticking to it.

  “When did you know?” I ask. “That you had feelings for me.”

  Static on the other side. Crap. Maybe I went too far.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “It grew over time. I guess I first knew something was up when I wanted to scratch out Stephen’s name from your letters.”

  I giggle, totally unashamed that I like that he was jealous.

  “Honestly, though... You wrote me a letter back before school started and I took it with me on one of my climbing trips. At the top of the rock, I read your letter and realized you were the one person I wished I could share the view with.”

  My lips tilt up with his words.

  “What was the letter about?”

  He chuckles. “Nothing. That’s the strange part. You’ve sent me letters about Echo and Stephen and Grace and your family and Florida, and I loved those letters. I knew you were sharing your soul with me. But this one letter, you talked about lying in your backyard and watching the leaves in the trees blow. When I was done reading, I found a four-leaf clover tucked into the envelope. I knew then that I wanted to share the big moments with you, but more important the small. I want to climb rocks with you, Lila, then spend quiet time at the top sharing the view with you.”

  Warmth curls around my heart. I want the same exact thing. “I sent you the clover so you’d have good luck with your admissions letter.”

  “It worked,” he says. “And it’ll work again.”

  “So I have to find you another clover?” I tease.

  “Nope. I still have the first one tucked safely in my wallet. I like having something from you close to me.”

  Overwhelmed, I feel my throat swell a little. He kept a gift I gave him. In his wallet. That is unbelievably sweet.

  “How about you?” he asks hesitantly. “When did you know?”

  “The night of the meteor shower,” I answer automatically. “And then the letter you sent after it.” I think of the hundreds of lights dancing across the night sky. “I knew you were watching. I know it sounds stupid, but I felt you with me, and then when you sent that letter describing that night...” I drop off, unable to find the right words to explain the emotion.

  Lincoln rescues me. “I know. Me, too.”

  We sit in silence for a few seconds, both of us absorbing the moment. Finally, I clear my throat and ask, “How many hours is the University of Florida from you again?” We’re going to take turns driving back and forth to visit on the weekends and we’ll talk on the phone and use Skype and, of course, write letters.

  “About four if I stick to the recommended posted limits.”

  “It’s the law,” I remind him. “Like the get-a-ticket-if-you-break-it type of law.”

  “A suggestion,” he responds.

  Before I can compo
se my comeback, Lincoln breaks in through the radio. “Incoming.”

  My chest tightens. They’re here. My eyes sweep the yard around my house and my pulse begins to beat in my ears.

  I wipe my hands on the side of my jeans to dry them of sweat and lie flat on the ground. Movement out of the corner of my eye causes my breathing to hitch. Three forms skulk against the side of the house. One of them raises its hand in the air, waving for the other two to head toward the front porch.

  The lone stray shadow creeps to my bedroom window. Asshole. This has to be Stephen.

  I ready the paintball gun, the tank tucked into my shoulder. I align my sight and decide against the shoes, aiming for the heart. Let’s see how he feels after I sink a couple of balls into it.

  Lincoln’s under strict instructions—he’ll shoot only after I fire, and Stephen is mine.

  After a few seconds, Stephen raises his hand and rakes his fingers down my window.

  It is so not your night tonight, buddy. Last night, I was terrified. Now I feel empowered.

  I pull the trigger. Pop, pop, pop, pop. The figure yelps and bends over as each ball pummels his body. Shouts from the front of the house tell me that Lincoln has hit his prey.

  “They’re on the move. On the move.” Lincoln’s voice crackles on the radio.

  His silhouette swings down from the tree in effortless grace, and once on the ground he takes off for the front of the house. I refocus on Stephen. His head whips back and forth, looking for his attacker in the bushes. “Who’s out there?”

  I drift up from the ground. Still hidden by the rain of branches from the weeping willow, I plug two more balls into the ground, right near his feet.

  “Hey!” he yells as he dances away from the paint.

  With a snap, I flick on my flashlight and aim it at his face. He places his hand above his eyes in an effort to see who approaches. Paint smears his favorite shirt and jeans. Good. I aimed too low, though, and barely stained his two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar athletic shoes.