The Night We Said Yes (8 page)

“Meg knew too?”

“Oh, no. She found out when I did. If she knew sooner, she probably would have punched Nick. Like, on the spot.”

“Can I be honest? I’m kind of scared of her,” he joked, and it was cute.

“You’re not the only one,” I laughed, and paused a
moment to fully take him in. “What about you?” I asked to get the subject firmly off of Nick. “Any girls back in Italy?”

“Well, after cat girl, I gave up on dating for a while.”

“Afraid that the next girl would talk to her dog or something?” I joked.

“Or worse. Really, my self-esteem couldn’t handle being rejected by another animal.”

I laughed, and added, “Perhaps next time it’ll be a plant.”

“I don’t know if I could go on after that,” he said, putting his hand on his heart and feigning death. “New rule: no dating girls with pets.”

“Or houseplants,” I added.

“Or houseplants.” He smiled. “My brother is the complete opposite. He has a new girl in every place we end up. I’ve started referring to the girls by the place names—like Sofia is just Italy to me.”

“Please don’t tell me he dates them all at the same time,” I said, wondering if his brother was like Jake, and if there was a bit of that in Matt, too.

“Oh, no, he has this insurmountable amount of faith, though. Like, whenever we move, he assumes the relationship will continue and tries for weeks until they just, you know, break up because of distance. Then he finds someone else within days.”

“At least he waits,” I said, contemplating this idea of long-distance relationships not working. Could they? I never really had to think about it. But I thought, maybe,
with the right person—who didn’t rebound after a few seconds—it just might. “What do you think about that—long-distance relationships?” I asked, pushing him.

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching his head. “I never had one.” Then, “You?”

“Same,” I said.

There was an awkward “I should say something, but can’t think of actual words” silence. So I tried. “So where’s your brother now?”

“Houston. He’s two years older than me and in college. It’s weird him being there and the rest of us here. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope, just me.” I looked up at him and we both kind of smiled.

Jake and Meg came back at that very moment.

“What’d you get?” Matt asked, nodding toward the brown paper bag Jake held.

“Liquid courage,” he responded, hugging the bag.

“No problems?” I asked Meg, eyeing her carefully. I hoped she understood my double meaning.

“None at all,” she answered carefully.

“So, next stop?” Jake asked.

“Bowling’s definitely out?” I joked.

“We need to go somewhere where we can actually drink,” Jake said.

“Park?” Matt suggested.

“Golf course?” Meg added.

“Jefferson!” Jake shouted.

“You want to go to school?” Meg asked.

“Dude, no—El, the roof.”

I knew exactly what he meant.

“We could get in trouble,” I murmured, feeling my heart beat faster. It was crazy and dangerous and though I was okay going along with saying yes, this seemed like a bit much. I looked over at Matt and when our eyes met, I also saw that it could be fun, a new memory for him. One he’d hold on to more than a picture of anonymous people.

“But you
have
to say yes,” Jake said, egging me on.

“Can someone tell me what all of this is about?” Meg interrupted.

“Apparently it’s really easy to jump onto the school’s roof by balancing on the second-floor railing,” I explained. “Some guys were talking about it in my trig class; they did it as part of hazing for the football team, or something. I told Jake, because I thought it would be funny for them to play a gig up there.”

“Funny, or awesome?” Jake said, grinning. “I say we take the booze, break in, and drink on the school’s roof,” he declared. “We can show Matt the school before he even starts.” Pause. “It’s been suggested, so we have to say yes.”

Meg looked at me and I shrugged. I looked at Matt and he looked pumped. More than pumped; energized as though he’d never done anything illegal before. Other than drinking underage, I suppose. Finally, Meg let out a huge sigh.

“We should have made rules about this ‘yes’ situation.”

“Done, let’s meet there,” Jake decided.

“Let’s park in the neighborhood next to it, so the cars don’t look suspicious or anything,” I said.

I jumped into Meg’s car and watched as the guys pulled away.

“This is going to be a long night,” Meg said, but despite her apparent lack of enthusiasm, there was a smile quietly making its way across her face. If she truly didn’t want to do this, she would have said so. She was not one to simply go along with plans she didn’t agree with, like the time we decided to go to the beach. The weather was perfect, the car was packed with snacks, magazines, and drinks, but midway there, after I got a call from Barker saying he and the guys might be going as well, she decided it was definitely not a beach day. So we turned around and went bowling instead, because, to her, bowling sounded much better than running into an ex-boyfriend. But tonight, instead of complaining or venting or declaring the night over, she started the car and grinned to herself. So I knew there was part of her that was excited.

I looked out the window and thought back to laughing with Matt. I pushed worry out of my head because I had another chance to repeat that moment. And for that, I was excited, too.

NOW

10:15
P
.
M
.

The school is dark and desolate in silhouette against the night sky when Matt and I pull up. A few streetlamps illuminate parts of the campus, leaving long, drawn-out shadows on the lawn. But even without the lights and the moon highlighting our path, we would have known the way.

It is a fairly new school, constructed just before I started. The open campus gives way to the many buildings located around a central courtyard. I haven’t returned since the last day of school, just a week prior. My locker in building eight is empty and not technically mine anymore. Every imprint I had on the school is gone. The next group of freshmen won’t know me; not that I was important or anything. There
will be a new group sitting in the middle of the amphitheater before school starts, instead of our group. We started meeting at that spot during our freshman year and never stopped. Tonight kind of feels like a final good-bye.

Matt parks in the neighborhood bordering the school. I don’t know anyone who lives there, but I do know they never call the cops on cars parked there. People do it all the time. Like breaking into the school, hanging out on the roof is kind of a rite of passage.

“Let’s go.” Matt beckons and hoists himself out of the car. I follow him, my heart thundering in my chest. Everything feels
so familiar
, I’m just not sure if it’s in a good way. But still, I follow him because I want to. I need to.

Getting onto campus is easy—there’s no border or fence blocking the way. We can simply walk right up to the school as if it’s normal to be there at night. Even so, we stay in the shadows as we navigate the abandoned area. We walk over to building six, which is farthest from the road. Late-night walkers can’t see us over there.

“It feels weird,” I whisper to Matt. “I’m a trespasser now.” Touching the cold, white stone building, I hear a loud bang. The noise echoes through the campus, repeating itself.

We freeze. Hearts pounding. Hands sweating. I cover my mouth and look at Matt. His eyes are wide, searching the area. We’re both in the shadows, crouched down behind the building. But despite the darkness, we are still out in the open. My breaths grow deeper, heavier, and I’m sure whoever
is out there can hear each and every one.

Matt grabs my hand and I jump, not expecting it. He looks at me hard, shooting me courage through his eyes. His skin is warm and his touch strong. We stay quiet, trying to make ourselves as undetectable as possible.

Laughter breaks the silence, but it’s not ours. It’s from the direction of the bang. An engine roars to life, followed by a few choice swear words. The engine again. It was just a car backfiring.

“Jesus. What’s with tonight?” Matt whispers, joining me in my relief. He squeezes my hand and before I have the chance to squeeze back, he lets go.

We get to the stairs easily after that. They’re large and concrete, standard school steps that can hold thousands of students pushing at each other between classes. We walk carefully to the top. There are no shadows here, so we are left exposed. My shoes squeak with each step.

At the top, Matt pulls himself up over the metal railing first, steadying himself on the edge. He reaches up for the flat, thick surface of the roof’s ledge and presses down to lift his body. I stop myself from watching the muscles in his arms work. Within seconds, he’s swinging his legs up.

I balance myself on the railing next, noticing Matt watching me intently the entire time. Instead of grabbing the roof, I grab his outstretched hands.

His grip is tight around my wrists as he pulls, and my arms shake as I hang like a leaf, suspended in midair. I can
never get used to this part. My heart beats loudly as I dangle; I put full trust in him and his grip. I feel the roof on my stomach and throw my legs on top. Sitting down, I let out a breath and look over at him. Our laughter echoes around us. With my feet solidly planted, I finally feel safe. Well, as safe as possible while being so high up.

We walk away from the edge onto the center of the roof. For a place that’s constantly broken into, it’s surprisingly clean. Either the janitors are up here regularly, or everyone is very cautious to leave no traces behind. There’s a low wall we lean against, sliding down to the floor, mere inches from each other. We look out toward the town and I can’t believe I’m up here, with him.

The view is beautiful. It extends widely, showing a maze of streets, buildings, and trees I grew up within.

“It’s weird to think my entire life is laid out down there,” I say.

“Kind of cool, too. I mean, everything is a memory that way, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” I say, looking at the shopping center across the street. “Meg, Jake, Barker, and I used to sneak off campus during lunch and eat at that sandwich shop,” I say, pointing down at the red-and-white storefront featuring a giant smiling sandwich. “Then, last year, when we finally were able to leave campus for lunch, we kind of forgot about it. It wasn’t as much fun going once the risk was gone.”

“I remember you telling me about that,” he says, listening
eagerly as I continue my visual trip down memory lane.

“I love the smell of the bakery next door. I feel like if I smell onion bagels anywhere else, it’ll always remind me of here,” I say wistfully. “Meg and I would go every Friday morning before school to celebrate the last day of the week.” Matt nods, as if he remembers, too.

I keep looking and see how familiar every corner, every street is. I know that just out of eyesight is the field that hosts a yearly carnival. Matt took me before he left; we went on rides, ate baby-pink cotton candy, and petted farm animals. It’s all there, a map of our past laid out in front of us. It makes everything seem so close, as if I can touch each spot just by reaching out.

“Remember when the ice-cream place named a cone after the Pepperpots?” Matt asks, pointing down to the shop next to the bakery, adding his own memory to the mix.

“Yeah, and you all got to choose a flavor. You chose chocolate—”

“Which you said was really boring,” he interrupts.

“It is!” I laugh. “Barker chose cookie dough.”

“And Jake topped it off with mint chocolate chip because it matched his hair at the time,” Matt concludes, and I smile at the memory. “What color is his hair now?”

“Black.” He dyed his hair not long after I did. We never needed to talk about why.

“I love the ice cream there,” Matt says.

“It closed about two months ago.”

“What? Really?” he asks, almost insulted.

“Yeah. I guess we were its best customers.” I watch his eyes wander the surrounding roads, probably wondering what else changed since he’s been gone. “We all ordered the Pepperpots cone on the last day. I think Jake ate it in three bites.” I smile, remembering the moment. “Barker had just gotten a cowbell, so we went out to celebrate, which was when he heard about the store closing.”

Matt looks down, tracing the roof with his finger. I get the bottle out of my purse and hand it over. He opens it with ease, using a corkscrew from his pocket.

“You carry a corkscrew in your pocket? It’s as if you knew this would happen,” I comment.

“I’m just always prepared,” he says, smiling and handing me the bottle first. I take a swig. It’s still cold from the store, and it feels good going down. Much better than the drink Evan gave me earlier. It’s sweet, almost fruity. I hand it back to Matt and he takes a sip the same way. It’s weird sharing a drink with him. It’s weird drinking with him to begin with. I’m so conscious of his body next to mine, despite the fact that we’re not even touching.

“Your bracelets,” he says, pointing to the hand that gave him the bottle. I look down at the single string bracelet on my wrist, still surviving through everything.

“Yeah,” I say, not meeting his eyes. “Um, I cut some off.” “Some” is an understatement, and he knows that. I had so many lining my wrist last year, but after he left, I cut them
all off and started over. Each bracelet was a physical reminder, and they all burned my wrist.

“What’s that one from?” he asks, pointing to the remaining knotted pink-and-purple one.

“My birthday this past year. It was fun,” I say, and I know this admission hurts him, since he wasn’t here for it, and every other event he was here for I removed. I turn to him and hold his gaze; I want him to see how I’ve moved on.

“Truth or dare,” Matt says, changing the subject. He’s bringing the conversation back to something he’s familiar with, something he’s part of.

“Didn’t we play Never Have I Ever?” I ask, remembering that night.

“Yeah, but that’s not as much fun with just two people. Plus, we were always good at dares.
Plus
, you have to say yes.”

“Ugh.” I groan at his rule, as well as the memory. “Okay, dare.” There is no way I’m choosing truth. Not yet, at least. I feel a drop fall on me and look up, but there aren’t any clouds visible, just the sky.

“I dare you to do a cartwheel. Right now.”

“On the roof?” I ask, deadpan.

“On the roof.” He smirks, as if the cartwheel will lead to something even crazier.

“You know I’m terrible at these,” I protest. “My cartwheels look more like cart-falls.”

“They can’t be
that
bad,” he says, egging me on.

“My legs are never straight, so I look stupid. Also, have
you forgotten that we’re on the roof? What if I cartwheel too far and fall off?” I ask him.

“I’ll save you,” he says, and I feel my cheeks redden a little.

“I can just picture myself falling off the edge to my death as you scream in horror. Or regret.”

“Probably regret. Had I known you would die, I might have picked another dare.”

“Might have?” I ask.

“I really want to see this terrible cartwheel now. Should I record it? Just in case the news crews need evidence?”

“Imagine the headlines: Ex-boyfriend challenges ex-girlfriend to cartwheel, leading to her demise, tonight at eight.” I say it quickly and laugh and when I look at him, I realize he isn’t laughing anymore. Perhaps I went too far. So I do what I have to do.

Brushing the dirt off my jeans, I get up and find some empty space that isn’t close to the edge. He stands up and turns around to watch me prepare for my flip. I can do this, I really can. I tuck my shirt in, hold my breath, and go.

My hands hit first, crushing against small pebbles and bits of concrete. Then I’m upside down. And then I’m falling, legs first, hitting the ground hard.

“See, no death,” Matt calls out, applauding as I straighten up and take a bow. It was far from good, but a noble attempt. I look down at my hands; they’re pockmarked from the pebbles.

“Oh, don’t you dare think I’m not getting you back. Truth or dare,” I call out, walking toward him.

“Dare,” he says, with a cheeky grin. He rocks on his feet, waiting for his punishment.

“Okay.” I think. “I dare you to do a handstand.” An easy dare, truly inconsequential, but I never perform well under pressure. And I can’t dare him to do something crazy like streak across the roof. We still have boundaries. I take a sip from the bottle and wait for him to accept.

Without a word, he places his hands on the ground and kicks his legs up. They don’t last long in the air, flailing in place before falling down with a thud. He rolls over onto his back and laughs.

“I’m not meant for extreme sports,” he says, propping his body up on his elbow and grabbing the bottle from me.

“I don’t think handstands are considered extreme,” I answer, scooting closer to him.

“Remember when Jake tried to jump out of a moving car?”

“Because he’d watched
The Fast and the Furious
and figured he was meant for racing!” I squeal, laughing at the memory.

“Good thing you were driving close to the side of the road.”

“And the side of the road had grass instead of a sidewalk,” I add. “Meg and I made green bracelets to commemorate that night and celebrate Jake
not
dying. We were pretty
stupid back then, weren’t we?” Matt drops his head and sits up. He messes up his hair as he puts the bottle down, not meeting my eyes. “Oh. I mean, that night, not—”

“It’s okay. And we were. At least I was,” he says, and places his hand on my arm. He’s done it so many times in the past; every time I ever felt nervous or excited or overwhelmed, he always placed his hand on my arm to stabilize me. He knew it had some sort of calming effect. But this time, instead of slowing down my heart rate, it only accelerates it. And I don’t want that.
I don’t want that
, I repeat to myself, willing myself to remember. I look up at him and he blushes, dropping his arm. I look down and feel another raindrop.

“Um, truth or dare,” he continues, leading us right back to the game. The present. Right back to where we’re sort of comfortable.

“Dare,” I answer, of course.

“I dare you to yell as loud as possible.”

“That’ll definitely
not
get us caught,” I say sarcastically.

“Well, you picked dare . . .” he taunts.

“Okay, okay,” I relent. I walk cautiously over to the edge and know exactly what I’m going to yell, the exact same thing we yelled just a year ago. “HELLO, ANTARCTICA!” I turn around quickly, cracking up, and run back to him. I grab his arm and pull him behind the structure we were leaning against, so we’re almost hidden from the night surrounding us.

“
Of course
you said that,” he laughs, and we’re so close
I can smell him. He smells like summer. And he’s looking at me with eyes so sad and kind I can’t help but smile. Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking our gaze.

I pull it out and, as expected, it’s Meg.

Status?

I text her back the one word, knowing she’ll understand.

Roof

OF COURSE. No making out.

I look back up at Matt. He’s turned away, picking a folded piece of notebook paper up off the ground. “That was Meg,” I explain.

“She must be worried.”

“She wanted to let you know the knives are sharpened,” I joke, and he laughs.

“Ouch. Hey, look at this,” he says, handing me the piece of paper.