Vulnerable (7 page)

            “Um, thanks?”

            “I’m just saying that… I haven’t met many people like you before.” She watched a fluttering Blue Jay passing by. “You…It’s crazy,” she threw her hands up in the air and laughed to herself, she continued, looking at him, “I don’t know…haha. Sorry I’m not making much sense...”      

            “Ha… it’s all right.” They exchanged a soft, tender glance. He saw into her eyes past the beauty for the first time and he just saw more beauty: a strong-willed soul hidden behind a beautiful mask of wounded heart.

            “Well, I remember our agreement,” she said with another smile.

            “Why are you bringing that up?” he asked, laughing flirtatiously.

            “Because… I kind of wanted you to ask me… which is why I set up the agreement in the first place.” He looked at her in utter amazement—both impressed and surprised.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well, you remember how I said that I’d love for you to come with me on the retreat?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Well… I wanted to test to see if you really liked me… and you passed, ha…” she nervously laughed, “I felt guilty not telling you.” She looked up sheepishly, her glittering eyes so clear he swore he could peer into her soul.

            “Don’t worry about it. You’re perfect.” He realized what he had said after the words slipped out of his mouth, “I-I mean I…shoot… I…” There’s no way to get out of this one, he thought. Luckily, she chimed in, blushing and twirling her hair.

            “Don’t worry about it. You seem pr—,” the sentence she couldn’t finish had Michael hanging on every word, but to his dismay, it was indeed cut short and by one of the kids.

            It was a lanky boy, about fourteen years old, with sandy hair that had a trace of copper and matching eyes like light caramel, “We should get back; we want to get to the water fight!” The boy next to him was equally lanky and about the same age, but he had gingery, pale orange hair, freckles, and thin-wired glasses—he was studying some sort of planner or program with a list of activities. Michael thought that it was safe to assume that Millie made it.

            “Water fight?” Michael asked. His eyes showed intriguing interest and his mouth echoed teasing sarcasm—he was never too great at flirting.

            “Yeah, it’s at four!” the orange-haired boy cheeped. Michael’s frustration twisted, but he bit his tongue before telling the kid to take a hint and learn when to read signals.

            Millie grinned to herself before looking back at Michael, “Yeah, it’s going to be great! I bought a bunch of water balloons and squirt guns! It’s gonna be sick!”

            “Sick?” Michael teased.

            “Shut up, haha, I’m trying to be hip with the lingo.”

            “I can tell,” Michael laughed back; Millie punched his arm and stuck out her tongue between smiling lips. It was so easy to talk to her, and the more he did, the more he felt close to her. He had a feeling that he was going to like this camping trip after all.

            When they all finally made it back down the mountain, Michael didn’t even have time to look up and figure out who was where at the camp before being shot square in the face with a burst of water.

            “THE WATER FIGHT OFFICIALLY BEGINS!” shouted the red haired boy, flailing his arms about wildly as he passed his hiking companions.
I hope he slows down before he has an asthma attack,
Michael thought.

            “Hey! That’s not fair!” The other boy that had been hiking with them squawked, running towards the small mass of flogging body parts and floating water balloons.

            “I’m totally going to get you soaked!” Michael shouted towards Millie as he ran away towards the small box filled with water ammo and plastic weapons.

            “Not unless I get you first!” She squealed back, following him in the hunt for the best water gun.

            Michael was getting hit left and right on his way to the bucket, but he finally made it there and picked up the biggest one he could find, which wasn’t much considering he was second to last to pick. He stared at the three guns left: a pink handgun, a silver pistol, and a broken blue grenade.

            He heard the mushy footsteps getting closer, and he knew he had to pick before Millie, so he grabbed the pink gun and turned around. He shot the gun immediately, without looking, and accidentally shot Millie where he hadn’t intended. She had been a lot closer than he realized—inches in face (she stood waiting to scare him)—and he shot her right in the eye.

            “OW! OUCH!” she grunted, chaos still collaborating all around her.

            “Ohmigosh, I’m so sorry!” Michael said with his hands now holding her face. “Are you all right?”

            “Yeah…I’m fine,” she said, squinting with her good eye and closing her bad eye as tightly as humanly possible.

            “Come on,” he said as he placed his hand on the core of her back, “Let’s wash that out. I don’t think that’s the cleanest of water.” She nodded and they walked away from the battling group. He turned around and watched as the tubby kid bodyslammed Brother Raymond.

            “Nice,” he laughed.

            “What?” Millie asked, still wincing.

            “Oh, nothing,” he replied, “So where can we go for nice water?”

            “I think we have some water bottles up at the tents,” she said, her voice quieting as they moved away from the cacophony.

            “Sorry that was short-lived,” he said, “And that I didn’t get to beat you.” He winked.

            “Whatever,” she laughed, “I totally would have gotten you soaking wet!” He smiled at her as he searched his bag for a water bottle that he remembered was in there for the hike. When he found it, he thought of something sinister… they were headed towards the water in the tents anyway, right?

            “Well,” he said, “Looks like you’re wrong.” She cocked her head. He unscrewed the lid. “I won’t be the one to get soaking wet.” He dumped the water all over her head. She laughed in disbelief.

            “You—,” she laughed and faked distress as she tackled him to the ground. It was a bad place to land wrong; they were on a hill. Before they could think another thought—before Michael could smell her hair and feel her skin on his—they were tumbling over one another towards the tents.

            Down and down they went, thumping against rock after mud pile after anthill. Finally, they slowed down and coasted to a stop on a tent, settling next to each other. He turned his head and saw her still laughing. She was buried in her hair that fell apart into a wavy bulk beneath her head, softening her head like a soft patch of hay. She turned her head to face him.

            Her eye twitched. He broke out laughing and she just slapped him playfully on the arm before breaking out in a fit of laughter too.

            “You’re ridiculous!” She giggled.

            His face lit up, “You’re right.” He leaned in.

            “Are y’all raht?” A voice rolled out down the hill.
Really
, Michael thought,
every time.
He sat up and saw that it was Brother Raymond, which he had suspected from the butter-thick accent.

            “Yeah, we’re okay!” he quickly retorted.

            “We just needed water for my eye!” Millie shouted.

            “Oh, I’ll help y’all out!” Brother Raymond said heading towards a cooler, where a bucket filled with waters was stacked together. He tossed them one.

            “Thanks,” Michael said as he caught it with one hand. He gave it to Millie, “Now don’t blink—flush it out as long as you can.” She nodded and did so.

            “So who won the war?” asked Michael.

            “I did!” shouted the chubby boy.

            “Figures…” Michael grumbled.

            “What?”

            “Congrats!”

            “Thanks!”

            “You’re good with kids,” Millie said while blinking out water. Michael scoffed.

            “Yeah, right.”

            She blinked a few more times and then looked up at him, “No, I mean it.”

            “I’m not good with kids; let alone
teenaged
kids.”

            Her face paled and she swallowed hard; her eyes made that distant look of shadowy loss that was too familiar to Michael. She stared off for a few seconds before replying, “You’re good with teenaged kids, Michael. I know people who weren’t good with kids; let alone teenaged kids.”

            The heavy evening air thickened as the sun kissed the horizon, beckoning them to return as it waved goodbye when they leapt into the silvery van. Michael knew that the air felt so heavy because of what Millie said to him. He felt it weighing on his chest, almost not permitting him to breathe. The secrets she kept caged inside of her heart must be more than she could bear, and Michael knew that it was more than his desire to help others that deepened the stabbing wound he felt pierce his stomach when cradled with the thought.

            He wished that he could have sat next to her on the way home, especially since she was silent for the rest of the day after she said those last few words to him. What could she be hiding? Something about her past… something with an adult… something
evil
.

            Michael’s desire to talk with Millie was getting severe and turned into literal physical pain.

            “Brother Michael, you don’t look so good,” said someone’s voice that he couldn’t make out over the dizziness spinning his mind around.

            Millie’s ear caught this statement, apparently, because she quickly pivoted around to check on Michael.

            “What’s wrong?” she asked. The weight on his chest felt a tinge lighter—the nausea was subsiding: she was talking to him… would it continue? He felt so immature, but he wanted to know. He
needed
to know. She needed to talk for herself, even if it wasn’t to him. Maybe in time… but maybe she didn't have time. Was that it? Where was she really over the two days before the trip? What was going on?

            “Michael?” she asked, becoming increasingly more worried. “Michael, what’s wrong?” Sweat was sliding down his face, neck, and back.

            “Can we pull over?” he asked.

            “Of course!” Millie said, relieved that he’d answered her, “Brother Raymond, can you pull over?” The car immediately pulled to a stop and Michael slid out, stumbling over his own feet before falling face-first onto a rocky dirt road.

            “Michael!” Millie’s voice rang out, singing a song of healing through his ears. “Michael! Are you all right? Was it something you ate?”

            He flopped over onto his back; his face was screwed around in pain. Millie hobbled over to him and landed hard on her knees as she knelt at his side. She stroked both sides of his face with her hands. The most worried expression made up the lines and pigments of her portrait-like face.

            “I don’t think so,” Michael replied quietly. Again, the nausea began to subside, even if it was just a little bit.

            She faintly smiled out of one corner of her mouth. “Well, what happened?” she seemed to whisper. He tried to shrug but winced in pain as he did so. “Be careful,” she said, holding his shoulder gently, pressing it carefully against the gravel.

            “How are you?” he asked. Her face stretched in surprise.

            “What?” she asked, laughing at the absurdity of such a question at such a time. “What do you mean me? You’re the one sick and in pain here!” she teased.

            “I mean just that: How are you?” he looked straight into her eyes; the darkness was gone, but he still sensed uneasiness inside of her somehow.

            “I-I’m fine,” she replied, cocking her head and furrowing her eyebrows.

            “Good,” he smiled up at her, which made her smile appear—her
real
smile. They seemed to have a real knack at making each other smile, and Michael loved that about them.

            “Good?” she laughed, clearly still confused, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

            “I know.” The sickness dissipated and he felt great, with the strength of a thousand men. It was crazy what Millie could do to him—
for
him.

            He got up, brushed off dusty dirt, and gave her a tight squeeze. “Wow,” she said, hugging tightly back, “You got better fast.” He released her slowly and looked down into the eyes that now reflected no discomfort whatsoever.

            “Well… let’s just call it mind over matter.” They stood there smiling at each other, both confused at different things, and—unknowingly—soon enough are about to find out.