While You're Away (12 page)

I knew he felt it, too. His fingers curved, pressing into my back. They traced it restlessly, each stroke broader, more insistent. I wasn’t going to strip in the middle of the botanical garden. I wanted to, though, each time his touch slipped the hem of my shirt to graze across bare skin.

Will put his brow to my temple, shuddering with a long, exhaled breath. Beneath the tinny, raucous sound of CGI battle, I heard Will whispering. I couldn’t make out his words at first. It sounded like a prayer, a rosary whispered against my curls.

Then aloud, so loud it seemed to echo off the broken-down statuary around us, Will said, “Are you really mine, now?”

My throat ached to tell him the truth. That I’d been his since the moment I kissed him in the boathouse. We were indelible, written on each other’s skin. It was true—there were so many things we had to face.

He was going to college; I was staying here. Our future paths seemed completely unlikely to collide unless we forced them to. But I wanted to force them to. I wanted to surrender to this. I didn’t answer his question, not out loud. Instead, I pulled his mouth to mine and answered with a kiss.

That was better. That was the truth.

T
he last week of school arrived, and the halls were controlled madness. Only two teachers bothered to assign homework. The rest surrendered, understanding that nobody was there to work anymore. The seniors were already done with their classes.

That meant no Will in the hallways.

I hadn’t seen him since our date in the botanical gardens, almost a week ago. His family had surprised him with a celebratory graduation trip to Florida. That meant we had to make do with rushed cams and texts. I hated every second without him. I told Jane that we were together—it was official, the end—and dared her to make something of it.

Trying to cull the last of my personal stuff from my locker, I turned to see Jane winging her way toward me with an expectant smile. She’d done something new to her hair, razoring the blunt edges of her bob to make it seem even more geometric. It didn’t bounce when she walked—it sliced, gleaming and dark and incredibly cool.

When Jane saw my face, worry tempered her smile.

“How’s grand romance, your majesty?” she asked.

“Swoon-worthy,” I replied. Then, with a frown, I tossed more random stuff into my paper bag. “Did you have this much crap in your locker?”

Jane watched me haul out yet another thick stack of loose notebook paper. I tried to sort it, but after I flipped through, I realized it had to come home with me. Scraps of music mingled with class notes I never needed again.

Reaching past me, Jane pulled out a Styrofoam cup full of bent staples. “Um, no. I didn’t have this much crap in my locker. Dude, what
is
this?”

“Trash.” I took the cup and dumped it in the brown grocery bag at my feet. “They’re from helping Mrs. Adler grade her homework. Don’t even ask—it’s not worth the breath.”

With a shrug, Jane moved on. She peeled a photo-booth strip with pictures of the two of us off of my locker door and tucked it into her shirt. She thought she was funny, but she was giving that back. She wasn’t all that keen on taking pictures. Hauling her into the photo booth at homecoming was my victory, and those pictures were my spoils.

“All right, I’ve been thinking,” she said.

“Uh-oh.”

“This is our last summer in high school. Our last year together before we go off to college and get questionable tattoos and have even more questionable hook-ups—”

“Because what is college for?” I asked.

“Getting the nasty out of your system,” Jane filled in. “Anyway, I want us to do something together. You know, something that will last. Something we can be proud of, and look back on and . . .”

Amused, I closed my gutted locker’s door. “Oh em gee, is hardcore Jane Dubinsky getting all sentimental on me? Isn’t that my job?”

Jane picked up my trash bag, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to make a short film, and I want you to write the music for it.”

My teasing stopped instantly. Jane did a lot of short films, but usually, they were “experimental.” Like, twenty-second clips of the same plastic bag swirling in the wind. She stole the idea from an old Kevin Spacey movie, and I never really got the point.

Slinging an arm around her, I bumped against her and smiled when she bumped back. “So what’s it about? A lonely salt shaker that gets emptier every time somebody uses it?”

“Oh bite me,” she said. “As a matter of fact, Snarkaholic Rex, we’re making a movie about East River.
Our
version of it. The story of our home. That way, when I’m giving TED talks and you’re the musical guest on SNL, we can point at it and say,
This is where we came from
.”

Tears sprang up, an unexpected well of emotion. I stopped us dead in the middle of the hall and threw my arms around her.

Jane nudged me off fondly.

“You never did tell me how movie night went, by the way.”

“It was perfect.”

“So that’s that, right? Summer fling time?

Closing up a little, I shook my head. “No, it’s more than that.”

Jane made a little noise that sounded like judgment. But she was nice enough to keep it to herself, just this one time.

“Why would you think it’s just a fling?”

“How could you not?” Jane asked. She seemed genuinely baffled. “He’s leaving for college in the fall.”

She was absolutely right, of course. He was headed to St. Philip-Windsor College, an elite private school, about four hours away. As he described the campus, I had imagined him on the quad, shirtless and playing ultimate Frisbee.

I’d been failing to mention that immutable fact. We both had. After all, Will’s epiphany came packaged with the realization that we had lost years, and we only had months before we’d be separated again. I’m not sure how I’d so thoroughly convinced myself not to talk about it, though. Because once Jane said it, it felt frighteningly, loomingly clear. Will would be leaving—sooner rather than later.

“Sare?” Jane said. “You okay?”

I nodded, though I knew it was a lie. Will and I couldn’t keep pretending that we had all the time in the world.

Two months. Eight weeks. That wasn’t enough.

~

Propping my cell phone on my guitar case, I sat down in front of it. Carefully framing myself against the background, I settled in. Behind me, a massive bronze sculpture swirled toward the sky. It was a piece called
Two Lovers, At Play
and anybody who grew up in East River would recognize it.

It was the centerpiece of the Arts Garden near the museum. In elementary school, it was an annual field trip. We’d look at the latest exhibition inside, then eat our sack lunches in the garden.

Many a game of tag had been won in the shadow of
Two Lovers, At Play
. And in sixth grade, we all suddenly understood that
lovers
had a slightly naughty definition. After that, our game morphed into kiss tag, much to the teachers’ frustration.

So when I sent a cam request to Will, I wanted to make sure that he could see the statue clearly. Excitement raced through me. Clutching my guitar, I almost laughed in delighted relief when Will’s face suddenly appeared on the small screen.

“Tag,” I said. “You’re it.”

For a moment, he looked confused. Then, his pale gaze narrowed, and I could tell he was studying the scene behind me. He lit with realization. A wicked smile curved his lips, and suddenly he was moving.

“I see you there,” he said. Scenery wavered behind him as he walked through his house—his family room with built-in bookshelves, ceiling to floor, then his kitchen, all gleaming granite and stainless steel. “Thinking you won’t get caught.”

Strumming a teasing chord on my guitar, I leaned toward my phone. “I’m not going to get caught. I’m more clever than that.”

“We’ll see,” he said.

The lights went out on Will’s phone. For a second, I thought I had lost him. Then the sound of the garage door ground to life. Light blanked the screen, and then suddenly, the picture moved again. It wobbled, too blurred to make sense. I heard him open a door, and then the rev of an engine.

A sting of hot sweat touched the back of my neck. My plan had been easier to enact than I thought. He really was coming to find me.

The video flipped, and I found myself staring at the ceiling in his car. I could only see Will’s elbow from time to time. Sitting back, I started to play. Not my own songs, but music that he would recognize. First, the James Bond theme, in a Cali-surf style that made it sound urgent.

“Better hurry,” I teased. I wasn’t going anywhere, but he didn’t know that. “Your time is running out.”

“I’m halfway there, girlie girl.”

Laughing again, I replied with a few folksy bars of Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop.” The arrangement was all Ed Sheeran, and it made Will laugh like a loon.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “There’s a crowd gathering. I might have to run.”

Will’s distant voice replied. “Run as fast as you want. I’ll always catch you.”

Segueing into a standard blues riff, I played it through a couple of times. Then I started making up lyrics just to mock him. My heart pounded faster by the moment.

Will didn’t live that far from the museum. He was getting closer, but because all I could see was the ceiling in his car, I had no idea how close he actually was. It was like the thrill and adrenaline of being chased without running a single step.

My fingers skipped down the strings, a faster blues progression than I intended. “There’s a pretty boy on the road,” I sang, trying not to dissolve into laughter. “And he’s coming for me. Got his engine running, ’cause that boy is built for speed.”

Will was laughing, too. With an amused groan, he said, “Never do that again.”

Halfway through another verse about shifting my gears, hands grabbed me from behind.

My shriek was genuine, my fear a shock. It lasted a split second. Long enough for Will to tip me back against his knees and to lean over me. He plastered his hands over the guitar strings to silence it.

“You’re it,” he said triumphantly.

Jittery from the adrenaline rush, I reached up to twine my arms around his neck. “Not yet. You know the rules.”

He sank down behind me, then pulled me back against his chest. His lips tasted so sweet, an extra buzz in their caress. Letting my guitar slide from my lap, I turned in his arms. On my knees in front of him, I stroked my hands over his shoulders. His smooth, sculpted collarbone slipped beneath my thumbs. I felt him swallow, felt the streak of breath in his throat.

Right there in my hands, he was alive. I felt like a god, like all this belonged to me. Like he took those breaths just for me. A heady mix of desire and invincibility made me brave. He was mine, and I could do whatever I wanted. Take whatever I wanted, feel his skin on mine, if that’s what I wanted—and I did, desperately.

Shifting my weight, I pushed him back. I climbed the length of his body, straddling his hips and bending over him. My hair fell around our faces. It shielded us from the rest of the world. It made a dark, quiet place where we could escape, even in the middle of the Arts Garden. Tugging his lower lip with my teeth, I broke away suddenly.

“Wait a minute, how did you sneak up on me? You’re still in the car!”

Will grinned. Threading his fingers in my hair, he stroked and twirled until he was hopelessly tangled in it. “My
phone
is in the car.
I’m
here with you.”

Drunk on his smile, I sank down for another kiss. “Extra points for being clever.”

His hands swept up my back, and he pulled me down the rest of the way toward him. Lying on his chest, I felt the beat of his heart. I rose and fell with his breath, and there was no space between us at all.

All at once, I was aware of him. Of his body, its hard planes pressed against me. The denim and cotton that kept me from his skin frustrated me. Maybe Will wasn’t the one who was running fast—it must have been me. Because I wanted to push the shirt from his shoulders and touch his bare skin. Feel his skin against mine, follow my hands and find out where they would take me.

Reading my mind, Will caught my wrists and held them tight. “We have to stop doing this in public.”

A flash of need struck me silent. Now he was deity, claiming me and keeping me. My fingers flickered in response; my body arched closer to his. If we were alone, someplace quiet and private, I could have him—all of him. He could have me.

Only one thing held me back from agreeing with him out loud. Jane and Grace had gotten into my head. I didn’t know how far I could go with Will if this was just a fling. Avoidance only worked for so long. I couldn’t keep lying to myself, seeing only the perfect and ignoring the flaws. He was leaving, and I didn’t know if he planned to look back for me. That hurt, and right then, I didn’t want to hurt.

Straining against his hands, I fought for a lush kiss, and won it. Slicking past his silken lips, I let myself forget again. We
were
in public, kissing in the shadow of
Two Lovers, At Play
, I could give myself up to it. There was only so far things would go here, in the Arts Garden. We still had plenty of time to talk.

Secure in that realization, I murmured Will’s name and melted into bliss.

T
o get started on the film, Jane declared that we needed to get creativity fuel. By that, she meant boxes of oatmeal cream pies, bags of Pirate’s Booty, and Red Pop. Possibly the most disgusting combination in the universe, but it was tradition, and it worked for us.

She pushed our tiny cart down the snack aisle of the Red Stripe. It was a weird little grocery smack in the middle of our neighborhood. An old brick building among the vinyl siding, it had been there long before our houses were built.

Based on the desiccated shape of the apparently immortal owner, I suspected it would be there long after our houses were gone, too. It was the Market of the Damned, but Doritos were always two for one, so who could stay away?

Certainly not Jane and me. We’d gone from one snack to a growing mountain of them. With grabby hands, Jane threw in two more bags and smiled at me. “Noms.”

Incredulous, I said, “I’m going to go get the Red Pop. And nothing else. Try to control yourself.”

Glazing over, Jane pushed the cart on down the aisle. In a zombie monotone, she announced, “Need . . . Ring . . . Dings . . .”

With a mountain of processed garbage already quivering in the cart, the last thing she needed was Ring Dings. But I knew better than to get in her way. Jane was going to do what she wanted. No input needed, no advice regarded. And when she was sick as a dog at three in the morning, she’d be gracious enough to let me say I told you so.

I checked my phone as I headed toward beverages. I was so caught up in scanning my Instagram feed that I didn’t realize the drinks aisle was populated. With popular people. Specifically, with Tricia and her best friend, Nedda.

By the time I raised my head and realized who was there, it was too late to bolt.

“Oh, hey, Sarah,” Nedda said suddenly. Her voice was sticky and thick, too sweet for the situation for sure. “Doing a little light shopping?”

Guilty, I couldn’t quite meet either of them eye to eye. They’d come to our gig. Invited us to party with them. Gotten Dasa the prom gig. Basically, Tricia Patten was the nicest girl in the entire freaking universe, and now I felt six feet lower than the dirt at her feet.

“Just getting some soda.”

“Oh,” Nedda said. “I thought you might be shopping for somebody else’s boyfriend.”

Everyone knew. Of course they knew. I wanted to slap Nedda for bringing it up, but the fact was, I’d been a jerk.

I’d been a sneaky, underhanded jerk to Tricia of all people, who had never been anything but nice to me, all through high school.

“Knock it off, Nedda,” Tricia said, proving my point ably.

Surprised, Nedda looked from Tricia to me, then back again. Snatching up her purse, she said, “I need Funyuns,” then stalked off.

My heart lurched into a random pattern, the confrontation over before it started. Or was it? Adrenaline raced through me, and it felt like I should say something. But what? Watching until Nedda disappeared, I finally turned to Tricia and took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology.”

“Okay . . .” she said. She sounded more curious than anything else.

“I’m sorry for the way things started with Will.” My throat tried to close, but I kept forcing words through it. My awful inner self still wanted to deflect. To explain and blame, to tell her I didn’t know they were still dating. To
lie
,
if it would only make this easier. None of that mattered, though. I had done plenty of wrong, and I had to face my part in it. “I never intended to hurt you,” I stammered. “But of course I understand that intentions don’t count.”

“Huh.”

I’m not sure what I expected. It would have made sense if Tricia had taken the opportunity to lay into me. Or to press a needling finger right into my guilt. If she’d screamed, or raged, or moved to hit me. Instead, she lifted a four-pack of artisan root beer off the shelf and put it in her cart.

“Will and I had been friends for a long time,” she said, her voice quivering slightly. She didn’t sound angry, so much as wounded. “When I first asked him out, he told me that he loved me. As a friend. And if I wanted to add benefits to that, he’d be crazy to say no. But I was the crazy one—to think I was the last girl he’d be with.”

An ache spread in my chest. I wanted to hug her. Comfort her. Instead, I kept my hands to myself and murmured, “I’m so sorry.”

Tricia shook her head. “I was stupid. You can overlook a lot when your friends are the ones behaving badly. Before I asked him out, I thought it was kind of . . . funny, I guess. That girls just couldn’t say no to him. That he went from one conquest, to the next, to the next. That everybody fell for him and got their piece and it was all good.”

Internally, I winced. But it wasn’t news to me that Will had more experience than I did. It was practically chiseled into the school trophy case. Most Conquests in a Single Season: Will Spencer.

My throat closed up, but I took a step closer. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“Look, I blame him,” Tricia said. Then her expression hardened. “But you should be careful. I thought I was different. You probably think you’re different, too. Will Spencer was one of my best friends, and he still cheated on me. He’s never going to change, Sarah.”

Like a shard of glass, that buried itself deep. It was unreachable, and agonizing. I
was
different. The both of us felt it. We both said it. Right?

I closed on myself a little, building a shield out of crossed arms. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. You’ve been incredibly good to me, and I should have been kinder to you.”

Tricia’s expressive face said so much. She was quiet, thoughtful. And deeply, deeply hurt.

“Personally,” she said, summoning a forced smile, “I think he just hates to be alone. One girl’s never going to be enough to fill him up. Not me, and not you.”

I didn’t know what to say. Did I agree? I didn’t know. But I knew I wasn’t about to argue with her. Tricia touched my shoulder gently. If she noticed my flinch, she didn’t acknowledge it. But she did meet my eyes. In her delicate voice, she said, “Good luck.”

It wasn’t cruel. It was simply matter-of-fact. She said it and walked on, cloaked in thoughtful dignity. And I think that’s why it bothered me so much. She could have been vicious and hateful—and I would have deserved it. But she had known Will incredibly well. It scared me that she offered me a warning. She must have really thought I needed it.

And while I stood there wondering what to believe, my phone chimed. Will had good timing—or maybe bad. I wasn’t quite sure.

so u know, ur busy all night tomorrow night w me.

My pulse quickened. Curling around my phone, my fingers danced across the screen. He really was like a drug. Tricia’s words still echoed in my ears, but I couldn’t wait to see him. I didn’t know what he had planned, but I actually ached to find out.

Where are we going?
I asked.

It’s a surprise
, he said.
Trust me.