I’ll Meet You There (7 page)

“I won’t say no.” She threw an arm around me. “Um, Chris needs a dance partner
pronto
. You know I can’t salsa for shit.”

I was pretty sure Chris didn’t care about that, but I needed an excuse to get on the
floor. “You don’t need to tell me twice,” I said.

I took another sip of my Coke, and Josh took it out of my hand. “Get out of here,”
he said.

It was like we were together, but not. So weird. Out of the corner of my eye, I could
tell Dylan was already psychoanalyzing us. I turned on my heel and booked it to the
dance floor. I could feel eyes on me, but I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to know
whose they were.

I saw Chris’s curly head in the middle of the floor, a few inches above everyone else.
I danced my way to the center, spinning out of the random hands that reached for me.
I loved to dance, but I never danced with strangers—the last time I tried that, some
dude tried to grab my boob.

“Sky!” Chris’s hair was damp with sweat, and he took my hand and started twirling
me around before I had a chance to say anything. We swayed our hips in perfect rhythm,
our days of boredom in his backyard paying off in our snazzy salsa performance.

For a while, I just let the music have its way with me. The beats soaked into my skin
and filled me up. I tilted my head back and laughed into the rainbow-colored lights,
my body slick with sweat. A couple of girls threw me envious glances as Chris pulled
me closer. This was an oft-discussed phenomenon among Chris, Dylan, and me, because
girls never gave Chris a second glance until he was on the floor at Leo’s.

“Don’t look now, but you are seriously ruining your chances of getting laid tonight,”
I told him. If only they knew how
not
sexy Chris was to me. Or noticed how often his eyes shifted to where Dylan stood
by the bar.

“Hey, I’m not the one who walked in with Josh Mitchell,” he said. “That’s like wearing
a T-shirt that says
DON’T
TOUCH
ME
UNLESS
YOU
WANT
YOUR
ASS
KICKED
.”

I swatted at his arm. “Not you too! He’s a Mitchell.
Hello?
I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I know. I’m just giving you a hard time. It’s cool that you brought him out. I mean,
he’s a total douchebag, but it sucks to be him right now.”

Did I ask Josh out of pity? I wasn’t so sure. You don’t pity someone that your fingers
itch to touch.

“He’s not a douchebag,” I said.

Chris leaned in close so I could hear him over the music. “He called me a faggot.
That officially classifies him as a douchebag.”

“Well, okay, that wasn’t cool. Douchebaggery was involved there.”

“And I’m still pissed at him about my dad’s truck.”

Once, Josh was so drunk he crashed into Mr. Garcia’s parked truck, then left a note
that said
Oops
.

“Chris, that happened, like, three years ago.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Carlos switched up the music, and Chris and I both shouted as one of our favorite
Ozomatli songs came on, the momentary seriousness of our conversation forgotten. The
floor was packed, and the energy was crazy hot, everyone getting lost in the music.

“Hey, wanna see how low we can go?” Chris yelled.

I nodded and followed his lead, twisting my body lower and lower as I held on to his
waist for support. Our knees were almost to the ground, my dress hiked up in a seriously
indecent way, but I didn’t care because I was having fun for the first time since
I graduated.

“Up, up!” I gasped, my thighs burning.

We managed to stand again, laughing at the expressions on his cousins’ faces.

“Oh, man, I’m gonna hear about that for the next few days,” Chris said.

His family was convinced we were madly in love, even though we’d told them over and
over that it was so not happening. It wasn’t just the Dylan thing. We’d made out once—in
seventh grade—but it had felt too incestuous, so after five minutes of sweating all
over each other, we gave up. You either feel it or you don’t, and we just didn’t,
much to his mother’s disappointment.

“Those moves are gonna kill in Boston,” I said.

“Don’t I know it. I’m gonna get me a hot little math major, just you wait.”

“As long as you don’t use any of your math pickup lines on her.”

“I’m totally using my math pickup lines. Works every time.”

“On who?”

“A gentleman never tells.” He got close to me and did his best impression of this
telenovela star that his mother loves. “
Hola, señorita
. I just want you to know that I’ve been watching you all night, and I can tell that
you’re as sweet as 3.14.”

“Oh my God!” I pushed him away, cracking up. “That is the
worst.
”

He pumped a fist in the air. “Yes! My Latino charm strikes again!”

“Sweet as pi?
Ugh.
”

“You laughed,” he said, pointing at me. “You know what all my female cousins say?
They want a man who can make them laugh.”

“A man they can laugh
with,
not
at.
”

“My mathematical suaveness is irresistible, and you know it.”

He grabbed my hand and proceeded to drag me around in a tango. For the next few songs,
it was just Chris and me being our usual goofy selves. Chris sang along in his terrible,
warbly voice and my crappy week evaporated. When I was out there dancing, it was like
anything was possible. The thought that we wouldn’t be doing this come September threatened
to crush me; Chris was my
other
, my kindred spirit, and he was moving thousands of miles away. I pushed the thought
back to where I’d put my worries about going to school and taking care of my mom.
I just wanted to dance it all away.

I only looked over at the bar once, but Josh was still talking to that girl. As if
he sensed me, his eyes found mine, and I gave him a quick wave and then looked away,
my face burning. Dylan and Jesse joined Chris and me, and the four of us busted out
our best moves, Dylan hanging on me like she does when she’s had a few.

My heart was hurting from all this love for her and Chris, and I pressed my lips against
her cheek and held tight to Chris’s hand, just to let some of it seep out so I didn’t
drown in it.

Dylan grinned. “I know someone who might want in on some of that lip action,” she
said, with a nod in Josh’s direction.

“
So
not interested.” I pulled away from her and reached up to throw my hair into a ponytail.
“I’m saving myself for Art Boy.”

After I got into SFU, we created the perfect boyfriend for me. I’d meet Art Boy in
the Intro to Russian Art class I was taking, and he’d be from some fancy East Coast
family, and he’d draw portraits of me like Leo did of Kate, except we wouldn’t be
on the
Titanic
, and I’d keep (most of) my clothes on.

Dylan stared me down with her psychoanalyzing X-ray vision. “Art Boy isn’t here, and
yet you look extra hot tonight.” She glanced at Josh, then back at me. “Are you
sure
this isn’t a date?”

I was wearing my slightly faded black sundress that went to my knees and a pair of
dirty All Stars. “Dyl, I hardly think this qualifies as sexy.” I gestured to her dress,
a skintight number verging on lingerie status. “But I see you thought this was a pajama
party.”

“Hilarious,” she said.

She pinched my ass, and I yelped, slapping at her. “Stop it!”

Jesse pulled her in for the slow dance, and for a second, Chris and I stood there
awkwardly. I could feel his good mood seep out, like one of those shiny balloons that
start to sag as they lose air.

He leaned in. “Dude, I need a drink. And maybe some taquitos. Wanna take a break?”

I nodded and followed Chris as he pushed his way through the writhing, sweating bodies
around us.

“Remember,” I said, “there’s a hot little math major in your future.”

Chris wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Yeah, yeah.”

I patted his arm, but there was nothing more I could say. Dylan and Jesse had a kid
together and were crazy in love. It was just never gonna happen.

When we got to the bar, Josh was still there, now trading high school football stories
with one of the guys he’d graduated with. Their voices were loud, the conversation
peppered with
fuckin’-A
’s and other choice phrases from the locker-room phrasebook.

“Hey,” he said, when we came up. The other guy turned back to his date, a non–Creek
View girl I’d never seen before.

“Hey, yourself,” I said.

He handed me my Coke, his eyes glassy from however many beers he’d managed to down,
and I took a long sip while Chris ordered a beer for himself from the bar. Chris was
so obviously not twenty-one—he had one of those baby faces that ensured he’d be carded
until he was forty—but the bartender was a distant cousin or something, so Chris always
got whatever he wanted. Josh was only nineteen, but he was just one of those people
you didn’t say no to.

“You guys come here a lot?” Josh asked, his eyes taking me in with one quick glance.
I was keenly aware of the sheen of sweat that coated my skin and made my dress cling
to me.

“Yeah,” I said. “Like, twice a month?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t think you were into, you know, going out or whatever.”

“Just because I don’t hang around Creek View parties doesn’t mean I don’t go out,
Josh.” True, other than Leo’s, “going out” for me usually meant seeing a movie in
Bakersfield with Dylan and Chris or going for a post-midnight dinner at the Denny’s
an hour up the highway.

He shook his head. “
Skylar
.” He said my name in a singsong way. “Don’t get upset. I was just…” He put a fist
up to his lips to block a silent burp. “Joking around.”

Yep, he’d definitely gotten through a few beers.

I wanted to be angry with him, or grossed out by his sober-to-drunk ratio, but it
was hard. Maybe he’d wanted to get out of Creek View just as badly as I had and then
he’d gotten out and some asshole in Afghanistan had sent him back. If I were him,
I’d be drunk too.

Another slow song came on, and I set my drink down and held out my hand. “I didn’t
invite you so you could be an ass. Come on.”

Josh’s eyes widened. “No way.”

“Yes way. Or do you want to wait until something really fast comes on?”

He frowned and, when he could tell I wasn’t taking no for an answer, stood up, setting
his empty beer bottle on the bar with a long sigh. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

I rolled my eyes and tried not to shiver when he put his hand into mine. What the
hell was I doing?

Chris was still talking to his bartender cousin, but his eyes followed me as I walked
onto the floor with Josh. I gave him a look like,
What?
and he responded by swirling his index finger next to his temple in the international
sign for
loco
.

“Let’s go in the middle,” I said, pulling Josh after me. “It’s better there.”

In the crush of bodies, you could dive into the music and forget yourself. I felt
like Josh and I both needed that right then. I expected it to be awkward, like we’d
have to come up with a game plan for dancing with prosthetics, but he just pulled
me against him, one arm slipping around my waist while the other rested between my
shoulder blades, his hand on the base of my neck. I reached up and draped my arms
over his shoulders, and he looked down at me as we swayed in a little circle. Part
of me was terrified of stepping on his fake foot or something, but it was fine. More
than fine.

“This song sucks,” he said. The lights painted his skin blue and pink.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t speak Spanish.”

“No, I’m saying that because it sounds like some Mexican cowboy lost his dog and is
drowning his sorrows in a bottle of Cuervo.”

“Oh my God, you are so annoying.”

“C’mon, you have to admit this shit’s cheesy as hell.”

“What, do you prefer to slow dance to Metallica?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Remind me never to ask you to dance again.”

“Mission accomplished.”

But he pulled me closer so that my cheek naturally rested against his chest, and I
let him do it because there is nothing more, I don’t know,
naked
than dancing with someone while looking into their eyes. Josh’s heart was beating
out a quick rhythm, and I wondered how much of his casual bravado was for show. Had
it always been that way, even before his accident?

When the song ended, I pulled away, twirling out of his arms. I couldn’t breathe so
well, and my bones felt like Silly Putty, like you could twist me into all kinds of
crazy shapes and it wouldn’t even hurt.

We stood there in the middle of the dance floor, staring at each other, my hand still
in his. His blue eyes were shining and clear, all that glassiness gone, and a slow
smile spread across his face.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asked. “Go swimming?”

My mouth opened; I didn’t think. “Yes.”

This time he didn’t let go of my hand. We slipped out of Leo’s, leaving the loud music
and laughter behind.

chapter five

Josh took me to the Paradise pool (or, rather, I took him, since he wasn’t totally
sober yet), which was perfectly clean after his afternoon with it. It shone like a
new toy, and I grinned.

“Look at you,” he said, shaking his head. “You really got a thing for pools.”

“They’re my first love.” Pools didn’t get you pregnant, and they didn’t die on you.
Who needed anything more?

The moon was crazy full that night, its milky light spilling across the surface of
the water. The motel was quiet, just a few lights peeking out of closed curtains.
Amy was at the desk behind the glass door, her headphones on. She had no idea we were
there.