Meant to Be (30 page)

“I’m sure you’d find something to do,” I reply. I have to work to keep my voice even. I don’t want to betray the excitement that’s bubbling in my stomach.
He’s glad he met up with me!
My feet are tingly. I feel like at any moment they might break into some kind of Broadway-esque tap number, high kicks and all.

“Sure,” he replies. As we walk, our arms swing slightly, and his hand bumps mine and he grabs it. “But this is way more fun.”

I grin like an idiot, and to hide it, I stare at my shoes, then glance out over the park. We wander along the path, holding hands, and my heart feels like it is exploding with happiness.

Holdinghandsholdinghandsholdinghandsohmygodwe’reHOLDING HANDS.

Ahead of us, Jason continues to make a complete and utter idiot of himself. He jumps over benches, cartwheels through the grass, and jumps to swat at low-hanging tree branches. He’s careering down the path like a battleship. Every once in a while a pedestrian has to leap out of his way to avoid being flattened by the S.S.
Inconsideration
. It feels like Mark and I are in charge of a hyperactive eight-year-old.

The path opens up, revealing a large pond on our right (thank God, goose-free). The scenery again draws memories of home, of walking along the Charles River on the Esplanade with my parents, petting passing dogs and feeding ducks. (Ducks are little and cute. Geese are huge and evil. Major difference.) Ahead of us, Jason stops and surveys the scene.

“Like home, huh?” he calls back. He does a double take when he sees Mark and me holding hands; he is in such shock that his freckles seem ready to leap off his face. For some reason, I feel incredibly guilty.

My immediate reaction is to wrench my hand away from Mark’s and grab my guidebook, anxiously flipping through the pages until I find our location. “It’s called the Serpentine,” I say as I read the tiny black text. A small black-and-white picture accompanies the blurb, and I study it closely, hoping that neither boy can tell how uncomfortable I feel.

“That’s a pretty incredible name,” Mark says, stepping to the water’s edge. “Does your book say where it comes from? Is it full of snakes?”

“Damn right!” Jason exclaims. He climbs on top of a bench, balancing perilously on the back, then flings out his arms, beats his chest, and shouts, “Behold the Serpentine!” His voice booms and echoes across the water. I take a few steps away from him. An older couple is passing us, and I shoot them an apologetic smile, which I hope communicates something along the lines of
How terrible to see madness in someone so young; I’m sure his keeper will bring him back to the asylum soon
.

“Um, my book doesn’t say where the name came from, though it does mention that while people tend to call the entire body of water the Serpentine, it actually only refers to the eastern portion of the lake.”

“Fascinating, Book Licker,” Jason says. He leaps from the bench, landing hard right in front of me. “Just fascinating. But I have an idea. Why don’t you take your nose out of your book and actually
look
at the damn thing.”

Mark laughs, and I slam the book shut. I don’t want Mark to think I’m a
total
nerd, and I
don’t
like Jason making him laugh at me. I wrestle with my messenger bag to get the book back in its proper spot among my pencil case, wallet, phone, and copy of
Pride and Prejudice
, but the bag is putting up a fight. I walk over to a nearby bench and sling it down on the seat, where I’m finally able to make it all fit in its proper alignment again.

“That’s more like it,” Jason says, his wide grin more of a taunt than
an encouragement. He takes off, leaping over benches and cartwheeling along the grass.

“Jason, would you knock it off?” I say through gritted teeth. “I really don’t want to drag you to the hospital when you break your arm.”

“Oh, come on,
Jules
,” he says, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Lighten up. Have some fun!” He turns to Mark conspiratorially and stage-whispers behind his hand, “Our girl is quite the planner. Seriously. You should ask her about her plans. Her long-term plans. She’s
definitely
got some.”

“Yeah?” Mark looks slightly puzzled. I start to fear Mark will connect Jason’s lunacy with me, so I roll my eyes expressively to show that I have
no
idea what Jason is talking about.

“Definitely.” Jason raises his arms over his head to execute another cartwheel. He gives me a wink, then flings his body headfirst at the ground. When he wheels over and pops back up on his feet, I can see right away that he has way too much momentum. He starts to fall backward but gets his feet moving into this crazy backward run to avoid falling on his butt, his arms swinging like an out-of-control windmill. I try to step out of the way, but before I know it, we end up in an insane bear hug and he’s carrying me off my feet … straight into the pond.

I try to scream, but quickly shut my mouth as we go tumbling under the surface. Cold scummy water floods my nostrils and soaks into every bit of my clothing. I pop back up to my feet. Jason is laughing hard already and sputtering pond water, struggling to stand in the muddy depths.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” I scream, shoving Jason hard back into the pond.

“I thought you liked to swim,” he says. He fakes a backstroke as he lies in the water.

“You. Are. Unbelievable,” I choke out.

“C’mon, Jules.” There’s a leaf draped over his forehead, and he’s struggling not to laugh. “It was an accident.”

I’m so miserable and wet and pissed that I can’t even speak. I can’t believe this is the
second
time today that Mark has seen me completely drenched. I don’t even want to think about the crazy things my hair is doing. I want nothing more than to drown Jason right here in the pond. Or at least give him a good kick in the teeth. I try stomping angrily out of the pond, but my jeans and sneakers are so heavy with water that I can barely lift my legs. The sleeves of my soaked sweater are now hanging well below my hands, and its hem is sagging close to my knees.

I make it about four steps before stepping on the elongated hem of my soaking-wet jeans and pitching forward face-first back into the water. As I struggle to stand up, I can hear Jason laughing behind me.

I can’t believe I was ever confused about his place in my life. The only feeling I will EVER have for Jason Lippincott is complete and utter hatred.

Mark is standing at the edge of the pond, holding my bag. Unlike Jason, he’s not laughing. He looks concerned.

“Jesus. What’s your problem?” he calls out to Jason. Then, to me: “You must be freezing, Julia.”

I trudge (carefully) through the water a few paces before Mark reaches out and offers his hand. I take it, and when I’m back onshore, I reach up and wring out my hair.

“Here, put this on,” he says, pulling off his forest-green fleece and holding it out to me. I pull off my own sweater and throw the fleece on over my still-wet T-shirt. It’s not a cold day, but there’s a cool breeze, and walking back to the hotel in sopping-wet clothes would probably lead to the flu.

I think suddenly of my mom on the side of the road, her ankle swelling, when my dad pulled his car up to her. This is it. Mark is saving me. The thought warms me up as much as Mark’s jacket.

Behind me, Jason fakes a swan dive into the pond and calls out, “Come on, Julia! Don’t you want to stay in?”

The softness of Mark’s fleece, still warm from his body, and the woodsy smell that permeates it serve to block out the anger. I pull my hands into the sleeves, tug the collar up around my cheeks, and take deep, soothing breaths.

“Better?” he asks. I nod. “Look, why don’t we head back to the hotel so you can get warm and dry? I’ll call my dad and tell him to meet me a little later.”

“Okay,” I reply. “If you’re sure you don’t mind …”

“I definitely don’t mind.” Mark puts his arm around me, pulling me close to him and rubbing my back for warmth.

“Hey, where are you going?” Jason calls out. He’s still sloshing his way out of the water.

Mark swivels around. “It’s none of your business.” I lean into Mark. At this point, I don’t care if I get in trouble for ditching my buddy. I don’t care if I get booted off the trip, as long as I don’t have to spend a single added second with Jason right now.

It’s not until we’re back on the block of the hotel that I remember I was supposed to set up a meeting with Chris. I stop short, a pinch of panic in my chest.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks, and once again his concern serves to release any tension I feel.

“Yeah, just fine,” I reply. “I just forgot to do something, but it’s, uh, no big deal.”

Back in the hotel, I start for the elevator but am stopped short by a snooty little throat-clearing. I look up to see Sarah, giving me the up-and-down with her eyes. I can’t even imagine what she must think, me soaking wet and fully clothed, dripping all over the plush crimson rug. She practically does a spit-take, though, when her eyes land on Mark.
She nudges Evie, next to her, and doesn’t even try to hide that she’s pointing at me, even though I’m looking right at her.

“Hey, so is it cool if I leave you here? I want to grab a bite to eat,” Mark says, tilting his head toward the bar, where Evie and Sarah are still staring.

“No, that’s fine,” I reply. “I could come with you, if you want.”

“No, you should go change,” Mark says, taking a few steps backward. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” I say, trying not to betray that my excitement about the afternoon is melting into my sneakers. “Well, at least let me give you your fleece back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mark says. “I’ll get it from you later.”

And just like that, I feel like someone is playing a bass drum in my chest.
Later? He wants to see me later!

“Yeah! Later!” I call, but Mark is already heading into the bar, where Evie is giving him one of those cheerleader grins and Sarah is waving him over. Gag. I hop onto the elevator and pull the neck of the fleece up around my face, breathing in the woodsy smell of him. He spent his day with
me
. He saved
me
.

Back in my room, I dig out my phone, once again giving the universe a giant thank-you for my bag’s not going into the pond with me. I flip it open and dash off a quick text to Chris, apologizing for standing him up. Only when I get to the excuse part, I realize I can’t tell him I was touring London with my nemesis and my MTB. But as my thoughts linger on Mark and his arrival in London for fashion week, I come up with the perfect excuse.

Can’t tonight!
Photo shoot running long.
Another time? —J

Sounds like your life is spicy indeed. Luckily I like things hot … If things settle, let’s try again —C

I
scrunch my toes into the end of my sneaker and give my foot a shake. There’s a teeny, tiny rock in my shoe that’s been wedged underneath my toes all morning. Every fourth or fifth step, I think it’s finally shaken free, and then it’s back again, poking into the bottom of my foot. As I shake my foot, I feel the pebble start to move a little, so I shake harder. The morning is cool and breezy, and I pull my purple Windbreaker tighter around me.

We’ve been walking all morning, first touring the London Pavilion and the Criterion Theatre. I’m still not speaking to Jason, and every time he comes within a ten-foot radius of me, I maneuver myself around my classmates to avoid him. Mrs. Tennison finally released us to explore the rest of Piccadilly Circus (which for my classmates means shopping). All I can think about is how much I can’t stand Jason.

Well, that and Mark. I haven’t stopping thinking of Mark since he left me in the lobby last night. I dreamt about him all night, thought of him the moment I woke up, imagined him as I brushed my teeth and
washed my face, and even took him into account as I picked out my outfit. That’s why I’m wearing my purple North Face Windbreaker. Mark has one just like it, only in forest green. He wears it almost every day, except for on rainy days, when he wears his Patagonia rain jacket. When it’s cold, he wears his green fleece underneath, but not today, since it’s folded neatly on my pillow back at the hotel.

Uh-oh. I’m definitely
worse
than Susan. I sound like a psycho stalker.

I look around for a place to sit, but there are people
everywhere
. I start elbowing my way through the thick crowd. Everyone is facing the same direction. I start to wonder what they’re all looking at. I’m way too short to see over the crowd. I hear some muffled shouting, and every few seconds the whole group explodes in a thunderclap of laughter.

“ ’Scuse me,” I say, wedging my shoulder between two little old ladies, their ball caps adorned with giant silk peonies. I squeeze past them but accidentally elbow the one in blue polyester pants. She begins cursing at me in what sounds like German.

Looking at the ground, I can see some free pavement through the legs of the line of men in front of me. That might be my spot. I squat low and push through, but my messenger bag catches on a pleather fanny pack, and I stumble forward into the open pavement. My bag, snapped free of the fanny pack, shoots forward and beans me, knocking my sunglasses down over my face.