One Moment in Time (21 page)

THAT NIGHT, I HAVE A HARD TIME FALLING ASLEEP.

I keep thinking about Abram.

How it felt kissing him.

How he moved slowly on top of me, looking into my eyes, brushing my hair back from my face.

How he held my hand while we walked over the tricky part of the wall toward the cove.

How even though he's lived here his whole life, he made everything seem new and interesting.

How hurt he looked when he realized I'd stood him up.

How upset he seemed when I came to his house to tell him I was sorry.

How I felt when he sent me on my way.

How it feels to know that I'm leaving soon, and I'll never get another chance to talk to him. I don't even have his phone number. And even if I did, he made it perfectly clear
that he doesn't want to see me again.

I finally fall into a fitful sleep, and when I wake up the next morning, I'm in a really bad mood. I end up taking it out on Lyla and Aven. I know it's not fair, but even so, I can't stop myself. I accuse them of taking my hair straightener, which is ridiculous, since I know they didn't, and even if they had, I wouldn't have cared.

I head down to the lobby early, just wanting to get this whole trip done and over with.

Celia and Paige are already down there, looking relaxed and fresh in matching strapless chevron maxi-dresses. They both have two tiny braids woven into their hair with colorful beads on the end.

“There you are!” Celia says, like I'm the one who ditched them yesterday and not the other way around. “We've been looking for you.”

“Really?” I ask, still grumpy. “Because you didn't text me or anything.”

Paige sighs. “Are you mad about yesterday?” She turns to Celia. “See? I told you she'd be mad about yesterday.”

“You are?” Celia asks, taking a delicate sip of the iced coffee she's holding. “You're mad we went on a scuba trip?”

“No,” I lie. “Where'd you guys get the beads?”

“Oh, the boat stopped at the other side of the key, you know, so people could get out and walk around. It was like a mini cruise or something! There was a little stand selling
these dresses for ten dollars! And you could get your hair done for ten more!” Celia does a twirl, showing off, not caring that maybe I'm not going to be so psyched that the two of them are wearing matching dresses and matching hair beads and apparently had a fun day while I was having a complete breakdown.

“How was your interview?” Paige asks me, as she plays on her phone.

“Great,” I lie. “Thanks for asking.”

By the time we board the buses for the airport, I feel like strangling both of them. I know they're not really doing anything wrong—it's just the mood I'm in.

When we get to the airport, I order a coffee and dump four sugars into it, hoping the jolt of caffeine and sugar will help me feel better. I sit in the boarding area with Celia and Paige, wondering what's going to happen when I get home, what it's going to be like to have to admit to my mom that I don't want to go to Stanford anymore, that I don't know
what
I want, exactly.

My stomach churns the whole flight, but by the time I board the bus that's going to take us back to school, I'm actually feeling very Zen about the whole thing. Is my not going to Stanford the worst thing that could happen? My mom will get over it. Right?

As we pull into the traffic circle in front of school, I wonder for a second if maybe she's not going to be there to pick
me up, even though I reminded her about a million times that I was going to need a ride home. (We weren't allowed to drive ourselves—we needed a parent or guardian to pick us up, because we couldn't leave our cars parked at the school for so long.)

As Mr. Beals and a couple of the boys from our class start unloading our suitcases and lining them up on the pavement, I run my eyes over the crowd of cars for my mom's navy-blue Lexus.

I finally spot it, but I'm not close enough to see her face through the windows, to get a read on what kind of mood she's in.

I grab my suitcase and turn around to head for the traffic circle.

And that's when I come face-to-face with the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen.

“Hi,” Abram says, giving me that smile, the same one he gave me on the beach the very first day I met him, the same one he gave me at the cove while we were eating breakfast, the same one he gave me when he announced he'd invented a fold-up boat.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt. My heart is beating fast and my face feels flushed, and I don't know what he's doing here, but I'm glad he's here and I can't believe it.

“I came to see you,” he says, like it's totally normal for him to be here instead of in Florida. “I mean, I . . . I went to
your hotel, and you weren't there, so I got on the very next flight to Connecticut, and I just . . . I found your Facebook page, and then I found out what school you went to, and I . . . I don't know, I came here.” He looks sheepish, like he realizes this plan is crazy, even for him.

“But
why
?” I ask.

“I missed you.” He says it so simply and honestly that I melt.

“I missed you, too.”

He looks around. “Is there a place we can go to talk?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, there is.”

He nods. “I can bring you home after.” He holds up a set of car keys. “I have a rental.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to stay calm. Butterflies swarm my stomach and goose bumps break out on my arms. Abram is here. He followed me all the way to Connecticut! He came here just to see me! “Just give me one second.”

The cars in the circle are moving at a leisurely pace toward the pickup area, and I make my way through the line and over to my mom's Lexus.

I knock on the window.

She rolls it down.

I can tell as soon as I see her face that it's not good.

Her mouth is set in a tight line. “Get in,” she says.

I shake my head. “No.”

“No?” She sounds as shocked as I feel.

“I'm not . . . I have a ride home.”

“You have a ride home? With who? Celia?”

“No. With Abram.”

“Abram? Who the hell is Abram?” She shakes her head and doesn't wait for an answer. “It doesn't matter. Quinn, get in the car. We'll talk about this at home.”

“No, Mom.” I take a deep breath. “Yes, I want to talk about this. But I'm not going home with you. And I'm not going to Stanford.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but I cut her off.

“Even if Dad can somehow figure out how to get me in, I'm not going. I don't want to.” As I'm saying the words, I realize just how true they are. I don't want to go to Stanford if I have to bribe my way in. All I'd be thinking about while I was there was how I didn't deserve it, how I'd only gotten in because of my dad.

It's weird, but for those hours where I thought I'd been rejected and there was nothing I could do about it, I'd had some of the happiest times of my life. Yes, some of that had to do with Abram. But some of it had to do with me, and with finally doing what I'd actually wanted to, and not what I'd always
thought
I'd wanted.

And yes, part of me still felt sad when I realized I wouldn't be living in Palo Alto next year—but I wasn't sure if that was just my brain creating emotions based on habits instead of what I really wanted. I wasn't exactly
sure
what I really
wanted—but I needed to start making new connections and figuring it out. Maybe it was Yale. Maybe it was Georgetown. Maybe it was the University of Miami, or maybe it wasn't college at all.

“Quinn, you're being ridiculous,” my mom says. “Please, get in the car.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Mom, I love you. And I do want to talk about this more. But not right now. Right now I have something to take care of.”

And before she can say anything else, before she can convince me not to do it, I run back across the traffic circle to where Abram is waiting.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his eyes flicking over to where my mom's car is now stuck, waiting behind a white Toyota Highlander.

“Yes,” I say, as a feeling of calm and peace washes over me. “Everything's perfect.”

Abram's rental car is nice—a black Chrysler 300 with leather seats.

“So where to?” he asks as we buckle our seat belts.

I'm about to direct him to a café nearby, so we can grab a coffee and talk, but then I stop. “No,” I say, shaking my head.

“No?”

“No.”

He looks confused. “No what?”

“No, I don't want to go anywhere with you.”

“Oh.” He swallows. “Okay. I know it's a little weird, me just showing up here like this. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” I see the disappointment on his face, and I realize he thinks I mean I don't want to see him at all, that I'm not glad he came. Which is so far from the truth I almost laugh.

“No, I mean, I don't want to go to a coffee shop or to get something to eat. I want to talk first. Right here, before we go anywhere.”

“Oh.” Abram breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Why did you come here?”

He reaches over and fiddles with the heater. “Because I wanted to see you.”

“But you basically told me yesterday you didn't want anything to do with me.”

He tilts his head and looks at me, then avoids the question. “Are you freaked out that I'm here?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I'm happy you came.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

He reaches down and unbuckles his seat belt, then turns so he's facing me. “Look, I know it's a weird situation, I know it's . . . yeah, I know it's crazy. I've only known you a couple of days. But when you left yesterday, Quinn, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I tried to get you out of my mind, I
tried to tell myself you were just a girl passing through and I should forget about you. But I couldn't.”

My heart is pounding and my face is hot and my stomach has so many butterflies I'm afraid they're going to come bursting through my skin. “I couldn't stop thinking about you, either,” I say. “But what about all that stuff you said? About me needing to figure things out, about you just being a distraction?”

He reaches for my hand, his fingers making little circles on my palm, each touch sending fire blazing through my skin. “I still think you have a lot to figure out,” he says. “But I . . . I want to figure it out with you.”

His hand goes down to my seat belt, and he unbuckles it and pulls me close. His eyes stay on mine, just like they did that night, the night he held me and moved inside of me and made me feel like everything was perfect and right. “I want to figure it out with you, too,” I say. And I know it's crazy and he lives far away and I don't know him that well, but there's a connection, right here, right now, almost crackling with its intensity, and as his lips meet mine, this moment is all that matters.

We're about to go get something to eat when my phone buzzes with a text.

Hey, it's Aven—I'm locked in the bathroom by the gym,
can you please come and help me out?

I stare at my phone incredulously. What is she talking about? Locked in the bathroom by the gym? How the hell did that happen? Well, if she thinks I'm going to postpone hanging out with Abram so I can go rescue her from her stupidity, she's got another thing coming.

I look around the parking lot toward the front of the school, searching for Mr. Beals or another teacher I can send in to help her. But there's no one. Abram and I have spent so much time out here talking and kissing, that everyone else has cleared out and gone home.

I think about texting Aven back and telling her I already left, but that would be really mean. And yeah, it's probably her own fault that she locked herself in the bathroom, but still. I can't just leave her there—what if something bad happens?

“I'm sorry,” I say to Abram. “I'll be right back. My friend is having an emergency.”

“Sure,” Abram says. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “It'll only take a minute.”

A second after I get to the gym, Lyla turns the corner, coming from the other hallway, the one by the office.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi.” She looks confused. “Are you . . . did Aven send you a text, too?”

“Yeah, about being locked in the bathroom?”

We look at each other, and I can tell we're both thinking the same thing—doesn't Aven have any other friends to text? And why did she need two of us to come and rescue her?

“Whatever,” I say, and push on the bathroom door. To my surprise, it opens right away. Maybe it was locked from the inside? Lyla follows me in, but it doesn't seem like anyone's here.

“Aven?” Lyla tries.

There's no answer, and for the first time, I start to really worry. What if something happened to Aven? What if she's in a stall somewhere, passed out or hurt? Lyla starts opening the stall doors, and I follow suit, starting at the opposite end.

But before we can finish, the door to the bathroom opens and Aven walks in.

“Aven!” I say. “Why the hell did you tell us you were locked in the bathroom?” I mean, seriously. If she was locked in and someone let her out, she should have at least sent us a courtesy text, letting us know she was okay.

“Yeah,” Lyla says accusingly. “I was worried about you.”

But Aven doesn't say anything. She just turns around and locks the door behind her.

“What the hell are you
doing
?” I ask. Is Aven crazy? It wasn't enough that she got locked in the bathroom, now she wants us
all
to be locked in here? I try to push by her and out the door, but it's no use. It's locked.

Aven puts the key back into her pocket. How the hell does she have a key to the gym bathroom anyway? And why is she locking us in here?