Summer of Yesterday (10 page)

twelve

W
e laugh so hard, we barely notice when we pass another golf cart and three familiar faces stare back intently. “Whoops.” Jason stiffens up.

“What? What is it?” I look back, but the other cart blends into the darkness.
Oh my God, don't tell me it's Jake.

“They're making a uey. Hold on, Haley.” He steps on the gas and speeds down the road as fast as a golf cart can go. My hair flies into my face. Then I see headlights shine in our rearview mirror. “It's my brother,” he mumbles.

“Shit.”

“Shit is right. He's been poking around my business all day. That's why I've been avoiding him, and he's with Marsha and that Oscar dude.”

My dad's in that cart too? I can't let him see me. What if he recognizes me in the future as the girl who was with Jason, the River Country towel-shack kid, thirty years ago? I'll be in so much trouble!

“We need to lose them,” I tell him. I mean, this could be it. Jake will tell Jason I was trespassing in River Country, and this'll be the end of the gig.

“I couldn't agree more.” Jason swerves off the road into the woods, a hard ride at twenty miles an hour. We bump and boing out of our seats like we're on WaveRunners. I screech and firmly grip the sides of my seat.

“Hang on.” Jason grips the wheel, concentrating on the lit-up foliage ahead of us.

“Where are we going?” I yell, now hanging on to the frame of the cart. Behind us, his brother's headlights bounce. We'll never lose him like this. “Cut the lights,” I say.

“What?”

“You know your way around, right?”

“Yeah. But so does he.”

“So turn off the lights!”

Surprisingly, he chuckles. “Yes, ma'am!” He slams a pulled-out knob with the palm of his hand, and oh my friggin' God, we are speeding into absolute blackness like it's Space Mountain minus the ambient lighting. We could easily plow into a lake or canal, fall off a cliff, or who knows what! I am so stupid! This is awesome!

“Woooo!” I yell impulsively, forgetting the fact we're trying to escape unnoticed, and Jason woos with me.

We make a sharp right, and a sharp left, and then we're suddenly scraping bushes. I have to pull in my arms to keep them from getting scratched, all the while laughing. I don't know what's so funny about nearly getting sliced by branches, but the extreme retreat strikes me as hysterical.

He makes another quick turn and stops, holding his hand over my mouth. “Shh, they'll hear us. He probably turned his lights off too. Man, this is crazy.” I can't see much at all of him, but my eyes work their hardest to adjust quickly. I can just make out the contour of his face. There's something extremely hot about sitting here in the dark with nineteen-year-old Jason, army-bound Jason, both of us panting like escaped convicts.

Slowly, he uncovers my mouth and checks behind us, listening carefully when I really, really wish he'd look at me instead. I've never been the kind of girl to sit around and wait for a boy to kiss me
if
I really, really wish he would, but something tells me I shouldn't be the one to make the first move. We're in 1982. This is a whole other era. What if he thinks I'm too aggressive? I don't want that. What
did
girls do in 1982?

“Do you hear anything?” he whispers.

“You, breathing.” Even though it's still nearly pitch-black around us, I can hear him smile. I can feel his heat, his energy, and smell his clean skin near me.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.” And I don't know why, but I take his hand and gently move it back over my mouth, then the side of my face, and lean into it a little.

“Haley . . .” His voice drops a bit.

I'm not going to kiss him. I'm just going to wait and see. In the shadows, I can now make out more of the outline of his face, his parted lips, eyes focused on my mouth. But, wow, hurry up and get it over with already. He runs his fingers down over my hair, then brings his thumb back to my mouth, sweeping it across my bottom lip. I clutch his hand and close my eyes.

“Did you hear that?” he whispers.

“No.” I do not hear or sense anything outside of this bubble right now. I cling to his thick hand, breathing quietly. Then I open my eyes and glance at the only other thing I
can
truly see, the stars pulsing way up over the silhouette of big pine trees reaching up toward the velvet sky.

Jason switches back to high-alert, protective mode. He scans the thicket of trees that surround us. “That. The hissing.”

I strain to listen, and yeah, I mean, I hear the sounds of mechanical things swishing through the night, but we
are
at a resort in the middle of a packed summer. It could be any car, bus, golf cart, boat, or monorail within a few miles. “Are they still following us, you think?” I ask.

“Probably. Jake would love to catch me doing anything wrong just to take the focus off of him.”

Hmm, I'm something wrong?
I pull my hand away from him.

He looks at me, confused. “Haley, that's not what I meant. What I mean is . . . remember that I work here. We're supposed to respect the employee-guest relationship. That's all.”

“You sure?” It sounded like he'd be embarrassed to be seen with me.

He takes my hand and, looking down at it, laces his fingers through mine. “Yes. I'm sure. I just don't like my brother in my business, that's all. Okay?”

“Okay.” I don't really have any reason to doubt him, but I wish he knew how I'm making a big sacrifice by being with him when I could be trying to find my way back home instead. Even though I might be stalling on purpose. To spend more time with him. Maybe.

“You hear it? Listen.” He points to the cricket-chirpy area behind us.

It does sound like the flattening of grass somewhere near, along with maybe some girl giggling. “They're creeping up on us,” I whisper. I sit up straight. I don't want my father to remember a girl who looked like me getting cozy with a guy in the woods.

“Yes. And we have to get out soon. The battery on this cart won't last long, especially with the extra strain we just put it under.”

I'm not sure how far off the road we are, but getting even more stranded than I already am would so be the opposite of fun. “How about heading back the way we came?”

“That's what I'm thinking too.” Slowly, he maneuvers his way out of our spot and drives in the direction of the road again.

I keep looking behind us. “Should we speed up?”

“I don't want to waste the battery, or we'll be walking back. Then my old man'll be pissed and won't let me use the cart anymore.”

I face the front again. Any moment we'll pop through the trees and be back on the main road. Suddenly I feel Jason's hand back on my face, real soft, and I see him looking at me intently. “What?”

“I wanted to kiss you back there,” he says.

My stomach does a big flip, one of those that makes you stop and savor the moment just before something awesome happens. I hold on to his hand. We're quiet for a minute. The air between us is thick with all sorts of unsaid things that are probably better that way.

All of a sudden, the glare of headlights switches on behind us, lights that were there all along, poised in the dark. “Suckers!” a guy yells, and I recognize the voice from River Country. The lights come charging toward us.

“Shit, Jake.”

Shit, my dad.

“Let's go.” Jason switches back on our lights and plows into the brush, annoyed as hell.

The right tire bounces over a rock. “Ahh!” I yell way out loud. “I'm so going to need a new bra after this,” I mumble to myself.

Jason side-glances me with a sly smile, then he starts swerving right, left, and I get the feeling that our cart is getting weak from traversing over this rough terrain with two full bodies in it for so long. Jake, Marsha, and Oscar—
Oscar!
—have fallen behind, but they're still back there, 'cause I can see their high beams bouncing all around and hear a girl yelping.

“He's losing battery,” Jason says. “That cart was last charged this morning. I know because I unplugged it right after lunch to plug mine in at River Country.”

Finally, we bump over something that makes us both jump in our seats so hard, we almost hit our heads on the roof. “What was that?” I ask.

“I don't know.” He slows down and backs up.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanna see.” He backs up over the hard object on the ground. Behind us about fifty feet, Jake's cart lights falter. The cart lunges forward then stops, lunges again, then stops. Jason looks at his chunky, black plastic watch.

“What? Why are you looking at your watch?”
Who cares what time it is!

On the ground, something long and dark metallic stretches into the darkness, but it's hard to tell what it is. I reach down to feel it. Smooth, cold metal . . .

HISSSSS.
A loud steamy noise sends my heart racing.

“Is this what I think it is?” I say, only to be interrupted by a growing light in the distance coming around some tall trees.

“Right on time.” Jason smiles. “Watch this.”

“A train? There's no train in Fort Wilderness!” I yell, watching the light grow brighter, listening to the sound of metal on metal, screeching and chugging toward us.

“It's decommissioned for guests, but they still run it every so often, usually at night.”

“For real?”

He smiles. “For real.”

“Um, don't we need to
move,
then? We're sitting right on the tracks!” Great, I am going to die by train. Who would've thought? “Oh my God, oh my God . . .” The train is almost right on us. Its light envelops us, and the conductor blows his whistle, a real steam train whistle. “Jason, we're going to die! Move, Jason!”

Jason hugs me real tight. “I'll save you, Haley!”

“Stop it!” I smack him.

He laughs so hard and looks back at his brother, who has run toward us and is now only a few dozen feet away. At this point, I'd rather get hit by them than by the oncoming train. Marsha and Oscar-Dad are yelling out random stuff.

“Haley, relax!” Jason yells through his laughter. “You really think we'll die when we can jump out of the golf cart and run away? Holy crap, girl, you are funny as hell!”

“What?” Oh. Right. We can. Do that, I mean. Get out and run. “Well, come on, let's go. Step on the gas, Jason! What if your brother thinks we're stuck and is coming to help us?” I look back.

“We do this all the time!” And right as the train is upon us, and it looks like his brother is mere feet away, he steps on the accelerator and we push over the tracks, leaving his brother, Marsha, and Dad stuck on the other side.

“Don't look back, don't look back,” Jason commands over the sound of the passing train. “I don't want the conductor seeing it was me.”

Jason drops his head on the steering wheel, but I
do
look back. An older man, older than my dad in 2014, is hanging out the engine window, yelling what is probably lots of obscenities at us as the engine passes us by. I avert my face and pretend not to hear him. The train is red, gold, green, and super, super pretty! I have never, ever seen train tracks in Fort Wilderness before, much less a real steam engine. I can't help but smile, taking in the sight. Who knows if I'll ever see it again.

“It's beautiful,” I whisper.

Jason looks up. “Yes. And it's only four cars long. We have to hurry.” He drives a few feet more, and I recognize the wooden lampposts of the campground signaling that we've reached the main road again.

“I can't believe we just did that. That was crazy, Jason.”

“That was nothing.” He looks back again, and when I follow his gaze, the last car of the train is moving past, revealing his brother, Marsha, and my dad on the other side, out of battery, pushing their cart over the tracks. Jake looks at us and offers a nice flip of his middle finger.

thirteen

T
he sounds of the Pioneer Hall crowds die away behind us, and we head into the darkness, winding through the tall pines. Every so often we whisk by clumps of people walking in the opposite direction, carrying folding chairs or tugging little kids by the hand.

“Where are they going?” I ask.

“Probably to watch the fireworks.” Jason makes a few turns, and minutes later we arrive at the Meadow Trading Post.
Hey! This is where I met Dina, Rudy, and Marcus, next to the campfire!
It wasn't long ago, but it feels like another lifetime. I guess it was.

He parks the cart and we sit there for a moment, looking at each other. Now I'm here with Jason. Amazing how life can change in an instant. Is he going to kiss me? I've known him only two days, but I've never gotten to know anyone as quickly as I've gotten to know him. The way I'm starting to feel about him is making me nervous. As if sensing this, Jason gives me a sweet but sad smile. Then he gets out of the cart and plugs it in to an outlet.

“Let's go.” Tentatively, he holds out his hand. I glance at it a moment before taking it. We walk past the trading post to a wide canal.

“Where to now?” I ask.

“You'll see. Jake won't find us here, so don't worry.”

I wasn't really worried about Jake. I was worried about getting too distracted from my ultimate goal. A woody mustiness fills my senses. Must be the water. A long line of people stand around while a cast member dressed as a cowboy goes over directions. “We'll hand you your paddle, and you'll climb right in, folks, one at a time.”

“Paddles?” I try catching a glimpse of the water. “They're going canoeing? At almost nine o'clock at night?”

“Yeah, the Marshmallow Marsh. That's Cowboy Bob.”

The Marshmallow Marsh.
Wow! I remember my dad mentioning this, too! I never paid much attention to what he was saying, but I think he said it was a canoe trip to the beach where a campfire awaits. “We're getting into boats with a bunch of people?”

“Well, no. I'm going to see if Pete is working tonight. He'll give us our own canoe. Wait here.” He walks off in the direction of a rental shack, and it's the first time I really get to notice him from behind.

Very nice, my friend.

Even better than my catcher Nate back home.

While Jason is gone, I take in what everybody's doing behind me. No one has a phone in their hand. Kind of like when I go to Ranch Camp, and they make everybody check their phones in when we get there. So people are just talking to one another, paying attention to Cowboy Bob, or taking pictures with old cameras.

Fragments of conversation hit me from different angles. A lady walking by with her daughter scolds, “. . . Because your father said no. Ask again, and I'm going to skin your hide.” And a man with his wife says, “Well, dear, I know that, but if we don't hurry, we'll never make it to see Fantasy in the Sky, and I did not spend three bundles only to miss the fireworks.” And another one I don't even understand: “I tried to tell him that, so we'll see how he handles it at Christmas bonus time.”

Christmas bonus time? Never heard of that.

The stuff they talk about seems the same as in the future. But there's something about
how
they say it. Maybe it's me, but I get the sense that everyone was just happier, calmer, and less stressed now than in the future. Is happier.

Jason comes back with two yellow oars in one hand and a lit silver lantern in the other. He holds out the oars for me to take one. “He's giving us our own boat. It's over here.”

I hope Jason knows how to maneuver a canoe. I've never ridden in one before. I take an oar from him. “You sure you don't want to ride with the others?”

“We could, but we'd be with eight other people, and you'd have to listen to Cowboy Bob sing ‘She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain' and a bunch of Disney tunes. This way, we can
talk
.” He smiles.

Some things never change. Like the way guys are always trying to get girls alone every chance they get. I smile back. “Sounds good to me.” He leads me to a canoe tied to the edge of a different dock. It's not standard red fiberglass. It's brown with a hand-painted Native American–looking pattern on it. Really pretty. Carefully, he gets in, sets up the lantern on the bench next to him, and holds out his hand for me. I grab it. He holds me by the wrist, steadying me down.

“Got it?” he asks, waving at Cowboy Bob, who waves back.

“Yeah. You guys know each other?”

“Bob? Bob is awesome. The whole trip is a lot of fun. You'll see.”

“What about life jackets?” I ask, slapping a mosquito at my leg.

“You expecting to sink?”

“Um, no, but . . . isn't it, like, regulations or something that we wear them?”

He looks at me strangely. “If we fall in, we just swim to the edge of the creek. This isn't the
Titanic
.” He chuckles and places the ends of his oars in the water. “It'd be radical if they found that ship one day.”

Wow. I open my mouth to correct him, but what do I say? That the
Titanic
has been found for a long time now? I can't imagine living life not knowing something like that.

“Nothing to be scared of, except maybe some alligators in the creek.”

“Alligators?”

He laughs. “Got you. Put your oar in.”

I glance back at the group of four canoes being led by Cowboy Bob. “Stroke! Stroke!” Bob cries out, but some of the canoes are having trouble staying straight.

“Let's get into a rhythm and go off on our own,” Jason says. “Follow me. Ready? Stroke. . . .” I push my oar through the water. “Stroke . . . stroke. . . .”

I match his movements stroke for stroke, and we are off. Into the dark canal system of Fort Wilderness with absolutely nothing to light our path but the oil lantern creating moving shadows on either side of the canal. After a few minutes it's clear that we are ahead of the pack. The buzzing and singing of the Marshmallow Marsh group fade into the distance.

Jason and I don't speak. We wouldn't dream of it. There're a million stars in the sky, the crickets are singing classic tunes of their own, and there're even flitting shadows of raccoons or some other animal on the banks of the canal. The only other sounds are of the water, sloshed by our oars, and the occasional slap of a fish on the water's surface. I feel like Pocahontas on a date with Captain Smith, painting with all the colors of the wind.

A couple of bugs flit about, their glowing green eyes like aliens'. I've seen them only a few times before. One lands in our boat. It clicks around, trying to flip over. “Lightning bug,” Jason says, and bends down to pick it up.

I lean over to peer at it, but I don't touch it. “Aren't those click beetles?”

“Yeah, same thing. They're harmless.” It walks around on Jason's hand, the bioluminescent spots that look like green, glowing eyes getting bright, brighter, then dimming to dark. “My old neighbor in Kissimmee was this Cuban lady,” he says. “She called them
cocuyos
. Said they were good luck.” He reaches over and takes my hand. The beetle walks from his hand to mine. “Here, so you'll have good luck.”

“Oh, crap,” I laugh nervously. There's a beetle walking on my hand. I don't care how cool it looks with its bright lime eyes . . . it's a
beetle
. But I don't want to appear girly scared, so I let it walk up my arm for a bit before I shriek, and it finally takes off into the night.

Jason laughs. “You don't seem the scared type.”

“I'm usually not.”

“But you just screamed like a chicken. The girl who passed out in River Country, got up, and kept going shrieks when she sees a little bug.” He laughs to himself quietly.

“I didn't pass out. I was diagnosed with epilepsy. Even though I'd only had one seizure in my life before yesterday, I sort of feel like I'm wearing a big scarlet letter
S
.”

And if I ever want to get back to the future, I might have to bring on one more.

“Yeah, about that . . .” All smiles fade from his face. “Shouldn't you be finding your dad soon? How long are you going to be on your own, Haley? I mean, don't get me wrong, I like spending time with you, but your dad's going to worry, isn't he?”

I stop rowing. Jason continues without me. I watch the black shadows of the trees on the dark water. He's right; I should go back. I'm just not sure I want to anymore. “What if I stay?”

He stops rowing too, and the boat glides silently along the canal. “What do you mean?”

I shrug. “I mean, what if I want to stay here forever?” I try to give the question a more hypothetical feel.

His eyebrows draw together. “You can't do that, Haley. Think. Your dad, your family . . . Why would you even say that?”

“I'm not saying I'm
going
to. But what if?”

He blows out a relieved breath and resumes rowing, seemingly glad it was only me dreaming out loud and not a real dilemma to be dealt with. “Then we live here forever.” He smiles. “You and me. We work at River Country. You could be a waitress.”

“A waitress?” I scoff. “What if I want to be a lifeguard?”

“Fine, a lifeguard! You can be whatever you want, tough girl.” He laughs. “We're turning now, so just paddle on one side. Your left one.”

I do as he says, and the canoe turns slowly and continues along the curve of the canal. I hear the laughing of families in the distance, enjoying the evening air, and the crackling of a campfire nearby. I spy people on land sitting on folding chairs and picnic benches, as we glide by in stealth mode. How do I explain to Jason that I might not be able to return to my family? That the hypothetical question of staying here forever might be a reality for me?

It hurts to think that I can't. It'll ruin everything. Before I can say anything, he changes the subject. “What do you do when you're not wandering around campgrounds by yourself? What do you do at home? You into fashion magazines? Music?”

I laugh. “Uh, music, sure. Fashion, not exactly.”

“I guess that was a stupid question.”

“No. I'm just not that kind of girl, I guess. I play baseball.”

I register the changed expression on his face. He looks confused now. “You mean softball.”

“No. I mean baseball. I pitch for my high school team.”

“Of girls?”

“Of boys. I'm the only girl on the team.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, okay, and I'm a monkey's uncle.”

I realize how stupid this must sound to him, since even in the future, it's hard for most high schools to allow girls in traditional boy sports, but it's too late. I already put it out there. I really want to tell Jason the truth about me. I mean, how long can I go around pretending I'm something that I'm not? “Let's just say my school is real avant-garde, ahead of its time.”

“I know what avant-garde means, Miss Haley-Haley,” he says, taking long, thoughtful strokes of his oar. “I'm not stupid.”

What? My eyebrows crinkle together. “I never said you were stupid, Jason-Jason. In fact, I think quite the opposite.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, first off, you're a smart guy. You know a lot about technology, computers, EPCOT, movies. Second of all, you seem responsible, and honestly? Well, here's what I think. I think you should apply to colleges instead of the army.”

He gets kind of quiet. Does he really think he's not college material? He could be anything. A computer programmer. An engineer that doubles as a surfer model. Maybe he's scared it'll be too hard for him? They must have some community colleges in Orlando that he could attend.

“You think so?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

“And you seem wise beyond your years,” he says. “Don't let anybody ever change that about you.”

I guess I would seem that way to him, though I don't feel that way. The truth is I have no idea what I want to do with my life either, so I don't see what right I have insisting that he go to college.

“Hey, speaking of technology, movies, and Disney,” he says as his whole face lights up. “Do you think you'll still be around next week? There's a cool movie coming out. I'd love to take you to see it. Maybe you've seen the previews. It's called
Tron
?”

It's getting difficult to keep track of stuff going on in both his era and mine. I feel like I'm going to have to choose one soon and stay in it. “When does it come out?” I ask.

“The ninth, I think. I'll drive to Jupiter if you want to see it. If they're playing it over there.”

Wow, he would drive two hours just to take me to a movie? How can I let him down after that? “I . . . I'd love to, Jason. I think that'd be really nice.” I smile at him sadly. Because it'll probably never happen. Even if I can't find my way back home, what are the chances I'll live in Jupiter by myself?