When I Find Her (3 page)

My heart plunges and soars like a kite caught in the wind, up and down and back again. What now?

I dribble the ball. It slaps the asphalt in that awesome thudding sound over and over. God, I feel strong. Vlad and Gary try to block me but I dribble from my right hand to my left with my killer crossover, outmaneuvering them.

Watching us, Mike laughs. “No wonder you got scouted, Luke.”

Scouted for a university basketball team. I wince at how all of that’s turning out now – my life’s dream crashing around me – and dribble around Gary, causing him to stumble. I pivot and shoot to Mike. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“What?” says Mike. “Come on, man. Sink a few with us.”

Sanjay slurps his frozen drink. It’s an odd combination of…I inhale to double-check…lemonade and chocolate. “Give us a chance,” says Sanjay. “Let’s shoot some free throws. I can beat you this time.”

I usually play center on the team, although in the last year due to my recovery, I’ve been nailed to the bench. Right now, there’s something more meaningful I have to do and I’m already walking across the grass toward her.

“Later,” I say.

Their boos fade behind me. I head through the crowd.

Jennifer is talking to Allison. They’re sitting on huge boulders by the grassy riverbank. The smell of rich moss reaches me. It’s pleasant. Scents are fading around me. I’m not as violently affected. My nose must be getting used to them. Jennifer, in a white top, glances up and sees me. She stops midsentence, long brown hair lifted by the wind, her eyes flashing at me, then continues talking to her friend.

I’m not getting a good read on her. Not sure what she thinks of me approaching. But I’m here for a mission. Even if this is a dream, it’s all I got.

“Hi,” I say when I finally reach her.

“Hi,” she responds with a shy smile.

“See any pigeons?” I joke, looking around as I try to think of something to say. I shove my hands into my pockets.

“Only one lonely gray one.” She says it with a hint of amusement, teasing me back. I’m the pigeon.

She smells like a girl. Real nice. Her skin’s misty. Her face is scrubbed clean. There’s a hint of raspberry in the air.

“Hi Allison.” I nod to her friend. “I saw your watercolor painting pinned up in the hall. It’s really good.”

“Thanks.” Allison lights up with the compliment, like a little kid in kindergarten who just got a gold star taped to her heart. She leans over to Jennifer and says, “I’ll meet you later.”

“What? Don’t go, Allie,” says Jennifer, looking awkwardly in my direction.

“It’s okay,” says Allison. “Text me later. We’ll catch up.”

I inhale the scent of autumn leaves piled along the riverbank and am grateful to Allison for leaving.

When she does, I slip onto the boulder beside Jennifer.

“What’s up?” she asks me.

What’s up is that I like her. What’s up is that I’m crazy about her. What’s up is that this must be Saturday and the last time we’ll see each other before she disappears on Monday, and I don’t ever want this dream to end.

I reach into my pocket to check if I brought money. I’m relieved to feel some folded bills next to the dice. “I thought I’d take you out for a real piece of chocolate cake.”

“They don’t sell chocolate cake at a carnival, Luke,” she says gently.

I love the way she pronounces my name. It’s full in her lips, like she’s taking her time with the “L”, like she really thinks about me when she says it.

“Let’s go up the hill to the square then,” I say. “Let’s try there.”

She turns to look in the direction where her friend left. She frowns, making me anxious that she’s going to say no and say goodbye instead.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

She stands up, inches shorter and so close to me I can smell her freshly shampooed hair. That’s where the raspberry’s coming from.

My pulse shifts to six-hundred-and-ten horsepower. I’m the Lamborghini. I’m elated and excited and also worried that I’m going to be pulled out of this dream at any moment and sent back to my real life. You know how that happens sometimes, when you’re dreaming something really good? You’re about to get to the best part, and all of a sudden your stupid alarm clock goes off and ruins everything.

CHAPTER THREE

Jennifer’s wearing a white shirt and white sweater, and with her brown hair and brown eyes, she looks beautiful. Like she belongs in a shampoo commercial.

What should I do? I’d like to kiss her, but don’t know if she feels the same. I couldn’t swoop down and do it now, she’d push me away. The moment requires time and guts. If I did manage to kiss her, my mission would be accomplished, so would the dream suddenly end? Would my mistake-wish be granted, and would I wake up on Burgen’s cold leather sofa?

Maybe the goal here shouldn’t be to kiss her.

Maybe that’s the last thing I should do. My goal should be to spend time with her and talk to her. That’s all.

What do I do?

“You okay, Luke?”

Her voice cuts through the setting sun and the sound of the band warming up in the park. It knocks me to my senses.

“Just thinking about the best place to take you.”

“Anywhere is fine,” she says.

We climb the hot asphalt street. For a brief second, it smells of heavy oil, then the breeze lifts it away. Hundreds of people surround us as we head to the shops in the square.

I think again about how to kiss her.

I’m not an expert. I’ve never done much kissing, not as much as I would like to. The first time I kissed a girl, I was seven. Actually, my first kiss was with two girls. My family had gone camping. The campsite next to ours contained two energetic sisters – ages seven and eight. One foggy morning by the lake when our parents were still making coffee, they dared me to kiss both of them. So I did. Mild kisses, but on the lips so it was exciting. Those sisters were big trouble. They made me laugh. The next time came in the fifth grade, age ten, at a birthday party when we were playing a kissing game in the dark. One of the girls kissed me. It was a great, long kiss. Afterward in the darkness she whispered,
“Zach.”
I never corrected her. I was stunned that she had me mixed up with someone else. Greatest kiss of my life so far, and it wasn’t even meant for me.

The most recent time was in the ninth grade. Vicky Vancouver. That was her nickname because that’s where Vicky was from. She was the closest I’ve ever come to a real girlfriend. I asked her to go to a horror movie. She said yes and we kissed at the end of it, right when the guy with the ax got a sword through his eye. I was psyched that she let me hold her hand. Afterward, I thought all was going great in school – smiles in the hall, talking after class – but when I invited her out for pizza later, she said no. I’m still not sure why.

And with my diagnosis this last year, well, girls haven’t exactly been swarming to kiss me. That’s what I miss most. Time with girls.

Everything in my past seems minor compared to how I feel about Jennifer. I want to touch her and hold her and be with her all the time. I want to help her with whatever’s bugging her.

Her knuckles brush against mine while we stroll up the hill and it makes my skin tingle. She moves her hands up to her waist, and too late, I wish I’d grabbed her hand to hold it.

“I’m wondering how you’re doing,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“Yesterday, you came to school upset again.”

She turns away. I know by the way she closes her mouth that she doesn’t want to tell me. I know that I’m interfering, and that it’s making both of us feel crappy.

Suddenly, it seems irrelevant. What I’m supposed to do, what I’m not supposed to do, what I would learn about her and what would be kept secret. I am here with Jennifer Marks. Wow!

We reach the top of the street. The scent of caramel apples drifts by, followed by cotton candy. Colorful shops cram Holden Square. Narrow alleys, built a century ago, veer out in several directions. Holden used to be a town in the sticks, but it’s been engulfed by shopping malls and big box stores.

A coffee shop sits on the corner. We both eyeball it at the same time and don’t have to say anything to each other to know we’re headed that way. I look over the heads of most people. We jostle around families and students and old people who’ve come out on this nice autumn day to taste honey from the nearby farms. The streets are blocked with orange barricades today, diverting traffic so that only pedestrians are welcome.

I open the coffee shop door for her, twisting my shoulders so I can let her slide past. She’s windswept and pretty. She goes to the glass case of desserts. We stand in front of it. The aroma of butter and cinnamon fades as I inhale the clean scent of her skin.

“Don’t see any.” I scan the display.

She points. “There’s biscotti. Or marshmallow squares.”

“You can’t settle for that,” I tell her. I step closer and nudge my arm against hers. My muscles are bigger than I’m used to in real time. She doesn’t back away and I enjoy the warmth of her skin against mine.

“Why not?”

“Because once you know what your favorite dessert is, you gotta go after it.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else you’ll be settling for stuff your whole life. Instead of a shiny blue convertible, you’ll settle for a dented mini-van.” Ah…that’s not exactly what I want to say. It’s too general. I try for something more personal. “Instead of telling someone how you feel about them, you’ll...you’ll put it off till tomorrow.” I realize I’m a hypocrite for not telling her how I feel about her. She stares at me extra hard and I chicken out and finish with something lighter. “Instead of a dog, you’ll get a hamster.”

Her eyes twinkle. “Please don’t go to any trouble. Even if I don’t eat chocolate cake tonight–”

“No trouble. You’ve got a craving and we’re going to find a delicious cake.”

She smiles and follows my lead as we head out the door and across the street to another shop. It sells tea. The sun is setting and the sky is turning an incredible midnight blue.

She’s looking up at it, too, edging past more people. We pass a sports bar. Then another bar called
The Holden Saloon.
It looks like one from the 1800s. Except it’s been revamped, the brick sandblasted, tables varnished, and white trim newly painted. Above us on the balcony, groups of people laugh and toast each other with mugs of beer.

Music from competing bars meets us somewhere in the middle of the street. We both laugh because it sounds crazy.

I lead her to the tea shop. When we get inside, there’s a crowd at the counter. We squeeze in, shoulder to shoulder again. I’m not even looking at the desserts. I’m concentrating on how soft she feels.

“None here either,” she declares.

“Can’t give up now.”

I shove my way through the crowd pouring in from the glass doors, feeling for her behind me. Her fingers graze mine and send lightning through my heart.

I want to hold her hand but what would she think of me?

We get outside. It’s dark. Performers on street corners play guitars. Two policemen on horse patrol are coming our way. They’re riding massive horses. I pull her aside protectively. We stop at the head of an alley and wait for the street to clear, right beside
The Holden Saloon
and its clean, sandblasted bricks.

People stream around us.

I turn toward her, inches away, looking down at her face.

I hear the catch of her breath.

I can’t help it. I move in.

She backs up, pressed against the brick wall.

There’s a hint of her fresh peppermint mouthwash. And the scent of her sexy skin.

Her dark hair spills around her shoulders, framing her big eyes. Then I take her hands, hold them against her sides, and lean in.

My chest brushes against hers. I lower my head and kiss her.

She’s incredibly soft...

Our mouths move together.

I try to be gentle, even though what I want to do is run my hands all over her body and feel all of her.

I loosen my grip on her hands, run my fingers down the side of her sweater. Her skin is warm beneath my touch.

She moves her hands to my shoulders and strokes the back of my hair. My blood rushes through every cell. My heart hammers.

The kiss is incredible.

I want it to go on forever. She breaks away, breathless, and presses her lips into my shoulder. I hold her.

I notice a little boy watching us from the crowded street.

Jennifer turns her head and spots him, too. “We have an audience,” she whispers.

We tear away from each other, except this time, I hold her hand. Her grip feels natural in mine. There’s a connection.

The kid’s chewing bubblegum and spits the blue wad to the ground. It faintly smells of blueberries. His mother, juggling another baby, pulls him away.

I’m not paying too much attention to them because my heart is careening with the thrill of being with Jennifer.

I’m still here!

I wasn’t whisked away. I have more time with her!

How much more?
I agonize.

I pull her toward a cafe on the next block.

When I turn my head to the right, I spot my older sister, Ivy, and her friend. They’re waiting in line at the Fried Chicken Truck that’s parked across the street. Ivy’s a year older than me. She’s got black hair, too, but it’s short and she spikes it. She has a tattoo of a hawk on her arm, and is wearing blue lipstick. I pause because she looks like her normal self – not how she looks now in real time. I like the way she looked then. However, I don’t want her interfering in my time with Jennifer, so I pretend I don’t see her. She wouldn’t care, anyway.

Jennifer nudges me. “Is that your sister?”

I’m surprised that Jennifer knows. The greasy smell of fried chicken wafts over to us. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Ivy looks busy talking to her girl friend, and I’d prefer just to be with Jennifer, so I continue on with our mission to find chocolate cake.

“Aha.” I gaze at a store window filled with cakes and pastries, then up at a sign.
Schultz’s Desserts.
“We might get lucky here.”

I squeeze her hot hand and never want to let go. We enter through the front door. The place is packed with customers but we’re next to be seated.