I expect her to pull away, but she doesn’t. Our fingers lace together, and we stay like that until it’s time for her to go, gazing at each other underneath the glowing stars. Then I walk her to the door, leaning against the frame while she looks up at me from the welcome mat.
“They’re good,” I say, meaning it. “Your stories are really good, Marley. It was almost like…” My voice trails off, and I smile at her. “Like magic. You take me somewhere else entirely.”
I can feel that crackling between us again. Her eyes are warm in the soft glow of the porch light. More open. She takes a step back, but the magnetic pull stretches, and instead of breaking, it fills the space between us. “I hope you always think that,” she says. The tiniest shadow passes over her face. I just wish I knew why.
“I will,” I say as she walks down the steps and across the front lawn, turning back to give me a small wave before disappearing completely around the corner.
I stand on the porch for a while after she leaves, still feeling that energy even though she’s out of sight. I shiver, the cool fall night sending goose bumps up and down my arms, but I don’t want to move. I don’t want this feeling to disappear.
Soon, headlights appear in the driveway. My mom’s car slows to a stop, and then the car door creaks noisily open. She steps out, giving me a once-over before ducking back inside to grab her bag.
“You look happy,” she says when she reaches the steps.
And she’s right. I am.
18
I wake up the next morning feeling pretty damn great.
So great that I grab my iPad from my bedside table and open up Google to start my internship search during breakfast. At first it’s less than promising, mostly unpaid gigs that aren’t that thrilling. I find one that’s pretty perfect, working for the sports section of a magazine, but it would be a two-hour drive one way.
I hear my mom shuffling down the stairs, so I throw another slice of toast in the toaster and pour a cup of coffee with cream for her just as she rounds the corner into the kitchen.
“Morning,” I say as I hold it out to her.
“Morning,” she says, taking the cup. She widens her eyes at me as she takes a sip. I turn my attention back to my iPad, frowning as I scroll through another page of openings. “What’s with the frown? Your head hurting again?”
“Nah, that’s been getting better,” I say. And it has. The flashes have faded a bit since I started actually talking about stuff with Marley, proving Dr. Benefield’s point about them being emotional more than physical. I sigh, tapping the button so the screen goes dark. “I’m just looking for an internship.”
“Oh!” she says, smacking her forehead. She books it out of the room and returns a second later with her overflowing purse. I watch as she sifts through it, pulling out receipts and a first aid kit and a couple of granola bars. I swear, the shit she has in there could get a small village through the apocalypse. “I ran into Scott Miller yesterday morning at Starbucks. You know, the guy from the sports section of the Times who used to cover your games?”
“Yeah, I remember him,” I say, sitting up in my chair. Scott actually did a profile on me the week before my injury. He was really encouraging when I saw him a month after everything went down.
I don’t know why I haven’t thought of him before now.
“Well,” she says as she brandishes a business card from the very bottom of her purse. “I told him you were interested in writing, and he said you should definitely give him a call.”
She holds it out to me, and I grab the card, jumping up to give her a hug. “You’re the best,” I say as I plant a kiss on her cheek.
I pull out my phone and head into the hallway to call him, but a text notification pings in from Sam as I’m dialing.
Football today at 10. You coming? Need a ride?
I hesitate over the keyboard before typing out a quick response. Today’s probably the best I’m going to feel, so if I’m ever going to try, it might as well be now.
“Hey, Mom?” I call into the kitchen. “Can I borrow the car?”
* * *
By the time I meet up with Marley at the park on Wednesday, I’ve already scheduled an interview with Scott for this Friday and driven my mom’s car a grand total of three times. I’m practically invincible.
The park is crowded today, the warm fall day bringing with it a slew of kids playing all along the grass.
“I used to love flying a kite,” Marley says, watching as a boy sprints past us, trying to get one to take flight.
I turn to look at her, the rest of the park fading.
She looks beautiful today. Her hair is down around her shoulders, a deep-yellow sweater matching the thin headband in her hair. Every time she talks or turns to smile at me, I have an overwhelming urge to reach out and take her hand. I didn’t know what was going to happen after the other night, but this thing between us has only gotten stronger during our few days apart.
We cross the small street that leads to the pond, and the closer and closer we get to the water, the braver I get. I think of the story she told me. The girl wishing for love. The man in the moon answering that wish.
Do it, I tell myself, watching her hand as it moves back and forth next to mine, centimeters away.
I take a deep breath and reach out, taking it, a sharp pain jolting through my head at the same time. Damn, my head has been pretty good all week.
“Okay?” I ask as I fight past it, focusing instead on her rose-petal lips and the fact my heart is about to hammer straight out of my chest.
She hesitates for a second, so I take a step closer to her.
“Our story won’t be a sad one, Marley,” I whisper to her. “I won’t let it be.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she twines her fingers tighter in mine. I tuck her hair behind her ear, my hand lingering on her face, her lips inches away from mine. I lean slightly forward, barely even breathing, unsure if she’s going to lean forward or bolt.
She doesn’t bolt.
She closes the gap and we kiss, and it’s a rush of everything all at once: her face framed by the flurry of cherry blossom petals, her eyes the day we first met, a waterfall of pearls.