“Because you would get into trouble and Franny wouldn’t. That’s the difference.”
I love Clover, but to tell you the truth, her saying that hurt my feelings just a little bit. Nobody wants to be told that they’re not even capable of getting into trouble! Maybe that’s why, later on that evening, when Clover and Valentine set off all dressed up for the Oyster Bar, I left the apartment at the same time but didn’t tell them where I was going. I had on my white sharkskin dress and sunglasses. Valentine pointed to the sunglasses and said, “But, Franny, it’s about to get dark out!”
“Not for a while yet,” said Clover soothingly.
But Valentine was right: the days were definitely getting shorter now. It was that time of the year.
I’d decided to go and check out this thing called the High Line, which I’d only ever heard of because Julian took Valentine there on one of their first dates and because it was supposed to be very romantic. I could even walk there easily from Aunt Theo’s apartment, if I just kept on going west. Was it going to rain? I wondered, looking at the sky. Then I figured oh well, I wouldn’t mind if it did. The air was still so hot outside, it just might be a relief.
The High Line is this park that runs above the Lower West Side of the city. Before they got the idea to put up the High Line, it used to be just part of this elevated railroad that nobody used anymore, and now it’s all fancy. Even Clover, who usually dislikes new things, admitted that she likes what they’ve done with the High Line.
I could see why: it’s so nice to see green things growing in the city! I really appreciate nature more in New York than I do in San Francisco, where there’s a lot more of it. The colors in San Francisco are pale—California colors—so when you come across something green, it doesn’t stand out. But in New York, the colors are darker, and the green stands out so much when you see it. And not just green! I stopped to take in the garden plots. There were soft flowering quinces, and asters, and small star-shaped purple flowers I didn’t know the name of, and all these different exotic kinds of grasses, bluish green and rusty pink, making me think, somehow, of the kinds of colors you see in an aquarium. It was all very magical!
I got so carried away looking at the flowers and the grasses that I almost forgot to check out the view. But that was silly, because of course the whole point of the High Line is that it’s above ground and that you can look down on the city streets while you’re up there. I was staring down into the streets of Chelsea, trying to pick out a couple of tiny figures to stare at and make up stories about, which is something I love to do about strangers, when all of a sudden—thunder!
For a split second, as the first drops started to crash down, I thought of how Clover and Valentine would be so cozy and safe indoors at the Oyster Bar and I almost wished I was with them. But no. I had wanted an evening of adventure. An adventure I would have on my own.
There are different kinds of rain, though. This was the kind of rain that actually hurt, it was coming down so hard. And wouldn’t you know it, I just had to go and have on a white dress tonight. I looked down at it. It was all spotted and practically see-through! Time to go home. I started running in the direction of the exit, or so I thought, when a stranger approached me, saying, “Here, here, come underneath.” Then he gestured to his umbrella.
“Oh no, I couldn’t poss—” I began. I thought of how Valentine and I had been raised not to speak to strangers. But this young man looked perfectly presentable.
“You’re soaked,” the stranger said. He sounded gentle and, besides, I was relieved to see that he was young—about Valentine’s age, I thought. Maybe seventeen or eighteen, tops. I don’t know that he was wildly handsome or anything but there was something sympathetic about his face. He was tall, with sandy blond hair, and was wearing beige corduroys and brown lace-up shoes, even in the summer; I’ve noticed that this is a very East Coast look for men. And I wondered, vaguely, if he went to a prep school.
Was he blushing? Just a little? Why—maybe he was shy. Boys sometimes were, I’d noticed. The nice ones, anyway.
“I’m Franny,” I said, putting out my hand. “Franny Lord.”
“Alexander,” he said.
“Alexander what?”
I became aware, as I was saying this, that I was tilting my head to the side and there was this kind of lilt in my voice. Oh, no, I thought. I’m turning into Valentine! I’m flirting.
“Alexander Austin.”
“Hello, Alexander Austin,” I said, and laughed. Just because. “Do you live around here?”
“Oh, no, just visiting. I’m from Boston actually.”
“Boston!” I was thinking of Clover and Aunt Theo.
“You’ve been there?”
“No actually,” I admitted. “I’m not from New York either. I’m from San Francisco. My sister, Valentine, and I have been spending the summer here. But Clover—she’s our chaperone—she’s from Boston…”