I had all kinds of dreams. I wanted to go skiing again and get fast and good. I wanted to go to London too someday. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted to own a bookstore or a restaurant and have people come in and say, “Hi, Cedar,” and I wanted to ride a bike down the streets in a little town in a country where people spoke a different language. Maybe my bike would have a basket and maybe the basket would have flowers in it. I wanted to live in a big city and wear lipstick and my hair up in a bun and buy groceries and carry them home in a paper bag. My high heels would click when I climbed the stairs to my apartment. I wanted to stand at the edge of a lake and listen.
Leo and I found Miles in the courtyard, and then we went to wait for my mom by the bike racks and the water fountain. Miles walked down to stick his hand in the water that cascaded from the ledge, but Leo and I stayed up by the top.
The plaque in front of the fountain said CHARLES H. JOHNSON & MARGARET G. JOHNSON MEMORIAL CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION FOUNTAIN.
“That’s a realllly long name for a fountain,” I said.
“My brothers and I call it Baby Niagara,” Leo said. “Because the part where it goes over the edge looks like Niagara Falls.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You’ve been to Niagara Falls.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It was for a family vacation. My dad plans one every year. It’s always somewhere different. This year was the first year he didn’t plan a vacation. Because of the England trip.”
“He must really like England,” I said to Leo. “Because he’s been there before, and he wanted to go again, like you.”
“Yeah,” Leo said.
I sat down on the rim of the pool. The moon was full above and there were always more stars here than back at our real house, because of the light pollution in the city.
“Mom’s here!” Miles hollered up from below.
“I bet we can fit your bike in the trunk,” I told Leo. “Sorry I didn’t tell you to walk instead of ride. But I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“I don’t think it will fit,” Leo said.
I looked down at my mom’s car. He was right.
I’d been thinking of our old car, not the one we had now.
We used to have a minivan.
It got totaled in the accident.
And when it came time to buy a new car, my mom realized we didn’t need a minivan anymore. We didn’t have enough people. We could fit into a regular car.
So every time I see a minivan like our old one (which happens all the time, because a lot of people who park at grocery stores or schools or really anywhere have minivans), it’s like a tiny punch.
“Right,” I said to Leo. “Sorry.”
“It’s no problem,” Leo said. “And thanks again. This was great.”
“I’m glad. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Miles and I went down and got in the car.
“Doesn’t Leo want a ride?” my mom asked.
“He has his bike,” I said. “He’s going to ride home.”
“That’s dangerous,” Mom said. “It’s night.”
“We can’t fit his bike in the car,” I said.
“Well, we’ll follow him then,” Mom said.
“Because that’s not creepy at all,” Miles said, and I laughed.
Mom smiled and turned around to look at us. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes,” I said. “It was great.”
“It was pretty good,” Miles said. “Even though the seats were hard and I got cold.” I slugged him in the arm.
“Thanks,” he said to me. “For the ticket.”
“You’re welcome,” I told him. “Thanks for the Fireball.”
We sat in the car waiting for Leo who didn’t know we were waiting for him.
Leo pulled his bike down the stairs next to the fountain. Bump, bump, bump. My mom rolled down her window and called out, “We’re going to follow you! To make sure you get home safe!”
I heard Leo call back, “Okay.”
He started riding down the sidewalk. Mom gave him a minute before we swung out into the street behind him. We had to make sure everyone got home safe, in our car that still seemed wrong.
I understood why Leo called the fountain Baby Niagara. Because once you see something big, you can’t help seeing it in everything small.
28.
My dad used to say that life was like turning the pages in a book. “Oh, look,” he’d say, pretending to flip the pages in the air after we’d had something bad happen to us. “Bad luck here on page ninety-seven. And on ninety-eight. But something good here on ninety-nine! All you had to do was keep reading!”
For small things it used to help, him saying that. Like if you failed a test or got a bad haircut or bonked your head on the waterslide and had to go home early from a birthday party at the pool.
Of course he never slammed the book shut, which was what had happened to him. One last bad thing and then the end, for him and for Ben. No more pages to turn, nothing to get them to a better part in the story.
It could go the other way too. Sometimes you were having a perfect day and you never ever wanted to turn the page because you knew there was no way that whatever came after would be as good.
The day after we turned the page on the play, Cory kept looking over at Leo and me and smiling. Not a nice smile. An I-know-something smile.
“Hey,” Cory said to Leo and me partway through the afternoon. “After we’re done with this shift, you guys should meet me in the forest over there.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I have to talk to you.”
“We can talk now,” Leo said.