I stop her. “A movie would be great.” I want a normal date. I just want to remember that she’s real. I don’t need more than that.
The movies in the common room aren’t that great—about a dozen crappy DVDs and Blu-rays that are a decade or more old, most of them for little kids. Ryan has a few newer movies that he brought with him from home, but he doesn’t share. We can only watch them when he feels like it.
“How about this one?” Sofía asks, holding up Titanic.
I laugh. “That was my sister’s favorite movie when she was a kid.”
“Too girly?” Sofía starts to put the DVD back on the console.
“It’s fine,” I say.
I drag two beanbag chairs in front of the television while Sofía loads up the ancient player with the disc. She plops down on the red beanbag beside me, leaning into my shoulder. Her head finds that perfect place on my chest, where my arm and body meet, and she snuggles in, and I’m in absolute heaven.
I watch her more than I watch the movie.
I guess when someone’s gone from your life for a while, all you think about are the big things. The big regrets, the could-have, should-haves. Or the big moments, the memories that are going to be with you forever, those life-changing moments, like first kisses and first confessions and first trusts. And you think about the lasts too: the last kiss, the last words, the last moments.
But the firsts and lasts and the big highlights between aren’t a life. They aren’t a person. They aren’t what you love. When you fall in love, you don’t fall in love with the first kiss, you fall in love with every kiss after that. The big moments are great, and it’s obvious why you remember them, but it’s the little things that make a person real: the smell of her hair, the warmth of her head resting on my shoulder, the way her ear curves, how her legs curl under her when she’s relaxed, the little gasps and mutterings she makes when she’s so focused on a movie she forgets that she’s making sounds. The big moments are just photographs in your head; the little things are the memories.
Tomorrow, when this moment is gone, I’m still going to try to hold on to this feeling for as long as I can. I’m going to try to feel her head resting on my shoulder. I breathe deeply, memorizing her scent. This is what I want to remember.
But I know that these will be the first memories to fade, the way they always do. The little things fade, leaving me only with broad sketches that aren’t real at all. I’ll be left with the idea of Sofía, not the reality.
And that will never be enough.
CHAPTER 28
Even though I last saw this movie when I was ten and Phoebe forced me to watch it with her on her birthday, I still remember most of the story: guy, girl, forbidden love, ship sinks. It’s all more than a little predictable, but I still pull Sofía closer to me as Rose tells Jack she’ll never let him go.
“It just sucks so much for her,” Sofía says, and I keep myself from laughing at her glistening eyes.
“For her? He’s the one who dies.”
Sofía shakes her head. “I think death is easier than guilt sometimes.” The movie’s not over, but she leans up on the beanbag, away from me. “You’re not really here, are you?”
I cock my head. “What do you mean?”
“I saw you leave with your dad earlier. You were wearing different clothes. Your hair is a little longer now than it was just a few hours ago.” She grins lopsidedly. “You’re out of time, aren’t you?”
I kiss her nose. “Yeah. I’m from the fuuuuture.” I waggle my fingers at her, and she giggles.
But then her face sobers. “That’s twice now,” she says. “At least twice.” When I don’t answer her, she adds, “Christmas too. You came to see me then. And now you’re here. There’s no reason for you to come back in time just to watch a stupid movie with me. Something’s wrong.”
You’re stuck in the past, and I’m starting to lose track of what’s real and what’s not because there are some shady government officials at the Berk who may be playing with my perception of reality, and I don’t know how to save you, much less the rest of the school.
“Everything’s fine,” I say.
Sofía frowns. “It’s not. Just tell me. Maybe I can help.”
Time doesn’t work that way. My intent matters. If I tell Sofía too much, I’ll get snapped back to the present.
“I just came back to see you.” As soon as I say the words, I know they are the wrong ones.
“Me? What happened to me?”
“Nothing, nothing,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I just . . . I’m still trying to figure out my powers, and I ended up here, and I thought, why not chill for a little?”
Sofía cocks an eyebrow, but she drops the subject. “So how are things going with your powers?” she asks.
I shrug. “Still learning.”
“You can stay put longer,” she says. “It’s been more than two hours, and you’re still here.”