Meet Me at Midnight Page 6

  Kara has a little smile pulling her lips tight, and she looks like she’s about to explode with happiness that the two of us are standing next to each other.

  Caleb takes a sip from his cup. “Anyone stalked you around the grocery store lately?” His voice is light and teasing. “You know that’s my job.”

  I smile back at him. “No one picks out apples like you do.”

  Kara looks between us like she’s confused why this is funny.

  “Caleb is a produce expert, did you not know?” I explain.

  “Guilty,” Caleb says, lifting his cup a little.

  Kara and Caleb are talking about a disgruntled customer at River Depot, explaining who everyone is to me, when I feel someone next to me. Kara’s eyes drift to my side nervously, and I look to see Asher there. He holds a cup out in front of me, and I look at the cup and then him. “Still driving us,” I say, eyeing the shot glass he has in his other hand. “Still not drinking.”

  “It’s Diet Coke,” he says, leaving it there in front of me.

  “Oh.” I take the cup hesitantly, and turn back toward Caleb. I sniff it, just to make sure it isn’t a giant cup of soy sauce that I’m going to spit all over myself.

  There’s a soft tickle against my ear and the smell of alcohol. “You’re welcome,” Asher whispers, and it sends a little shiver up my spine. He needs to stop doing that. I don’t turn to look at him until I know he’s walked away, because I’m afraid of how close he was to me.

  I take a long drink from the cup. Kara is looking at me like my hair is on fire.

  Caleb shifts from foot to foot, like he’s not sure if he’s going or staying. Or like he’s got something in his shoe. “Are you guys … a thing?” he blurts out.

  “Definitely not,” I say, at the same time that Kara says, “They hate each other.” She says it in a very matter-of-fact way, but looks at me questioningly, her brows knitting together, as if I need to confirm this. I nod, my eyes wide. What is wrong with people? You accidentally show up in matching shirts and suddenly the world is spinning in reverse?

  “Okay, it’s just that you match, and he seems—”

  “Deranged?” I look from Kara back to Caleb. “We live to mess with each other,” I say. “I was being weird about what I was wearing, and he had this stupid swimming shirt on, because he thinks he’s hilarious, and I told him to change, and he said he would, but then he put that matching shirt on, just to be an ass…” I’m rambling, and I’m not sure how to stop myself. Kara mumbles something I can’t make out but her eyes cut to Asher across the room.

  “Got it.” Caleb smiles and sets his cup down. “You wanna sit down somewhere?”

  Do I want to sit down in the shortest skirt I own? No. Do I want to talk to Caleb somewhere that isn’t the grocery store produce section, or in the middle of the next beer-pong game? Yes. Kara gives my arm a squeeze and says she’s going to find some friends that are supposed to be here. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Kara lives here. She has a million friends, a job. She’s the only friend I have here, but for her, I’m just one tiny piece of her life during the summer.

  Caleb and I sit on a blue love seat pushed against one wall of the living room. Like Kara said, he had some trouble at work, and he spends most of the night telling me about how ridiculous the tourists are that come to River Depot. The kids from the city who have never held a paddle before, and the moms and dads who think they’re going to need Mace to fend off wild creatures as they canoe through the woods. “As if Mace would help them,” Caleb says, laughing. I wonder if he’s forgotten that I’m technically a tourist. Though I don’t feel like one—Riverton is my second home.

  Every once in a while I hear Asher’s voice boom across the room and it startles me. It isn’t angry, it’s just loud. Louder than I’ve ever heard him. I can’t make it out, but I can’t help trying. I spend the rest of the night with 60 percent of my attention on Caleb, and the other 40 listening for Asher. Toward the end of the party it sounds like his voice is being muffled by something, like maybe he’s outside or in the basement. He seems off tonight.

  An hour later, Caleb looks at his phone and frowns. “I have to go. We have a training thing in the morning.” The same thing Kara has to go to.

  “Okay. Well … I’m glad we got to hang out.” Smooth, Sidney. Smooth.

  “Me, too.” Caleb runs a hand over his short blond hair. “You wanna go out tomorrow night?”

  Something tightens in my chest. “Yeah. Definitely.” I hand him my phone. “Text me.”

  Caleb smiles and gets up, reaching his hand down to pull me up from the couch. It’s the first time we’ve touched all night—even on the little couch, we were at opposite ends. I’m not sure if I should just shake his hand while I’ve got it, or hug him, or …

  He pulls me by my hand and wraps his arms around me, making the decision for me. “Night, Sidney.”

  “Good night.”

  When Caleb is gone, I wander through the house. Kara is long gone; she sent me a text an hour ago saying she was leaving. But I still have to find Asher. I weave through the kitchen, to the little room that looks like an office. I poke my head out into the yard, but don’t see him. Finally, on my second pass through the living room, I see him coming out of the stairwell. He was in the basement.

  “You ready to go?”

  He looks past me, eyeing the kitchen. “Nope.”

  “Come on, I’m over this.”

  “So go home.”

  “You know I can’t. I’m driving you home.”

  He just looks at me blankly, and I can’t tell if he’s about to say something, or if he’s just going to fall asleep.

  I spend fifteen minutes trying to coax Asher out to the car. I promise him food when we get home. Threaten to call his parents. Tell him that if we stay for a single minute more, I’m going to pass out from exhaustion. We’ve both been up since 6 a.m. That seems to convince him—maybe he forgot how tired he was. He lowers himself into my passenger seat in a slow crumple, and when we pull into our driveway he bolts from the car before I can even cut the engine. But he doesn’t go to his house, he takes the walkway straight to the lake.

  Crap.

  * * *

  I find him sitting on the hill, just on the other side of the row of flowering bushes that divides our yards from the fire pit area on the edge of the downward slope to the lake. I thrust a bottle of water at him, and ask him if he needs something to eat. He tells me to leave, but I won’t.

  “Why are you being nice to me?”

  “Because I don’t think you’re going to remember this in the morning. And I’m not being nice. I’m making sure you don’t die. That’s not being nice, that’s just being a decent human who doesn’t want someone else to die.”

  “Right,” he says. “Human.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Your parents will kill me if they find you dead in a puddle of your own vomit tomorrow morning.” I’m trying to be patient with him, but I’m cold and so tired I feel a little drunk myself.

  “You’re not, though.”

  I shake my head, unsure what he’s talking about. “Not what?”

  “Human,” he mumbles.

  “Go to bed, Asher.”

  “Make me,” he says, smiling.

  God, he’s impossible. I think about what could get Asher to leave, and decide talking to him may be my best bet. Maybe I can drive him back to his house with my presence alone. I sit down on the concrete walkway next to him. “You know, you weirded out Caleb tonight. You just had to mess with me and wear that stupid matching shirt.” I take a swig of my own bottle of water. “At least I get a do-over tomorrow night.”

  Asher groans, like he’s heard this a million times.

  “You know, if you don’t want to listen to me talk, you could just go to bed.” I give him my best I can be as obnoxious as you can smile. “Problem solved.”

  “This is the only nice shirt I have with me.” He pinches some fabric at his chest. “I don’t
know why you have so many nice clothes with you, but I don’t.” His words are all slurring together. “So I wore the pink shirt, because it was my only nice one. And you looked nice. Too nice.” He grabs at the bottom of his shirt, and gets it halfway up his chest before he thinks better of it. He starts working at a button and he has half his shirt undone when he starts up again. “So then we both looked too nice. And yeah, we also matched. Sorry.”

  He dressed up so I wouldn’t be the only one? My overtired brain can’t even process it. Asher being nice? But I saw his face, he was thrilled that we matched. I would bet that was the whole appeal. Looking nice and taking the spotlight off of me was just a side effect of torturing me. He’s got all of the buttons undone, and is sliding one arm out of his shirt. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m hot,” he says, tossing his shirt to the side.

  I look out at the lake because it’s weird to look at him shirtless, even though that’s how he looks all day. But he was just clothed, and I’m clothed, and that’s different somehow. “Seriously, will you go inside, please?” He doesn’t move and I stand up. “I can go wake up your parents.”

  “Fine, fine.” He throws his hands in the air. “I’m going.”

  But he isn’t. He’s just sitting there, his head turned up to the sky, like he’s investigating something there.

  “Do you remember that first summer?” he says.

  It’s actually what I was thinking of when I saw him sitting here. The way we used to sit out on this hill for hours past when our parents had given up on the evening. When the night air got colder, and no one wanted to refuel the fire, because firewood is at a premium up here, and Nadine hoards her personal stash—ironically lined up right outside Lake House A—like the greedy little troll she is. That first summer together feels like a lifetime ago.

  “Ouch.” I smack at a bug that’s feasting on my thigh. I nudge Asher in the side with my toe and nod toward the houses. “Please?”

  “Just go.”

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  “I’m not going to die in a puddle of my own vomit, Sid.” Apparently when Asher’s drunk, he calls me Sid. It’s highly unnerving. “What if I promise not to lie on my back?” He rolls over so the last few words are muffled in the grass, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Come on, Asher.” I poke him once more with my toe and walk away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Shh,” I whisper-scream behind me. “I’ll be right back.” I hike up the concrete stairs. “Don’t die,” I yell back at him in an angry whisper. He’s rolled onto his back again, but I don’t think anything’s going to happen in the two minutes it’s going to take me to get to the house and back.

  I return with a giant orange pitcher of water—the one my mom used to make my cherry Kool-Aid in—and a box of toasted sesame crackers.

  Asher looks at the pitcher as I set it down next to him, and takes the box out of my hands, looking at it like he’s not sure what to make of it.

  “The kitchen is right next to my parents’ room. I had to be stealthy. Drink the water.”

  “And the world’s grossest crackers were the stealthiest thing you could find?”

  “For your information, I love these.” I grab the box away from him and open it, sticking my hand inside.

  He takes the pitcher with one hand. “I’m definitely going to puke if I drink all of this.”

  “Let’s take that risk, okay?” I don’t expect him to drink all of the water, I just didn’t want to make multiple trips and risk waking my parents.

  He lifts the pitcher up to his mouth, holding it by the handle, and takes giant gulps, his neck bobbing with each swallow. Maybe he is going to make himself throw up, just to spite me. To drive me to leave, maybe. I grab the handle and pull it away from his face, and a little rush of water spills down his face and onto his bare chest.

  “Sorry,” I say, my eyes snapping back to his face.

  His eyes go wide in feigned shock at the word.

  “Whatever,” I mumble, lowering myself onto the grass beside him and stretching onto my back.

  “Settling in?”

  “Seems like you’re never leaving. I might as well.”

  We lay in silence, looking up at the sky, and my eyes get heavier by the minute.

  I’m not sure how long I’m asleep, but when I jolt awake, Asher’s face is right next to me, slightly angled into the grass. He’s so still I have a momentary panic that he’s dead. I roll onto my side to face him. “Asher.” I whisper it harshly, because I won’t let myself really commit to the idea that something could be wrong. He doesn’t move. “Asher.” I can hear the panic in my voice. I grip his shoulder, and he startles with a soft jerk. I pull back like I’ve just been electrocuted. But Asher wakes slowly, his eyes fluttering, mouth parting. His eyes open, and close, open and close, as if he’s reorienting himself, unsure of where he is.

  He shifts a little, onto his side, and I think maybe he’s finally going to get up, but instead he reaches one hand toward my face. And I realize—for the first time since I thought he was dying here on the grass—how close we are. There are only inches between our faces, and I can feel every one of them sliding away as his hand meets my cheek. He brushes a piece of hair behind my ear, letting his palm brush my cheek, before stroking two soft fingers lazily down to my chin, like he’s in no hurry. Like we lie on the grass touching each other all the time. Voice whisper soft, Asher says, “How much do you hate me right now?” His eyes close. He’s going to pass out again, and it’s hard to decipher whether I’m hopeful or worried.

  I don’t know if I’ve been holding my breath, but my chest feels like it’s going to explode in the two seconds it takes his eyes to open again. And when they do, he leans forward, and with no hesitation, presses his lips to mine. I’m not sure if it’s seconds or minutes that the heat of his lips caresses the chill of mine, but when he pulls away, it’s with what sounds like a little sigh. Then he rests his palm on top of mine between us, closes his eyes, and like nothing absolutely ridiculous just happened here, he falls back asleep.

  I don’t.

  THE FIRST SUMMER

  Sidney

  Being here with the Marins is so much different than last year, when it was just the three of us. I spent a lot of time by myself—mostly because otherwise it meant spending a lot of time with my parents. And they’re not bad, but I’m going to be fourteen next month; space is my middle name. I had Kara once in a while, when she’d come over to swim, or lounge on the dock in the chairs we’d drag down the hill from the deck. But mostly it was just me, hanging out during the day, swimming and lying in the sun, and just being. Things were chill. Quiet. Like me and my parents.

  This year, the whole atmosphere at Five Pines is different. There are tiki torches running along one side of the sidewalk that leads to the water. A string of twinkly lights haphazardly strung in a tree near the Marins’ deck. Music plays from a speaker propped up on the wooden railing, pouring music out over the yard. The adults spend most of the day bouncing from drinks on their deck, to card games on ours, to lying on the lounge chairs. And it’s not that I feel unwelcome, it’s just … too much. Too many parents, too much giggling. Too many recounted college stories I just don’t need to hear.

  We’re almost a week into vacation, and Asher and I aren’t strangers anymore, but we’re not friends yet. I think that’s my fault. Because Asher is probably the cutest guy I’ve ever met. He’s funny, and nice, and the kind of guy that wouldn’t give me two minutes at my school. He’s even a swimmer. On paper, Asher Marin is pretty much my dream guy. Which means that when he comes within five feet of me alone, I forget what words are.

  A few days into vacation I bought a paint set at the dollar store in town, and I’ve started painting rocks. At least if we talk, I have something to do with my hands now. Something to fill the nervous quiet spots. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’d rather be prepared.

  I’m painting a rock on the dec
k when Mom sits down in the chair across from me. She tilts her head to the side, and I know we’re about to have a Kris Walters heart-to-heart. Mom picks up a rock and toys with it in her fingers. “This is cute, Sid.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, listen…” Mom rubs her thumb over the smooth surface of the gray rock. “Is everything okay with you and Asher?”

  My hands still. “How could they not be okay, we haven’t really even hung out.”

  “I know. And I just thought … well, it’s just that Sylvie was thinking … do you not like him? Did something happen?”

  Other than me being a class-A jerk, no. Nothing has happened. “No, nothing happened. I’m just being my hermity self.”

  Mom smiles and rubs her hand over my shoulder. “Hermits are awesome. People wouldn’t keep them as pets if they weren’t.”

  I smile. “Those are crabs, Mom.”

  “Either way.” Mom tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Asher’s nice. You’re nice. I just don’t want you to be bored this summer. Maybe … make a little effort? If you hate him, you can paint rocks twenty-four/seven, okay?”

  “Okay.” I put my hand out and my mom deposits the rock into my palm. “I think I can do that.”

  As Mom walks back across the lawn toward the deck and the other parents, she throws back a “Love you, Sid” over her shoulder.

  * * *

  I haven’t really spent time with Asher since our parents had a mini-reunion at an alumni night swim meet three years ago, when we were ten. We shared his tablet and played games, and we haven’t been in a confined space together since. Until tonight. Because I can do this. After dinner, I see Asher from my kitchen window, making his way down to the hill at the edge of the yard, where the fire pit is situated just beyond a row of tall bushes covered in big red berries that look like miniature apples. I wash the last dish, setting it on a towel on the counter to dry. The sink is still full of silverware, but Mom will do those, because yuck.