Picture Perfect (13 page)

“Maybe because the guys talk up Linden so much—like college is supposed to be
so
amazing,” I said. “Anything less than that and you probably feel like you’re missing out, or doing something wrong.”

“Exactly!”

Spencer’s eyes were shining in the small amount of light that came from my room. I’d never seen him so animated—it was like we were really connecting over this. I hadn’t even had time to process what he’d just told me—that his time off had ended up being for a good cause, but that he hadn’t started out exactly with that noble plan in mind.

“So, you left? You just…up and left in the middle of the semester? Wow. That’s…gutsy,” I told him.

“Not really.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to sit around at home, I knew that. And our community
center and church were organizing this trip. I went for the two weeks, and then I just stayed. And stayed. After a while I realized how lucky I was, how I had all these chances to make my life be whatever I wanted. So I called and talked to the admissions counselor at Linden, and they let me reapply. And that is the long, boring story of why I’ll be a freshomore.”

“It wasn’t boring,” I said.

“No?” he asked.

“Well. Not nearly as boring as your girl-next-door story, anyway,” I said.

“What?” he cried. “Hey, I only
told
you that because I felt sorry for you—”

“Well, it worked, because afterward I felt sorry for
you
.”

We were laughing when there was a loud knock and suddenly Heather barged into the room.

“Oh, my God, you have to see this. The guys are all competing to see who can make the biggest splash in the pool—and my mom’s videotaping. They’re making total idiots of
themselves—Spencer, your dad is winning! Come on!”

Spencer and I bumped into each other on the way off the balcony. Then we both tried to squeeze through the door at the same time.

“After you,” Spencer said, holding out his hand to show me the way.

“No, after you,” I said.

I felt closer to Spencer tonight than I ever had before. The problem was, what was I going to do about it
this
time?

Something? Anything? Nothing?

When we got downstairs, Heather was greeting Dean with a hug at the door to the pool area. Spencer and I waited to say hi to him, and just before Dean closed the door behind him, Blake stepped up out of the shadows. “What’s going on, y’all? Sounds fun.”

“Actually, it’s a private party,” Spencer told him. “Sorry. No Neanderthals allowed.”

“No what?” asked Blake.

“Exactly. ’Night, y’all. Safety first.” Spencer closed the door in his face.

I laughed, feeling almost as satisfied as if I’d
been the one to dis him. “Thanks.”

“No prob. We’ve got enough Neanderthals in here already.” He pointed to his dad, who was about to do a cannonball off the diving board. “Run for cover!”

T
he next morning we toured Kitty Hawk, for our Mom-influenced group activity. After lunch, Heather and I took off on a shopping spree. Well, as much of a spree as a person can have with only $45 in her pocket. I also wanted to spend time with her and make sure she was doing okay after last night. She was so strong and resilient. I really admired her for that, in the midst of our silly vacation stuff.

“This is great. We can meet Chase and Dean tonight for a late swim, then go to dinner—”

“Actually, um, Heather? I appreciate everything you’re doing. But I’m not interested in Chase.”

“How do you know? You’ve barely talked to him.”

“The thing is…I think I’m interested in someone else.”

“Not Blake. Still.”

I shook my head. “No, not Blake.”

“Phew. Then who?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Because it’s Spencer,” I said.

Heather giggled, then put her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. Not laughing. Because you’re apparently…serious. You like
Spencer
?” she cried.

“Shh! Do you have to tell the entire store? What if he’s in here?”

“Why would he be in here?”

“He’s been known to follow us. Remember?”

“True. But I doubt that he’d set foot in Brenda’s Bikini World.”

I giggled. “Well, no, unless he was trying to meet girls.” Then that thought sort of made me feel sick.

“You know, he was really great last night when I got upset. That was like a whole other side of him.”

“I know. I feel like I’ve been getting to know him pretty well. Despite the fact he has this whole layer of arrogance. And I just…I find that I want to get even closer to him. Does that sound dumb? That sounds dumb.”

“It sounds kind of sexy, if you ask me. So, is that why we’re here?”

“Why we’re where?” I asked.

“At this shop! Because you plan to make your move wearing something sexy?”

“No! We’re in this shop because you dragged me in here. Anyway, I don’t even know how to make a so-called move. I don’t make ‘moves.’ I make…mistakes,” I said.

Heather laughed. “But see, that’s where you’re wrong. So you’re not the type of person to just have a meaningless fling. That’s great. I totally support that. You’re more about the long-term relationship.”

I held up a red, flowered strapless top. “Then how come I’ve never
had
one?”

“You were waiting for the right person.”

“No, I was waiting. Period.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, whenever I’ve liked a guy, I’ve always waited too long to tell them how I feel. And then before I say anything, they end up moving away, leaving town, or even worse, hooking up with someone else.”

“So. That isn’t going to happen with Spencer. But it could, when we get to college. So don’t wait any longer. Tell him.”

“It sounds so simple. You know? When you say it, I can picture doing it. But when it comes down to making it happen, I can’t.”

“You know what? This totally makes sense. He likes you, too. I mean, why did he butt in where Blake was concerned? Why does he constantly give you a hard time—”

“He gives everyone a hard time,” I reminded her.

“Please. He doesn’t want you to be with anyone else because he wants you.”

As much as I loved the thought of that, I wondered if it was just wishful thinking.
Friends did that a lot for each other.

“He’s into you. Trust me,” Heather said.

“Why? Did he say anything to you?” I asked, feeling hopeful, wishing there was some sort of evidence that I could cling to so I’d feel more confident if I ever did go to him.

“No, but I can tell by the way he was looking at you last night. When I came into your room? Wait. Did I interrupt something?”

“No. Not exactly.” I felt my face turn red. “Maybe. I don’t know! He’s so hard to read. Which is funny, considering all he
does
is read. That should make him transparent, don’t you think? The thing is, I find it totally impossible to talk to guys. To tell them how I feel. So, what I was thinking was, how about if I just write him a letter? Slip it under his door?”

“Emily.” She gave me a very serious look. “I know it’s very hard. And really intimidating. But one thing to remember is you don’t ever write a letter telling them.”

I knew I should probably trust Heather on this. She had the rules: You get a guy’s name and number. You let him know you’re inter
ested. “No? Letters don’t work?”

“By the time he gets and reads the letter he could be hooking up with someone else.”

“Really? But what if we’re, like, meant to be?” I asked.

“What if someone else reads it? Or what if he shows it to other people?” She shook her head. “Oh, no. Trust me on this. Never write anything down. Don’t even send a text or e-mail. It’ll be retrieved from his computer one day and you’ll die of embarrassment,” she said.

“Okay. Well. I could do a photo collage, then. A story in pictures,” I said. “I could show this progression—hold on, I could make a
movie
—”

“Emily, how long is
that
going to take? Two weeks? You don’t have two weeks.”

“I know, but what about Linden? I mean, what about the fact we’re both going there—isn’t this a horrible, terrible idea?” I asked.

“You’re looking for excuses. Who cares about Linden? Get him alone. And tell him. And go try that on.” Heather pointed to the eensy-weensy bikini I’d been examining.

“Are you sure?”

“What’s the point of staying in shape and doing all that dancing if you don’t show it off?”

“Well, the thing is, once I put this on, I don’t think I’ll be able to
move
,” I said. “Without it falling off.”

“Hey, no problem—that could really speed things along,” she joked.

I stuck out my tongue at her as I swept the changing-room curtain closed. I’d brought in some other suits, too. I wasn’t the type to be sexy by revealing everything—I needed something a little more modest, or I’d be so self-conscious I wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone—or even leave my room.

When we got home, I put on my new bikini, slipped into a pair of pink nylon board shorts and my flip-flops, and went to find Spencer. I was feeling very charged up from the two coffees I’d had during our shopping spree, like I could accomplish anything.

He was sitting in the third-floor living room, reading yet another classic novel, right
where I’d left him earlier.

What do I do now?
I wondered.
He’s alone. We’re alone. I could slide onto the sofa next to him and just…tell him.

But then the image of the last time I tried this popped into my brain. Me, lying on the floor in a sleeping bag, at the condo we’d rented. Spencer, sitting on a fold-out sofa. Me, getting up and sitting next to him, telling him how I felt, how I thought he was cool, how I wished we could see each other more often. And other embarrassing, personal things like that.

Him, interrupting me, changing the subject, saying anything except, “Yeah, I feel the same way about
you
.” Saying something about “I have to get some sleep,” and disappearing under a blanket, his back to me.

What was I doing this for? Did I
enjoy
torture?

“Hey, Spencer. You want to go out in the kayak?” I asked, perching on the edge of the chair opposite him.

He looked over at me. “Not really.”

“Come on. Please?”

He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “I thought you hated water sports, and sports of any kind.”

“Yeah, but I had a good time kayaking. Remember?”

“You fell
out
of the kayak.”

Oops.
“True. But I’m an excellent swimmer,” I said. “Plus, I want to take some pictures out there. Find some dolphins again.”

“You can’t just find them. It’s not like a whale watch. I mean, they don’t have schedules.”

“They don’t?” I gasped, putting my hand over my mouth.

He laughed. “Okay, so we’ll look for dolphins, but no crying if we don’t find any.”

“Like I’d cry. Have you ever seen me cry?”

“Please. I was there when your dad had to tie a string to one of your front baby teeth and pull it out. You cried.”

“Oh. Well. Hopefully none of my teeth are going to fall out.”

“And how about the time we went to that amusement park—and your cotton candy fell off the stick? Major tears.”

“Can you blame me?” I asked as I followed him down the stairs.

He stopped walking, and I crashed into him. “What do you mean, you want to go out there and take pictures? You’re bringing your camera after what happened last time? Do you not remember getting soaked?”

“Give me some credit. Don’t worry, I have a waterproof, disposable one. Ten bucks and it floats.” I took it out of my shorts pocket to show him.

“Well. As long as
we
float, too, that should work.”

We grabbed the life jackets from the first floor and pulled the kayak down from where it leaned against the deck stairs, toward the water.

When we got in, I wished we’d capsize. Sink. Anything to give me an easy opening like,
Please don’t sink because I like you! I’m drowning! I need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!

I didn’t know how to tell him, what I was supposed to say. The way we sat in the kayak, his back was already turned to me, because he’d insisted on switching around this time. That
didn’t bode well.

“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” I commented.

“Sure,” he said.

“Ooh! Is that a dolphin?” I pointed out into the ocean at something sort of gray.

“That’s a bird, floating,” Spencer said.

“Oh.” I kept paddling, making sure we stayed parallel to the coastline and didn’t go too far out. I could swim, but not in a triathlon sort of way. “You know what? Birds are cool. Coastal birds. The way they just hover and then dive for the kill.”
Maybe I could strive to be more like them
, I thought with a smile.

Spencer didn’t respond. I didn’t blame him. He was paddling very weakly as if he didn’t care whether we got anywhere or not.

“You know what else is cool? The Outer Banks,” I said. “Talk about a gem.”

“What are you, the Chamber of Commerce now? You’re taking this good tourist–bad tourist thing to extremes.”

“Fine. I’ll stop talking,” I said.

“Great,” Spencer replied.

I kept my mouth closed for a minute or two.
But that wasn’t the point of this ocean journey. If Spencer didn’t want to talk, that was too bad—I had to make him talk. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be taking some underwater photos back here. Ooh, look, a coral reef. An octopus. Buried treasure!” I cried. “No
way
!”

Spencer’s neck turned ever so slowly to the right and he lowered his new sunglasses to give me an aggravated look. “Do you mind? I’m trying to read.”

“What? You’re not
reading
,” I said.

He held his book over his head to show me.

“I hate you sometimes,” I said.

“I know.”

I glared at his back. “I hope we’re not in any of the same classes.”

“I know.”

Suddenly, I realized that drinking two large coffees before going out on the ocean in a kayak was not such a great idea. “Since you’re not really into it, why don’t we just turn back,” I suggested. Strongly.

“I’m into it,” he said. “I’m just trying to multi-task.”

“Well, uh, I actually need to get back. I forgot that I planned to meet Heather,” I said.

“Heather can wait.”

“No, um, she can’t.” I awkwardly tried to turn the kayak around. “Little help?”

Later that afternoon, I thought about asking Spencer out for dinner, but he had already gone out with his parents.

When he got back, I challenged him to a game of pool, but the adults were playing, involved in some major challenge, with men versus women.

By the time it was ten at night and I still hadn’t managed to say a real, actual word to Spencer in private, I decided that I had no choice. I knew he’d gone to his room earlier to read, but I didn’t want to go through his parents’ room. Again. I didn’t want to watch a game with his dad or apply a facial with his mom. Small talk was out of the question; this was all about the Big Talk.

I stood on my balcony in my bare feet. I peered down at the railing on his. It wasn’t that
far down. I couldn’t calculate how many feet, exactly, but I was hoping no more than five feet and five inches—my body length.

This was the perfect assignment for me. I was limber. I knew how to leap. I could pirouette in midair. Sure, not all these skills were relevant to the task, but I thought about them, anyway, to build my confidence.

In my bare feet, black yoga pants, and T-shirt, I stepped out onto my balcony. I put one foot over the railing, making contact with the edging. I pulled my other leg over, so that I was gripping the edge of my balcony with my toes. I grabbed the bars on the balcony railing and pushed off with my feet, lowering myself and also trying to swing to the left toward Spencer’s balcony.

It took me about six swinging attempts to get my feet anywhere near the railing of his balcony. Finally, I made contact and wrapped my left toes around the metal. My right foot was stretched out in the other direction. It was sort of like doing a split in midair—something Heather might do in gymnastics.

I kicked my foot at the railing, trying to get a better grip, trying to swing the rest of my body closer.

Naturally, there was a pop can on the railing I hadn’t seen. It clattered onto the balcony floor.

Seconds later, the door to the balcony opened.

Spencer’s eyes went from the can to my foot to my suspended body. My upper body was killing me by this point.

“Is there a fire in your room?” he asked.

“No.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Stretching?” I said. Then I coughed, racking my brain for an excuse. “Well, see, I was trying to get a certain shot. Of the moon.”

Spencer looked up into the sky, beyond me. “It’s cloudy tonight.”

“Well, sure it is now, but earlier—anyway, I was trying to get a shot and I fell. Could you just help me down, or up, or something?”