The Summer of Moonlight Secrets (12 page)

32

Chase

Allie Jo and I sit on the backseat of the city bus. Everyone knows the best ride is in the back—you get all the bumps. “Thanks for not saying anything about my mom.”

She nods. “How do bees get to school?” she asks. “On the school buzz.” When I don't laugh, she looks down at her hands, folded in her lap. Then she asks, “What's it like not having a mom?”

I take a big breath and sigh. “I don't know.” How would I? Nothing to compare it with. “It's kind of an empty house, you know. I'm alone a lot.”

She acts like she knows what I'm talking about. “I don't have a lot of friends either.”

“I didn't say I don't have a lot of friends; I said I don't have a mother.”

Good going, Chase. I can see the hurt in Allie Jo's eyes.

“Why did the turkey cross the road?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes at me.

“He didn't,” I say. “He was too chicken.”

“Ha, ha,” she says.

I elbow her. “C'mon, you know you'll be telling that one later.”

She goes, “I do have friends, you know. Just not a whole bunch. And definitely not those girls we saw.”

“That's why you wanted to ride the bus, right? You didn't want those girls to see you. You're hiding.”

Her mouth opens and an expression crosses her face before she switches on an angry look. Too late; I already saw it—the look of truth.

“You shouldn't be bothered by them. Why do you even care?”

“Because they're
popular
.” Her eyes bug out, like this means something.

The bus stops and picks up two dudes wearing skullcaps and black T-shirts. Warm air whooshes in when the door closes after them. They pass us; one dude nods at me after seeing my skateboard.

“Those girls probably pick their noses when no one's looking and breathe in each other's farts.” I crack up. Boogers and butts usually work, but farts are
always
funny. Allie Jo must be picturing it too because she starts laughing.

“Hey,” she says, “are you coming to Taste of Hope? Sophie will be there.”

“Sophie's going?”

She smiles. “She's helping me pass out samples.” Then she slaps her leg. “You should help too! It's really fun and there're all kinds of food, which you get for free of course, and some places even give stuff out like little flashlights or key chains and—”

“Yeah, yeah! I'll come.” It sounds like fun. Besides, “Does Sophie like me?” Oh, dude. You totally blabbed. I try to play it cool, shift my skateboard and stuff. I steal a glance at Allie Jo.

“I can't tell you,” she says, doing that lip-scrunching thing girls do. “I never tell secrets.”

I nod and don't say another word, but if she can't tell me, that means only one thing—Sophie
does
like me! A weird sensation floods my chest and I suddenly feel like I do when I'm flying off a ramp.

I feel so good, it doesn't even bother me when we get off at the hotel and Allie Jo's mom walks off the porch and gives her a hug. It doesn't bother me at all.

33

Allie Jo

“You mind if I sit on the veranda?” I ask Mom and Dad after supper.

Mom looks at me oddly. “This is getting to be a regular habit with you. What's so interesting out there?”

My heart quickens. “Nothing! It's just relaxing, you know, moon, stars, that sort of thing.” I lick my lips real quick. “So can I go?”

Mom scrapes a plate; Dad clears the milk. “Yes, go ahead,” Mom says.

I give them both quick pecks and dash away before they can change their minds.

I hope I see Tara tonight. I can't stop thinking about her. Neither can Chase.

Throughout the day, we'd pieced together what we knew about her: she was from Ireland or Scotland but grew up in America; she has friends at wherever she's from; something bad happened; no one was hurt, but whatever happened, she ran away and now she can't go back home.

“And what about how she talks,” Chase pointed out.

I love her accent and the lilt of her voice.

But Chase went on to say it wasn't just her accent. “It's the way she talks, like all sophisticated.”

True, but I like that too. I think it makes her sound wise and knowing. She doesn't speak like a normal teenager, but I guess that's because she isn't from around here.

I told him my stepmother theory on why Tara was running away and how that could explain why she has only one outfit.

He shook his head slowly, then snapped to. “It means she ran away suddenly, like not planning it.”

I inhaled sharply. “Yes! Whatever happened, she had to get away right then.” But for the life of me I couldn't think of anything so bad that someone would have to run away with just the clothes on her back.

I'm still wondering as I close the suite door behind me, leaving Mom and Dad behind. I steal into the service tower, slip outside, and sit by the springs. Crickets and frogs murmur into the night air.

Taking a deep breath, I lean back and let it out slowly.

I wonder what it's like to be a runaway.

The springhead bubbles and I kick the water. Images of Tara coming out of the springs flit through my mind: Tara slicing through the water that first afternoon I saw her, and later, Tara emerging from the moonlit springs.

Clouds pass over the moon.

I rise slowly. My toes curl over the edge of the dock. Then I jump.

I plunge into the ice-cold water, bubbles and movement swirling around me. My whole system is in shock. When my toes feel the pebbly bottom, I push off underwater, toward the depths of the springhead. I expect to glide like Tara, but my clothes billow and catch water, weighing me down. Strands of algae curl around my foot. I shriek underwater, losing important oxygen.

Something coarse and bristly touches me. I jerk away and bump into another creature. It squeals as we touch. My heart explodes in panic. Currents rush past me in thunderous roars. I can't tell which way is up or down. My lungs strain for air. I push my arms down, but dark shapes float above me through the moonlight.

The shapes chirp and grunt, push me up with their flippers. Flinching, I accidentally send myself deeper.

Then I hear a loud crash—the sound of someone, or some
thing
, jumping into the springs. The trilling gets louder and more excited. Suddenly, a pair of hands—not flippers—grabs me under the arms. We shoot to the top, my lungs bursting as we surface. I wheeze and suck in air before turning to face my rescuer.

“Tara!”

Her face glows from within, but her expression, which I notice now, is a mix between concern and anger. We drift to the dock and climb out. I'm gasping for air. I collapse in a heap, not quite sure of what happened to me down there.

She grabs a couple of towels off the cabinet, hands one to me, and sits.

Her eyes flash under dark eyebrows. “What were you doing?”

My chest heaves. The roar of the springs still sounds in my ear. “I don't know,” I say. I don't know why I jumped in. Yes, I do. “I wanted to be like you.” I shiver and pull the towel around me.

“But you're not like me.”

That kind of hurts my feelings. “I know you probably have all kinds of friends back home and you're prettier than me, but—”

“Allie Jo”—she leans closer to me—“you have good skin.” She pinches my cheeks and pulls my nose.

I curl away and giggle.

“It fits you well.” Her face softens. “Aren't you comfortable in it?”

“Well, yeah, but …” Even Mom says I need to be more comfortable in my own skin. But no one calls
her
hotel rat. “Sometimes I think it would be easier to be invisible.”

Tara shakes her head. “You wouldn't want to be invisible,” she says seriously. “People bump into you all the time and no one talks to you.”

I stare at her for a second, and then I start laughing. She tilts her head and laughs too.

“Well, come on then,” she says, pulling herself up. “You'll want to put on some dry clothes.”

As I stand up, my legs wobble. I remember the roar of the springs. “I almost drowned! Something was in there!” Shuddering, I rub my arms where that bristly …
thing
touched me.

“Manatees,” she says, leading the way to the hotel. “They meant no harm.”

“No harm!” I jog to catch up to her. “They were pushing me around.”

Tara giggles. “Sea cows.”

As we cross the lawn, I think about my favorite pajamas and my nice cozy bedroom and the cup of hot chocolate I'll make for myself. I glance at Tara, soaking wet in her only outfit because she had to jump in and save me.

“How did you know I was in the water?”

Her lips suggest a smile without actually making one. She puts her arm around my shoulders and touches her head to mine. It makes me feel so good.

My heart swells and at the same time suffers a pang. Who made her run away? Is she lonely? Is she scared? I can't imagine her being frightened of anything; she's so brave.

Where does she sleep at night? As we near the hotel, I realize I've never asked her. Well, I'm about to fix that right now.

34

Chase

Dad and I are watching some old Western and decide the only thing that can make it watchable is popcorn. I head out to the first-floor vending machine and spot Sophie doing the same thing.

“We've got to stop meeting like this,” I say. Yes! Good one.

Instead of sticking her money in, she leans against the wall. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by the sensation of falling into her, but I catch myself before I do. “Sophie,” I say.

“Yes?”

She looks up at me, causing my heart to race, but I'm not nervous. A sure current pulses through my body and I feel like I'm on another planet. I reach out and smooth her hair like I'd wanted to the other day. When my hand touches her throat, I feel her heart beating as fast as mine.

I kiss her. Oh, my God, I kiss her. Her lips are soft and strawberry and her arms go around my neck. It's better than I ever imagined, and it's over way too soon.

The next breath I take is pure satisfaction. My eyelids feel heavy. I look at her and smile. “You're so pretty.” I want to stroke her hair, touch her cheek. I want to kiss her again.

Her eyes sweep downward. “Thank you.”

A sudden thought crosses my mind. “You don't have a boyfriend at home, do you?”

She shakes her head.

I am one lucky dude.

“I'd better get back,” she says. “My mom will come out looking for me!”

She starts to turn and I touch her arm lightly. “You forgot to get your popcorn.”

One hand flies up to her mouth and her face turns pink.

“I've never kissed anybody before,” she says.

“Me neither.”

We stare at each other.

Down the hall, a door creaks open. “Sophie?” her mom calls out. She waves. “Hi, Chase!”

I wave back.
I just kissed your daughter!

Afterward, I float back to the room with the popcorn. “Hi, Dad,” I say, even though he's on the phone. I feel like I did when the doctor set my arm—warm and far away, like I'm not really here. It seems like someone else's hands that toss the popcorn into the microwave.

As I flop onto the bed, I hear Dad laugh as he tells a story about us. It's not even the words, just the sound of his voice. The popcorn is popping and Dad is laughing. Everything's good.

“Gail?” I ask when he hangs up the phone.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and gets up for the timer. “Mmm, cheesy. Smells good.” He pops open the bag and holds it toward me.

I shake my head. “I'm good.” I could not be better.

And when I look at him, I see a curious smile on his face.

“What?” I ask.

He snaps straight. “What?”

I relax against the pillow. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” he says, and his eyes lose their focus.

He sits against his headboard and I prop myself up to catch the end of the movie. We're right at the part where the good guy wins.