“Yes,” he says, looking a little devious.
“Where are you planning to sleep?”
“In the van.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know if you’d be out for the night. You and Jamie could have made up or something; you could have gone to her house. I thought I might need to stalk you a little harder,” he says with a laugh.
A slow smile creeps across my face. The gesture is sweet: Luke risked getting in trouble with his parents and spending all night in his van just to try to win me back.
“Well, I’m sure my mom won’t be home for a while. At least you can stay in the warm house until she comes back.”
“Sounds good,” Luke says as I turn and finish the climb, pulling my delinquent boyfriend behind me to the top of the stairs, down the hallway, and into my bedroom, and shutting the door behind us.
31
“Where did you park?” I whisper with a sudden sense of urgency as I listen to the garage door open and close downstairs.
“Down the street; I was stalking you, remember?”
“Get in the closet,” I whisper back, making a snap decision that I hope I won’t regret later.
“Are you serious? I can just go,” he offers, but he’s moving toward the closet as he speaks.
“No, I want you to stay. But hurry up; my mom will be upstairs in a minute,” I say, simultaneously kicking a massive pile of notes under the bed and scanning the bedroom for any visible traces of boy.
>Later, long after I’ve left high school behind, I will envy my friend Margaret’s relationship with her grandmother. I will cry when she dies of cancer, not because I’ll know her that well but because I’ll see Margaret lose a little piece of herself when the sweet old woman goes.
Nothing left to do on my grandmother search this evening, I turn off the computer, wash the day from my face, and head downstairs to make popcorn and watch a movie, just like I told my mom I would.
In the kitchen, I get out the kernels and the mini-kettle. I scan the directions on the popcorn container, then add the oil and kernels to the pan, turn on the stove, and start slowly turning the crank. The first kernel explodes, then the second, then twelve or twenty or fifty more. Concentrating on nothing but the span of time between the tiny explosions so as not to burn my precious popcorn, I barely notice the sound from the front entryway. In fact, by the time I pause to listen, I wonder whether I heard anything at all.
Then it’s there again: a timid knock at the front door.
Not the doorbell.
A knock.
Still holding the handle of the popcorn pan, I glance at the clock. It only feels like midnight. Really, it’s 6:58, a perfectly appropriate time for accepting visitors on a Friday night. If only I were expecting visitors.
Immediately, I wonder if today’s outfit worked; I wonder if it’s Luke. I find myself hoping that it is, even though I’m still hurt by his actions.
I set the popcorn aside and hurry from the kitchen. I switch on the porch light and wish our door had a peephole.
“Who is it?” I call.
There is a pause, and I consider backing away from the door and calling my mom to come home. Maybe it’s not him. Finally:
“It’s Luke.”
I suck in my breath. Then I wait a beat and open the door.
The waves of Luke’s hair are rustling in the winter wind and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. He briefly removes one hand from his jeans pocket to wave hello without speaking the word itself, and then replaces his hand. He looks boyish and a touch embarrassed to be here, shuffling his feet as I open the door wider.
I wrap my arms around my torso to shield myself from the frigid outdoors, but it doesn’t really help. I’m freezing, but I don’t mind.
Luke is here.