Chapter 2 - Barbara Kingsolver was not
“It’s been over two months,” Katie said pointedly as she moved the little green shrub out of the way so she could touch up her makeup in my locker mirror. “How long are you going to keep this thing?”

“It hasn’t even bloomed once,” Wally added helpfully from his perch on the top stair.

Biting my lip, I didn’t reply as I dropped my half-eaten lunch in the garbage and slammed the locker door, narrowly missing Katie who let out an indignant screech. “Sorry,” I mumbled unapologetically.

“Seriously,” Stella said gently. “It has been two months and you haven’t heard a thing from him. You can’t keep yourself on the backburner forever. Gotta get back into the life girl!”

I didn’t point out that I was never into the life, at least not the way Stella meant it, before Van anyhow. “I’m not on the backburner,” I grumbled and rearranged the books in my bag. “I just like that plant.”

“The problem isn’t the plant,” Wally said philosophically, “the problem is what it represents. In your case, a vain hope to reclaim your one perfect night. Or at least what you perceived to be your one perfect night.”

“Thanks, Doctor Nobody,” I said sarcastically. I wasn’t about to go over again how much it still stings that after our first date, the one where I thought I’d never meshed with someone so perfectly, the one where for the first time I understood all those sappy love songs on the radio, the one where I thought there really was someone out there who’d like me, I never heard from him again. Yep, that’s right. Two months and not so much as an instant message. His seat behind me in history sat depressingly empty right up through the last day of the semester.

“Besides,” he sighed, “we don’t even know that he gave you that plant.”

Yes, I do, I thought indignantly but I didn’t voice it. Like I said, we’ve been through this and through this.

“Why don’t you just remember it as One Great Night,” Stella sighed romantically, “instead of thinking about what it could’ve been. That’s the problem with you, you know.” She nodded, her curls bouncing energetically, “You can never just take anything for what it is, love the moment. You always want to make it into something More. Important. Big.”

I made a face at her as Katie finished, “What about Enough?” Snapping out her planner, she opened it to the front page where her new spring semester schedule was neatly typed out and clipped in. “So what’ve you all got this semester? I’ve got Holt for A.P. chem first period.”

Wally laughed, “Nobody is taking A.P. chem with you so don’t even ask, crazy girl! Besides, I have A.P. physics first period.”

Welcoming the subject change, I pulled my own schedule out of my bag, looking over her shoulder. “Nada,” I said, “until after lunch and then we’ve got girl’s gym.”

“Awesome!” Katie clapped her hands. “I hear they’re bringing in a professional to teach Pilates this quarter.”

I kept my sigh to myself. Great, another event where Katie will shine and I will, well, whatever the opposite of shine is. Dull?

The bell rang and Stella jumped, “I’d better run! I’ve got Senora Angel for Spanish and I don’t want to be late!”

“I’ll come with you,” Wally said grabbing his bag.

“I didn’t know you were taking Spanish,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not,” he laughed. “I just want to make sure Stella finds her way.”

“Aw, thanks for your concern, Wal,” Stella rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact Senora Angel is seriously hot.” Wally wiggled his eyebrows and grinned.

“Ewww!” Katie and I chimed as they took off down the hall.

“Where are you headed?” she asked as we started down the stairs.

“Dr. Moody. English.”

“Ah,” she said. “I’ve got her for A.P. second period. I wish you would’ve signed up with me,” she chided. “It looks so much better on college applications!”

I merely shook my head as she launched into her lecture. I’ve heard it so many times, I practically know it by heart. Not that it ever changes anything. The simple truth is, I’m just not A.P. material. Never have been, never will, and the sooner Katie accepts that the better. Although the fact that we’ve been friends for practically our whole lives now and she still hasn’t figured it out doesn’t bode well for me I suppose.

Quickly I slipped into the classroom to claim my seat smack dab in the middle – not too close to the slacker back, just far enough away from the brown-nose front – perfect.

“…Amy Thurer, Merl Torkleson, Shiva Valenti, Donovan Winters, Brian Young…” Huh, I thought as Dr. Moody finished the roll, that’s what his last name is. Donovan Winters. It’s a nice name. And in a karmic twist of fate, the ghost of last semester was still sitting behind me in the only empty seat in the room. Slumping down in my seat as Dr. Moody turned off the lights to show the class website on the screen, I took the opportunity to lay my head on my arms and close my eyes. I can read the syllabus anytime. I’m a champion syllabus reader. Sleep, on the other hand…

“Wake up!” The pencil in my back jerked me awake and I sat up so suddenly my desk scraped and wobbled on the ancient tile floor. “Show’s over,” he whispered. “Really you missed a wonderful presentation. Citations, percentiles, bullet points and everything. Lots of bullet points.”

It took until the end of his speech for his voice to actually penetrate the cloud of sleep surrounding my consciousness. “Wha-?” My heart skipped a beat as I turned around to see Van, a scruff of facial hair and new plastic glasses not withstanding, just the same as I’d left him in a parking lot in the rain two months ago.

Dr. Moody interrupted my astonishment. “Ms. Mitchell? Did you have something to say about my choice of The Bean Trees for our first class reading assignment?”

“Um,” I swallowed in embarrassment. “I think it’s great.” Actually, I read it over the summer – my mom had it lying around from Oprah’s book club or something – and I really did like it.

“I’m so glad you approve, Ms. Mitchell,” she said dryly and a couple of kids on the front row snickered. “I look forward to hearing future comments from you on this book.”

To punctuate his statement, the bell rang and I stood up hurriedly, my face still a mask of embarrassment and horror.

“That is exactly what I was trying to save you from,” Van said congenially, looping his bag over his head and across his chest.

I sighed and said nothing, grabbing a strap on my backpack and dragging it across the floor to the door. That pretty much blows my whole school strategy – lay low, don’t speak unless spoken to, and study just enough to get B’s. Flying under the radar, that’s me. Except not anymore. At least not in this class. “Thanks,” I grumbled halfway to the door.

He caught up to me quickly, sweeping my bag off the floor and up onto his shoulder. “Wow,” he said falling in step beside me, “somehow I thought I’d get a slightly warmer reception from you. A ‘welcome back’ or at least a ‘how was your trip’.”

Choking my emotion and residual embarrassment down, I stopped suddenly in the hallway and turned to face him. “Where have you been?” I demanded, the tears springing into my eyes. Yes, that’s right, as if my life isn’t embarrassing enough, now I’m going to cry over this.

Making no comment about my over-bright eyes, he grabbed me in a bear hug, lifting me off my feet. “Now that’s more like it! I missed you too.”

“You didn’t even say good-bye,” I mumbled into my sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he replied genuinely before setting me back down. “I didn’t have time before the bus left for Cali.”

I pursed my lips. “Is it just me or do you say that to all the girls?”

“Just you,” he smiled happily. “I don’t think any of the other girls even noticed I was gone.”

I slugged him in the arm but he didn’t even wince, that playful grin still plastered across his face. After a long moment, I finally gave him a tiny smile. “I guess California didn’t work out, huh? Welcome back. Again.”

“Thanks,” he said, the flash of sadness sweeping briefly across his face but then he blinked and it was gone. “So you really like The Bean Trees?” He shifted gears easily and we started down the hall again.

I shrugged. “Yeah, it’s pretty much your standard ‘hero’s journey’ but it’s a good read, interesting.” I interrupted myself to see him smiling at me. “What?”

“You’re really smart.” He said it like I’d been holding out on him or something.

“No, I’m not,” I replied self-consciously. Katie’s pretty, Stella’s witty and Wally’s the smart one. I’m…the wingman. The perpetual audience. The straight man. Whatever.

“Yes,” he said his grin warming up his face, “yes you are!”

Rolling my eyes, I stopped in front of Senora Angel’s door. “This is my stop.”

“Do me a favor?”

“What?” I said cautiously.

“Explain The Bean Trees to me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I started. I’m not about to write his paper for him, if that’s where he’s going with this.

“No, no,” he continued. “I’ll read it and do my own report and stuff. It’s just, well, I don’t get books. They don’t make sense to me so maybe you could just help me figure it out, you know?”

“I’m not smart,” I reiterated. “You’d be better off asking Dr. Moody.”

“Somehow I think a hero’s journey will make more sense coming from you.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd.

………

“Please turn in your papers,” Dr. Moody said, forming each word with precision. “It’s a long three-day weekend and I have to have something to look forward to,” she added sarcastically as a couple of kids groaned. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I passed my neatly typed paper forward before turning nervously to Van. Not that I’m nervous for my own paper - that was a piece of cake - but Van’s is another story. Much to Katie’s annoyance, we have spent every lunch hour for the past week going over and over The Bean Trees and he seemed to really get it but as of yesterday I still haven’t seen so much as a thesis statement from him.

“Well?” I whispered to him, holding out my hand.

“It’s done,” he replied quietly, pulling a large folded paper out of his bag. “Here goes nothing,” he cried and handed it over me to Dr. Moody.

“What is that?” I gasped, echoing the surprise in Dr. Moody’s face as she accepted the thing that was obviously not a three-to-four-page-double-spaced-typed book report on The Bean Trees.

Walking back to the front of the classroom, Dr. Moody dropped the haphazard stack of our plain white papers on her desk before unfurling Van’s report and holding it up. The class gasped as we stared at the beautiful, full color poster detailing the book. No that’s wrong, it didn’t just detail the events of the book, but in Van’s characteristic half Manga/half Escher style, showed the very essence of the book. Taylor Greer’s journey from small town hick to small world heroine was obvious to everyone.

“Well if I’d seen that first, I wouldn’t have had to read the stupid book,” a football player next to me grumbled.

“You didn’t read the stupid book,” Van said perfunctorily. “Remember? And before you start complaining about the lack of fairness around here, everyone knows Amie Adams wrote your paper so you’d take her to Senior Ball even though she’s only a sophomore.”

The football player glared menacingly at Van but he needn’t have worried. Dr. Moody was so enraptured with Van’s drawing that she hadn’t a word of it. “Fantastic,” she murmured, “even got the mother theme worked in there too…” Shaking her head, she rolled the poster back up and set it on her desk. “Quite intriguing, Mr. Winters,” she said carefully, “quite.”

“Thanks,” he grinned and leaned back in his seat, satisfaction radiating off his face. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispered behind me. I didn’t turn around but simply nodded as the bell rang.

“Mr. Winters – a word?” Dr. Moody called out as we followed the crowd out the door.

“Sure,” Van said happily, grabbing my hand and pulling me back with him. “What’s up?”

“Well,” she began, tucking her graying hair behind her ears, “your rendering of the book is exceptional. Very insightful.”

“You know what they say,” Van beamed. “A picture’s worth a thousand words. And I figure a thousand words is at least four pages, right?”

“Um,” she cleared her throat, “they do say that but the problem is I didn’t say that. I requested a four-page essay on one of the themes of The Bean Trees.”

“Oh, well my overall theme was Taylor’s hero’s quest but I also included religious and familial underpinnings without ignoring the whole point of it being a coming of age novel.” He rocked happily back on his heels as I listened to a week’s worth of my lunchtime lectures emanating from his mouth.

“And that’s what I don’t understand,” she replied, her brow crinkling. “You obviously understand the book and are intimately familiar with the major themes and messages,” I blushed at the compliment even though it was directed at him, “so why didn’t you just write the paper?”

“Huh?” Van said, the goofy grin finally leaving his face.

“That poster must have taken you an incredible amount of time to put together,” she shook her head. “Why didn’t you just do the assignment? That would have taken you half the time, probably a third of the time that your elaborate graphical presentation did.”

“Uh,” he stammered and I felt his fingers tighten around mine. “I thought it would be better this way…you know, more interesting.”

“It was interesting,” she said soothingly, “but I can’t grade your writing from this! There’s not even a single word on this poster.” Staring again at the poster, I realized she was right. Even his name was an illegible scrawl in the top corner. “I’m sorry but I need to ask you to redo the assignment.” Van blinked and didn’t reply but I could feel the disappointment radiating from him. “Look,” she said kindly, “I’m willing to give you a week extension. We’re going to move on to the next project in class but you can have an additional week to turn in your paper.”

I raised my eyebrow. Dr. Moody has a firm reputation for being one of the hardest teachers in school – no extra credit, no makeup tests and definitely no extensions. Van remained silent for so long that I finally piped up, “Thank you Dr. Moody, I’m sure Van will do it this weekend and have it to you when we come back on Tuesday.” I elbowed him. “Right?”

Swallowing loudly, he nodded and then spun on his heel, walking quickly out the door. My short legs were no match for his long strides and so he was out the doors and halfway across the quad before I caught up to him. “Wait!” I gasped, grabbing his arm.

“You see what I mean?” he said, his voice high and tight. “I told you I just don’t get books. I’m stupid.” He tried to smile but it wasn’t convincing. I knew he’d put his heart and soul into this project but, like Dr. Moody, I had no clue why he didn’t just write the paper.

“You’re not stupid!” I said adamantly. “You totally ‘got’ it – didn’t you hear what she said? The themes, the chronology – everything! You got it! I know you got it and she knows you got it.” He looked vaguely over my shoulder the whole time I was speaking and I stopped until his eyes finally drifted back to mine. “You’re not dumb, okay?”

He shrugged. “Let’s start with the fact I’m a senior in a junior class.” He watched my face as he dropped that one on me. I tried hard not to show my surprise. “And I failed that assignment didn’t I? If that’s not the definition of dumb then I don’t know what is.” Starting off again across the wet grass he tossed over his shoulder, “Sorry I wasted your time, Leigh.”

In the distance I heard the bell signaling the start of second period and I knew I was going to be late if I didn’t go now but instead I ran after Van. Again. “You haven’t failed yet! Why are you giving up so easily? Just write the stupid paper this weekend and turn it in!” He kept walking, heading off school grounds. I stopped at the fence separating us from the parking lot. “Van!”

“Why is this such a big deal to you?” he said quietly and stopped in front of a truck. His?

I hooked my fingers through the fence. “Just write the paper.”

Shaking his head as if I were the slow one he replied, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” I said firmly. Why was he being so stubborn about this? “I’ll help you.”

After a long pause he said finally, “Really?”

I smiled. “Really.”

He sighed. “I don’t know why you are making this into such a huge thing but,” he shrugged, “if it means that much to you…”

“Which title do you prefer – Fifth Year Senior or Summer School Alum?”

Laughing he answered, “Okay, okay! I’m staying at Jimmie’s this weekend. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and you can come over.”

“You have my number?” I had given it to him the night of the battle of the bands but he had yet to use it.

“206-625-5785.” He left me standing there with my jaw hanging as he grabbed a skateboard out of the truck bed and jumped on it. After watching him weave expertly through the cars and jump the curb, I finally unhooked from the fence and headed back towards school.

………

Jimmie’s house was at the very end of a gravel road that was at the end of another gravel road in the boondocks that is Snohomish, Washington. Snohomish is only 30 or so miles from Seattle proper but you’d never know it from the plethora of NRA posters and herds of cattle milling around. In all my life of living in Seattle, the only time I’d ever been here before was once as a girl scout to pick raspberries on a farm with about 10 barefoot children and 20 mangy dogs. I think I even got a merit badge for it although now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was or what I was supposed to learn from it.

Following the example of four other cars, I parked on what technically was the front lawn and walked nervously up to the door. Despite the slight chill in the March air, only a screen covered the dark maw of the doorway. Loud fast music pumped out of the open windows as I knocked politely on the tinny door, careful not to knock too hard lest it lose it’s one remaining hinge. After a moment of watching the music swirl crazily around me before escaping into the darkening forest, I knocked harder. Still nothing. Opening the door carefully, I leaned my head in and called, “hello?” I couldn’t even hear my own voice over the din. Stamping my feet on the rickety wooden porch, I waited again, longer this time. Gathering all my courage and mumbling, “This is ridiculous,” to myself, I opened the door and pushed inside against the wall of sound. I followed the noise down a dark hallway, past a dank kitchen and into the back room where I popped out, Alice-in-Wonderland style, into an exploding room dominated by a tangled mass of music equipment and one very energetic singer. Or screamer. Or both. Whatever it was, it was Jimmie.

He cut off mid-rant. “Groupie?” he said hopefully into the microphone, which of course was completely unnecessary in the small quarters.

“Tutor,” Van said, the humor evident in his voice. “You remember Leigh,” he added as he got up from the couch behind me where he had been listening to the band. Without the benefit of earplugs, I noted.

“Ah, tu-TOR,” Jimmie said, stringing the word out lewdly. “Wish I had a tutor like that when I was in high school!”

“Ignore him,” Van whispered in my ear, draping his arm easily over my shoulders. His breath made the back of my neck prickle and I tried not to blush. Then, louder to Jimmie, “She’s just here to help me with a book report.” Just here to help with a book report. What did that mean?

“Well in that case,” Jimmie bowed low at the waist despite the guitar hanging around his neck, “welcome to my palace!”

Glancing around at the peeling wallpaper, mildewed wood paneling and filthy, holey shag carpet I tried to keep the irony out of my voice as I replied, “You have a very nice house.”

“It’s his grandma’s,” the drummer called loudly to me as if that should explain something.

“Shut up, Cole!” Jimmie chucked a pizza box at him before returning his attention to me. “She’s high up in the Mexican Mafia,” Jimmie said with a stage whisper and a wink. “She’s disowned her whole family except me, her favorite grandson, so I get the run of the place.”

“Until she comes back,” Cole piped up and giggled.

“Shut UP, Cole,” Jimmie lifted the mic stand warningly.

I was trying to decide which was worse – the fact that he would say his grandmother was in the Mexican Mafia or the possibility that someone “high up” in said Mafia would live in this dilapidated insult to Habitat for Humanity – when I realized Van was pulling me out the door back to the kitchen.

“Oh, hi!” The tiny blond girl with elfin features and wide quiet eyes stepped back from the sink, a sudsy pile of dirty dishes wobbling by her elbow.

“Hey Hal,” Van boomed and threw his arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. I winced inwardly. He introduced me as his tutor. Ok, I get it now. My stomach churned as he pulled the girl away from the sink. “Leigh, this is Jimmie’s girl Halley.” I blinked quickly to cover my shock. “Halley, this is the minor miracle I was telling you about earlier. She’s going to save my English grade, the earth and everything.”

“Sounds like a major miracle to me,” Halley said quietly, smiling awkwardly as she adjusted the thin strap of her tank top. The gesture seemed incongruent with her obvious beauty but it had the effect of immediately putting me at ease. “We’re so glad someone can help this one,” she poked Van playfully. “We need him to graduate so he can get off our couch.” I missed Van’s retort as I tried to decide which was more appalling – the fact that Van lived in this squalor or the fact that she did.

“We can study in here,” he said waving at the rickety picnic table that still had the chain attached to its leg from where it had obviously been stolen from some park. In fact, there was still evidence of bird droppings underneath the pile of dirty dishes and burrito wrappers.

“Right…” I said as Jimmie hit a chord on his guitar and the sonic boom encompassed us.

“What?” Van said smiling good-naturedly.

“This isn’t going to work!” I tried to yell over the music. He made a valiant effort at lip reading and then gave up and shrugged his shoulders. Walking over to him, I stood on my tiptoes and yelled, “Isn’t there someplace else we can study?”

Apparently it still wasn’t enough. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulled me into him, leaning down so that my lips were right at ear level. Being in such proximity to him and his Bambi eyes flustered me and I forgot what I was saying. Forgot my whole point actually. “What did you say?” he prompted.

“Um,” I breathed. “Someplace else?” The words felt like they were coming from outside of me.

“Somewhere quiet and peaceful?” He said, still not releasing me.

“Yeah.” I found myself distracted by his bullring, which he never wore at school but was now unnervingly back in place. What would my parents say if they saw us now? They had actually been pretty excited when I told them I had a study date with a guy, seeing as how I never date. I can still see their beaming faces in the window waving good-bye to me. I don’t think this is what they were picturing.

“Okay,” he grinned, finally letting go. “I know the perfect place!”

My legs were all wobbly and I grabbed the counter to steady myself as my feet took on the full load of my body again. “Let’s go.”

“You got a jacket?” he said joyously. “Never mind, take mine.” Chucking a large sweatshirt at me, he bounded out the backdoor.

“Try and remember to study, you two!” Halley called in a voice surprisingly maternal for her childish body. “And try not to stay out too late. I don’t want to have to come looking for you.”

As soon as the door shut behind me, I was enveloped by the dark cool of the night and heavenly fragrance surrounding us. I closed my eyes, sucking as much of the scent in as I could, but I still couldn’t place it. It seemed exotic and almost tangible in the darkness. I was about to ask Van what it was but then I noticed he was already twenty feet ahead of me, plunging through the wet grass. “Where are we going?” I called as we quickly lost sight, although not sound, of the house.

“You’ll see, you’ll see,” he said happily, consciously slowing his pace to accommodate me. “You’re going to love it, I promise.” I didn’t answer; it was all I could do to not lose him in the sucking blackness of the trees. “You know, this place is practically magical,” he enthused.

Looking around, I could see we were in the midst of one of the many unremarkable pine forests that blanket Western Washington. After all, there’s a reason we’re the Emerald State. But somehow with him, it did feel a little enchanted.

“Seriously! This is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. All this place needs are some fireflies and the transformation will be complete!”

“You’ve seen fireflies?” I said as I jumped a small, waterlogged ditch. “Really?”

“Yeah, when we lived in Illinois,” he pronounced the “s” on the end. “They’re crazy cool. These little balls of flickering light that dart in and out of the trees like spirits or something! I could spend all night chasing them. Except, well, they only come out at dusk you know.”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “This is the only place I’ve ever lived.”

“Huh,” he said finally stopping. “You’ve never seen the Washington monument?” I shook my head. “Statue of Liberty?”

“Nope.”

“Mt. Rushmore?”

“Sorry.”

“Grand Canyon? Bourbon Street? St. Louis Arch?”

“Um, triple no. How’ve you been all these places?” I laughed.

“I moved around a lot,” he said quietly. “What about the night sky?”

“Excuse me?” I said looking upward through the black branches at the cloudy gray night sky.

“Uh-uh,” he shook his head. “Not here. You can’t ever see it here for all the clouds and the city lights. I mean for real. Like where you can see the whole Milky Way stretching from one end of the sky to the other.”

“You can’t see the whole Milky Way without a telescope,” I murmured defensively. Can you?

“You can,” he said, his voice low. “It’s a solid stream of stars from end to end, so bright your eyes hurt and you can’t breathe trying to take them all in. I’ve only seen it once – when we were visiting my great aunt in New Mexico but I’ll never forget it.”

“Oh,” I sighed, wishing with all my heart I’d seen it.

“You have to be somewhere open. And high up preferably. Like the night sky over the desert.” Tipping my chin up with his hand, he looked intently in my eyes. “If you never leave here, never do anything else in your life, promise me that at least once you will see the night sky in the desert.”

The world spun around us, the misty air cradling us in a cold embrace as I felt the importance of this moment weighing down on me. Perhaps he did not feel it but for me the tides stopped, the moon watched, and the trees listened as I made my pact with the earth, “I promise.”

Holding my cold hands between his, he nodded once quickly. “Good.” I shivered spastically and he jumped back. “Well, we’re here!”

I gazed around us, gradually regaining my bearings. “Um, still in the forest, Hansel.”

He laughed, “Well, almost there. Follow me.” Hoisting my backpack onto his shoulders, he bounded over a half-trampled fence to a steel ladder. Standing at the base, I followed his shoes up a hundred feet to the top of a camouflaged water tower.

“You want me to climb up there?” I croaked to his already disappearing form.

“Trust me. You want to climb up here.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” I said testing the slippery bar nearest my hand.

“Trust me,” he repeated, “you won’t regret it.”

Looking around me, I realized my chances of finding my way back to Jimmie’s and my car on my own were slim, so that left me with waiting it out down here in the mud or…climbing the tower.

“How is this worth it?” I gasped as he helped me over the railing onto the catwalk at the top.

“Look around!” he swung his arms out expansively as I clutched the rounded side of the water tower in a frantic embrace.

“I managed not to look down for the whole climb up here,” I said with my eyes clenched shut, “I don’t think I’m about to start now.”

“Then you miss the whole point,” he said sadly. “Just like if Taylor Greer had gone to all the trouble of leaving Kentucky and then never stopped in Taylorsville!”

“Not fair,” I mumbled. “She was flat on her feet on solid ground.”

“And you think finding the baby in her car and deciding to be her mom didn’t throw her off her feet?” he demanded.

“I guess so,” I said still unconvinced.

“But it turned out to be a beautiful thing in the end didn’t it?” he continued.

“Yes…”

“But she had to take a risk.” Grabbing my shoulders gently, he pulled my arms off the water tower like he was prying a starfish from a rock, “And so do you.” He turned me around, holding me securely to his chest, and I gasped. The whole world was suddenly spread out before me. The lights of the city glittered in the far off distance, the in-between darkness cut alternately with highways of liquid light and pockets of cities carved out of the forest. Standing on the metal grate, I felt suspended in the air, floating over the mist, seeing only what the seagulls can.

“You don’t need fireflies up here,” I whispered finally. “It’s already magical.”

“You’re right,” he smiled. Then turning my chin with one finger, he leaned down and kissed me.

My heart pounded in my toes. “You don’t need my help with your book report.”

“Yeah,” he sighed happily, “I pretty much nailed it with that last analogy didn’t I?”

“Barbara Kingsolver would be proud.”

“I’m proud,” he said and kissed me again.

………

The next day, right next to the Alpine Dianthus in my locker was a spindly green leafy stalk in a pot. Smiling to myself, I pulled the tag out to read Agapanthus X ‘Headbourne Hybrid Pinocchio’. A rare dwarf lily from England. Rich blue trumpets form a ball on the top of each stalk thickly bladed with glossy foliage. Requires lots of sun. Turning over the tag in my hand, I read softly to myself, “Traditionally symbolizes maiden charms.”
- posted by Charlotte @ 7:59 AM