My First Love (9 page)

But just let some boy act like he might care about me and Mom would shake her head and say, “Don’t you believe it. If you take the first fast car that comes along, you’ll find yourself traveling the road to mediocrity.” I hated it when she said that kind of thing. Just because she had made a mistake didn’t mean I would.

Mom eyed Chris suspiciously once more before she got into the car. “There’s a meat loaf in the oven,” she informed us, and then added for Chris’s benefit, “Study hard, you two. I’ll be home just after ten.”

As we waved good-bye to Mom from our walkway, Chris was already loosening his tie. The knot was flying at halfmast when he went to empty the bucket of sudsy water onto the grass. The tie was swinging loosely from his shoulders by the time we got to the front door.

“You know, the jacket and tie were nice touches,” I teased him, “but if you really wanted to impress my mom with your scholarly intentions, you might have at least remembered to bring along your books.”

Chris slapped his pants pockets a few times, as though the ten-pound physics tome,
Matter and Motion
, could be crammed in there. “I knew I forgot something,” he said with a lopsided, completely irresistible smile.

“That’s okay,” I said, laughing as I led him into the
apartment to our combination living/dining area. “I’ve got my book. We can share.”

It was one thing to be alone with Chris on the rooftop, but a different thing altogether to let him into our apartment. I felt as though my life had been opened up right there in front of him and that everything from my two-person family had been set out on display.

“How about some music?” I asked, hoping noise would somehow soothe me, help me feel more at home in my own house.

“Sure, why not?” said Chris, who had zeroed in on our bookshelves, scanning the rows of colored spines before he selected a book.

I tuned the radio to Mom’s classical station because it seemed like the kind of music to go with dinner, even if dinner was only meat loaf. Then, while Chris was still browsing, I searched the hutch for the nice tablecloth we used on holidays, hoping to substitute it for our everyday plastic place mats. I found it, and I also took out the matching napkins. There were some candles—two were the same dark-green color, but no two were the same size. I snapped three inches off the bottom of the longest one, and held them up together to see if they’d match.

Chris looked up from a book. “You can tell a lot about people by the kinds of books they have,” he said.

“Oh? And what does your investigation reveal about me?”

“That you’re more practical than romantic,” he said. “You’ve got all these books on science and history, hardly any novels.”

“Those are mostly my mom’s books,” I said quickly. “I’ve got others in my room.” I didn’t want him thinking I was some passionless robot, especially when, at that very moment, my heart was shouting out his name between beats.

I set the candles in brass holders and placed them on the table. From the kitchen, I brought two wineglasses and a jumbo bottle of lime seltzer. “I’ll get the silverware,” Chris offered, “if you’ll tell me where it is.”

“Top left-hand drawer,” I told him, standing back to admire how pretty the table looked.

After we’d brought in our plates of salad and meat loaf, Chris pulled my chair out for me. He’d been raised with manners, that was for sure, because he waited until I’d swallowed my first mouthful before he even took a bite. If my glass was half full, Chris rushed to fill it. And though this attention made me nervous, it was also incredibly romantic.

It was different from the night before, though. Then, we’d talked for hours, blurting out almost anything that came into our heads. Now we were much quieter. Chris had this gentle, sweet expression. When he looked at me and smiled, I felt smart and pretty and cherished and safe. It was a wonderful feeling.

“That was delicious,” Chris said, scraping up the last of his second helping. The way he went on about the meat
loaf, you’d have thought I’d just served him a Thanksgiving Day feast.

“It’s just meat loaf,” I said, thinking his family probably ate different things, sophisticated dishes I’d never heard of.

“Maybe I could copy the recipe. I really like to cook, but my parents’ favorite recipe is call-in/take-out,” Chris said. I was so surprised I almost laughed.

After dinner, we cleared the dishes, and I took out my physics book. But when I turned to the chapter I’d attempted to review that morning, the words seemed printed in a foreign language. “I don’t remember reading this,” I said, trying not to panic. Mr. Tayerle was going to test us on the entire astronomy section on Tuesday.

Chris had been sketching in my notebook—he’d drawn a profile of my face—but he looked up when I said that.

“I’ve got to reread the whole section,” I said, flipping frantically back through the pages, figuring the task was going to take me at least a couple of hours. “I mean, do you even remember when Copernicus published his theory of the universe, or how many miles there are between the Earth and the moon?”

“It was 1543,” Chris answered, going back to his drawing. “And the distance between the Earth and the moon is two hundred thirty-nine thousand miles. There are ninety-three million miles between the Earth and the sun.”

His casual confidence only made me feel more shaky. “You must have a photographic memory,” I said.

“I guess I do,” Chris answered. He kept sketching my face, shading in the contours of my high cheekbones, drawing in dark eyebrows above my eyes. “For instance, Amy, when I shut my eyes, all I see is you.”

He took my hand then, and kissed the palm. Then he kissed my wrist and up my arm—sweet little feathery kisses—before I reluctantly pulled away.

I’m counting on you
. My mother’s words were ringing so clearly in my head, she might as well have been in the same room with us. “Chris,” I said, hoping my voice sounded steady, “I have to study.”

“Want me to quiz you?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” I said, staring miserably at the incomprehensible graphs and tables in the book. I could just picture my mom’s face when I told her I got a
D
on my physics test. I had let things slip, I really had. Just a few days of slacking off could turn everything around for me. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to re-read a few chapters on my own.”

“Okay. I’ll just draw, then,” he said.

I hesitated. He was making this tough. “I—I meant, I need to study alone.”

“You want me to leave?” he asked, a hurt expression on his face.

“Chris, I don’t
want
you to, but I can’t study when you’re around.”

He stood up and smiled. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He held out his hand. “Walk me to the door?”

“Sure,” I said, standing and taking his hand.

Walking Chris to the door proved to be disastrous to my study time. An hour later we were still kissing and talking and saying good-bye.
I’ll just stay up a little later
, I kept telling myself. Finally, I pushed him out the door. “See you in class,” I said, trying to sound firm.

Then I went back to studying astronomy. I started the chapter on eclipses and tried to recall the one I’d actually seen, the one we should have taken notes on. But all I could remember were the brownies we’d eaten, and the faint taste of chocolate on Chris’s lips, when I should have been studying the moon.

I was looking for notepaper in the drawer of my desk when I came across the financial aid form for colleges my counselor, Mr. Hatch, had given me to give to Mom several weeks ago. At the time, I’d hidden it away rather than show it to her—it looked as complicated as income taxes, and I knew she’d have to call my long-lost dad in order to fill it out. If I didn’t hang on to my
A
in physics, there was no way I could count on a merit scholarship.

With a feeling of dread, I placed the form on the table, where Mom would be sure to see it when she got home from work.

Mom knocked on my bedroom door at ten-fifteen. She opened it and walked in, holding up the financial aid form. “I suppose this means I’ve got to be in touch with your
father,” she said. “I imagine he still lives in Austin. Unless he’s gone off and married some poor woman.”

An unmistakable look of pain crossed her face. “You don’t have to actually fill it out until next year,” I told her quickly, turning around in my desk chair. “My counselor just thought it might be a good idea to get prepared a year ahead.”

To my surprise, Mom let out a laugh. “We’d both better hope that your father hasn’t struck gold and suddenly become a millionaire,” she said.

“Why not, if he could help us?” I asked.

“His added income might hurt us more than it would help,” she said wearily, sitting down on my bed. “I’m not sure he’d fork it over, even if he had it. Way back when, your father didn’t see the value in my going to college. So I’m not so sure he’d want to treat you to an expensive education at a private school.”

“I guess not,” I said glumly. While Mom had struggled alone to raise me all these years, my dad had been a shadow in the background, barely more than a tightfisted signature on a yearly birthday card. How could I expect him to help pay for college, when Mom had to get on his case constantly just so he’d send his court-ordered child support? “You don’t have to call him if you really don’t want to,” I said.

Mom was quiet a moment, considering. “If I don’t get in touch with him, we’ll never know the answer, and it’s better to know before you start applying to schools,” she said in
a sensible voice. She started to walk out of my room, then turned. “But I must say I’m dreading having to dodge your father’s dangerous charm.”

I knew my father had swept her off her feet all those years ago, but I’d never heard her describe him as charming.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Your father always had a way of convincing me that he could make anything happen,” she said, sighing. “As if love alone is magic—when we both know that in the end you have to rely on yourself.”

As she closed my door, I had a sinking feeling that she could just as well have been talking about Chris.

Don’t worry. We’ll go to the library tonight and review the whole astronomy unit,” Chris said at lunch on Mondy, after I’d spent fifteen minutes telling him how nervous I was about the physics test the next day. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

The two of us were sitting face-to-face on the school lawn, squinting in the strong Arizona sun and sharing a bottle of Snapple and a bag of Cheetos.

“I’m not sure,” I said slowly. I knew it was a dangerous idea to see him at all that night. Even at the library.

“Oh, come on, Amy. I promise we’ll get a lot done,” Chris said. “You can have your own study carrel if you want. You won’t even know I’m there—unless you have a physics question you want to ask me.”

I looked at his serious, pleading face and laughed.

“Please?” he urged. “There’s no way I can go a whole night without seeing your face.”

I felt the beat of my heart pick up speed. Those were the kind of words I treasured, that I dreamed about hearing from him. How could I say no?

I pointed an orange Cheeto-stained finger at him. “If you absolutely
promise
to let me study and you
promise
you’ll take me home early so we can get some sleep before the swim meet.”

“I will,” he said happily. “I really will.” He tackled me on the lawn and pinned me down for a long kiss.

There could have been teachers passing by right then. Coach August and the entire swim team could have been standing there gaping at us. The principal could have looked out his office window and wondered what in the world had happened to practical, responsible Amy Wyse.

But the kiss felt so perfect I didn’t even care.

“First I’m going to read the whole astronomy section over again, from beginning to end,” I was telling Chris as we sped along in his mother’s Saab to the public library. “Then I’m going to do the—”

“Whoa,” Chris said, his eyes focused on a cluster of lights twinkling in the distance. I realized he wasn’t paying any attention to me.

“What?” I asked.

Chris suddenly got this really excited look on his face and swung into the left lane.

“What?” I said again. “Where are you going?”

“Amy, this is going to be so cool.”

“What’s going to be so cool?” I persisted.

Chris hung a left and sped in a direction I was pretty sure wasn’t going to get us to the library.

“Quick detour,” Chris told me, examining the street signs. “I promise it won’t take long, and it will be worth it.”

“What could be worth failing my physics test?” I murmured, but Chris was so absorbed in navigation that I don’t think he heard me.

“Okay, Amy, get ready.” Chris pulled the car into a dark parking lot and practically leapt out. He ran around to my side, opened the door, and grabbed my hand to yank me to my feet. He led me across the parking lot and down a dusty path. “Now, close your eyes,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Come on, close ’em.”

“Chris,
what
are we doing?” I demanded, but my curiosity was getting the best of me, so I closed my eyes.

He led me along blindly for another twenty yards or so,
then stopped. I could hear unfamiliar whirring sounds and faint music in the distance.

“Okay,” he said, and I could hear the excitement in his voice, “you can open them.”

I did. It took me a second to focus on the blurring chaos of colored lights at the bottom of the hill. It was a carnival. A big, blazing, whirling carnival with a merry-go-round and a Ferris wheel and music and games and people shouting. I felt a tingle of anticipation in the night air. “Wow.”

We had approached it from the back, so we had missed the cars and buses and signs at the entrance. We had the magical view all to ourselves.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Chris said.

He grabbed my hand, and we went running all the way down the hill and into the lights. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice that sounded a lot like my mom’s was reminding me how unprepared I was for my physics test.
Very bad idea
, that voice was telling me. But the bright lights and the music and the electric tingle of Chris’s hand wrapped tightly around mine were too intoxicating to resist.