Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1) (36 page)

After a while I heard him exhale. “Thank you.”

I looked at him. “What for?”

“For coming along. For not throwing me out of the tent. For giving me a chance, even though I don’t deserve it, and for driving the bike, even though it was scary for you.”

It wasn’t just what he was saying, either; it was how he said it. His intonation alone left me breathless.

I stood on tiptoe and leaned to give him a kiss on his soft cheek. Everything stood still for a moment as the world was subsumed into the background, and before I realized what I had done, it was over. I dropped back onto my heels with an unbridled pounding in my chest.

Elyas’s eyes were closed. He blinked only after what felt like forever.

“W-wha
t . . .
what was that?” he stammered.

I bit my lower lip. “A peck on the cheek?”

“And wha
t . . .
w-what did I do to earn that?”

“You didn’t laugh at me when I was driving the bike, and you uttered so many sentences in a row without mentioning sex.”

Elyas stared at me. “Um
. . . ,
” he said. “
I . . .
I should get going now, before I say or do something that might screw things up.”

I smiled and nodded.

“Sleep well, Emely,” he whispered before putting his helmet back on.

“Good night, Elyas
. . .
”

He started the engine, looked at me again, and rode off. I stood there for ages watching him. At some point I turned away, feeling light as paper in an autumn wind, and went upstairs. When I opened the door, I was greeted by Eva. As I unpacked, I had to juggle her questions and decide what to answer. I left out a few significant details that pertained just to Elyas and me.

An hour later she left for Nicolas’s, and I had some peace and quiet. I lay down on my bed and didn’t move an inch for the next two hours. My head was working, my thoughts were churning, and again and again I went through every detail of what I had experienced since Friday. No, I didn’t just go through the details—I dreamed them. I let them wash over me to experience them a second time.

Still, as beautiful as everything had been, I had an uneasy feeling in my gut. As though my inner sense of well-being were lying, and I was actually standing on a ledge over an abyss.

I rolled onto my side and rested my cheek on my hand. What was Elyas doing right now? Was he still at Andy’s, or had he gone home? And if he had gone home, was he lying on his bed right now, too, sleeping like the angel from this morning?

I sighed as a soft pling came from my laptop. The only sound that might rouse me from the bed. I had been surprised I didn’t have an e-mail waiting for me when I got back. Luca hadn’t written in a while.

I reached over to my laptop and set it on my lap as I sat cross-legged.

Dear Emely,

Sorry for not writing sooner. I was on a trip myself and didn’t have a chance to reply before now. You went camping? And, if I’ve understood correctly, without a tent?

Do you have anything to confess?

No, seriously. How was it? Did the fears you mentioned come to bear?

Tell me about your trip.

Incidentally, I have to tell you that you are responsible for a heart attack. Yes, you read right. What did you think would happen when you wrote me, “I wish you were coming, too”?

I almost dropped the coffee mug from my hand as I read. If it ever occurs to you again to share something similarly sweet, please take pity on my heart and forewarn me!

I spent the whole weekend struggling with the question of what would have happened if you had not only wished for it but had actually invited me. How would we have gotten along? Would you have regretted inviting me, maybe? Or would the trip have turned into an unforgettable experience, in a good way?

I wish I had been with you and knew all the answers to my questions now.

Thanks for your Proust questionnaire. It was very insightful. You wrote you wanted to read my answers, too. So, as you wish, here they are:

Favorite color:
Turquoise and blue. Lately also brown, but that’s hard to explain.

Favorite flower:
This question was intended for women, I think. So you like sunflowers? I like them too, and now I’ll probably always think of you whenever I see them.

Favorite animal:
Why just dogs? I like cats, both the domestic kind and the great cats. I’ve always loved black panthers in particular. And penguins! Penguins are so funny!

Favorite food:
You like anything sweet? Very interestin
g . . .
I also love noodles, so on that point we agree. And Baileys ice cream! I love that stuff! Do you know it? If not, you absolutely need to try some.

Favorite nonalcoholic drink:
I concur 100% re coffee! (Incidentally, I make very good coffee.)

Favorite alcoholic drink:
I rarely drink alcohol. When I do, usually beer—typical guy, I guess. I have seen people order strawberry margaritas, though, and—yeah—they look pretty good.

Religion:
Also atheist.

Sunrise or sunset?
I’m hoping there will be lots of sunsets with you.

Where do you want to spend your honeymoon?
I’m shocked, Emely! You’re a woman not planning on getting married? Can you tell me why?

I haven’t given much thought to where I’d like to take my honeymoon. But I’m sure I’ll agree with my future wife, whatever she decides.

Where would you like to be kissed once?
Oh please, what kind of come-on is that? Ha ha, just kidding.

Actually, I agree with you: any place would be nice as long as you’re kissing the right person.

Have you ever lied to anyone:
Also no.

Personal goals:
Overthrow the government and achieve world peace? That’s your goal? That made me laugh out loud when I read it. So typical of you. More than you think.

Since you won’t be able to do that alone, I’ll naturally be at your side.

And my other goal
s . . .
Honestly I’ve only got one right now. Can you guess what it is?

A little hint: It starts with an
E
and ends with
mely.

Sounds dumb, huh? Still, it’s the honest truth. I can’t get you out of my head, Emely.

What position do you like to be in when you fall asleep?
You wrote that you sleep on your side or stomach.

When you say stomach, do you mean mine? Anytime!

I usually sleep on my side. (Although if you take me up on the stomach offer, then of course I will sleep on my back.)

So, my love, have a wonderful night! Mine won’t be that good, knowing it won’t be with you, again.

Sweet dreams, and hope to hear from you soon,

      Luca

Was I imagining it, or was this e-mail much more personal than his others? It was filled with emotion between the lines, I thought. Feelings I shared.

I shook my head. I shouldn’t overanalyze his e-mail just because I was on a hormonal roller coaster.

Still, I couldn’t shake the smile off my face, and I replied right away.

Hey Luca,

No problem about taking a while to reply. If it takes you that long to compose such sweet e-mails as today’s, you can take all the time you need. May I ask what you were so busy doing this weekend?

I loved your Proust questionnaire. You did an admirable job sucking up, but let me reassure you: you were successful!

Brown is your new favorite color? Brown is the favorite color of an environmentalist! Luca, are you an environmentalist? As you can see, I won’t let you talk your way around an explanation. I’m excited! And penguins? Yes, yes, yes. Penguins! They’re great. But I think the big cats are creepy. Whenever I watch a TV show about them, I imagine how it would feel to be hunted by such massive animals, with no hope of escaping, only to be devoured. Grisly!

It’s funny about Baileys ice cream—you’re starting to creep me out with all these things in common, but that’s my absolute favorite ice cream flavor.

What’s so interesting about me liking anything sweet?

There are several reasons I’m not planning on getting married. First and foremost, it’s my mother’s fault. She’s been nagging me about it since I was ten. But I also wonder why people even need to get married. Rings and marriage certificates shouldn’t be what bind two people to each other. It should be love.

Naturally a wedding entails legal recognition of your partnership. But that’s the only pro argument I can see—that at my final curtain call, my partner has the right to decide what happens to me. Apart from that, there’s another compelling counterargument: Who in the world would want to marry me? (That’s a rhetorical question: don’t waste your time answering it.)

You want to help me overthrow the government and create world peace? Yay! Welcome aboard. I’ll be in dire need of help.

Your stomach offer sound
s . . .
very enticing. If you don’t need it some night, I’d love to borrow it.

Dear Luca, I also hope you have sweet dreams. Incidentally, you’re not the only one who won’t be able to sleep tonight.

But I hope you still manage to get some shut-eye. Hello from Sleepless on Campus,

      Emely

I read through my other e-mail—class announcements, newsletters, ads, and so on—and then emptied my spam folder. Just as I was about to close my laptop, I heard another pling.

Dear Emely,

I knew it would pay to check my e-mail one more time tonight. It’s quite late, so I’ll reply at length to your long e-mail tomorrow.

One thing I didn’t want to let wait is why you didn’t tell me about your camping trip. Did you omit that on purpose? Is that something you don’t want to talk about with me, or was there just nothing to tell?

I was a little surprised you didn’t go into the topic at all.

And why won’t you be able to sleep tonight? I hope I’m not being too nosy.

Yours,

      Luca

And some people say men don’t pay attention. Maybe they only do when they’re not supposed to.

Dear Luca,

Yes, you’re being nosy. Way, way too nosy. I don’t mean that in a bad way. But it’s the only thing that gives me pause about you. I want to be honest: I think I did consciously leave it out. It’s a topic that is at once complicated and unpleasant. The trip was a minor catastrophe for me. It was awful—horrific, almost. I regret having gone, and should have stayed home.

I didn’t tell you about it ahead of time, but there was someone there. Someone from before who has driven me to the edge of insanity. I had to sleep in the same tent with him and ride a motorcycle home with him. Can you imagine how unpleasant it is to have to hold your hands around the waist of someone you’d prefer never to touch?

You can’t believe how much I’d like to erase the trip from my memory.

What would have happened if I had actually invited you? Well, I don’t know the answer, dear Luca, but I suspect very much that the trip would have gone differently, and somewhat better.

Maybe this all sounds kind of sudden, and I actually don’t know what’s gotten into me, bu
t . . .
What do think about setting up our in-person meeting? Like, in the near future?

Then maybe we could finally stop with the what-if questions. We like each other, so what are we waiting for?

Just think about it, and let me know.

Sleep well.

      Emely

I pressed “Send” and stared at the screen. The words had poured out of me effortlessly. My voice of reason had written those lines. The voice that constantly told me the trip would be the start of my personal demise.

I should never have let myself fall in love with Elyas. Never. Nothing that had happened over the weekend should have happened.

I didn’t know why I suddenly had the urge to set up our meeting. Maybe it was my selfish hope of saving myself, even if I was well beyond saving. Maybe I was clinging to the last branch, to the idea that Luca could be like Elyas, although not the same. Maybe I wanted to give us a chance, after writing e-mails to each other for three months, to get to know each other in real life.

I stared into space but found no answer. Just a suspicion that it was a combination of all these things.

After a while I stood and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Wearing a T-shirt, I made my way to the bed and slipped under the covers. I laid my cell phone on my pillow, directly beside me, and kept checking it.

A half hour, an hour, two hour
s . . .
It didn’t blink.

At some point I took it, typed a sentence, turned it off, and put it back on my pillow.

Why wasn’t Elyas texting me? Today of all days, after our night in the tent, after my kiss on his chee
k . . .
I didn’t understand.

I waited until four thirty the next morning. But my cell phone never made the slightest sound. Another day, another night. Tuesday passed, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday
. . .

It remained silent.

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

C
arina Bartsch was born in 1985 in Erlangen, in the Franconia region of Bavaria. Her love of writing came late, but intensely. Bartsch had been searching since childhood for something she would really enjoy doing. At age twenty she finally sat at her computer and wrote her first short story. Instantly she realized,
This is it. This, and nothing else.
Suddenly she knew what her heart had been beating for all those years. Four years later, after she had won several writing competitions, Bartsch published her debut novel,
Cherry Red Summer
.

For more on the author, please visit
www.carinabartsch.de
.