Has to Be Love (8 page)

Dad folds his arms with a smile. “I know tonight is dodgeball, which means that you'll be sitting on the sidelines with a book.”

I hold my book between us because there's really no escaping how well he knows me.

“We're just going to take a quick trip over the glacier. I promise to have you back before closing prayer,” Dad says.

I open my mouth to protest, but there's no point. I haven't seen Dad smile this wide in a long time. “Fine,” I say.

He swings his arm over my shoulder and gives me a squeeze as we walk back toward the plane. “And we both know the Clellans don't mind when I use their field.”

I stay silent. Of course they don't mind, but normal people use
the runway.

Dad opens the small back door of his plane, and I step on the small step above the wheel before sliding inside.

“Do you ever get used to this?” Rhodes asks the second I scoot onto the small backseat.

“Yep,” I answer. “Did you ask my dad why he didn't use the runway like a normal person?”

“It's too far away from the church,” Dad says. “And I did take
off
from the runway.” He chuckles as he slides his thumb over the sheet with his preflight checklist. He could recite the thing in his sleep, but he still goes through every item. “I just know how you like to fly over the river, so I thought we'd come pick you up.”

I look Rhodes over. He's wearing a too-new North Face shell, pressed hiking pants, and unscuffed hiking boots. He screams tourist, which helps temper my reaction to him much better than the snug plaid shirts, which Jell-O my knees.

I slip on my headset just as Dad yells, “Clear!” and starts the small engine.

He loves flying in and out of this small field so much that he flew us to church a few times when I was small. We bounce up the field as the small plane picks up speed, and I feel the familiar lurch in my stomach as we leave the ground.

Rhodes turns sideways in his seat to face me and presses the microphone closer to his lips. His eyes are as excited as a five-year-old's in a toy store, and I find myself smiling back.

“You really get used to this?” Rhodes asks.

“Yep,” I answer. Rhodes turns back around and rests his forehead against the window. I do the same in the backseat.

The river's wide here, channeling paths over the expanse of gravel, winding between three and ten different paths underneath us. Dad banks hard to the left, and I know this is where the canyon narrows and the river will become one solid, churning mass for a while.

“What's that?” Rhodes points.

Dad peers over, but he's on the wrong side of the plane. I can look out either side from my place in the back, so I lean over. “Moose,” I tell him. About eight or so brown spots jog along the riverside.

“This is just like
National Geographic,”
Rhodes says, and Dad laughs. “Do you two fly a lot?”

“The plane smells,” I say, wondering why I'm even trying to counter Rhodes's excitement.

“Smells like
adventure,”
Rhodes teases, throwing me another kid-like grin from the front seat.

We continue up the canyon, and finally Dad has to gain some altitude because our airspace is narrowing as the mountains come closer together.

“If Clara was up front, I'd have her take the controls,” Dad brags. “She's pretty good.”

“Is that legal?” Rhodes asks.

Dad laughs. “Nope.”

“All I do is hold the yoke,” I say. “I've landed us a handful of times, but always with Dad's help. It's not that big a deal.” Half the people I know have small planes—and only half of those are always flown by their licensed pilot owners.

“I think it's a big deal.” Rhodes's face is once again resting against the glass as he takes in the world below us.

The two-lane highway follows the same windy path as the river does, like two small ribbons cutting through the evergreens and brown trees waiting for leaves. The plane banks, and I've taken this route often enough to know we're close to the glacier.

The river widens and flattens out again, leaving the highway to follow the curve of the mountain instead of the curve of the water. A few large chunks of ice sit in the water, too big for the river to carry them any farther. The glacier blends into the gravel and glacial silt for a while until it gives way to blue ice and snow.

Dad lowers the plane again, like I knew he would. He loves flying right over the top of the ice. When I was a kid, we'd make up stories about pretend people who lived in all the cracks and crevices of the massive expanse. The glacier is about two-thirds the size it was when I was little, but it's still enormous, growing from the canyon floor nearly to the mountaintops.

“You can come up here every day?” Rhodes asks. “Because this is amazing.”

“Plane fuel costs a bit much,” Dad says. “But yep, if I wasn't such a penny-pincher, we for sure would. We could fly up here every day that the weather allows it.”

“This is why I love to travel,” Rhodes says.

“Why?” I ask.

“I love that idea that someone else's normal is an adventure for me. I love it when I can live somewhere long enough that the adventurous part of a new place begins to feel like every day.”

I can't imagine anything but my life feeling normal. Can't imagine college feeling normal. New York feeling normal. I can, however, imagine what it would feel like to have my face back.

“I think that's pretty dang admirable,” Dad says.

“Keeps life interesting,” Rhodes answers.

I want to say something witty or clever. Something that shows Rhodes a piece of the person I hope I am when I make it to college, but I come up blank. Instead I find myself jealous of a guy who isn't afraid to keep moving forward.

When Dad finally lands back in the field, I slip out of the backseat with a wave. I stumble twice after being in the air but find my legs again quickly. The church parking lot is almost all cleared out—so much for making it back in time for the end.

Elias leans on the bed of his truck and smiles, cocking an eyebrow as I get closer. “So, your dad stole you away from your own church activity. I figured you'd be gone max thirty minutes.”

“Yeah.” I stop next to Elias and then squint when someone's headlights hit my eyes. It is seriously not dark enough for headlights. “Dad's taken it upon himself to be Rhodes's welcoming committee.”

I wince as Dad's airplane hits that high whine it does when it takes off.

Elias leans back a bit. “Mr. Kennedy was with you?”

“Next to
Dad.”
I widen my eyes as I tease him. Elias normally isn't weird about me being around guys. I'm not sure why Rhodes is different.

I slide my hands around Elias's sides, and every feeling I had this afternoon in my house comes back in a rush. My lips find his. Elias's mouth opens and his hands thread through my hair, holding our faces together as one kiss blends into the next.

I'm pressing against Elias as hard as I can—hips, stomach, chests. I never want us to stop. Ever.

Elias pulls back, gasping for air. “Okay. Wow. Church parking lot. Wow …” He pushes out a couple short breaths.

“You okay?” I ask.

Elias lets out a little chuckle. “I'm okay.”

He swallows and his eyes find mine in the dimming light—all soft and serious.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you …” He brushes the hair off my face but doesn't continue.

I tug my bangs back down.

“Will you do …” He clears his throat before glancing at the ground and then back up at me. “Will you do something with me tomorrow after rehearsal?”

Something about his tone starts a new kind of nervous fluttering in my stomach. I can't tell if it's a good kind or a bad kind because my body's so upside down right now.

“Yeah. Of course. Yeah.”

He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Okay. Until tomorrow.”

I let my hands slide off his waist and then let them slide over his hips before they fall to my sides. I'm not ready to let him go. To let his body go.

Things between us are shifting, and I want them shifted. Changed. Moved forward.

He opens my driver's side door for me and waits until my truck starts before going to his. He always does that—makes sure that I'm okay before he makes a move. That's Elias. I still can't believe how lucky I am.

“Whoa, what?” Cecily shrieks over the phone.

I wince because I really do see the importance of being careful with my body and all that, but when Elias and I are together, it just doesn't seem as crucial as it does in Sunday school. And now that I'm hours past from lying on the floor with him, guilt at how I felt is starting to squirm its way through me.

“It's not that big a deal.” I lie back in bed, the phone pressed against my ear like Dad will somehow not hear my end of the conversation. There are seriously a bajillion things to worry about if you're having sex with someone. Now that I'm not in the situation from earlier, I'm wondering why I wanted to do it so bad. Maybe I forgot how crappy I feel after I do something I know I shouldn't. So, obviously my beliefs play in, but I have a pretty strong practical side too, and … Yes. Lots to worry about. Mechanics. Birth control. STDs. Getting caught …

“But you guys almost …
you know.”

“No! We didn't!” And then I remember that I shouldn't talk so loud. “We weren't even under clothes,” I whisper. “Not much.”

She sighs. “I actually can't imagine what that's like because the thought of a guy touching my waist under my shirt is terrifying. What if I don't feel right or feel fat, and I can't … just … No.”

“I
can … now.”

“Clara.” She giggles. “And here I thought I'd for sure be the first one to go all the way, and now it looks like it'll be you.”

“No.” I sigh. Because between what I believe I should and shouldn't be doing and the practicalities, I can't imagine actually going all the way. And then I think about Elias's fingers at the edge of my jeans and think maybe I can …

“Maay-be,” she sings. “What do you think he wants tomorrow?”

“I have no idea.” I tap my toes on the ceiling-wall again.

“Well. I'm sure it'll be late here. Again,” she adds for emphasis because it's like 1:00 a.m. there. “But text me anyway, okay?”

“Will do. Promise.”

“Okay. I'm going
back
to sleep, and now you need to try to get your beauty sleep so you're ready for whatever that man of yours has planned.”

I swear I can feel her smirk over the phone in that hilarious, teasing way of hers.

“Night, Cee.”

9

Elias meets me onstage after school with that same odd smile as last night in the church parking lot.

“So, where are you taking me?” I ask as I step close.

“It's a surprise.” And there's this crazy, earnest expression on his face. I'm not sure what to do with it because his smile says he's excited, but the look in his eyes is more emotional or deeper or …

“Okay.” I shrug like it's no biggie, but then he takes my hand and threads our fingers together, and my stomach gets all crazy. I step toward him and our chests touch before he jumps back.

Jumps.

Like stepping back wouldn't be enough of a signal to me that I've maybe suddenly turned into a crazed, horny teenager, which I haven't. I don't think. There shouldn't be anything wrong with getting comfort from being
close
to someone.

“Ready to get started?” Rhodes—no,
Mr. Kennedy
—steps in, scowling at us. “Are you being appropriate for school?”

Elias flushes eighteen shades of scarlet, drops my hand, and moves even farther away.

Thank you very much.

Elias does his homework as we stumble through Act III of
Arsenic and Old Lace.
Rhodes steps in and laughs with the cast and directs in such a better way than Ms. Bellings, probably because he knows better what he's talking about. Hello … MFA program at freaking Columbia.

I stand on the edge of the stage, hands clasped around the cord for the curtain so tightly that my fingernails dig into my palms. All I can do is try not to feel desperate about how Rhodes looks in his skinny jeans or how Elias's body felt on top of me.

After about twenty minutes of very purposefully trying to keep my gaze off the two guys and colossally failing, I close my eyes, lean my forehead against the curtain rope, and just try to get through the hour of rehearsal.

Footsteps stop too close. I open my eyes and startle backward when Mr. Kennedy's smirk comes into view. “Enjoying your nap?” he teases.

I shrug. “Sorry,” I mumble, glancing toward Elias whose brow is pulled low

“It's okay.” Mr. Kennedy's smirk turns to a smile and the fluttery feeling in my gut is back, mixed with something heavy that feels suspiciously like guilt.

“I'm not—”

“You leave for Seattle in a couple weeks, right?” he asks, stepping so close I can smell his minty breath. “Or is my timeline off?”

Abby and Esther's eyes are wide and staring—I swear I can feel the holes they're drilling with their eyes from across the stage. Whatever. We're just
talking.

I release a breath, trying not to smell the lickable mint, and nod slightly. “Yeah.”

He does the chin tilt that normally makes guys look like jerks, but it just shows off his jaw, and then he squeezes my arm before turning away. “Well, good luck.”

I fall back against the wall, release the rope, and stretch out my stiff fingers.

Instead of watching Rhodes walk away, I pry my eyes off his back and stare at the floor.

“How does he know about Seattle?” Elias asks. Each word is carefully placed and deliberate, which means Elias is way overthinking Rhodes's words.