How My Summer Went Up in Flames (21 page)

I hesitate, but then my brain does a mental shrug and I slide off the log and scooch into Matty’s sleeping bag. It’s a tight fit, but he moves over and tries to keep from touching me. I pull the sleeping bag across me but don’t zip it. Ah, I can feel my feet again.

Matty is flat on his back, arms across his chest, looking up at the sky. Finally, he turns to face me. I can feel him smiling. “You think of me as part of your family?”

“Not just me. My parents, Eddie—you’ve got to know how much you mean to them. The only reason they let me take this trip is because you were going to be with me. If something were to happen between us, it would have to be the kind of something that lasts for a really long time, because they wouldn’t want to lose you either.”

“So you haven’t ruled it out? Us?”

I don’t know how to answer that, but I don’t want to hurt him. “No. I haven’t. But you know I’d be a terrible girlfriend. I’m more like an icky older sister.”

Matty uncrosses his arms and puts one under my head. Then he leans over and kisses me on the forehead. “You will never be my icky sister. Crazy sister, yes. But icky? Rosie Catalano, you are not icky.”

“Neither are you, Matthew Ryan Connelly. Now,
you’re not going to try to grab my boob, are you?”

That gets us giggling like we’re kids at our first sleepover. I try to talk, but snorting noises come out of my nose and I can’t get a word out. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to laugh like this.

Finally, we settle down and stare up at the endless Arizona sky.

“These stars are amazing. It’s like watching a 3-D movie. Some of them really do look close enough to touch.” I squint, hold out my hand, and pretend I’m doing just that. I wish someone were taking a picture of me and Matty right now. Curled up together in this sleeping bag. Looking at the universe. Come to think of it, I don’t need a picture. Somehow I know, for the rest of my life, no matter where I go or who I end up with, I will never forget this moment.

I turn on my side and close my eyes. Matty drapes his other arm over me, but I don’t worry about what it means. Within seconds, he’s breathing deep, even breaths. He’s asleep. And I’m not far behind. Despite being outside, with no protection from the elements or wild animals, I’m not worried about becoming some coyote’s next meal. In fact, I fall into the kind of deep, secure sleep I haven’t known since I met Joey all those months ago.

Our drive south from the Grand Canyon is like
something out of a really cool car commercial. We take Dry Creek Scenic Road into Sedona, passing these amazing, giant red rocks that rise above the otherwise flat landscape, dotted with cacti that look like they have thick, waving arms. An hour later, we arrive at Sliding Rock Canyon, a place where people picnic and swim. We all wore bathing suits under our clothes in anticipation of this stop. I changed into mine after my coin-operated shower at the campsite. I brought a fistful of change, not knowing what to expect, but in the end, it wasn’t half bad.

I spread out a towel on the rust-colored flat rocks near the water’s edge and lather on some suntan lotion that smells like a piña colada. I smile to myself as I think of
Lucca and my Cancún fantasy. He was some cowboy.

It doesn’t take long before it gets too hot. To avoid getting all sweaty before it’s time to get back in the Taurus, I wade into the creek up to my calves to cool my body and take in the canyon around me. Arizona is beautiful, uniquely so. The colors, the cacti, the sky—I think that’s one of my favorite parts, the sky, especially at night. But I don’t know if a New Jersey girl like me could ever get used to all this desert sand and no ocean.

I’m standing with my arms crossed over my tankini, watching a mom push her toddler around on his Sponge-Bob tube, when Logan comes up and stands beside me. Neither of us said anything this morning about the tent incident. And neither of us says anything now, but somehow, it’s not awkward.

I haven’t taken my shorts off yet. I don’t plan on swimming, but I’m hoping to get some nice color from the sun reflecting off the water. I can’t come all the way to Arizona and return home without a tan—particularly in July! That would be so wrong.

I close my eyes and let the heat warm my entire body. Sedona is hotter than the Grand Canyon. But Spencer says Phoenix is going to be hotter still, which I remember from
checking regional average temps when I was packing.

“So,” Logan says.

“So,” I reply, looking over the top of my sunglasses at him.

“What do you think?”

I choose to assume he’s talking about Sliding Rock. “It’s beautiful, really. I can see why you fell in love with it here.”

“But?”

“But I’m an ocean girl. I like diving under waves and boogie boarding. I like soft, white sand that squishes between my toes.”

“You don’t think you could get used to all this?”

Why is he asking me that? Is he envisioning a time when I’d have to get used to Arizona? “I didn’t say that I couldn’t. Anything is possible.” I’m starting to believe that.

Logan nods. Then he puts out his hand. “Let’s take a walk.”

We walk in the water, hand in hand, neither of us bothering to ask why or what it means. When it starts getting deeper, we move to the edge and walk on the rocks. They’re so smooth, it’s almost like a man-made water park. Then Logan drops my hand. Matty and Spencer are on top of a nearby ledge waiting their turn to dive in. Matty waves to me before making a perfect swan dive in the water,
his lean body entering the creek with hardly a splash.

I don’t know if years from now something more will ever happen between us, but Matty will always be my Matty, even if he’s not destined to be my soul mate. I can’t picture my life without him.

 • • •

I’m so relaxed when we get back in the car. My skin has a nice glow and still smells like suntan lotion. I pull a tank top on over my bathing suit and settle into the backseat. I scrounge around in my bag for a file so I can fix the damage I did cutting my nails for my guitar lesson. Even if my nails are super short now, I still want them to look good. Plus, filing my nails is like meditation—helps me sort things out.

Spencer’s driving, and I don’t bother asking how long it will take to get to the Phoenix area; we’ll get there when we get there. We’re spending tonight in a motel near Tempe, where ASU is. Then we’ll be there all day tomorrow, the Fourth of July, before spending one last night in Arizona and Matty, Spencer, and I leave on a red-eye. It feels like summer’s end, even though it’s just getting started. Sigh.

I’m actually looking forward to checking out ASU. I’ve never been to any college campuses before, not even Montclair State and Seton Hall, which are both under a
half hour from my house. From the pictures in the brochure, ASU looks like a cool place to spend four years. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and the students are all sporting shorts, sandals, and lightweight hoodies. Despite having no ocean, the endless summer aspect of Arizona totally adds points in its favor, and I could start fresh as a new and improved Rosie if I came to college here. Only Avery and Logan would know about Joey and the car. But are these good enough reasons to apply? I guess if it makes you happy. But who knows what the next year will bring? I wonder if Logan and Avery will even consider me a friend by then or if memories of this trip will be the only thing we share.

As I round out the nails on my left hand, I work my way through the layers of emotion. My thoughts feel like a ball made out of rubber bands, tight, compact, and overlapping. The trip ending, my court date coming, telling Joey to meet me in Phoenix, not returning Lilliana’s call, kissing Spencer, sleeping with Matty, watching the sun set with Logan, losing my phone, losing my mind, losing my heart. What’s going to happen when I get back home?

I bite off a hangnail on my ring finger. Avery is right. There’s no use looking beyond my court date—whatever’s going to happen will happen. That doesn’t mean I can’t
have a plan, though. I’ve got to stop letting things just “happen” to me.

I’m imagining taking the elastic ball and throwing it into the desert when Matty’s phone rings. Poor guy. I know it’s for me. He holds up the phone because it’s not my mom and he doesn’t recognize the number. Unfortunately, I do. The rubber bands in my head all snap simultaneously.

“Joey.”

Spencer gasps. Despite my predicament, this makes me smile. “No shit?” he asks.

“No shit,” I say. “I can’t talk to him, Matty. I promised my mom, and Miranda will kill me. Let it go to voice mail.”

Logan sticks his hand out.

“Give it,” he says.
I hope Logan talking to Joey doesn’t violate my TRO
, I think as Matty hands him the phone.

We listen to Logan’s half of the conversation. “Hello? Who’s this? Joey. What can I do for you, Joey? Rosie? Now, you of all people should know that talking to you could get her in big trouble. How about you give me the message? Don’t worry about who I am. We’ll let it remain a mystery for your crack legal team. . . .” Logan covers the phone and talks to us, “This guy is a douche bag.” Then he talks back into the phone. “Back at you, man. How about you drop
the attitude and just tell me what the frig you want. . . . Tell Rosie you’re not going to be in Phoenix on the Fourth of July? What a coincidence; neither is she.” There’s a pause and I’m not sure what Joey is saying, but then Logan says, “Sorry. Still can’t let you talk to her.”

“Tell him I’m taking the red-eye home on Sunday. He can contact my attorney after that.”

Logan passes along the message, then simply hangs up.

“What an a-hole,” Logan says as he tosses the phone back to Matty.

“He wasn’t always,” I mumble. “That was not the Joey I dated.”

“No offense,” Spencer says, “but no one seems to know the Joey you dated.”

“Word,” Matty agrees.

Silenced by the truth, my lame defense stays lodged in my throat. Joey hasn’t dropped the TRO. He knows contacting me is trouble, and he’s only calling me because his girl dumped him and he wants something. How the hell did he get Matty’s number? Lilliana? Maybe. I don’t blame her. It’s my problem, not hers. What does all this say about me, exactly? Why am I the kind of girl who would date a guy like Joey?

I can’t answer that, but I should explain to the guys why Joey’s calling. “It’s my fault. I told him to meet me in Phoenix on the Fourth of July.”

“What?! When?” Matty is incredulous.

“Relax. It was the night before we left. I couldn’t sleep. I took some Benadryl. I messaged him on Facebook. It’s all a blur at this point.”

This last bit of information gets Spencer all excited. “Imagine if he had shown up.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not happening. Like Joey said, he won’t be in Phoenix for the Fourth of July.”

“And like I said, neither will we,” Logan repeats.

“Sure we will,” Spencer says. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

“Change of plans, bro,” Logan says. “Stay on this highway through Phoenix toward Tucson. When we get to Interstate 8, we’re going west.”

 • • •

The trip along Interstate 8 brings us through a desert of a different sort. As we approach Yuma, Arizona, and the California border, the sand changes to actual, well, sand. The white, dune kind like we have along the New Jersey shore. It’s beautiful. The late afternoon sun makes me think of Christmas cards depicting the three wise men on camels,
traveling along the pristine sand with a brilliant, golden star to guide their way. And then I do see the brilliant golden star, like a halo, up ahead.

“Mickey D’s!” Matty shouts.

It’s not the Star of Bethlehem, but after a long drive, it’s practically the next-best thing.

Logan rushes us through our super-size meals. “Come on,” he urges. He’s piling crumpled napkins and his empty salad container on his tray. “You can eat your fries in the car. I want to cross the mountains before it gets dark.”

I know what’s coming next. Yep, there it is: the finger round-up motion. It hasn’t made an appearance since Texas, but it’s back in full force. Oh, how I’ve missed it.

 • • •

The drive over the mountains from Yuma to San Diego is more dangerous than it looks. The mountains are steep, and there are water stations every so often—for overheated cars—along with signs reminding drivers to carry jugs of water to cool their engines while crossing these mountains and the desert.

I’m happy there’s some daylight left when we cross over to the California side and drive toward San Diego. It’s like the whole world springs into Technicolor. Green trees and lawns,
petunias, impatiens, pretty yellow flowers I don’t know the name of. Ruddy earth tones had dominated so much of our trip since Texas. It makes the contrast more spectacular. Like that first taste of sugar after you’ve been on a diet.

It’s getting late, but Logan drives until we reach Mission Beach. After we park, I’m the first one out of the car. Matty is right behind me. We both kick off our shoes as soon as our feet touch sand. I look at Matty and don’t even have to say it. We both take off running, like Dorothy and the Scarecrow through the poppy field. I know he’ll get there before me. In a pool, I have a chance, but on land, there’s no way I’ll catch him.

I pull off my top at the edge of the dry sand but don’t bother with my shorts before I dive in. I’ve lost count of how many times in my life I’ve run into crashing waves, but tonight is different. This is the Pacific Ocean. I’ve just driven across the entire country.

I stand with my back to the waves and look toward the shore, beyond Logan and Spencer, the parking lot, the car, the road. I inhale deeply, and it’s like I can feel the distance, every single mile I traveled from New Jersey to this point, right here. The cold water doesn’t bother me. I close my eyes and savor the smell of the ocean, the quiet in
my mind, the intensity of the moment. When I open them again, the world snaps back into focus. I hear the sound of the waves, and Matty’s laughter, right before he grabs my shoulders and pushes me under.

 • • •

I lick the salt water off my lips as I sit, wrapped in a towel, on the hood of the Taurus watching the ocean and listening to the whoosh of the surf. Even though my bathing suit and shorts are still wet, inside I am warm.