I’ll Meet You There (15 page)

“Night,” I said.

She gave me a wave. “See ya.”

I got into my car, dreading going home. Dylan was probably up, but I didn’t want to
risk waking the baby. I called Chris, and as usual, he answered on the first ring.

“What’s up?” he asked.

I could hear one of his video games and the shouts of several males in the background—his
cousins were over for another one of their all-nighters.

“Nothing,” I said. “I just wanted to see what you were up to, but I can already tell
you’re deep in some violent alternative reality.”

“Oh, yeah. And kicking some major ass in it. Wanna come over?”

The last thing I wanted to do was sit around and watch a bunch of guys play video
games. Why did they always think girls
liked
doing that?

“Nah. I better get to sleep. Long day.”

“Just think about it this way: in a couple of months, we’ll be having this conversation,
only you’ll be complaining about your nymphomaniac roommate.”

I laughed because it was what he was expecting from me. “I would much prefer that.”

“Oh—gotta go. My turn to kill some zombies.”

“Get one for me.”

“Will do.”

I stared at the phone for a minute after Chris hung up. I could picture him in his
living room, surrounded by family. Laughing. Shoveling chips or his mother’s homemade
tamales into his mouth. Caring about nothing but killing zombies.

Must be nice.

That wasn’t fair, I knew. I’d seen his family go through some seriously lean times.
No one deserved to be happy more than Chris. I scrolled through the few numbers I
had in my phone, pausing at Josh’s. But how desperate was that?

I threw the phone into my bag, sick of myself, of everything, and started up the car.
A couple minutes later, I parked outside Market, our local twenty-four-hour bodega.
I didn’t even know if that was its actual name, but we all called it that because
it was the only word on the sign painted above the door.

I put the car in park and rested my head against the steering wheel for a few minutes.
The thought of going home made me literally sick to my stomach. I didn’t know if Billy
would be there. Couldn’t handle it if Mom pretended everything was okay or, worse,
was drunk again. Screwing him. I gripped the steering wheel and squeezed my eyes shut.

God, I’m hungry
.

A sob broke out of me, loud and ugly. I rolled up my window, fast, and covered my
mouth with my hand.
Stop crying, Skylar. Stop fucking crying
.

I needed to collage, get my hands dirty with glue and scissors and paper that melted
under my skin. I’d take all our bills and receipts and tear them up into tiny pieces.
Then I’d turn the pieces into a kite, flying up into the sky. Or I could collage a
cheeseburger with a thick, creamy shake. Maybe a train, heading out of Creek View.

I stayed in the car until I was certain the tears were gone, then I wiped my eyes,
took a breath, and got out. Javier, the owner, nodded at me as I came in, the bell
on the door jangling, before he went back to watching his soccer game.

It wasn’t very big inside—more a convenience store than anything else—but since Creek
View was in the boonies, it also had stuff like big bags of rice and ground beef.
I headed over to the dry goods and candy aisle and stopped in front of the tiny shelf
with pasta.

“Two seventy-nine?” I said, picking up the box of spaghetti.

Javier looked over at me. I waved it in the air. “Seriously?”

He just grunted and went back to watching the TV.

“I wouldn’t pay that if I were you.”

I turned around. Josh was standing behind me, a Red Bull in one hand and a bag of
Doritos in the other. I hadn’t noticed his truck in the parking lot. Which pretty
much illustrated how messed up I was feeling, since it wasn’t exactly a subtle vehicle.
I tried not to read anything into his being there; things like this weren’t serendipitous
when you lived in the smallest town ever.

He smiled, and I was suddenly awake.

I looked at the stuff in his hands. “That’s a seriously disgusting combination.”

He laughed. “I still can’t get over being able to just walk into a store and buy whatever
I feel like.”

“I’m guessing there wasn’t an ample supply of junk food in Afghanistan.”

His eyes skimmed the rows of candy behind me. “Oh, there was. Just not where I was
posted. Now, if I’d been in the Army … those dudes were hooked up.” He reached down
to grab a Snickers and a pack of M&M’s.

I set the pasta down, picked it back up. Set it down. Would it look weird to come
all the way out here, then leave empty-handed? But if I bought it, I’d be down to
less than seven bucks.

For two weeks.

And two people.

“Sky?”

“Huh?”

“You okay?”

“What? Yeah, totally.” I kept my eyes anywhere but on his—I wondered if they looked
red or if my face was all blotchy. “I’m just out of it.”

He nodded, but the way he looked at me said
bullshit
. I should never have told him about my mom. It was like the whole me-inviting-him-to-Leo’s
thing had started us on this weird path of knowing too much about each other.

“So what are you up to?” he asked. “Other than having trouble picking out your pasta.”

I grabbed the box and headed toward the counter. “Nothing. I’m on my way home. I didn’t
get a chance to eat dinner, so…” I held up the spaghetti.

He took the box out of my hand and put it back on the shelf. “Come with me.”

chapter thirteen

I pointed to my watch. “It’s almost twelve thirty.”

“So? McDonald’s is open twenty-four hours.”

I frowned, thinking. They did have a dollar menu. Just the thought of chicken nuggets
made my stomach growl.

Josh laughed. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Yeah, I guess that sounds pretty good,” I said.

“Cool.” He paid for his snacks, then opened the door. “We’ll come back for your car
after.”

I nodded and followed him outside.

“So what’s your excuse for raiding Market at this hour?” I asked as I climbed into
the truck.

“Honestly?”

“Sure.” A rock station blared as soon as he turned the truck on, and I jumped.

“Sorry.” He turned it down and pulled onto the highway. “Blake and Tara had friends
over. And everyone was laughing, just laughing nonstop. About
nothing
. And the whole house smelled like pot. I mean, right now, my unit’s out there trying
to—” He stopped himself, then just shook his head, looking … old. Definitely not nineteen.
“I just had to bolt.”

“It must be weird, having to live with your family again.”

“Yeah. It was nice being on my own. Of course, people were trying to shoot my ass.”
He snorted. “Still beats sleeping in my sixth-grade bed.”

“That must be one uncomfortable mattress.”

He laughed. “Yep.”

I thought about the day I’d been in his room, the bareness of the walls. Just a few
pictures above his desk, like he hadn’t really unpacked.

“You still thinking of staying in?” I asked.

He looked over at me and I met his eyes, but I wasn’t sure what I was seeing there.
It was like he wanted something from me, but I had no idea what.

“Not sure yet,” he finally said.

We were quiet for a bit, but it didn’t feel weird not talking. Actually, it was nice.
Chris and Dylan weren’t people I could be quiet with. Chris was always spouting sci-fi
trivia or going on about BU’s science department, and Dylan could talk your ear off
in her sleep. I didn’t realize I needed companionable silence until I was speeding
down the highway in Josh’s truck.

At this time of night, the empty fields felt mysterious, like as soon as the sun went
down, they became the dominion of mythical creatures, fairy kings that ruled grapevine
realms. The headlights of passing cars twinkled as they sped by, one long strand of
oversized Christmas lights stretched between San Francisco and Los Angeles. It was
almost pretty.

“So what’s up with you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you in the parking lot at Market. Something’s wrong.”

I leaned my head against the window. The glass was cool against my cheek.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said softly.

My reflection in the side-view mirror had dark circles under her eyes. Hair slipping
out of her loose bun. I beat her to the sigh. “I’m so tired.”

Josh nodded. He knew I wasn’t talking about my shift at the Paradise. He got what
it meant to be tired of life. So tired you felt it in your bones.

“I thought when I graduated, everything would be okay,” I said. “Like getting through
Dad dying and making it out of high school was the hard part. It’s not.”

“Nope.”

I turned my head toward him, studied the shadows the dashboard lights were painting
on his face. “Why did you come back?”

“Besides the obvious?”

I looked over at his leg, then rolled my eyes. “Doesn’t mean you have to spend the
rest of your life in Creek View.”

“What would you do?”

“If I were you?”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t stay in. I’d use my GI Bill and pick a school as far away from here as
possible. I wouldn’t look back.”

The yellow arches came into view. He slowed down. “Like you, huh?”

I just shrugged.

We pulled into the drive-thru, and when I only ordered one thing off the dollar menu,
he shook his head and changed my Chicken McNuggets to a Super Size Value Meal. He
wouldn’t let me pay.

My throat clenched, and I knew I was about to start freaking crying again, which was
so stupid, but I hated not knowing if he felt sorry for me or if he was my friend
or if he wanted more, and what did it mean that he was buying me food? I stared out
the passenger window and tried to keep the tears in, frustrated that the five-dollar
meal he’d just bought me was half my net worth.

“See that plastic bag behind you?” he said as he passed me the food and pulled back
onto the highway.

I looked in the truck’s tiny back seat. “Yeah.”

“Take a couple bottles out of there.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

I reached into the back and grabbed two empty bottles at random. One Bud, one Heineken.

He pressed the button for his window to go down. “Ready?” he said.

“For what?”

He held out his hand, and I gave him the bottles.

“Hold the wheel.”

“What? No—dammit, Josh!” My hands flew out to the wheel as Josh wiggled his fingers
in the air like,
Look! No hands!
The truck swerved, and Josh laughed when I shrieked and pulled it back into our lane.
The highway was mostly empty, but still.

“Hold it steady, Sky!”

“You are such an asshole, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse.” He slowed the truck down, then put it on cruise control.

In seconds he was half out the window, his knees facing me—even with his prosthesis,
he was crazy fast, like he’d done this a million times.

“Joshua Mitchell, I swear to God—”

“Steady, Sky,” he shouted over the wind.

With the windows down, the cab filled with the smell of manure and dew and grass and
car exhaust. The wind stung my eyes and pounded against my eardrums. I was too scared
to look away from the highway, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dark shape
of the station. The broken sign loomed above it, the faded red of the Texaco star
just visible in the moonlight. Josh grunted, and I could imagine the empty beer bottles
flying over the top of the truck and smashing against the gas station. He slid in
and grabbed the wheel as I sat back in the passenger seat.

“That was awesome,” he said. His eyes were bright, and he was grinning, his breath
coming out in heavy spurts.

“I’m never driving with you again.”

“Your turn,” he said. He pushed a button, and my window went down. “C’mon.”

“No way.”

“I’d suggest getting wasted, but that’s not your thing. So throw.”

“One: I’m not a low-life hooligan. Two—”

Josh snickered. “I can’t believe you just said hooligan.”

“Shut up or I’m eating all the fries.”

“You wouldn’t.”

I leaned closer to him. “I would.”

His eyes snagged on mine, just for a second, and then he slowed way down and waited
for a big rig to pass before he did a U-turn in the middle of the highway. He passed
the Texaco, then did one more U-turn, so that it would be on my side of the road.

“I can do this all night, Evans.”

“What if someone’s there and I, like, kill them?”

“No one’s there—that place has been closed for ten years. Can you give me a fry?”

“Don’t try to distract me.”

I stuck my hand into the bag and pulled out a fry. He opened his mouth, and I popped
it in—the whole thing felt strangely intimate, as if we’d kissed.

I leaned away from him. Too close. Too comfortable. Too wired from the Joshness of
him.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. He pointed out my window. “Any day now.”

I shook my head. “Josh—this is insane. Like, super-redneck status.”

“Do it. I promise you’ll feel better.”

I cursed under my breath and grabbed a bottle. The smell of beer hit me, and I wrinkled
my nose.

“There’s still beer in this!”

“Well, then you better get it out of here before a cop pulls me over, huh?”

“You hick bastard.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

I punched him on the arm, which was about as effective as smacking a rock, then I
leaned the upper half of my body out of the truck, so that my chest was parallel to
the road. The wind was pushing against me, and I closed my eyes for a second, gripping
the handhold inside the door. I could hear the tires speeding along the road, the
slap of rubber against asphalt. This was so stupid, so dumb, but it felt amazing.
Feeling the wind grab at my hair, being five fingers away from death—all I had to
do was let go.