Our Song (14 page)

I needn't have worried about my hair. He seemed oblivious to it. That was because (how could I have forgotten?) I was wearing a two-piece swimsuit. It was my favorite, red and polka-dotted with an amply padded top and high-waisted bottoms that made me look like I had hips.

Jacob's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Mm-
hmm
,” Annabelle said.

“Shut up!” I whispered, feeling panicky.

“Hi, there!” Annabelle called. There was a flirty lilt to her voice, and it was clear she thought I should adopt the same tone.

But I wasn't a flirty kind of girl in the best of circumstances. My throat was dry and my tongue was completely tied.

This might have been because Jacob was wearing a swimsuit too—long, navy-blue trunks that sat low on his hips so I could see the faint pop of muscles in his abs and the way his shoulders and chest were so much broader than his narrow waist.

After a pause that was way too long on
both
our parts, Jacob said, “Hey, have you guys met Owen? He's in the woodworking class.”

I watched as Owen's and Annabelle's eyes met. Her face glowed.

The sight of
her
seemed to knock him so off-balance that he tipped into the water with a splash. But when he came up, he was smiling.

“Come on in,” he said to Annabelle (completely ignoring me, which was just fine). “The water's on its way to warm, but it's not there yet.”

“You don't have to ask me twice,” Annabelle said. The flirt was gone from her voice. And in its place? I heard a note of hope.

She dropped her flip-flops to the sandy dirt and plunged into the water, whooping.

She and Owen quickly commenced chatting. As they drifted into deeper water, I could hear snatches of Annabelle's words.
“. . . glaciers melting . . . sustainability . . . Green party . . .”

But instead of looking bewildered or sleepy, the way I often did when Annabelle launched into one of her well-meaning lectures, Owen nodded emphatically.

“Exactly!” he said, pumping his fist so hard that he sprayed Annabelle's face with water. She laughed and splashed him back.

“And they're off,” I whispered to myself with a happy giggle.

“Nell, aren't you coming in too?”

I looked at Jacob, who was waving me into the lake.

I'd always hated the shock of dunking myself into cold water. Usually I inched my way in slowly and painfully, immersing my ankles, then knees, then hips. . . .

But with Jacob's eyes on me, I felt self-conscious. So I, too, found myself splashing into the water, then diving beneath the surface.

Unlike my roommate, my plunge into the lake wasn't so much about beginning a conversation as it was an effort to hide.

All I could think about was what Annabelle had said. She was right.
Something
was happening between me and Jacob. And if I wasn't careful, I'd do something crazy like grabbing him and kissing him right then and there.

In my bathing suit.

And in front of all these people, many of whom knew my
grandmother
.

It would be a fiasco.

I remembered the excuses Annabelle had made about Owen—about messages from the universe and the misalignment of the stars.

What would it take for the stars to align for me and Jacob? Was it as simple as the right words, the right time?

I didn't know. But I
was
suddenly feeling grateful for the ridiculously early hour. It meant we had the whole day to find out.

Chapter
Fourteen

E
ventually, hunger drew us out
of the lake. I wrapped myself in my towel, but Jacob just let the beads of water stream down his bare chest and shoulders. It was hard not to stare.

“Still want to hike after breakfast?” he asked me.

In this heat?

But what I
said
was, “Sure!”

“Okay,” Jacob said. “I'll meet you outside the lodge in, say, forty-five minutes?”

“Uh—”

I wanted to ask Jacob why I wouldn't just be seeing him in the dining hall. But before I could, he grinned at me and darted off.

Again, I was partly relieved. I couldn't bear to walk back to the dorms with him while I was drenched and wrapped in a towel.
It was too intimate, like I'd just stepped out of the shower.

After a quick change and primp, I hurried to the dining hall and . . . Jacob wasn't there.

Neither was Annabelle.

I didn't see Owen, either.

Where
was
everybody?

This could have been a prime opportunity to snag myself some real bacon, instead of the leathery facon at our table. But I was too nervous (and hot) to eat much of anything.

Finally it was time to meet Jacob. As I cleared my barely touched dishes, I tried to decide which scenario made me more nervous—Jacob standing me up, or Jacob arriving at the lodge, right on time.

In the end, he wasn't on time.

He was early.

And he was waiting for me with a bulging backpack slung over his shoulders. He was still wearing his swim trunks, but he'd added a T-shirt, the same cross-country one he'd been wearing on our first day at Camden. In each hand, he held a tall water bottle. They were already covered with condensation from the heat.

“Hi,” I said as I approached him, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice. “What's in the bag?
Please
don't tell me it's sheet music.”

“Lunch!” Jacob said. “I sweet-talked Ms. Betty into packing us something. Don't worry, I've got a lot of ice packs in here.”

“That sounds amazing,” I said. “Let me carry some.”

“Nah, I got it,” Jacob said. “We can compromise by eating early. I skipped breakfast.”

“And all I had was a little facon.”

“How'd that work out for ya?” Jacob asked, giving me a sly smile as he handed me a water bottle.

“Ugh, no comment,” I said. “Out of respect for Sally the pig, I'm not going to say what I
really
wanted for breakfast.”

“Well, how do you like pimiento cheese sandwiches?” he asked, tapping his backpack. “And peaches and angel food cake?”

“Oh my God, you had me at pimiento cheese,” I sighed. “Have you ever had it?”

We started walking toward the Saturn trail.

“Nope,” Jacob said. “I think it's another one of those Southern things that I'm going to love.”

“Like ‘y'all,' ” I teased.

“Among others,” Jacob said.

This made me go quiet for a quick, breathless moment until I realized,
Of course he's not talking about
you,
Nell. Get a grip!

“Let's see, let me think of some of my favorite Northern things,” I said. We'd just arrived at the trail. Luckily, it cut through the woods and was completely shaded by trees.

I was also happy that the trail was wide enough for us to continue walking side by side.

I looked up at the treetops as I pondered. “Let's see . . . um.”

“Oh, come on,” Jacob said, throwing his head back to laugh. “You can't think of even one?”

“Snow!” I blurted. “There. I love snow. Not that I've experienced much of it.”

“How great would that be today?” Jacob said. “This shade feels good, though. It's almost
cool
in these woods.”

“It's
so
not,” I scoffed, taking a swig from my water bottle. “It's like the fire swamp in here.”

“At least we don't have to worry about any rodents of unusual size,” Jacob said.

I literally put a hand over my heart. He'd gotten my
Princess Bride
reference!

As if he'd read my mind, Jacob said, “Best movie ever.”

I grinned at him until something occurred to me.

“Maple syrup!” I exclaimed. “That's another Northern thing I like. And bagels. You can
not
get a good bagel in Atlanta.”

“Well, now I know what to do when we're back home,” Jacob said. “Forget letters. I'll send bagels.”

I knew he was joking. Because, who writes letters anymore?

But the part about staying in touch? By bagel if by nothing else? Was that just banter, or did he really mean it?

“Hey, tell me about life in Connecticut,” I said.

“Eh, I live in a suburb,” Jacob sighed. “When you're there, you could just as well be in Houston or Toronto or Kansas City.”

“Oh, come on,” I prodded. “No place is
that
generic. Tell me about the pizza, at least.”

“Now, that's true,” Jacob said. “Our pizza makes those New York bagels bow down in shame.”

“Ugh, thinking about pizza is only making me hotter,” I said, fanning myself as we trudged up the path.

“You started it!” Jacob said. He rolled his sweating water bottle over his forehead. “Okay, new subject. What'd you do to get shipped off to Camden?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, that,” I said. “Well, I know you know about my family's front-porch jams. . . .”

“Yeah,” Jacob said. “They sound pretty amazing.”

“I guess they are amazing. . . .”

Given how yearning Jacob looked, I didn't want to admit to him how
very
magical the jams could be at this time of year. The air would smell like honeysuckle and barbecue smoke. There'd be paper lanterns glowing in the magnolia tree in our front yard. A rotating assortment of musicians would play on the porch-turned-stage. They played banjos, fiddles, Irish flutes, pennywhistles, dulcimers, and in the case of my mom, an accordion. We'd toss notes and phrases back and forth among one another, like a bunch of athletes playing an easy game of catch. Between music sets, everyone talked and laughed and ate. The food was always potluck. Usually there were earthy-crunchy salads and multigrain rolls right next to pulled pork and collard greens, hummingbird cakes and peach pies.

All these dishes were inevitably delicious. Every joke was funny. Every dance ended with a dip.

“They are amazing,” I said again, meaning it. “But—and I
know this sounds obnoxious—if you experience the same kind of amazing every other Sunday from the moment you're born? You know what that becomes? A lot less amazing. So . . . I might have snuck away from one of them with my friend Livvie. And I
might
have forgotten my phone and stayed out past my curfew. It was one of those times when I just
do
, instead of thinking. Kind of like the day I got this crazy idea to break into the Camden infirmary. Did I ever tell you about that?”

“Who would do a nutty thing like that?!” Jacob exclaimed.

I laughed and glanced at my burn. It was baby-smooth and pink, still distinct from the rest of my hand but all healed. The day I burned it, and landed myself and Jacob on kitchen duty, seemed like so long ago, though it had only been six days.

We walked in silence for a moment before Jacob said, “I only
wish
my parents put on boringly amazing house concerts.”

“Okay, now that you've made me feel like a total brat,” I said.

“No way,” Jacob said. “I didn't mean it like that. You're just . . . stuck in an ironic situation, I guess. And so am I.”

“Why, what
does
your family do with their weekends?” I asked.

“Basketball. UConn basketball. It's kind of a thing where I'm from. Everybody's obsessed. So, our parties are all about dressing in blue and white and eating chicken wings—”

Jacob mimed throwing chicken bones over his shoulder, which made me laugh out loud.

“—and yelling at the TV. That's it. Oh yeah, and during the commercials, they gripe because their youngest kid plays the
violin
instead of B-ball.”

I laughed again.

“That's
tragic
,” I agreed. “But at least you run, right?”

I pointed at the
CROSS-COUNTRY
on his T-shirt.

Jacob looked down at his shirt and said, “It's my brother's. He's a senior, and he's got too many varsity letters, and T-shirts, to count.”

I nodded in recognition.

“Just like
my
little brother, Carl, is so into music,” I said. “He's learning his sixth instrument right now. Or wait, it might be his seventh, I've lost track. Anyway, each one is more ridiculously old-school than the last.”

Jacob laughed before taking another gulp of water.

“Seriously,” I insisted. “How many ten-year-olds do you know who can play the Jew's harp and the saw?”

“He sounds like a cool kid,” Jacob said.

“Oh, he is,” I allowed. “He's very sweet about having a black sheep for a sister.”

Jacob turned and touched one of my curls.

“Not as black as you used to be,” he said.

I pulled the lock of hair out and squinted at it. He was right. The semipermanent black dye was bleeding away, revealing glints of my natural dark gold. I hadn't even noticed.