Riding the Universe (13 page)

“What?”

“Amazing.”

I've never been one to blush, but this would be the moment to start. “Wow, Gordon. I don't know how to react
to that. Thank you, I guess.”

“Don't thank me. It's true.” He kisses me, softly at first, then it turns really hot. Slowly, as if gauging whether or not I'm up for repeating Saturday night's episode, his hands slide through my hair, down my arms, and then to my breasts for a moment. Suddenly I feel like I do when I'm taking Lolita for a ride on an open road in the middle of the Everglades—nothing ahead of me, nothing to stop me, no road signs, no cops, no parents. Where I go from here is entirely up to me.

My mother's words
dangerous
and
reckless
slide out of my consciousness and try to warn me. But as I also do when I'm on Lolita, I push them out of my mind and prepare for the adrenaline rush ahead.

T
hroughout February, it feels like someone has lit a bottle rocket inside my soul. Right through our standardized testing and February's romantic activities, I can't think of much else except the next time Gordon and I see each other again. Even my last test, which I failed. It's getting more and more difficult to focus during tutoring, but I'm still going. It's the only time I can be sure to see Gordon at school. Otherwise, we see each other at the dock, whenever we can sneak into his house during the day, and at my house on weekends.

My parents love him. Of course they do. How could I have landed such a responsible young man as this? Rock, however, is a different story. Gordon and I have been
together seven weeks now, but Rock still treats him with much the same indifference as I showed Amber. As if dating Gordon and dating Amber are anything alike.

From time to time, I still think about Rock's comment about how Gordon would always have higher priorities than me. When it comes to study time, yes, he's pretty disciplined. And also during the day, because he needs to stay focused during school hours, but after school, he's pretty much all about me, with nothing to interrupt us. My only complaint is that I still haven't met his parents. I know they're strict, so I haven't pressed the issue, but still, it would validate our relationship in a huge way.

On St. Patrick's Day, we forgo any festivities and just hang out at the dock, which, thank goodness, is still standing. Our heads touch, our fingers link, nice and tight. I feel like I'm on the edge of something, but I don't know what.

Most of the stars are covered by a thick stretch of clouds tonight. I focus on one very faint star just within the cloud cover. “Do you think there's life on Gliese 581c?” I ask, pretending it might be the faraway planet itself.

“Gliese 581c?” Gordon brings my hand down to his chest and lays it flat.

I turn to him. “You mean to tell me that Brain Boy doesn't know about the planet in another solar system that might possibly have the same watery conditions as our own?”

“I knew about it. I just didn't know it was called Gliese 581c.” His smiling voice resonates in the chirpy night. Add to the crickets a light breeze and saw grass rustling, and this is a beautiful lullaby of a night. “Couldn't they have given the thing a better name? I mean, Earth isn't called ‘Sun 14b.'
It should be, like, Magnus or something.”

“Right? Or ‘Ratatooey,' or ‘Bunsolar,' or even ‘MegaPlanet' would've been better.”

He laughs quietly.

I smile and close my eyes. I wish this night could last forever. His shirt smells like his room, a smell I've come to associate with some pretty interesting goings-on. Everything except the final deed, that is. For that, I've been waiting for the moment when I realize I love the right person—and after almost two months, that time has pretty much arrived. Because it does not get any better than this right here.

The clouds move away, exposing the sky again, and the stars sparkle like a glitter-on-black-construction-paper project I made back in fourth grade. I remember I added little aliens to mine, and my teacher gave me a happy face with antennae on it. “Do you think there could be aliens living there?”

Now he'll argue about what aliens really are, or suggest that
we
are the aliens. Watch.

“What I'm more concerned with are aliens living here.
Inside
our planet even.” He holds up a professor-ish finger. “Have you ever noticed that the North and South Poles are always covered with clouds in satellite images?”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“For real. There are huge holes at the poles. Holes that could lead to a whole new world inside our planet. You didn't know that Earth is hollow?”

I stare at him dumbfounded. He sounds so serious, I can't tell if he's kidding or not.

He chuckles softly. “That's what some people think, at
least. Hollow Earth theory. I can't believe you don't know about that, you of astronomy interest.”

“No, that is definitely a new one for me. I'll be sure to research it, as soon as I get home.” I laugh.

“Do you really research stuff when we're not together? I thought all you did was ride Lolita or talk with Rock.”

“You know,” I say, clucking my tongue, “you have this way of being completely honest yet insulting at the same time. It's so innocent, it's endearing.”

He smiles, eyes closed.

“To answer your question—yes, I really do research stuff.”

“Like what? Give me an example.”

I sigh. “Well, whatever's on my mind, really. Lately, it's been adoptions. Like how so many people are against closed adoptions nowadays. They make up, like, two percent of all cases. Most people think it's really cruel for the adopted kid to not know anything about their parents.”

He turns to look at me. “How do you feel about it?”

“Not sure.” I shrug. “I don't think it's cruel. Had my adoption been open, it would've been weird to always see my birth parents, knowing that they're available yet I can't be with them. I think that's more cruel than not knowing who they are.”

“And if you do come into contact with them, there's no guarantee that you're going to like what you see.”

“Yeah, like this one man I read about whose birth mother used a private investigator to find him. She started stalking him to the point that the man had to put a restraining order on his own birth mom. That's messed up.”

“Yes, but it's one extreme case, Chloé. Are you going to go through with it? An investigation into your case?”

Hmm. The billion-dollar question.
“Right now, I think I'm leaning toward yes. I know that I might find some sad woman who doesn't want anything to do with me, and I know that she could also have a litter of kids, which might make me feel like crap that she kept those but not me. But the thing is, I just want to see her. I want to connect, then get it over with. Assuming she's even alive.”

“I get it. For closure.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you going to tell your mom?”

Pfft. The trillion-dollar question.
“If there is a way for me to do this without involving her, that'd be awesome. But I don't know if there is.”

We're quiet for a while as he plays with my fingers. It's weird to be thinking about all this adoption stuff. A year ago, none of it would have ever crossed my mind. Today, I'm seriously considering it.

My phone vibrates inside my jeans. I pull it out and see it's Rock. I put the phone back into my pocket. I've learned to keep Rock and Gordon in separate corners, and right now, I'm giving Gordon my full attention.

“Who is it?”

“Rock.”

“Are you going to answer it?”

“Nah, he just wants to know what time he can come over and help fix Lolita's leak,” I lie. He probably wants to see if I'm here so he can join me. “She's long overdue for a tune-up, too. Poor thing needs some TLC.”

“The bike or Rock?” he asks.

I'm shocked into silence. I swallow a ball in my throat. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs like he shouldn't have brought it up. “Nothing. I just thought maybe our being together has put a strain on your friendship with him.”

“We're good. We're fine,” I say, but it sounds forced even to me.

“If you say so,” he mumbles.

I realize it can't be easy having a girlfriend with a best friend who's a guy, especially a chick magnet like Rock, but Gordon has taken it pretty well. Then again, he is the most mature seventeen-year-old I've ever met. “Babe?” I ask.

“Yeah.” I love the vibrations his voice makes against my hand on his chest.

“This might sound stupid—and with the way you overanalyze every little thing I say sometimes I'm even afraid to say it—but since today makes seven weeks since we first kissed…”

“Good God, woman, spit it out!” he cries.

I laugh nervously against his shirt. “Okay. I just want you to know that I really love you. And that I respect you. And that you're adorable to me. Like, really adorable, if that makes any sense. Seriously, I look up to you.” My chest feels tight as I say this. “You've given me immense amounts of faith that I can do better, and for that, I just want to say thanks.”

He clears his throat. “Wow, Chloé, I appreciate that. I really do.”

I sigh, happy that I could finally tell him how I feel and that he seems okay with it.

“But I'm sure you know…” he goes on, “that
adore
means ‘to worship,' and…you shouldn't worship anyone. Not even me.”

I push myself up to get a good look at him, but it's dark, and all I see is his outline. “Whoa. Chill, Brain Boy. I didn't mean it like that. All I meant was that I admire you, which is a good thing. And that I've changed since being with you. I think the person you're with should make you a better person.”

Don't you think so?
I'm dying to ask, but I will not lead any witnesses today.

“And I agree,” he says. “Just making sure.”

Whew! I lean forward to kiss him. “Don't worry, I don't have any secret statues of you in my closet. And just so you know”—I mimic Darth Vader's notorious line—“I find your lack of faith disturbing.”
Let's see who the geek is now.

He side-glances me in confusion.

“
Star Wars
,” I say.

“Ah. That shouldn't surprise me,” he mumbles.

“What,” I say, acting shocked, “does that mean?”

“It means”—he brushes my hair out of my face and kisses me softly—“that I should stop underestimating you.”

Marraine once told me that you can look into a guy's eyes and see if he's lying or not. If he flinches or looks away, don't trust him. But Gordon's eyes are steady. Strong. As steady and strong as I can tell in near total darkness.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

“You're welcome.” He kisses me again, then pulls away quickly. “And going back…no, I don't think there's life on Gliese 581c.”

“And why not?”

“Because it takes a lot more than just water to re-create the exact atmospheric conditions as Earth's. It takes carbon dioxide, and nobody even knows if either exists there. Besides, half the planet faces its star all the time, so it's scorched.”

“So…”

“And the other half is permanently in the dark, so it's too cold. Not exactly suitable for life, is it?”

“Is everything always so black and white with you? What about that buffer zone in between? That twilight zone that's sort of in the star's light but sort of out of it at the same time? Could there be life there?”

Gordon ponders this. I'm curious to hear his answer. If he thinks like I do, he'll think it's possible, and we should probably send NASA over there sometime soon to find out. If he doesn't…well, then he'd be the first nerd I've ever known to think that other worlds don't exist.

“Are two human fingerprints the same?” he says. “In all the six-and-a-half billion people in this world?” He presses my fingertips, one by one, with his. “No, they're all different. So I think Earth is doomed to be unique, a fluke of nature, kind of like us. And speaking of freaks, we both know there can only be one Chloé in the world, right?”

The punch comes hard. Right into the center of his tricep. But he's learned enough to laugh as he's crying out in pain. I know I'm right about the twilight zone on Gliese 581c, and life could so totally lurk there. And as he stares out into space, I find that I am not staring at the stars like I usually do. I am staring at him.

Maybe he's right. Maybe in some weird way, I do worship him. But is that such a bad thing?
Only if he can't empathize
, I figure.
If he doesn't know what adoring someone feels like.

My phone does a short buzz, indicating I have voice mail. I call in to listen.

There's one message, two minutes old from Rock. His voice sounds low, borderline depressed. “Happy St. Patty's Day, Chlo. Call me if you want.” And the guilt I feel for spending all my time with Gordon stretches from here to Gliese 581c.

E
very so often my dad goes fishing, not for a paycheck but purely to get out of the house. Two weeks later, the moon is full, and Papi decides it's time to go out. Moonlight fishing is not the best for catching anything, but for catching sleep, it's priceless. Usually, he goes alone, but tonight, he's invited me along. Since Gordon is working on a project anyway, I take him up on his offer.

Our boat gently rocks somewhere near Sugarloaf Key on the Gulf side. Lying on my back, I watch the moon to the east get surrounded by clouds never thick enough to completely cover her. Papi sits on the other side of the boat, setting up his line, a cold beer between his knees. He doesn't say much, just strings up his lures and sinkers.

“What are you going for tonight?” I ask.

“Whatever bites,” he says. “Snapper or tarpon probably.”

“Tarpon? Yuck.” I close my eyes and imagine coming out here with Gordon sometime. We could probably get into a lot of trouble alone on a boat with the way we're always heating up. I wonder what he's doing right now.

“So,
linda
…” Papi sits back, spreading one arm along the side of the boat, holding his beer with the other hand.

“So, Papi…” Here comes the interrogation. I don't mind his because they're always so annotated. Plus, I know he trusts me completely, always has.

“How's it going with chemistry?”

“Chemistry is fine.”

“Rock?”

“Fine.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Fine.”

“Using protection?”

“Don't need it yet.”

“That's my girl.” He takes another swig of his beer.

I smile at the moon. Jupiter plays peekaboo between the cloud cover, just about the only star visible tonight. I curl up on my side, closing my eyes, feeling the ocean rock me to sleep.

“You don't know why we're here, do you?” he asks suddenly.

My eyes shoot open. “Uh…to fish?”

He grins at me. “Someone's had her head underground for a while now,” he says. “She hasn't even kept an eye on her astronomy news.”

“Why, is there a comet tonight?” I do a quick scan of the skies for anything unusual.

He smiles again, finishes the rest of his beer, and tosses the empty bottle into a plastic bag. “I've never known my
linda
to forget a single lunar eclipse since she was…” He brings his hands close together to indicate a little baby Chloé.

“The eclipse is tonight?” My eyes go wide. I can't believe it totally slipped my mind.

“
Ese
Gordon is taking up a lot of your brain cells. Just make sure you leave some for other things. He's a nice kid, but at this age, even nice kids have their own hormones in mind.”

“He's not like that, Papi.”

“They're
all
like that,
linda
,” he fires back. He wants me to get this and get it good. “
I
was like that, and I think I'm a pretty nice guy. So be careful.”

“Okay, I got it.” A wave rocks the boat to a nice little peak, then lulls again. My dad pops open another beer, then lies back to watch the moon. I know he's done with his lecture, if you can even call it that, but I'm left wondering if he's right. If all guys are like that, then why don't I feel like Gordon is taking advantage of me?

For a good twenty minutes, we say nothing, just watch the sky and wait. Then, little by little, the lower edge of the moon starts to flatten out, a dark penumbral shadow replacing its curve. It's amazing to think that's us—our giant, massive planet—getting in the way of the sun's light.

I try to imagine my dad as a teenager before he met my mom. How many girlfriends did he have? Did he love any of them? How did he feel about adopting me? Thinking
about him from different angles makes me feel in tune with him, yet disconnected at the same time. I'll never completely know him and his secrets. And in a strange daughterly way, I don't really want to.

I glance over to see if he's still awake, appreciating the heavenly show. His eyes are slits, but open. Out of his peripheral vision, he catches me watching him and flashes one of his cute Papi smiles. An
adorable
Papi smile. I smile back. The creeping shadow finally stretches across the moon's surface, covering it with an intense shade of reddish orange, and I can't help but think that my dad is a bit like a lunar eclipse—obscure in his umbral shadows but still visible, still beautiful, and still there when I look for him.

 

Spring break finally arrives, and I could not be more elated to sleep the mornings away. For a whole week, I will not have to see ancient Rooney or deal with any equations. I help my mom out with the babies during the day, and discover that a mom with help is a Happy Mom. Some mornings, I find Rock asleep on my front porch, at which point he comes in for breakfast, watches old VH-1 reruns with my mom, then leaves like he's on a mission. I don't ask where anymore.

On Wednesday morning, I wake to the sound of the house phone ringing, my mother laughing, then her footsteps inside the babies' room. I don't remember much else, because I doze off again, dreaming of a warm, sandy beach and the faraway smell of grilled ham and cheese.

“Chloé, come eat!” I hear someone calling me from down the beach.

A deep hunger shoots through me, sending me the urgent
message to wake up and get my butt over to a kitchen-counter stool. As if I haven't seen food for days. “Yay, breakfast,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes.

“It's noon. I take it you're enjoying your time off?” Mom says, sliding a sandwich onto a plate and cutting it in half. In no more than four seconds, I have eaten through the first half.

“Yep.”

“Rock called a little while ago.”

“Why didn't he call my phone?”

“I don't know. He called to see if you were home. He probably didn't want to wake you.”

“What did he say?”

“That he'll be home today if you need him and that he's been bothering us too much. He apologized for ‘loitering like a leech.'” She laughs, shakes her head. “He's not a bother to anyone, poor thing.”

“He could've just called me and told me that.”

“Maybe he wanted someone else to talk to. You've been spending so much time with Gordon, honey. I think maybe he's just feeling a little…I don't know…rejected, maybe?”

I nod, finishing off the rest of the sandwich with a wad of guilt in my throat. I'll talk to him later. “Can I have another one?”

“Sure.” She starts on another sandwich, then says, “You know, I feel bad for Rock sometimes. We're like his family.” She looks at me for a quick second, then goes back to fiddling in the kitchen. “It's sad. It makes me appreciate that my mom and dad were around to raise us, as much as I complain about them.”

I nod. Is this her way of telling me I shouldn't go seeking answers about my adoption case? Because if it is…
sigh
. “Yes, and we should appreciate whoever loves us whether our DNA matches or not. I get it.”

She stops and looks at me. “That's not what I was going to say.” Our eyes connect, and I can just barely see my uncle's expression in hers for a quick second. She serves up another sandwich, cuts it in half, then slides it over to me. “What I was going to say is that I took my dad for granted, but had he not been a part of my life, I would've wanted to know him. So if you want help finding your birth parents, Chloé…”—the spatula in her hand trembles slightly—“it's okay. I'll help you.”

I look down at my ham and cheese, melted American oozing out of the sides, sticking to the plate. Suddenly, I'm not so hungry anymore. I appreciate that, but I'd feel better doing it alone. “Okay,” I say.

I force the sandwich down, thank my mom for lunch, then trudge back to my room.

 

Every time Rock has called today, he has made it a point to tell me that he is not doing anything, just watching TV in his room all day. This is an attempt, I fear, to prove that he is capable of abstinence and that I am wrong about him. As a result, I have to constantly switch lines while on the phone with Gordon to talk to Rock when he calls.

“It's Rock again,” I mumble into the phone.

“Tell him you're feeding your brothers or something.”

“I can't. He's in a depressive state.”

“I've noticed. I
have
tried to tell you.”

“I—I know, Gordon. But it's weird. I can't stop being his friend either. It would kill him.”

“But you can't be his therapist either. He's too emotionally connected to you.”

“But I am,” I say, realizing I'm being totally honest here. “And he's my therapist too. I'm sorry, I know he's a guy, but that's just how it is.”

“So…” He's quiet for a few seconds. He clears his throat. “You tell him about us? About private stuff?”

“Normally I would, but things have changed. I have to wait until he has a new girlfriend before I can tell him anything so he doesn't feel sorry for himself. Right now, he thinks he's in love with me.”

“I could have told you that the first time I met him,” he says. I stare at my ceiling fan, absorbing the echo of Gordon's words. So it's apparent to others, not just me.

“He's not in love with me, Gordon. He's just…needy. He needs someone at all times.”

I don't tell him that I think maybe Rock's profession of love is real this time. That maybe all those other times were real too, they were just leading up to this one. Rock has never abstained for a whole week since he lost his virginity four years ago. Since then, it's been wall-to-wall women.

“Are you doing anything right now?” I ask.

“I guess I could take a break now. Why?”

“Can we meet at the dock? I'm dying to see you.”

I've been going crazy thinking about our times alone in his room all this week, times that are slowly leading up to the inevitable…for which I now feel I'm ready. All week, he's been very sweet and he lets go of his authoritative
personality when we're together. I love the look on his face when he realizes that girls rule and that I hold power of my own, therefore he can't possibly know all the answers of the universe.

“I'm leaving now,” he says, and I'm out the door four seconds later.

 

It's time Gordon learned another one of the dock's secrets. The estuary is great for swimming. There's no slimy surface today. The water is clear, down to the bottom. There's fish all around, but so what? It's ninety degrees outside. Cooling off is the only option.

I pull off my shorts, leaving on my underwear and bra as swim gear, and jump, cannonball style. “Weeeee!” I squeal, crashing into the water's surface, the bubbly silence surrounding me in the warm water. When I come up, I see Gordon standing at the dock's edge, hands on his hips.

“I can't believe you just did that. That water is nasty. What if there are gators in there?”

“Then we'll get eaten. Jump in, babe. Or are you chicken?”

He tilts his head to one side, like he's debating whether or not to accept the challenge.

“
Bock, bock, bock
…chicken!” I taunt, splashing water up at him.

Determined to prove that he is not, in fact, poultry, Gordon pulls off his T-shirt and jumps in. A bigger splash could not be possible. The waves he creates are tsunami-sized. I swallow a small amount of lightly salted water.

He comes up for air, hair plastered to his forehead. “How's that for chicken?”

“Whoa, you really showed me.” I paddle up to him and boldly wrap my legs around his waist.

Instinctively, he grabs hold of me. “You shouldn't do that.”

“And why not?”

He chews on his lower lip. “It's dangerous.”

“What is this obsession of yours with danger?” I kiss him. In the background, I hear my phone ringing. Rock must be breaking down and needs me before he falls off the abstinence wagon. But I can't talk to him right now. He's going to have to deal with things without me.

“It's addictive.” Gordon kisses me back.

I don't know if it's the sun, the water amplifying things, or what, but this is it. Something of sexual significance will definitely happen today. Gordon is definitely the one.

I reach behind my back to unclasp my bra. It's water-logged anyway.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the kiss.

“Being dangerous.” I hurl my bra onto the dock.

He smiles big. “You're crazy, you know that? What if someone sees you?” His eyes glance down quickly.

“Nobody's coming. Your turn, chicken.
Bock, bock, bock
.” I tug on his shorts. I bet he won't do it.

But because he loves to prove me wrong, he makes a face like I'm a loser and pulls off his shorts. Not just his shorts, but everything! He whirls them around, imitating me, and flings them onto the dock. They land near my bra with a huge, wet thud.

I laugh the loudest I have laughed in a while. “I can't believe you did that!”

“Thank God, I thought you were laughing at something else.” He pulls me back onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist again. There's only one piece of clothing left between us, and believe me, it's not much. Thoughts flood my mind. What if I get pregnant? Is that what happened to my birth mother?

“What's wrong?” His concerned look snaps me out of my reverie.

“If I take this last thing off…” I can hear the nerves in my voice. “What's going to happen? Will it be a mistake?”

He touches his forehead to mine. “That's up to you. But I don't see how it could be, Chloé. I love you.” He blinks softly, his lashes stuck together. His face is so beautiful right now.

“I love you too,” I say. And I know then that if anything terrible or unexpected were to happen, I would be able to handle it. We would handle it together. We kiss again.