The Summer I Saved the World ... in 65 Days (16 page)

This has to be a good thing. So this is number fifty. They are getting bigger and more serious. I'm not sure if I meant that to happen.

He looks at my bare feet. “You're not wearing shoes.”

“My flip-flops fell off somewhere during our marathon run.”

Before I can protest, he picks me up. “What are you doing?”

“There's some broken glass.” He sets me on a bench. We look at each other.

My heart is about to burst. A breeze ruffles his hair. The sun is right overhead.

“Doesn't anything not make sense to you?” he asks. “Don't you ever get so mad, you want to—”

“All the time.” I smile at him.

Eli leans down, close to my face.

“Wait,” I whisper. “Aren't you and …”

He kisses me.

O
h. Help. Wow.

My first kiss.

Soft and sweet and I've forgotten to take a breath.

Eli leans back and looks at me. “Neen …”

I've forgotten how to talk too. “Yes?”

He steps back, sticks his hands into his pockets, doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Then: “We should go.… I ran out so fast … I need to see if my mom's okay.”

We walk home, both quiet. I don't see my flip-flops anywhere. Eli's walking a little ahead of me. Awkward,
not sure what to say? Or impatient because I'm taking slow, careful steps in my bare feet? I can't tell.

When we get there, his mom is sitting on the grass, holding Thomas. Eli turns. “See you later, okay? Thanks.… ”

They walk into their house and I go to my yard and lie in the hammock. I don't know what to think now.

It was only the moment. Had to be. He was upset about his dad and I happened to be there.

Right?

He's going to homecoming with Jorie. It's all set. The sign. The red dress. They have a thing. It's been going on all summer. Kissing me is not part of the thing. She would hate me forever if she found out.

It was the moment … 
right?

Now what?

This is complicated.

Especially because … I want to kiss him again.

Definitely.

Soon.

T
he next morning, I'm waiting for Jorie and her mom to drive us to the last day of summer school. I feel like she's going to know immediately, that the kiss will show on my face somehow.

No one else is outside. I'm early, so I take my daily walk over to Mr. Dembrowski's flower bed. A dozen little green sprouts are poking through the dirt. The forget-me-nots! They look fragile, and I want to protect them. Make sure they survive. It's like I've become the neighborhood flower guardian.

I hear Jorie's mom honk, and I run to their car.

I get in. “Hi.”

“Raj is out,” Jorie says. “He asked someone else.”

“Okay. I wasn't thinking he would ask me.”

“What about Grady? What did you
really
think of him?”

“Jor, you know that is not going to happen. Grady and I are on different planets.”

She twirls a piece of hair. “That is not true. He thought you were cute.”

“Yeah, right. At what point did he say that? Because he didn't even look at me.”

“You're being so difficult, Nina. We'll have to go with Leo.”

I cross my arms. “Look, I appreciate your worrying about getting me a date, but we are not going with Leo. We are not going with anyone.”

Jorie's mom smiles at me in the rearview mirror as she pulls over to the curb to drop us off.

Jorie gets out and hoists her tote bag onto her shoulder. “Bye, Mom. Love you.” She turns to me. “Nina, it's either Leo or Mark Oberton.”

“Who's Mark Oberton?”

“He's in my class.”

“No. Stop this. Please. If I want to find someone, I will.”

This time I walk off, leaving Jorie behind.

I don't even look back to see how she's taking it.

Our self-portraits are hung around the room, and we're supposed to guess who's who. Some are really strange and jumbled, like a Picasso, and others, like Sariah's, are amazing. Mine? I definitely conquered the eye issue. Not Picasso, not amazing. My face. A pretty good face.

Amber is looking at my self-portrait, then at me. She nods. “You taking advanced art this year?”

“No. Are you?”

“Yeah. That one's mine.” She points. “I went with abstract.”

“It's good. Different.”

“Thanks.”

Chase comes over, sits on a desk, offers me a piece of gum.

“You're not wearing all black,” I say.

He laughs, looks down at his gray T-shirt with a band's logo. “Only color they had at the concert.”

Amber gently punches my shoulder. “You should take advanced. You got a lot better.”

“Thanks. Maybe I will.”

“Yeah, girl,” Amber says.

Chase nods.

Ms. Quinlan asks me and Sariah to put up posters around the school for an art show this fall.

“It was fun the other night,” Sariah says, holding a poster on the bulletin board as I push in a tack.

“It was. You're hilarious.”

We head down the hall, and I tack up a second one.

“What are your classes this year?” Sariah asks.

“Accelerated English, algebra, world history, Spanish two, biology.”

“When do you have lunch?”

“Fifth.”

She grabs my arm. “Wait, me too!”

“That's great!”

We put up a few more posters, then get lost. The building's huge. Sariah and I finally find the commons, share a cookie, and make plans to hang out. Sariah's saying she heard they have smoothies during school, when I see Leo Berman looking at me.

“Oh God,” I whisper, turning the other way.

“What?”

“Jorie's plan,” I mutter. “She thinks I should go to homecoming with that guy over there.”

Sariah glances in Leo's direction. “The one with the brown shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“Why is she—”

“Don't even ask. I told her not to do this, but you can't stop Jorie when she gets an idea. One time, she wanted us to …”

I get a little catch in my throat.

I start thinking about this time when Jorie heard a
movie was being filmed downtown and she wanted us to go down there and try to be extras. Her mom said no, and mine was at work, but Jorie didn't let up until her mom finally took us. But we were too far back in line to be picked.

When we got home, she took her parents' video camera and insisted we make our own movie. We dressed up, ran around doing silly things. She called it
This Movie Is Better
. I still have the tape somewhere.

“What?” Sariah says.

“Oh, nothing.”

I don't want to share it; the memory belongs to me and Jorie.

There was a lot of good between us.

I
'm shooting baskets later, to burn off energy and not think. About
anything
.

Mr. and Mrs. Millman are in their driveway, talking loudly to each other on cell phones. Beanie is whimpering under a lawn chair.

“What kind of phones are these?” Mrs. Millman shouts. “Where did you buy them? Some crappy discount store?”

“From my cousin,” Mr. Millman says.

“The one who runs the pawnshop?”

“So? He has very good merchandise.”

“They're terrible. Don't you hear all that static? You have to return them.”

“Final sale.”

Mrs. Millman stamps her foot. “Final sale?” Beanie lets out a yelp. “See? She can't stand the noise either.”

“Dogs are more sensitive to high frequency sounds, Myrna,” Mr. Millman says. “You know that.”

She tosses the phone onto the chair and reaches for Beanie. Mr. Millman groans, takes a cigar from his pocket, and sniffs it.

I'm curious. (1) What's with the new phones? And (2) Why are they married to each other?

A delivery truck drives up and stops in front of their house. The driver gets out, places a box in front of Mrs. M., and has her sign for it.

When he pulls away, Mr. Millman looks at the box. “Have you lost your mind?”

I pretend like I'm raising my hand. Yes!

“Where on earth did you get
that
?” he says.

She lifts the box. “I ordered it from a website.”

He snorts. “You paid money for this? And you're complaining about the phones?”

She tips her head toward the Dixon house. “I plan to find out what is going on in that place once and for all.” She turns, and I see huge letters stamped on the side of the box:
TRACK A GHOST—IN FIVE EASY STEPS
.

Mr. Millman says exactly what I'm thinking.

“You've got to be kidding me. Myrna, you can't just go in there—”

“Oh yes I can. Turns out, my mahjong friend's house was sold by this same realtor. He gave me the okay to check it out. He said the last thing he wants on his hands is a haunted house.” Mrs. Millman carries the box inside.

Mr. Millman throws his arms into the air, like,
What am I supposed to do with her?
Then he runs after her, calling, “This I've got to see. Don't open it without me!”

E
li rings my doorbell, and when I open the door, he says, “I am in serious need of some pasta assistance.”

I blush. His hair's messy and his shirt has a wet spot on the front. “What are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you know something about making pasta.”

Pasta? All I can think about is the kiss. Isn't he thinking about it too?

“Um … sure.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Thomas and I got
this idea we'd make a real dinner, not something frozen. We're having some … issues.”

I laugh and come outside. “Don't tell me you've decided to leave the dark side and do something good?”

He groans. “We're just trying to make dinner. Help. Please. Now.”

I walk with Eli, thinking,
This is number fifty-one
.