if we had a chance. But it was hope, and that’s more than we had a few minutes ago.
I clinked my soda bottle against hers, after we were by ourselves again. “Heather?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re kind of a genius.”
She grinned. “Come on. For years I lived with It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission and What they don’t know can’t hurt them and It’s only wrong if you get caught . Being undercover isn’t always wrong. That’s what being a ninja is all about—you’re not just being stealthy because it’s totally sweet, it’s so that you can stay alive. So if our little play needs to go in the closet, bring it on.”
That is when I decided something. Or realized something.
I had an itty-bitty little crush.
THEN
I spent hours lying on the grass, one arm pillowed behind my head and the other shading my eyes from the sun, trying to convince myself to get up. My skin began to crawl with twitchy boredom and scratchy heat. I got up and I paced and I sat down again and ripped tufts of grass out of the ground Jon-style, and drank tiny sips of water as if I was in danger of running out. My phone rang, and I jumped. Oliver on the caller ID, and I kept staring at it, thinking that I wanted somebody to say something kind and encouraging to me, somebody I could complain to. But not him. He wouldn’t understand, and I wouldn’t be helpless in front of Oliver. So I let it ring until it went to voicemail, and after a few minutes I checked the voicemail.
He hadn’t left a message.
Even now, almost twenty hours later, I kept hearing the honk of that horn, kept feeling that twinge of my hip and my arm hitting the pavement and the bike sliding out from under me. And I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help thinking about Julia, singing along to the radio or tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she tried out melodies, and then—startled, panicking, realizing that things were going wrong, that she was going too fast and the road was too wet.
It wasn’t Oliver’s fault, I told myself. I had been telling myself that for months and months and I never made myself completely believe it. She was over at his house, late, and that never happened on school nights—but she had her secret project, and he was feeling neglected, and she made an exception.
She lost track of time. By the time she realized how late it was, it was pushing impossible for her to get home by curfew, but she decided to chance it. Even though it was pouring rain outside, and pitch-black.
It was not Oliver’s fault.
He told me all of this, when he felt guilty, and I didn’t need to know any of it. I didn’t want to know any of it. And I couldn’t do anything about his guilt, not when I was thinking, in my worst moments, if it hadn’t been for him . . .
I’d been having a lot of worst moments.
But I managed to keep telling myself it wasn’t fair to blame him over and over, though I couldn’t make myself believe it, until I told him that I was leaving. Until I was standing in front of him clutching that Tupperware urn like he might rip it out of my hands. And everything I said was wrong, and he jumped on every wrong thing I said, and I could hear the words hovering on my tongue. I’m not the one who said Julia should blow off her homework and come over. I’m not the one who let her go out into that kind of weather at midnight.
“Do you really think you’ve been as good a friend to Julia as I have?” I snapped, and Oliver just stared at me. Like he’d heard everything that I was thinking and trying so hard not to say out loud. Well, he’d said his piece to me, and now it was my turn.
He shook his head slowly. “How could I even expect you to understand?”
I guess he was right. I guess I didn’t want to understand. And no matter how much time passed that day, no matter how far away I was here at the place on the side of the road where I could blame no one but myself, I could still see his number on the screen of my
I clinked my soda bottle against hers, after we were by ourselves again. “Heather?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re kind of a genius.”
She grinned. “Come on. For years I lived with It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission and What they don’t know can’t hurt them and It’s only wrong if you get caught . Being undercover isn’t always wrong. That’s what being a ninja is all about—you’re not just being stealthy because it’s totally sweet, it’s so that you can stay alive. So if our little play needs to go in the closet, bring it on.”
That is when I decided something. Or realized something.
I had an itty-bitty little crush.
THEN
I spent hours lying on the grass, one arm pillowed behind my head and the other shading my eyes from the sun, trying to convince myself to get up. My skin began to crawl with twitchy boredom and scratchy heat. I got up and I paced and I sat down again and ripped tufts of grass out of the ground Jon-style, and drank tiny sips of water as if I was in danger of running out. My phone rang, and I jumped. Oliver on the caller ID, and I kept staring at it, thinking that I wanted somebody to say something kind and encouraging to me, somebody I could complain to. But not him. He wouldn’t understand, and I wouldn’t be helpless in front of Oliver. So I let it ring until it went to voicemail, and after a few minutes I checked the voicemail.
He hadn’t left a message.
Even now, almost twenty hours later, I kept hearing the honk of that horn, kept feeling that twinge of my hip and my arm hitting the pavement and the bike sliding out from under me. And I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help thinking about Julia, singing along to the radio or tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she tried out melodies, and then—startled, panicking, realizing that things were going wrong, that she was going too fast and the road was too wet.
It wasn’t Oliver’s fault, I told myself. I had been telling myself that for months and months and I never made myself completely believe it. She was over at his house, late, and that never happened on school nights—but she had her secret project, and he was feeling neglected, and she made an exception.
She lost track of time. By the time she realized how late it was, it was pushing impossible for her to get home by curfew, but she decided to chance it. Even though it was pouring rain outside, and pitch-black.
It was not Oliver’s fault.
He told me all of this, when he felt guilty, and I didn’t need to know any of it. I didn’t want to know any of it. And I couldn’t do anything about his guilt, not when I was thinking, in my worst moments, if it hadn’t been for him . . .
I’d been having a lot of worst moments.
But I managed to keep telling myself it wasn’t fair to blame him over and over, though I couldn’t make myself believe it, until I told him that I was leaving. Until I was standing in front of him clutching that Tupperware urn like he might rip it out of my hands. And everything I said was wrong, and he jumped on every wrong thing I said, and I could hear the words hovering on my tongue. I’m not the one who said Julia should blow off her homework and come over. I’m not the one who let her go out into that kind of weather at midnight.
“Do you really think you’ve been as good a friend to Julia as I have?” I snapped, and Oliver just stared at me. Like he’d heard everything that I was thinking and trying so hard not to say out loud. Well, he’d said his piece to me, and now it was my turn.
He shook his head slowly. “How could I even expect you to understand?”
I guess he was right. I guess I didn’t want to understand. And no matter how much time passed that day, no matter how far away I was here at the place on the side of the road where I could blame no one but myself, I could still see his number on the screen of my
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