helping a little girl pick raspberries for half an hour. She came with her older sister, but her older sister found something she liked more than berries. His name is Greg. Because of course Greg works here. He hates every minute of it, though. It’s obvious that this is the only job he could find, the way he’s constantly complaining about working outside in the broiling heat. I avoid the negative stressball that is Greg as much as possible.
“Try not to pick any soggy berries,” I advise the girl. “Or ones with leaves.”
When I get into the Berry Picking Zone, I kind of space out. I think about other things, working on automatic. I’ve been trying to avoid the Berry Picking Zone this summer. Especially today. Jason is all I try not to think about. Danielle invited me to this picnic at Green Pond, but I didn’t go. I know Jason’s a lifeguard there. I could probably find out what days he works and avoid going on those days. Or I could just not go there for the whole summer.
But What If? What if I’m doing the wrong thing? Is it really our fate to be apart?
After the sisters leave, I walk out deep into the field, away from everyone else. Right here, in the middle of everything, with the sweet summer breeze rustling through the leaves, I make a wish. I wish for the Energy to reveal my fate. To give me a sign if my fate is to be with Jason. And I promise myself that if I get a sign, I won’t avoid the truth anymore.
23
Being lazy in the summer rules. It’s awesome how everything slows down so you don’t have to rush anywhere. It’s like there’s this unwritten agreement among everyone that it’s okay to do nothing. The most strenuous activity I did today was making watermelon juice with Mom. Okay, she did most of the work. She got the watermelons at the green market and lugged them home and cut them up. But I was in charge of blending and straining. The taste of watermelon changes when you put it in the juicer, so we never do that. We also made watermelon, honeydew, and cantaloupe popsicles. Those are the best on scorching days like today.
It is such a major relief to not have any homework for the next two months. What would we do without summer vacay? Revolt, probably. It feels so decadent to have the entire summer ahead of me, a whole two months of staying up late and doing whatever I want. Like today, how I’m lazing in the hammock out in the backyard, reading the glossy magazines I love and drinking fresh watermelon juice. I should be totally blissed out.
There’s just one problem.
I miss Jason.
It’s been five days since I wished for my sign. Nothing’s happened yet. Maybe nothing will. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. It just feels like something’s missing. Like there’s more to life that I haven’t found yet.
“Transatlanticism” plays on my iPod for the third time.
I need you so much closer . . .
I need you so much closer . . .
The porch door slides closed, snapping me out of my day-dreams. Mom wants me to get some things at the supermarket. Dad’s not home, so I can’t take his car. Which means I have to take the ancient stick shift.
I hate driving stick.
Dad’s a patient guy. But when he was teaching me how to drive, there was this one time when he almost lost it. I was still learning how to shift without stalling in the middle of the street. Merging was completely hopeless. I’m terrified of merging. Merging is for people who can go out into the world and take charge. Merging is for people who laugh at fear. Merging is not for people who truly believe a truck will ram into them and flatten their car right when they get on the highway.
The day Dad almost lost it, I was creeping up on the road that feeds out onto the highway. He was like, “Get some speed going here.”
I reluctantly pressed down on the gas pedal. I wished really hard that I was at home instead, but I was still in the car.
Then it was time to merge. My heart rattled.
“Get ready to
“Try not to pick any soggy berries,” I advise the girl. “Or ones with leaves.”
When I get into the Berry Picking Zone, I kind of space out. I think about other things, working on automatic. I’ve been trying to avoid the Berry Picking Zone this summer. Especially today. Jason is all I try not to think about. Danielle invited me to this picnic at Green Pond, but I didn’t go. I know Jason’s a lifeguard there. I could probably find out what days he works and avoid going on those days. Or I could just not go there for the whole summer.
But What If? What if I’m doing the wrong thing? Is it really our fate to be apart?
After the sisters leave, I walk out deep into the field, away from everyone else. Right here, in the middle of everything, with the sweet summer breeze rustling through the leaves, I make a wish. I wish for the Energy to reveal my fate. To give me a sign if my fate is to be with Jason. And I promise myself that if I get a sign, I won’t avoid the truth anymore.
23
Being lazy in the summer rules. It’s awesome how everything slows down so you don’t have to rush anywhere. It’s like there’s this unwritten agreement among everyone that it’s okay to do nothing. The most strenuous activity I did today was making watermelon juice with Mom. Okay, she did most of the work. She got the watermelons at the green market and lugged them home and cut them up. But I was in charge of blending and straining. The taste of watermelon changes when you put it in the juicer, so we never do that. We also made watermelon, honeydew, and cantaloupe popsicles. Those are the best on scorching days like today.
It is such a major relief to not have any homework for the next two months. What would we do without summer vacay? Revolt, probably. It feels so decadent to have the entire summer ahead of me, a whole two months of staying up late and doing whatever I want. Like today, how I’m lazing in the hammock out in the backyard, reading the glossy magazines I love and drinking fresh watermelon juice. I should be totally blissed out.
There’s just one problem.
I miss Jason.
It’s been five days since I wished for my sign. Nothing’s happened yet. Maybe nothing will. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. It just feels like something’s missing. Like there’s more to life that I haven’t found yet.
“Transatlanticism” plays on my iPod for the third time.
I need you so much closer . . .
I need you so much closer . . .
The porch door slides closed, snapping me out of my day-dreams. Mom wants me to get some things at the supermarket. Dad’s not home, so I can’t take his car. Which means I have to take the ancient stick shift.
I hate driving stick.
Dad’s a patient guy. But when he was teaching me how to drive, there was this one time when he almost lost it. I was still learning how to shift without stalling in the middle of the street. Merging was completely hopeless. I’m terrified of merging. Merging is for people who can go out into the world and take charge. Merging is for people who laugh at fear. Merging is not for people who truly believe a truck will ram into them and flatten their car right when they get on the highway.
The day Dad almost lost it, I was creeping up on the road that feeds out onto the highway. He was like, “Get some speed going here.”
I reluctantly pressed down on the gas pedal. I wished really hard that I was at home instead, but I was still in the car.
Then it was time to merge. My heart rattled.
“Get ready to
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