The Night We Said Yes (9 page)

“What’s this?” I ask, reading what it says. “‘We claim this roof in the name of Katie, Michelle, Joe, and Sam.’”

“Looks like someone else has been hanging out up here,” he says.

“I recognize the names. They’re a year younger than us, seniors this year. They’re in drama, I think.” I pause. “I guess
it’s their turn to own the roof.” I give him back the paper.

“Well, they have to know about the original owners,” he says. “Do you have a pen?” I cock my head at him, then nod and walk over to where I left my purse. Finding a pen, I bring it back to him.

“Original explorers, E, J, M, and M, grant you ownership,” he recites as he writes. “Better to leave our initials rather than names, you know?” I nod and watch as he climbs up a little higher and shakily puts the paper under a rock on the platform.

“Do you still collect them?” I yell up, though he’s not more than three feet higher.

He climbs down before answering. “Not really. I mean, every now and then . . . it’s a hard habit to break . . . but, I don’t know.”

“What?” I ask.

“After living here, the desire kind of died,” he answers, looking at me.

“Truth or dare,” I respond.

“Dare,” he says, looking at me with expectant eyes and a slight smile. I feel another drop fall on me, but I ignore it because dares are more important.

The game goes on for a while, with both of us only picking dares. We can’t handle truths yet. They’ll come out eventually, but right now we scale rafters, yell to the night, and perform rap songs. We speak in dares, letting each other
open up through actions rather than words. We keep going because we don’t know what else to do. And we don’t want to end the night—not just yet.

The bottle is half empty and I’m buzzed by the time Matt finally says, “Truth.”

We’re sitting next to each other, leaning against the wall as we were when we first climbed up. We’re both out of breath and he’s looking at me, his eyes a little droopy. I’m taken aback, unsure if I’m ready to actually talk. I bite my lip and try to think of the perfect question as my heart rages inside my body.

“How was school this year?” I start easy.

“Fine,” he answers plainly, looking away, out toward the road we drove up earlier.

“You can’t just answer ‘fine,’” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “I need details.”

“It was school, you know? New school, new life. The house we had was nice—and Texas was fine. Lots of accents. I didn’t really fit in.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t own a cowboy hat.” He smiles, looking back at me. “Anyway, isn’t it my turn? One question and all.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shoot.”

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” I answer automatically.

“How was school for you?”

I think before I answer. Honestly, I was miserable after
Matt left, and then nothing really . . . happened. I didn’t date anyone else; I was still hung up on him. But I can’t tell him that.

“The last year of high school is supposed to be magical and wonderful—at least, that’s how it goes in movies. But they don’t tell you it’s also stressful and scary. I didn’t know where I’d end up for most of the year. I didn’t know what would happen next.”

He nods. “And you love knowing.”

“Yeah, exactly. I mean, it wasn’t terrible,” I continue. I don’t want him to think I spent the entire time pining after him. “I had Meg and everyone. And we had some fun times. But I guess I just expected . . . more.” I look down and shake my head, not wanting to look at him. After a moment, I say, “Anyway, truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“Did you make a lot of friends in Texas?” Specifically female friends with whom you happened to make out. Of course, I don’t add that last part.

“Some. None as cool as you guys, though.”

I stop myself from adding that he could have kept us as friends. That he didn’t have to lose or miss us. That we were always still here, waiting for him. I look over and see our shoulders touching. How we got so close, I don’t know, but despite everything I find myself leaning even closer. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

He pauses and I can tell he’s unsure whether he should ask what’s coming. “Did you . . . date anyone this year?”

I want to say yes, hundreds of people. That I moved on quickly, and fell in love over and over again, and that he was just a speck of a memory. That he didn’t break my heart and leave me lost for the past six months. But I settle on the truth. Because we’re opening up and all.

“No.” I continue using the game as a buffer. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he answers without thinking.

“Did you?” It slips out, really. I want to know if his year mirrored mine. Did he move on, or was he alone? Was he miserable, or did he leave someone new behind?

“I did not,” he answers easily, not leaving a second for contemplation. I smile and then catch myself. He can’t see how happy that makes me. I notice a flicker of a grin cross his mouth. “How . . . are you?”

And just like that, the game is gone. It’s only us now.

“I’m fine,” I answer automatically. It’s the same response I’ve been giving this entire year, no need to change it now. I
am
fine; he just doesn’t need to know that fine has many definitions.

“You can’t just answer ‘fine,’” he says, reminding me of my earlier rule.

“I can and I will,” I shoot back with a grin. I think about what I want to know next, and finally give myself the courage to ask. “Why UCF? Really this time.” It’s what I need
to know. What I’ve been waiting to ask. What I’ve been too scared to ask.
Was it for me?

“I was offered a scholarship,” he says, pushing his hair back and looking away. My heart drops, but I don’t take my eyes off him. “Good school and all.” He thinks, and then looks at me. My breath catches as our eyes meet. “This was the only place that’s ever felt like home. I wanted to come back. I wanted to feel what I did when I lived here. I know you can’t return to a time as easily as you can return to a place, but I wanted to try. I like it here.” My heart is thumping madly, a tiny drum going off. “I like the people.” He pauses again, an awkward silence coming between us. Then he says quietly, “Did you ever think of me?”

“Yes, did you ever think of me?”

“All the time.” With each word we grow closer. His breath is heavy as he leans toward me. I feel him again, only this time it’s actually him. He’s actually touching me, looking right in my eyes and tipping his chin down. My body, my brain try to stop me, but I don’t. I feel myself falling again and I don’t want to stop. I don’t want a safety net or parachute. I want to plummet through this feeling forever. I want to forget everything that happened and start over. I want him.

Just as our lips are about to touch, the drops that were slowly falling culminate to form a torrential downpour.

THEN

10:10
P
.
M
.

As it turned out, the roof, for the four of us, was very hard to get onto.

“So how do we do this?” Meg asked, looking up at the building.

“Climb?” Jake answered, shifting his beer—wielding his backpack on his shoulders.

“Aren’t we clever?” she jabbed back.

Jake leaned over to Meg, resting his arm against the wall behind her. “We
are
very clever. And handsome, might I add.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but
will you guys shut up!
” I whisper-yelled, fearing getting caught. We were on the
stairs, clearly visible to anyone who walked by. Our voices echoed through the campus and I just knew someone would catch us. “Okay, I guess one person can climb on the railing and then hoist himself up. Then he can help everyone else climb up,” I suggested.

“I’ll go up first,” Matt volunteered.

“You sure?” I asked.

“I’m strong,” he said, flexing his skinny arms. You’d think he was bragging to his mom about getting an A; it was adorable. He climbed on the railing and easily touched the ledge. As he lifted up his arms, his shirt rode up and exposed a sliver of skin. I shivered. With a simple press, he hoisted himself onto the roof in one quick motion. He made it look so easy, but I knew I couldn’t do it on my own.

“Ella?” he asked. I hopped up on the railing and realized we were much higher than I had thought. “I’ve got you, don’t worry,” Matt whispered.

“I should tell you—I don’t like heights,” I responded before raising my hands. He grabbed my wrists and pulled.

As soon as my legs left the railing my heart raced and I suppressed a scream. I was essentially dangling from the roof and holding on to a guy I barely knew. I mentally kicked myself for my blatant stupidity and cursed that sliver of skin that had enticed me into doing this not moments before. As I felt air brush my skin, I panicked.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” My hands were turning numb, my legs shaking; I was certain I was about to fall.

“You’re fine,” Matt reassured, pulling me up. I felt my body climb the building, but I wouldn’t open my eyes; I could barely feel his hands. “El, open your eyes,” Matt said, and with every ounce of energy, I did. I was waist level with the roof, almost on it. My heart sang. I kicked my left leg up and hooked it, then swung my right leg up to join the other, with Matt still holding on and helping me along. As soon as I was properly up, I practically kissed the roof, holding on as tight as possible. I’d never been so happy to be so high up.

“You’re fine, you know,” Matt said, letting go of my arms.

“I, er, yeah, sorry.” I blushed. I moved away from the edge, but then quickly sat down again a few feet away.

Meg came up next, and then Jake.

We walked to the center of the roof and leaned against a low wall—Jake, Meg, me, and then Matt. Still out of breath from my near-death experience, I breathed deeply as Jake opened up his backpack and handed out beers.

“Drink!” he commanded. So we did.

“The town looks so small from here,” I marveled, taking in the scenery. “Like a Monopoly game, or something. I think I can see my house.”

“I can’t believe we only have one more year here,” Meg mused. Jake got up and walked back toward the edge of the roof.

“Ya hear that, school? We’re almost done with you! Screw you and your math and history and grades.” Matt
jumped up and ran to Jake, pulling him back to us. We collapsed in a fit of laughter and cheap beer.

“It’s not
that bad
,” I said.

“Says the straight-A student,” Jake answered.

“I am not a straight-A student. Just because I don’t get suspended every day doesn’t make me a genius.”

“I don’t get suspended every day. Just the good days.”

“Welcome to Jefferson, by the way,” Meg said to Matt.

“I feel like it’s already home,” he replied, peering across the campus.

“Well, you’re on the roof. That makes you pretty official,” she said, clinking bottles with him. I knew she wasn’t interested, but still, a part of me was envious. She had it so easy with guys. I never did.

“It’s weird, this is the first place I’ve lived that my brother hasn’t,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“You have a brother?” Meg asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah, he’s in college.”

“A college guy,” Meg mused to herself, to which I added, “And apparently the ladies love him.”

“Yeah, but is he in a band?” Jake inserted himself in, as he often did, and Matt just shook his head.

“No, but he plays soccer. He’ll probably be captain next year,” Matt said proudly, and I could tell he looked up to his brother a bit.

“Can I get his number?” Meg asked with a grin, and Jake made a
hmph
noise in response.

“He has a girlfriend, unfortunately,” Matt answered. “Some girl he met at a bar. He sent me a picture. She has a neck tattoo.”

“Can I get
her
number?” Jake asked, and this time it was Meg’s turn to
hmph
.

“But, yeah, this place seems cool,” Matt continued, avoiding their digression. “It sucks I’ll only have a year here. And then, who knows.”

We sat quietly, sipping from our bottles. It was true for all of us. We had no clue where we’d be in a year, or what we’d be doing. The thought frightened me. Would we still be friends, even?

“Well, I’ll be a movie star, of course,” Meg joked.

“Take a bow, Miss Kensey,” I called out. Meg wanted to major in acting, which fit her perfectly. She had the drive and passion for the career, as well as the penchant for melodrama. Plus, she was strong and could take rejection.

“
Mrs.
Something-or-other, thank you very much,” she corrected me.

“So you’re married now?”

“No, but I will be by the time I’m a huge movie star.”

“Oy, you slags!” Jake interrupted with a fake British accent. He jumped up and paced around in front of us, drumming with his hands. “I’ll be a major rock star, headlining stadiums ’round the world. That’ll show all those kids in high school who dinnit believe in my music.”

“You’ll also be British, apparently,” I responded.

“O’ course,” Jake continued with the accent. “The best music comes from the Brits. Punk rock!”

“Didn’t British punk end in the seventies?” Matt questioned. I glanced to my right and saw him smiling at me.

“Clearly, mate, you haven’t kept up with the music scene,” Jake continued.

“Mate?” Matt mouthed to me. I laughed at his question, coughing from the sip I had just taken. I wasn’t far into the beer, but I was already feeling it.

“What about you, Matt? Any long-term plans?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I was thinking of going into music production. You know, working at a music studio.”

“You can produce my first record,” Meg announced.

“Of course, because every great actress must be a singer, too,” I added.

“Well, only the good ones.” She nudged me.

“Maybe we can duet,” Jake stated, walking over to Meg and putting his arm around her. She looked up at him for a second, hesitated, and then with conviction announced, “I don’t think so.”

I drew my attention back to Matt, who was fiddling with his watch again. “That’s cool. What made you think of it?” I asked.

“Well, I can’t rely on my mediocre bass playing and my boyish good looks forever,” he joked. I smiled.

“Oy, I can! I’m top meat right here!”

I waved a hand at Jake, ignoring his comment. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“What about you?” Matt asked. “Any plans yet?”

“I’m majoring in writing,” I said.

“Oh, that’s cool. I didn’t know you wrote,” he answered, face lighting up.

“A little. I want to be a journalist. Actually, your finding-objects thing gave me an idea earlier.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, intrigued.

“Yeah. Like the photo you found in the market? I bet I could make a story from it, imagining what the people were laughing about. Kind of like you do.”

“Yeah!” he said excitedly. “I guess it is pretty similar. We both think up stories, in a way.”

“Exactly.”

Meg gave me a pointed look and put her pinkie up. I locked mine with hers. “She’s really good,” she said to Matt, then to me, “I’ll only allow
you
to document my highly successful career.”

“It’ll be the
first
thing I write about,” I said, laughing.

“You should write about tonight,” Jake interrupted, still in a British accent. “But give me a beard. I always thought I’d look smashing in a beard.”

“That’s only because you can’t grow one, Mr. Peach Fuzz,” Meg rebutted. He gave her a sly grin and got even closer.

“So the accent is a permanent thing now?” Matt asked, looking over.

“I’ll keep going until the ladies tell me to stop.”

“STOP!” Meg and I both shouted out, laughing. Our one-syllable word echoed through the trees, bouncing off nearby houses.

“But seriously, how great would this place be for a gig?” Jake asked, staring over the edge of the roof again.

“You’ve already played here. Battle of the Bands, remember?” I asked, thinking back to their most recent show. When they struck the last note and froze their instruments in one final flourish, I got goose bumps. They were that good.

“Well, yeah, we played
there
,” he said, pointing down to the courtyard. “But I mean
here
. On the
roof
. El, when you write that book, have us play on the roof.” He stepped close to the edge again and struck a rock star pose, sloshing his drink everywhere. Legs slightly bent, he held his air guitar over his head and opened his mouth. “HELLO, JEFFERSON HIGH SCHOOL!”

“I wonder why that doesn’t sound as cool as ‘Hello, LA!’” I asked.

Matt stood up, still next to me, and yelled out, “HELLO, ARKANSAS!” I grabbed his arm and pulled him back down, laughing. I was still afraid of attracting too much attention to us. And of falling off.

“HELLO, ANTARCTICA!” Meg yelled, still sitting down beside me.

“I hear penguins are quite the rock aficionados,” I said to her.

“Dude—we’re taking the band to Antarctica. You think we’d be the first band to play there?” Jake asked, half joking, half serious, as he always was.

“I think we might be the first band to freeze to death there,” Matt answered.

“Touché,” Jake said, pointing at Matt. I looked over and noticed Matt staring at me. Not in a calculating way, but like he was intrigued. He looked
interested
, like he was trying to figure me out. Put me together, like a puzzle. Was I that much of an enigma? I smiled back nervously and I swear he blushed.

“So what can we say yes to next?” Jake asked. He had the attention span of a puppy, always pacing around and marking his territory. The roof was his. Meg’s eyes constantly followed his movement. I wanted to grab her, shake her, and tell her to stop, but I knew it was too late. She was hooked, despite her protests. I suppose I wanted to shake Jake as well, because if he was actually
good
I’d be fine with them, but he was still conflicted. He was on the cusp of being either good or bad, often jumping from side to side. And it sucked.

“Should we stay or should we go?” Meg asked, reciting the Clash’s famous lyric.

“Nice,” Jake said with a point to her. She looked down.

“Game?” I proposed. “It can be all middle school–like.”

“So, polishing nails and calling boys?” Meg asked.

“We didn’t do that
all
the time,” I answered.

“I recall getting a few giggly calls from you girls,” Jake said.

“That’s because Shana
loooooved
you,” I said. Shana had been the third member of our little group. We did everything together in middle school. That is, until Shana started cheerleading and found a new group of friends in high school. She traded headphones for megaphones and never looked back.

“Did she? I should give her a call.”

Meg playfully punched him in the arm, and pulled him down to our level. “Stop your pacing. You’re making me nervous.”

“You know I’m always in motion. So back to the game.”

“Spin the Bottle doesn’t really work with four people,” Matt said, bringing himself back into the conversation.

“Says you,” Jake said, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head.

“No,” Meg declared.

“Truth or Dare?” I offered.

“Never Have I Ever?” Matt asked.

“Never Have I Ever!”
Jake yelled excitedly.

We couldn’t say no once someone decided, could we?

“Why’s he so excited?” Matt asked me in a whisper.

“We’ve played before,” I explained. “It always ends with Jake far drunker than the rest of us.”

“That’s this bracelet, isn’t it?” Meg asked, holding her
wrist up and pointing to the black-and-white-striped one.

“Ugh, yeah!” I said, turning to Jake. “Didn’t you try skateboarding blindfolded or something?”

“Don’t you mean didn’t I succeed in skateboarding blindfolded?” Jake answered proudly.

“You crashed into a tree. I wouldn’t call that succeeding,” Meg deadpanned.

“And what about you?” Matt asked me. “How do you usually fare during the game?”

“I guess you’ll see,” I said with a half smile, hoping to sound cool, though in truth, I was usually barely tipsy by the end of the game. We went around in a circle and each said something we’d never done. If someone had done it, they drank. It was pretty simple. Jake passed each of us another bottle of beer, but I wasn’t even done with my first one yet. I was a lightweight, so the one drink was already making everything wilder, brighter, and louder.

“Okay, me first,” I said, suddenly brave. “Never have I ever gotten suspended from school.” Both Jake and Meg drank. I already knew why, so no story was necessary. Matt didn’t, so I turned to him to explain. “Jake was suspended for skipping class one too many times, and Meg for punching a football player who made fun of her brother.”

“Why’d he make fun of her brother?” Matt asked.

“He’s gay,” Meg answered for me. “Which is such a shitty reason.”

“Are you going to explain
every
drink to Matt? ’Cause
this game will take forever if you do,” Jake interrupted, and I rolled my eyes at him in response.