The Bridge From Me to You Page 5

  Maybe I shouldn’t go.

  I could call Colby and tell him I’m sick.

  Puking my guts out.

  So sick I might be dying.

  The truth is,

  every day,

  I feel like I’m dying inside

  a little bit more.

  I wish

  I hadn’t messed up.

  I wish

  it hadn’t ever happened.

  I wish

  we were all together again.

  Henry and Demi barge

  into my room

  and beg me to play

  blocks with them.

  Today, I can play with

  the little kids

  or I can play

  with the big kids.

  I remember

  Colby’s kind eyes and friendly smile.

  I remember

  how he said he liked my bike.

  I remember

  how he made me feel for five short minutes.

  The big kids win.

  I ask Aunt Erica for a suit.

  She gives me a white bikini.

  I put it on underneath

  my shorts and T-shirt.

  I’ve never been to a

  creek party before.

  Maybe people don’t even swim.

  Just in case, I want to be ready.

  I remember

  swimming with my friends at the pool.

  I remember

  flirting with boys and having fun.

  I remember

  days when I felt alive and happy

  and

  I wish

  I could feel like that again.

  WHEN LAUREN greets me at the door, I almost fall over. I knew she was good-looking, but I didn’t remember her being this good-looking.

  I tell myself not to stare, but man, it is hard not to.

  She’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts, but a swimsuit strap tied around her neck tells me she has a suit on underneath. Her curly red hair falls around her shoulders, and her green eyes light up as she says, “Hi! Let me grab my bag and I’ll be right out.”

  “Sounds good.”

  As I move toward my truck, Mr. McMann steps through the open garage door. “Hi, Colby,” he says, extending his hand. “Good to see you. Thanks for inviting Lauren to go along with you today.”

  “No problem. Should be fun.”

  Lauren comes scurrying out with a beach bag over her shoulder. “I’ve got a towel, sunscreen, and sunglasses. Anything else I need?”

  “Nope,” I tell her. “I think you’re good to go.”

  “Should we expect you for dinner?” Mr. McMann asks Lauren.

  “I don’t know.” She looks at me. “What time do you think we’ll be home?”

  “I’ll have her home by six,” I tell him.

  “Perfect. Have fun and drive safe!”

  “Bye,” she says as we hop into my truck. I wave and pull out of the driveway.

  Once we’re down the street, she leans her head back on the seat. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be getting out of there and going somewhere.” She looks at me. “Other than the Jiffy Mart, I mean.”

  “Really? You’re tired of the Jiffy Mart? But there’s so much to see and do. It doesn’t get much better than corn dogs, hot and ready to eat.”

  “What is it with boys and corn dogs?” she asks. “My convenience store meal of choice is nachos. You just can’t go wrong with chips and processed cheese.”

  I point behind us, to the bed of my truck. “I brought along some sodas and snacks, but unfortunately, no nachos. I did get some Bugles for you, though.”

  “You did?” she says as she claps her hands together.

  “I have never seen a girl get so happy about a snack food.”

  “Yeah, I admit, it’s kind of insane how much I love those things.”

  “So, tell me something else you love. Because so far our conversations have been focused on food. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely like to eat, but I’m thinking there’s got to be more to you than Bugles.”

  She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares out the window. “Let’s see. I love sunshine.” Pause. “Daisies.” Pause. “Paint-by-number sets and blue nail polish.” Long pause. “Bake sales, hot air balloons, and birds.”

  “Wow. That’s quite the list. Bake sales?”

  “A bunch of sweets, all for the taking, and the money is for a good cause. What’s not to love?”

  It makes me smile. “You are so right.”

  “And here we are, back to food.”

  I laugh, because it’s true. “So, what kind of birds, exactly?”

  She shrugs. “Any kind, I guess. I think I like them all. I want to go to college and become an ornithologist.”

  “A what?”

  “Ornithologist.”

  “Is that anything like an orthodontist?” I tease.

  She gives me a funny look, like she’s not sure if I’m being serious or not. “Um, no. It’s someone who studies birds. I’m thinking I could travel the world and research rare birds or something. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

  “Yeah. Actually, it does. Anything involving travel sounds good to me. What colleges are you looking at?”

  “Well, I haven’t really started looking yet. I mean, with moving and everything, it’s been … hard. There’s still time, right?”

  “Of course. Lots of time. Once school starts up again, you can use the College and Career Center for research. The two ladies who work there are really nice.”

  “Good to know. So, what about you? What makes you happy? Besides football and corn dogs.”

  “Actually, you can scratch football off my list.” I’m kind of surprised by the words that come tumbling out before I stop them. But this girl isn’t from around here. Her life doesn’t revolve around football like most people I know.

  “Wait. So you play, but you don’t really like it?”

  I take a turn onto Mill Creek Road. “Well, I love my team, of course. And it’s had its fun moments, but after this year, I’m ready to be done with it. Time to think about other things.”

  “Like what?” she asks. “What do you want to think about?”

  I can’t believe someone is actually asking me this. As if there’s something worth thinking about that isn’t football.

  I just might like this girl.

  WHEN COLBY asked me

  what I love, I almost said it.

  I almost said his name. Matthew.

  But I stopped myself.

  Because then he would have asked me,

  “Who’s that?”

  And I would have had

  to say, “My brother.”

  More questions would have followed.

  Questions I can’t answer.

  So I gave a list of things I love.

  Even though I love Matthew most of all.

  “YOU’LL LAUGH,” I tell her.

  “No. I promise I won’t laugh. It can’t be any stranger than birds, can it? What kind of weirdo girl thinks about birds?”

  “You’re not weird.”

  “Neither are you. So tell me.”

  I take a deep breath. I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell this girl who I’ve known for a whopping five days. “Bridges.”

  “Bridges? Like in music or the kind you cross over because there’s water?”

  “Damn, I wish I was a musician, but no. The other kind.”

  “Huh. That’s interesting. I don’t think about bridges much. When you need one, it’s just … there, you know?”

  “Exactly. It’s pretty incredible when you think about it. How could we get anywhere without them? But even more than that, there are some awesome bridges around the world. Like, there’s this one in Switzerland that was built in 1333, and inside, it has paintings from the seventeenth century.”

  “Inside?”

  “Yeah. It’s the oldest wooden covered bridge in Europe.”

  “Wow. I’ve actua
lly never seen a wooden covered bridge. Do they even exist here in the US anymore?”

  I look at her. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “If you want, we can go see one right now. Unless you’re anxious to get to the party.”

  “I’m not anxious at all.”

  “Okay, then. I can’t believe I get to show you your first covered bridge.”

  Big blue sky.

  Old country road.

  Windows rolled down.

  Insecurities left behind.

  FlyingFlyingFlying FlyingFlyingFlying

  LovethisLovethis Warm breeze whispering. LovethisLovethis

  FreeFreeFreeFree FreeFreeFreeFree

  Brown eyes sparkling.

  Escaping the world.

  Small lingering glances.

  Nervous and excited.

  Finally something good.

  Sweet and sincere.

  Hoping it’s real.

  Wishing it lasts.

  I TAKE the back roads until we come to it. I pull onto the shoulder, about thirty feet behind the old white bridge. She opens her door and hops out of my truck.

  “God. It’s so beautiful,” she calls back. I watch her as she walks up the road until she’s standing underneath the cover.

  “I love how the sides are open so you can see out,” she says when I join her.

  “Yeah. It’s called a Howe truss. William Howe came up with the design using diagonal beams in 1840. Because wood was less expensive, it could be used for the diagonal beams, while iron was only used for the vertical ones.”

  She takes a few steps and peers out between the diagonal beams. “What river is that?”

  “It’s Mill Creek, and up there a little ways” — I turn around and point — “is where Willow Springs River empties into the creek. It’s not every day you see a river emptying into a creek. Pretty cool, right?”

  She looks at me. “How do you know all of this?”

  “Well, it’s incredible, actually. There’s this thing called the Internet. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

  She scrunches up her face and sticks her tongue out at me. It’s kind of hilarious. “Ha ha,” she says. “Okay, so maybe a better question would be, why do you know all of this?”

  I shrug. “What can I say? I like bridges. And since this one is practically in my backyard, I wanted to know more about it.”

  “When was it built?”

  “1939.”

  A breeze comes through, and it catches a wisp of her hair, blowing it across her face. She reaches up and tucks it behind her ear. I know I should turn away. Stop staring. But I can’t. There is something so damn attractive about this girl and her curiosity.

  “It’s so quiet and peaceful, isn’t it?” she says. “It’s almost like we’ve stepped back in time.”

  “Come on. I’ll show you something else.”

  We walk across the bridge, then down and around, through grass and past big trees, to a rickety waterwheel that sits on the edge of the creek.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “A waterwheel power plant. It was used to power a sawmill that used to be down here somewhere.”

  “It’s not very big,” she says. “I mean, shouldn’t it be bigger?”

  “I think this is just part of it. I’m not sure.”

  Just then, a robin lands on a branch not far from where we’re standing. We don’t move. The bird only sits there for a few seconds before it takes off, flying across the meadow behind us.

  Lauren turns to watch it fly away.

  I simply watch her. She is so mesmerized by that lonely robin; she looks like a little girl seeing a bird for the first time.

  Guess I’m not the only one who thinks about flying away, to bigger and better things.

  PARTY?

  What party?

  Let’s stay here.

  The two of us.

  With birds and a bridge.

  Imagine.

  Two people.

  Letting guards down.

  Feeling happy and comfortable.

  Never happened to me before.

  Heart.

  Beating fast.

  Boy and girl.

  Standing in the meadow.

  It’s like time has stopped.

  Until.

  Three words.

  “Ready to go?”

  Afraid to say no.

  I’ll never forget this day.

  THE PARTY’S in full swing when we get there. People are spread out all over — some are in the creek; some are up by the rope, waiting for a turn to swing and jump; some are standing around, talking; and a few are sitting on the bank. We head toward the creek, since the bank seems like the logical starting point.

  People say hi as we go along, and each time, I introduce Lauren.

  We take a seat with our towels underneath us and the cooler beside us. Music’s blasting from someone’s car stereo. Lauren takes off her T-shirt, revealing a white bikini top underneath.

  “I hate this,” she says.

  “You want to get in the water, then?”

  “No, I mean, I hate being the new girl. It’s so … awkward.”

  “Sorry,” I tell her as I take off my shirt. I figure it’s only fair. “Better here than in the cafeteria the first day, though, right?”

  She gets her sunglasses out of her bag. “I guess. But still.”

  I turn and see Stasia a ways down. I know it’s her because of her pink hair. When I see her sitting by herself, I remember that her best friend moved to Berkeley a couple of months ago.

  “Stasia,” I yell. “Come sit with us. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  I turn to Lauren. “She’s kind of wild and crazy, but in the best possible way.” She raises her eyebrows. I laugh. “Trust me, all right?”

  Sure enough, Lauren and Stasia hit it off. When Stasia hears Lauren moved from Seattle, she asks if Lauren knows the band The Head and the Heart, who are also from there. Turns out it’s one of her favorites. So they talk music for a while, until it gets hot and we’re all ready to make our way into the creek and cool off.

  As we’re wading in, Stasia says, “This small town must seem so incredibly boring compared to Seattle. Why’d you move here anyway?”

  Lauren looks down at the water, stepping carefully as she goes. “I needed a break from my mom. We were at each other’s throats all the time, you know?”

  “Believe me,” Stasia says. “I know.”

  “So my uncle,” Lauren continues, “who’s my mom’s brother, said I could live with them for a while.”

  “Her uncle is Josh McMann,” I tell Stasia. “Owner of the bookstore?”

  “Oh, right,” she says, smiling at Lauren. “Super-nice guy.”

  Suddenly, Lauren reaches down and splashes icy cold creek water at us. Stasia screams. I react by seeking revenge.

  “Oh no you don’t,” I say, grabbing Lauren’s arm and pulling her down into the water.

  Lauren wiggles out of my grip and pops up, laughing. She wraps her arms around herself. “You guys are crazy,” she says, wading back toward the shore. “That water is freaking freezing.”

  “You started it,” I remind her.

  She doesn’t deny it. Something tells me it was a strategic move on her part. After all, it’s hard to ask personal questions when you’re in the middle of a water fight.

  IT’S BEEN my strategy

  all along.

  Anyone who asks, I simply

  say I needed a break.

  I twist things around

  to make it about her, not me.

  Sure, it’s a bit extreme,

  moving to a small town.

  My only other option is

  to say my mother died.

  Nothing shuts people up

  faster than death.

  But the truth is,

  I hope to go back soon.

  I couldn’t bring my mom

  back from the dead.

  But I
could say I’ve decided

  to give her another chance.

  Of course, for me to say that,

  she has to want to take me back.

  She’s not dead to me.

  But what if I’m dead to her?

  LAUREN’S SITTING back, eyeing the people doing the rope swing into the water.

  “You want to try it?” I ask her.

  “Only if you’ll do it with me.”

  “Think that thing can hold both of us?” I ask.

  “Are you trying to tell me something? Like, lay off the snack foods, maybe?”

  I laugh. “No, no. I swear. That’s not what I meant. All right, what the hell. Let’s do it.”

  We make our way to the takeoff spot. I grab the rope with both hands as high as possible and tell her to grab below mine.

  “What if I can’t hang on?” she asks.

  “You’re wondering that now?” I tease.

  “It’s just, things look a lot different up here, you know?”

  “You can do it,” I assure her. “It’s only a couple of seconds until we’re over the water. Then you can let go.”

  “Okay.”

  “That doesn’t sound very convincing. Say, ‘I believe.’ ”

  She gives me a funny look. “What?”

  “It’s something our team says. Come on. I believe.”

  “I believe?”

  “One thing’s for sure. You are not going to make it as a football player.”

  “You know, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

  How could I not like this girl? “Okay, smart-ass, do you want to do this or not?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Yes. I want to. But, what if you land on me?”

  “I won’t land on you. You’ll jump to the right side and I’ll jump to the left, okay?”

  “Okay. I’m ready. On the count of three.”

  We both count out loud. “One. Two. Three.”