“I don’t have long. Papi wants to make a stop on the way to the airport.” Her gaze dims and lips press into a grim line.
“Okay.” This is hard. I don’t want her to feel crappy about leaving, even if that’s how I feel—and how do I say goodbye?
“You should go.” I pick up the brown paper bag resting at my feet. “I got you something but…”
“What is it?” She peers into the bag, grinning.
I carefully remove the bouquet of small blue flowers with yellow centers and hand them to her, suddenly feeling foolish for the gift. She’s going on a flight across the ocean. What is she going to do with the bouquet?
“Oh, these are beautiful.” She beams up at me.
“They’re forget-me-nots.”
She pauses mid-sniff, big dark eyes pinning me. “Jared, I love them.” Her long hair swings over her shoulder as she shifts to get closer to my face. “I will never forget you. I’ll be back in August.”
I nod, not able to find my words. She understands my meaning of the gift, and I can only hope she won’t forget me.
I clear my throat, averting my gaze as I push air through my lungs, propelling my voice. “It’s kinda dumb though…”
“What is?”
“Giving you a bouquet when you’re flying. You can’t take them with you.”
“I love them and I have an idea. I’ll press some in one of the books I’m bringing, so I’ll have you with me at all times. Thank you.” She kisses my cheek.
Again, I bob my head, staying silent. I like the thought of her having the flowers to look at and think of me. We haven’t made plans to talk while she’s away. I don’t have a cell phone, although I’m working on it, and I don’t want her calling the Garcias’. I’m hardly there and can’t trust anyone to pass on a message if she were to call.
And then there’s her grandfather. She didn’t think it was a good idea to explain who I was and why she was making long-distance calls to some boy. So this is it.
I won’t speak to her for the next two months.
What if she forgets me? I won’t forget her.
For that, I’m sure. I have met no one like Eva.
Madre is too kind
Sophomore/Junior year
EVA
The park is still the same. The playground is a little more worn, the grass a little more yellow, but everything is still the same.
My feet push through the dirt, and the swing lifts from the ground as my legs fold and pump, carrying me higher into the air.
Where is Jared? He’s supposed to be here.
It’s hard to believe the summer is over. We arrived from Spain today and while a wonderful trip, I longed to come home to Jared. We had agreed upon this date and time to meet before I’d even left for the summer.
After nearly two hours, I trudge home, battling a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if he’s no longer living with the Garcias? Or he took off like Ike?
The evening is torture, and I go to bed sick with worry. At near one in the morning, the rolling thunder and flashes of lightning keep me company. So far, no rain.
The ragged wheeze of an engine followed by a car door shutting causes me to kick off the covers and press my head against the window screen. A beat-up Jeep Wrangler parks at the curb next door.
Tall, broad, and muscled. His languid, confident gait makes my heart sing.
But wait a second—the hair, or more like no hair, gives me pause. The height and build look right. It’s Jared. What did he do to his beautiful hair?
When I left, his thick locks were just shy of his jawline. Maybe longer. The thickness and weight pulled at his boyish curls.
The dark figure stares at our house, eventually looking to my window. My heart flips and I raise a hand to wave when he pivots on his heel.
Maybe he didn’t see me? Already dressed, I bound from my perch and slip on my shoes, noting Bianca’s bed is empty. My feet dance down the stairs, not caring if I make any noise.
Papi left several hours ago for work, and my mother is sound asleep. Besides, we’ve talked about Jared and the park. She doesn’t like it but didn’t forbid me. Strangely, we both know the greatest risk is Papi learning of my friendship with Jared.
There’s a light drizzle, and I sprint toward the park where he stands, oblivious to the falling rain, and drops his chin to his chest.
He’s unmoving and I call out through choppy breaths, “Jared.”
The darkness and now harder-falling rain make it difficult to see. His shoulders tense and his head rises, but he doesn’t face me.
My feet stutter, my heart jerks, and I’m confused. This isn’t how I imagined our reunion. I don’t need to see his face to know he isn’t happy that I’m here. His posture and rigid muscles says it all.
He turns on his heel, shoulders deflating, or relaxing? Do I have it all wrong?
“I’m so happy to see you.” I throw myself at him, wet and out of breath, arms around his neck.
His arms are motionless at his side. He says nothing, no sign that the feeling is mutual, yet his head tips ever so slightly toward mine. His nose sinks into my mass of wet hair and he sniffs. Then he’s gone, pulling away.
“Hey.” His voice is deeper, more a rumble, causing a flutter in my stomach.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He steps back, wiping rivulets of rain from his face. “Good to see you.”
“Did you forget I was coming home today? I waited for you in the park like we planned.”
“Had things to do.” He’s cold, and I shiver, feeling his icy reception in my bones.
It’s now pouring and the wind has picked up. My hair and clothes stick to my body, but the only discomfort I feel is from the boy in front of me.
He’s my Jared, and he isn’t. Taller by an inch or two and more muscled, broader. “What happened to your hair?”
Despite his weird, almost callous vibe, I reach up, brushing my palm against the soft stubble of his dark buzz cut. He slants his head, sidestepping my touch.
“I was tired of it with work and the heat.”
I loved his thick curls, both boyish and appealing, but even with scarcely any hair, he’s such a good-looking boy. More intense, more severe, but still striking.
“Where have you been working?”
He doesn’t respond, and I don’t need one. Milo. His stony countenance says it all.
“Can we talk? Let’s get out of this rain.” I motion to the playhouse.
“Go home, Eva.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just tired. It’s good to see you.” He turns. “You’ll get sick in this. Go home.”
“Jared.” I cringe at how broken and desperate I sound. He’s breaking my heart and I don’t understand.
He flinches, but he doesn’t turn around to face me. The thin, wet cotton of his white T-shirt outlines every twitch and spasm of his hard-muscled back.
“I’m glad you’re back. I gotta go.” Long, quick strides carry him away from me.
“Wait.” I grab his arm, stepping in front of him. “You just got here. We haven’t seen each other in months.”