How to Be Brave(61)

I nod, even though I can’t imagine any other place I’d rather be.

We make our way out of the crowded museum to the balcony, where the wind from the lake is whipping my hair. The show inside has ended, but we can still see the shadows of the dolphins through the amphitheater windows. It’s such an odd thing, to see dolphins so close to a Midwestern lake.

“It must be so confusing for them,” I say. “To swim in that pool and never get to see the ocean anymore. They must wonder where the waves are. They must wonder about the sunset. I mean, it’s so sad, right? From this angle, they never get to see it—only the sunrise.”

I feel like I’m rambling, filling the empty air between us with random thoughts, when he leans down and kisses me softly. It takes me by surprise at first, and I pull back. But then I take a deep breath. And I return the kiss. The wind whips wildly around us.

It’s such a good first date.

We head south under the shadow of Soldier Field alongside Burnham Harbor, where we make fun of boat names (Baby Tonga, Sail-la-Vie, and The Other Woman). We come upon Sled Hill, right below the stadium. During the winter it’s packed with lines of kids all waiting their turns to fly down the snow, but now it’s quiet and empty, just a few sunbathers burning their skin. We climb to the top, a good thirty feet or so, take a seat. The skyline is beautiful from up here, and it’s not quite as windy as down by the aquarium.

I think he’s going to kiss me again.

So I kiss him first.

And it’s so good.

“What do you want to do now?” he asks.

I tell him about the list (most of it). I tell him that I want to run down the hill, but I also tell him I don’t know how. “I’m just freaking scared,” I say.

“What are you scared of?”

I don’t really want to let him know that I’m a big wimp and I’m pretty much afraid of everything, but I’m the one who started this stupid conversation, so now I have to say it. “Well, first of all, I’m scared of heights.”

“Um…” He laughs. “This is a hill, not a mountain.”

“Yeah, okay. Well, then I’m just scared of the downward perpetual motion. Of falling, plain and simple. Of tumbling down and hurting myself. Of spraining an ankle or busting a knee or something.”

“Anything else?” He smiles.

“Well, no. I think that’s it.” I punch him lightly in the arm. “What about you? Aren’t you scared of anything?”

His face changes. The smile that I love so much disappears. “Sure.” He shrugs.

“Like what?”

“Losing my dad.”

I nod. “Yeah. I was scared of that too, for my mom. I’m not scared of dying, though,” I say. “It’s worse being left behind, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know yet.” He pauses for a moment, looking out at the lake, and then the smile returns. “But both scenarios have to be much worse than running down this hill, which will take all of six seconds.”

I laugh.

“So why do you want to do it so badly, then?” he asks. “Why is this hill calling out to you?”

I have to think about this. I remember my father, when I was younger, telling me about his childhood in Greece, about how he used to run in the mountains, up and down the hills, that he was a mountain goat, a child of the woods, free and fearless. I don’t ever remember feeling that way as a child. I’m a city mouse. I know nothing about running outside, let alone down a hill.

“To feel human,” I say.

So Daniel shows me how to do it: The trick, as he shows me, is not to go toe-heel, toe-heel, as one might think, but to go heel-arch-ball, heel-arch-ball, just as if you were walking. He knows this from hiking with his dad in Oregon, well, before his dad got sick. “Just respect the laws of physics,” he says. “Use the entire surface area of your feet, and allow gravity to be your friend.”

“The laws of physics? I hardly passed chemistry.…”

“Just use your feet, and go slowly, at first. Then, pick up speed, and let yourself be.”

I run down the hill, just like he shows me how.

It’s pretty easy, when you know what to do.

And with that, I’ve completed numbers 1, 13, and 14 all in one day.





16

Of course, the very next day the envelope comes from the University of Illinois.

And it’s a thin one.

I sit on the front steps of my building, rip open the envelope, and skim the letter: Your application … blah blah blah … carefully reviewed … blah blah blah … We are sorry to inform you … blah blah blah …

Shit.

Well then.

Dad’s leaving for California, so my one option is to go with him, apply to a city college somewhere in the middle of L.A., and see what happens from there.

My other option is …

I have no other options.

Just when things were turning around. Just when I had friends again. And just when Daniel and I started whatever it is that we’re starting. Of course the letter would come today.

Daniel and Liss are going to U of I.

And I’m not.

Now what.

*

It’s the last week of school, and we’re all checked out, and the teachers could care less and everyone’s talking about summer road trips and dorm rooms and prereqs for fall. I get daily texts from Liss to join her and her new friends, Avery and Chloe, and the others for lunch, and so I do. Turns out they’re okay, I guess. I don’t have to love them like she does, but it’s nice to be included for once. What matters most is that we still have afternoons together, just her and me, and those feel like the old days.