Love and First Sight(29)

“I guess you could say it that way. Oh, wow, the lights—this is a perfect shot.”

Her camera lens pops off, and she starts clicking away.

“The students’ expressions of frustration and unhappiness juxtapose with the formal attire and decorations…” She’s narrating, like an art-museum tour guide, when there’s a sudden cheer. I feel the vibrations of the crowd returning to their dancing.

“Let me guess. The lights are back off?”

“Yep.”

But that moment before—when I was really considering kissing her—has passed.

? ? ?


After the dance ends, the four of us change out of our dress clothes and go to Mel’s Diner and get a booth. It’s pretty much the only place open twenty-four hours a day in our town, and based on the volume of chatter inside the restaurant, it seems every other teenager at that dance had the exact same idea we did.

“Room for one more?”

It’s Nick’s voice.

“Well, look who it is!” says Whitford.

“Scoot over,” Cecily says to Whitford. There’s some sliding, and Nick sits down on the other side of the table from Cecily and me.

I smile. “I thought homecoming was for sellouts?” I say.

“This isn’t homecoming. This is the after-party,” Nick says.

“Who’s up for an after-after-party at my place?” says Whitford. “Maybe a game of Settlers?”

“We can’t play Settlers on a Saturday,” I say.

Cecily pokes me. “It’s past midnight, silly. Now it’s Sunday. Very, very early Settlers Sunday.”

We go to the Washingtons’ house and play till six in the morning. I eat so many Skittles I think I might be sick.

“I can just walk home from here,” I tell Cecily on the front porch. “It’s right around the corner.”

“I’ve got something else in mind,” she says. “Are you free for a drive?”

“Sorry, can’t,” I say. “I have several predawn appointments on the calendar.”

“Very funny.”

She takes us to Mole Hill Park, and we walk up what seems like a million flights of stairs to the top of the hill this place is named after and sit down on the grass.

“You know this used to be a volcano?” she asks.

“And we’re sitting on top of it right now?” I ask, slightly disconcerted.

“Don’t worry, it’s not active anymore.”

“Hey, can I take a picture of you?” I ask.

“Of me?” she asks.

“Yeah. You’re always taking mine. Seems only fair I should get a turn.”

“I prefer to stay behind the camera,” she says.

“Oh, come on,” I say. “Just one photo.”

“Fine,” she says, handing me the camera and guiding my finger to the shutter button.

“Say cheese!” I say.

“Seriously?” she says flatly.

I press the button, and the camera clicks. I do it a few more times.

“Okay, that’s plenty,” she says, taking the camera back.

“Why are you supposed to say cheese?” I ask.

“I have no idea,” she says.

“Nick would probably know,” I say.

“Probably,” she agrees.

I hear her move and sense warmth near my hand, as if her own hand is hovering nearby, thinking about grabbing mine.

Do it. Please. Grab my hand.

But then the warmth is gone. She must have pulled away. “Anyway, I wanted to take you here because this is the highest point in the city. So it’s the best place to watch the sunrise.”

First we almost kissed on the dance floor. Now we almost held hands. Or at least, I think that’s what happened. And if so, she definitely chose not to hold my hand.

I guess it’s like Ion said: Cecily’s not looking for a boyfriend. And hand holding can definitely lead to boyfriends. Not to mention kissing. I guess it’s a good thing the lights came on during the dance.

“Sunrises,” I say, turning my attention back to the present. “I don’t get it. They get all this hype. I mean, I rise out of bed every morning when my alarm goes off, but no one climbs mountains to watch and rave about how beautiful I am. What’s so great about a sunrise?”

“All the colors. So many blended together.”

“Like a painting?”

“Yes, but better.”

“Why better?”

“It’s bigger than a painting, for one thing. It’s infinite, in a sense. A sunrise stretches across the whole sky, and behind it is the entire galaxy and the rest of the universe.”

“Well, that’s something,” I admit, leaning back and feeling the grass with my fingers.

“Plus, a painting is only a representation of the thing. But a sunrise… a sunrise is the actual thing.”

I shift my weight on the ground. “I’m not trying to be cynical or difficult,” I say. “But why does a multitude of colors make it beautiful? Like a multitude of smells. Well, that’s like the cafeteria at school… and that’s not something I’d stay up all night and walk up that many steps for, I’ll tell you that.”