What Happens to Goodbye(12)

“Hi,” he said, all casual, like we were meeting under the most normal of circumstances. “I’m Dave.”
In the last few years, as I’d been traveling with my dad, I’d had my share of new experiences. Different schools, various kinds of cultures, all new friends. But within five minutes, it became clear that never in my life had I ever met anyone like Dave Wade.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said as I sat there, openmouthed, staring at him. “But I figured it’s better to be surprised than busted.”
I couldn’t respond at first, too distracted by my surroundings. We were in what appeared to be a basement, a small space with wooden plank walls and a dirt floor. A single, worn lawn chair took up most of the square footage: a stack of books was beside it, another flashlight propped on top.
“What is this place?” I said.
“Storm cellar,” he replied, as if this was of course the first question you’d ask after someone pulled you underground. “For tornadoes and such.”
“This is yours?”
He shook his head, reaching to put the flashlight on the ground between us. As he did so, a moth fluttered past, casting weird shadows. “It’s part of the house behind mine. Nobody’s lived here for years.”
“How’d you know about it?”
“I found it when I was younger. You know, exploring.”
“Exploring,” I repeated.
He shrugged. “I was a weird kid.”
This, I believed. And yet, again, I was struck by the fact that not once during this entire incident had I been scared. At least not by him, even before I knew who he was. “So you just hang out here?”
“Sometimes.” He got up, brushing himself off, and sat down in the chair, which creaked. “When I’m not crashing on your back porch.”
“Yeah,” I said as he sat back, crossing his legs. “What, do you not like being at home or something?”
He looked at me for a second, as if weighing his response. “Or something,” he said.
I nodded. The digging and going underground might have been kind of weird. But this, I understood.

“Look,” he said, “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just coming out and saw the lights, then heard you coming. Actually, grabbing you was kind of an impulse move.”
I looked up at the doors again. “You have good instincts.”
“I guess. You know what’s weird, though? I just put that hook and eye in last week. Lucky thing.” He squinted up at it, then turned back to me. “The bottom line is, you don’t want to get arrested for drinking under age. It’s not fun. I know from experience.”
“How do you know I haven’t been already?” I asked.
He studied me, all seriousness. “You don’t look like the type.”
“Neither do you,” I pointed out.
“This is true.” He thought for a moment. “I rescind my earlier statement. You could very well be a delinquent, just like me.”
I looked below me again, taking in the small, tidy space. “This doesn’t really look like a den for delinquents.”
“No?” I shook my head. “What were you thinking? Junior League? ”
I made a face, then nodded at the stack of books: in the thrown light, I could barely make out one of the spines, which said something about abstract geometry and physics. “That’s pretty heavy reading material.”
“Don’t go by that,” he said. “I just needed something to prop the flashlight on.”
From above us, I heard a sudden burst of music. The cops, apparently, were gone, and the party was starting up again with whatever legal stragglers remained. Dave got up, climbing the stairs, and popped the hook, then slowly pushed open one of the doors overhead and stuck his head out. Watching from below, it occurred to me he looked younger somehow: I could easily picture him as an eight- or nine-year-old, digging tunnels in this same backyard.
“Coast is clear,” he reported, letting the door drop fully open, hitting the ground with a thud. “You should be able to get home now.”
“I’d hope so,” I said. “Since it’s only, like—”
“—fourteen feet, seven point two inches, to your back deck,” he finished for me. I raised my eybrows, and he sighed. “I told you. Weird kid.”
“Just kid?”
Now, he smiled. “Watch your step.”
He climbed up the stairs out onto the grass, then turned the light back on me as I followed him out, offering his hand as I neared the top. I took it, again feeling not strange at all, his fingers closing around mine, supporting me as I stepped up into the world again.
“Your friends were at the party,” I said. “They were looking for you.”
“Yeah. It’s already been kind of a long night, though.”
“No kidding.” I slid my hands in my pockets. “Well ... thanks for the rescue.”
“It was nothing,” he replied.
“You kind of saved my ass,” I pointed out.
“Just being neighborly.”
I smiled, then turned to cross those fourteen feet, seven point two inches back to my house. I’d only taken a couple of steps when he said, “Hey. If I saved your ass, you should tell me your name.”
I’d been in this place many times in the last two years, not to mention once already today. The name I’d chosen, the girl I’d decided to be here, was poised on the tip of my tongue. But in that place, at that moment, something happened. Like that quick trip below the surface had changed not only the trajectory of my life here, but maybe me, as well.