Little Do We Know(55)

Hannah: Hi.

Hannah: I can’t sleep.

I thought about the way he sat behind me on the stairs the day before, the way he moved my hair to one side and slid his thumb across my skin.

“What are we doing here?” I’d asked. But he never really answered me.

Hannah: Question for you.

I typed it fast so I wouldn’t chicken out.

Aaron: Shoot.

Hannah: You know that thing that happened that you said would never happen again?

There was a long delay. Finally, he replied.

Aaron: Yeah.

It took me a long time to gather my nerve. My heart was racing as I stared at the screen. Aaron was waiting. It was too late now. I’d started this and I had to keep going.

Hannah: Are you sure it won’t happen again?

He answered right away.

Aaron: No.

I kicked at my covers and squealed into my pillow.

Hannah: Good.

Aaron: See you tomorrow.

Tomorrow. I scrolled back to the top of the screen. I was reading the exchange again when I heard a tap on my bedroom window. I raced to the curtain, pulled it to one side, and looked down. I could see someone standing in the dirt below.

I slid the window open and stuck my head outside. “Emory?”

“No. It’s Luke.”

“Luke?” I asked sharply. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped into the sliver of light coming from the streetlamp. “I have to talk to you.” He pointed toward my front door, and then stepped out from between the bushes and disappeared around the corner.

I zipped up my sweatshirt and tiptoed down the hall.

“Hi.” He was wearing his Foothill High jacket, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “I would have texted you, but I don’t have your number.”

I gave the street a paranoid glance. “Where did you park?”

“Under the streetlamp. Where I always do.” He gestured toward my kitchen window.

I felt a surge of adrenaline rush though me. I was sneaking a guy into my room in the middle of the night, and it was kind of exciting, breaking the rules like that. I’d been watching Luke sneak into Emory’s house for months, wondering what that would be like.

I looked over my shoulder to be sure my parents hadn’t heard us, and then brought my finger to my lips. “Shh…Follow me.” We padded down the hall and slipped into my bedroom. “What are you doing here?” I asked again.

“I snuck out. I had to show you something.” He sat on the edge of my bed and whipped his phone from his pocket. “I’ve been doing research on NDEs.” I must have looked confused, because he added, “Near-death experiences. Check it out.” He angled the phone toward me. “There are millions of people like me. Their stories are all over the Internet, all these people who died and came back.”

He opened his Notes app and pushed his phone into my hands. I scrolled through a long list of names along with what they saw when they died: Bright light. Open field. Tunnel and light. Jesus. Fire. Childhood puppy. Grandmother.

He grinned as he elbowed me. “I’m bummed about that one. I didn’t see my grandma, and I was totally her favorite.”

He was in a good mood. Better than he was the last two times I’d seen him.

“What are all these links?”

“Their videos.” He combed his fingers through his hair like he was trying to find the right words. “They’ve all recorded their stories, right, but none of them match what happened to me. I keep looking for one that explains it, you know?”

I stared at him. “Why is that so important to you?”

He sighed. “It just is. I tried to tell Emory again last night, but every time I try to talk to her, she looks at me like I’m nuts. She doesn’t want to hear any of this, you know? She doesn’t want to think about me dying, and she doesn’t want me to think about me dying, and she seems to believe that if I don’t talk about it, eventually I’ll forget the whole thing and—”

“Everything will go back to normal,” I said, finishing his sentence.

He nodded. “Exactly. But…that’s the thing. I don’t want to forget what happened. I don’t want to go back to normal. And I don’t want to be the person I was. It was like your dad said the other day: My soul woke up. And now I’m different. I know more. I feel more.” He stood and started pacing the room.

“After I left the church yesterday, I couldn’t stand the idea of going back to my house, so I drove right past my exit, and before I knew it I was getting on PCH. I just kept driving, and soon I was at the ocean.

“I sat there for the longest time, thinking about my conversation with your dad, and I started to realize that I’ve been spending all my time watching videos and trying to figure out what happened to me through these strangers’ stories, but it isn’t working. I need to tell my story. I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll forget all the little details, you know?” He pressed his fingertips into his temples. “I don’t want to forget.”

His words made me think about something I stumbled on while I was doing my research the night before. “The soul has been given its own ears to hear things the mind does not understand,” I said.

He nodded. “Nice. Is that a Bible quote or something?”