Little Do We Know(56)

“No. Actually it’s Rumi.”

“Rumi?”

“He’s a Muslim poet.”

“Oh.”

“Look,” I said. “I barely knew you before. I have no connection to the old Luke, so that person you were doesn’t matter to me. Tell me what you saw.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure, you can.”

He looked around, taking in the things on my walls. He looked at the cross that hung next to my door, and the shelving unit filled with books and framed photos of me and my friends.

“Not here,” he said. “Not now. But trust me, if I could tell anyone, it would be you.”

That made me smile. And it gave me an idea.

“I run almost every day,” I said. “I take the same route, and I always end my run at this one spot at the top of a hill. There’s this big boulder, and I love to climb to the top and just sit there…thinking and watching the world below. Do you have a place like that?”

“Do I have a pet rock?” he said sarcastically. “Um, no.” And then he got serious. “I drive. I turn up my music as loud as it can go and I drive until I find a place where I can stop, like I did yesterday.”

It was a good answer, but it wasn’t really what I had in mind. “You need a room or something. A place that makes you feel safe. Someplace quiet and peaceful where you can be alone.”

He thought about it. “Actually, I liked being in your church. That room felt like that to me. For the first time in a week, my thoughts didn’t feel overwhelming and terrifying.”

It was perfect. The church would be quiet.

“What if we made a video? Not to post or anything…Just for you.” He was listening, so I went on. “You said you were afraid you’d forget. If you have it recorded, when the experience starts to fade, you can watch it and remember all those little details. And you could show it to Emory. That way, you could tell her without really telling her.”

He thought about it for a few moments.

“I can help. Our choir director has a professional video camera. He could shoot it for you.” Luke looked panicked, so I backpedaled. “Or, you could just drive somewhere quiet, prop up your phone on the dashboard, and make it all by yourself. You don’t need me there.”

But I kind of wished he needed me there.

“When?” he asked.

“Whenever you’re ready. No rush.”

Luke thought about it for a long time. I was sure he was going to pass.

“Meet you around the corner under the streetlight at the same time tomorrow,” he said.





Luke and I met on a Friday night during the last week of our junior year.

He and his friends stopped by the diner. My friends and I had already been there for hours. He kept looking over at our table, and when I pointed it out, Charlotte dared me to go over and talk to him.

I’d never been one to pass on a dare, so I jumped up from my seat in the corner of the booth and onto the table, stepping over french fry baskets, coffee cups, and half-eaten cheesecake, while the waitress shot me dirty looks from a few tables away. I landed on the floor with a thud and walked straight over to him. I asked if he wanted to join us, and he stood and let me take his hand like I already knew him. I led him back to our booth. Everyone made room so he could squeeze in next to me.

“I’m Luke Calletti,” he said. I already knew that.

“Emory Kern.”

We shook hands. He had dark curly hair, piercing green eyes, and full lips. When he spoke, I watched them, wondering what it would be like to kiss them. He was cute. Really cute. “What school do you go to?” he asked.

“Yours,” I said, still staring at his mouth.

“Then why don’t I know you?”

I shrugged as if I didn’t know the answer, but I did: Same school. Different worlds.

After an hour or so, his friends left to go to a party, but he stayed with me. And we kept talking. Then my friends left to go home, but I stayed with him. And we kept talking. And soon, it was just the two of us, sitting alone in the booth, picking at the last piece of apple pie and sipping black coffee while his phone buzzed and chirped on the table.

“I see you have that app that sends nonstop alerts so you’ll look super popular to girls you’re trying to impress,” I said.

He grinned. “My friends are wondering where I am.” He silenced the phone and flipped it upside down on the table, hiding the screen.

“You should go to your party.”

“Only if you’ll come with me.”

“I’m not really into parties. But I’ll take a ride home if it’s on the way.”

We left the diner together and walked to the Foothill High student lot.

“That’s mine,” he said, pointing at a lonely red Jetta parked in the back by the tennis courts.

It was only three blocks to my house, but we talked the whole way, and when Luke pulled into my driveway, I wasn’t ready to say good-bye.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked. “My mom’s working late tonight.”

“And your dad?”

“Lives in Chicago.”

He followed me inside. We sat next to each other on the living room couch, innocently at first, but then he leaned in to kiss me, and that was all it took. We sank deeper into the couch while I stole glances at the door, prepared to push him off me and leap back into my spot the second I heard Mom’s key working the dead bolt. But I lost myself in his mouth on mine and his hands on my skin, and before I knew it, I was asking him if he had a condom. I silently scolded myself for being so impulsive, but then I decided I didn’t care. In that moment, I wanted him and he wanted me, and I didn’t feel like stopping, so I didn’t.