The Sweetness of Salt(17)

“No way.” I shook my head. “I’m going back to bed.”

Zoe put her hand on her hip. “Your parents already know you’re up. If you don’t leave they’re going to bug you until you come out of your room. You won’t get any sleep anyway.”

I bit my lip. “Fine.”

“Don’t be late,” Zoe said, pausing at the door. “And dude?”

“What?”

“Drive the new car.”





chapter


11


The hot water felt good against my skin, but it did nothing to ease the ache that was beneath it. Still, I stood under it for so long that clouds of steam began to make the walls sweat. When I opened the door, the blast of cold air shocked me. I wrapped a towel around myself quickly. Except that I couldn’t do anything quickly, it seemed. Everything felt as though it took an enormous effort—even breathing. The towel scratched against my skin like sandpaper, and the muscles in my calf muscles were tight as knots. I got dressed, pulling on my soft jeans, a white T-shirt, and flats, and knotted my wet hair into a loose ponytail.

“Hi,” Mom said softly, getting up from her chair as I came down to the kitchen. Her green stem-stripper gloves were on the table, next to her coffee. “How are you feeling?” I didn’t answer, reaching instead for my purse, which was hanging on the back of one of the chairs. Mom’s eyes were taking in my appearance, but slowly, as if she didn’t want to frighten me.

“Are you going to work?” I asked, nodding at the gloves.

“I thought I would,” Mom said. “It’ll be slow at the shop today, though. If you need me to…”

“No. I’m leaving.”

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m meeting Zoe for lunch.”

“Don’t you want to dry your hair first?” Mom came around behind me, surveying my ponytail. “It’s soaking wet, Julia. The whole back of your shirt is…”

“It’s fine,” I said curtly. “It’ll dry on my way over. I have to go.”

“Well, hold on a minute,” Mom said. “You haven’t eaten anything yet, honey. I made you some scrambled eggs and toast.”

“I’m not hungry.” I swung my purse over my shoulder and headed for the door.

“Julia.” Mom rested her hand on side of the stove. “You father had to run out to get a few things but we want to talk to you. Honey, please. Could we just talk before you leave?”

I slammed the door behind me with a sharp thwack.



I spotted Zoe immediately, sitting on a swing next to a little kid, who was pumping his feet furiously. “Come on!” she yelled to him. “You gotta get super high first. Come on! Pump!” Pieces of the boy’s brown hair blew backward as he threw back his head and strained his legs. “That’s it!” Zoe said. “You’re almost there! A couple more! Keep going! I’ll tell you when!”

The swing shook as it flew forward and then back again. Even from where I stood, I could see the boy’s eyes scanning the patch of ground up ahead of him. He looked terrified.

“Okay!” Zoe yelled as the swing began another upward ascent. The boy’s face was white. At the apex of the swing, Zoe stood up. “Now!” she screamed. The boy let go all at once, his eyes the size of quarters. He soared through the air, arms and legs flailing like a kite unleashed. Just for a moment, it seemed, he hung there—suspended against the fading light, almost as if he had been pinned up against the sky somehow—and then he came crashing back down, a tangle of elbows and knees, rolling in the dirt. He skidded a few feet and then lay still, flat on his back.

Zoe rushed over to him and got down on one knee. “You okay?”

The little boy sat up. He blinked a few times, and then grinned. “I want to do it again.”

“That was friggin’ awesome,” Zoe said. “You were flying! Gimme five!” She held up both hands. The boy slapped them hard and raced back to the swing set.

Zoe spotted me coming up behind him. She trotted over quickly and slowed as she got closer. “You still look like crap.”

“Thanks.”

She interlocked her elbow into mine and led me over to the small cluster of trees that overlooked the pond. Arranging herself along one of the thick roots, she settled in, tucking her legs under her. I leaned against the side of the tree, poking the grass with my toe. “I really don’t feel like talking.”

“Just sit, okay?” Zoe squinted up in my direction. “Please. Humor me.”

I sighed heavily and sat down.

Zoe stared out across the park at the little boy who was still working his way up to jumping height on the swing. “I’m worried about you,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be. I’m fine.”


She swiveled her head, looking at me sharply. “Don’t give me that. The only thing I know that would make you stay in your room for twenty-four continual hours would be a college rejecting you. And since you got accepted to not one, not two, but all ten of the colleges you applied to, I’m assuming it’s not that. So what is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t.”