He doesn’t.
I wonder…
Taking a deep breath, I switch to that low-pitched, musical tone that had such a weird effect on Cody. I lay my palm against Jay’s cheek. “Jay, stop carrying me.”
Immediately he sets me down.
“God, Jay,” I say in my normal voice. “This is really freaking me out.”
Jay’s eyes clear. “Are you all right?” Then he frowns, as if realizing he’s already asked me that.
“I’m fine.” I peer at him. “Are you?”
“Uh…yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck and rumples his brown hair with his fingers. A few wavy locks cling to his damp forehead.
Nick and George jog past us, their steps heavy with fatigue.
“We…we beat you,” Nick pants. “Screw you both…for suggesting…a run…in this heat.” He slows, arching a brow at our proximity. “Or maybe you should both just screw each other. I’m sure there’s a mossy nook…somewhere around here where you can—”
“Nicky, darling,” I say in my sweetest voice. “Shut up.”
“—hump to your heart’s content. You have my permission, Gatsby. You may ravish my cousin.”
I charge at Nick, and he ducks away, pelting up the path with renewed vigor.
Apparently that tone doesn’t work as well with my cousin as it does on Cody and Jay.
Why?
What am I?
A sickening knot twists tighter and tighter in my gut as we continue the hike. In the middle of that anxiety is a growing certainty, confirmed by other little moments that float to the surface of my memories like ocean debris after a storm.
The summer of junior year, I applied for an internship. During the interview I spoke as persuasively and skillfully as I could, and the guy conducting the evaluation became flushed and told me I got the internship before I’d even finished talking. I knew he wasn’t supposed to announce the recipient yet, and that scared me. I thought he was trying to get me to sleep with him in exchange for the spot. Right away I declined and got out of there.
But now I wonder if that event, like so many other tiny incidents throughout my life, might have a different explanation.
10
There’s a part of this trail I’ve always loved—less of a location than a moment, really. Not the moment when you begin to hear the waterfall, or the moment you realize the path isn’t making your thighs ache anymore, that it’s starting to slant downward. Not the moment when you pass through a muddy dip and the foliage curls in close around you like the translucent emerald shell of an egg.
It’s the moment when you break out of it all, when the leaves give way to rock, and the waterfall bursts into view, a multitiered veil of frosty white. It’s like waking up on a day that’s full of exciting plans, a day that you know is going to be wonderful.
Jordan is already beside the falls, taking photos. Nick and George collapse onto the rocks, panting and groaning. They don’t seem to feel the magic of the moment.
But Jay looks at me, his brown eyes wide and warm. The smile that curves his mouth is gentle with wonder.
That look of his sinks right through my flesh and bone, down to my heart, where it thrums and glows.
My love for him awakens quietly, like drifting out of a nap, like remembering the lyrics to a song. I love him differently than I did when I was fourteen, and differently than I loved Tom. This love pulses harder, more insistently—and it feels deeply essential to my existence. I’ll always need it to live, whether I’m ever happy again or not.
Tom, Myrtle, and the others emerge from the bushes, a collection of humid bodies, sweating and sulking, but Jay keeps watching me, as if I’m more beautiful than the waterfall. Phrases form inside my head, silly poetic things I could never say to him out loud. A few sparse words are all I can manage.
“You look so cool.” My voice is a drifting current, barely audible over the ongoing susurration of the waterfall. “How do you always look so cool?”
Tom does a double take. He eyes Jay’s unadorned ears and fingers, his basic jeans and gray T-shirt, his tumble of sweaty brown hair. There’s a natural grace to Jay’s stance, a generous openness to his face. It’s the only accessory he needs.
Then Tom shoulders his way between us, stinking of sweat and jealousy. “You call this a waterfall? It’s a lot shorter than I expected.”
I crane my neck to look up the rocky cliffs to the top of the falls. “Really, Tom?”
“I think it’s perfect.” Jordan steps to the edge of the path, staring down into the churning froth. Then she looks up at the cliff. “I can climb this. Maybe slide down part of it, or do jumps across the falls.”
Horror vibrates through me. “Jordan Baker! No way. You really will die this time if you try that!”
“Oh, no I won’t.” She grins at Jay. “I’ve got my insurance policy.” And she leaps for the slick black rocks beside the falls and begins to climb while we all gape at her. She’s always been athletic, but the speed and strength with which she scuttles up the cliff is something else entirely.
“Oh my god,” Myrtle whispers.
Tom shrugs. “It’s not that steep, and there are lots of handholds and footholds. I could climb that thing, easy.”
“So could I,” Myrtle’s brother pipes up.
“Shut up, George,” Myrtle snaps. “Your arms are like skinny little Popsicle sticks. God. Don’t be stupid.”
George shrinks under his sister’s words. I throw him a sympathetic glance and then focus on Jordan, just as her foot slips on a wet rock. Her body jerks for a second, as if she’s going to fall—and then she finds her footing.
“Someone needs to go up there and help her—make sure she doesn’t hurt herself,” I gasp.