Page 22 of A Summer to Save Us

In the mirror, I see River approaching, and I press my nails into my palm. Nothing, no pain. River wears black jeans and a black shirt, which makes him look like a dark magician—beautiful and dangerous.

I did something bad .

He stands behind me and carefully places his hands on my shoulders, watching me in the mirror. He looks at me like I’m someone else. The anger, the rebelliousness in his eyes is silent, but I’m familiar with silence. He doesn’t seem like he needs to come down from anything anymore. But why?

I tense slightly, but on the inside, I have a hundred fears fluttering around, a hundred wishes, and a hundred longings.

“If we really do this at the end of the summer, we can be whoever we want. You can be whoever you want.” His breath tickles my hair and leaves goosebumps on the top of my head, but the fairy girl with the blonde curls doesn’t move.

She’s frozen in place, as always. “You and me, we’re free,” he says reverently, looking into my eyes through the mirror.

I feel the pressure of his warm hands on my shoulders.

The touch hypnotizes me, grounds me, and lets me fly.

I am free . I repeat the idea in my head as if it were the truth.

With him, maybe that really can be me. In the mirror, I look at River, his white-blond dyed strand shimmering in contrast to his black clothes.

He looks so perfect in this morning light—so casual, so unpredictable, so enigmatic.

Suddenly, I want nothing more than for him to kiss me. To bury his hands in my curls, hold my head, and kiss away the bad memories. Chester stole my first kiss from me—and everything else, too. I want to forget. Start over. I want to be free, at least for a summer, and preferably with him.

He continues holding my gaze in the mirror, and his eyes twinkle like sparklers. Arizona says if a boy looks at you like that for more than three seconds, he wants to kiss you. Is this that look?

One thousand-one.

One thousand-two.

One thousand-three .

I squirm away from his hands and flee to the corner to get my phone.

River turns to me. “You don’t have to be afraid. Nothing and no one should scare you anymore. We’re dying companions now, Tucks.”

Dying companions .

Before the word can resonate in my mind, he conjures a white origami swan. Slowly, he approaches and places it in the palm of my hand, which I hesitantly hold out to him. I recognize my handwriting on the little wings. The words fixed star.

Goosebumps skitter across my skin. I look from the swan to him, and, for a moment, I’m scared. Because it’s so beautiful, so mysterious. Because it captivates me repeatedly. Because it’s too good to be true.

He fulfills my five big dreams. Is this what he meant by needing to save me? And what happens when they have been fulfilled? If that is even possible because then I would have to start speaking! However, what if?

Will we jump?

While River stows our new items in the Porsche, I pack the food supplies into the small cooler bag that he took out of the trunk earlier. Then, I check the messages on my phone.

My dad sent another voice message. His voice trembles with even more anger than in the last one, and I can practically see his narrow nostrils flaring.

Sometimes, I can’t even imagine him as a cardiologist because it’s strange to fix other people’s hearts when you have such a huge problem with your own.

“I’m going to put your message in the ‘you-don’t-know-what-you-are-doing' category, Kansas,” he grits out, grim and dark.

“I don’t want to discuss things with you that have been discussed in the past. It’s done.

Chester assumes you stole his Porsche...

did you? Out of hurt vanity? He says you’re still in love with him.

He told me you still write him letters. This is all unpleasant for him.

At least he hasn’t reported the Porsche stolen yet—out of consideration for you and me.

” He sighs. “Kansas, a boy like Chester Davenport, with the whole world at his fingertips, will never be interested in you. The sooner you learn that the sooner you will get well again. As for those other boys or that Max, I don’t know if you’re just doing this to make Chester jealous.

.. that’s not like you at all... I’m ashamed of you.

” I’d love to smash my cell phone against the wall.

Furious, my heart pounds as I click on the next message because the voice messaging apparently disconnected my dad.

“Come home. Immediately! I called the school and said you were sick for the time being. And take a photo of yourself so I know you’re okay. ”

James also texted me: Arizona heard it from Chester. He says you have a dubious reputation at school. You often sneak away at night without us noticing. Kansas, I think you go to bed with these guys for the attention. Don’t do that. And wherever you are, come back!

For a moment, everything spins. Chester said that?

And my dad is ashamed of me? Okay, that’s nothing new.

He was also ashamed when Mr. Perez caught me in the boys’ locker room, supposedly because I wanted to pee.

But I was lured there—Amber hid my school bag in the locker room, and I suddenly found myself face-to-face with a handful of naked lacrosse players coming out of the shower.

Dazed, I stand there with no idea how to answer my dad. I scroll down and find another message from Mr. Spock, but I want to look at it when I’m not so mad anymore.

When River comes back in, I wave him over.

“What’s up? You look like you’re sick.”

Take a photo with me , I ask in writing and point to my cell phone. For my dad, so he knows I’m okay. And so he can see that I’m hanging out with the coolest guy ever.

River smiles and casually puts an arm around me.

Despite my confusion, I press closer to him, breathing in his sharp scent of forest, herbs, and leather.

Testosterone surrounds him like a cloak.

Something inside me flutters, like a bird flapping its wings excitedly against the bars of its cage. I almost forget to take the photo.

“Kans?”

My face feels hot as I tap the shutter button with unsteady fingers.

As we stand there, River slowly takes his arm from my shoulder.

“Edit it. Nobody needs to see my whole face,” is all he says as he leaves. A dark spark crackles in my chest. Why doesn’t he want anyone to see his face? In this case, is it only my dad, or is he afraid I’ll post it somewhere?

I crop his face to his nose but make sure to show how attractive his smile is. I press Send .

Finally, I read the message from Mr. Spock:

Stardate 7:50: My Big Five for life would be simple: love, work, laugh, sleep, and The Big Fuck, i.e.

, fucking. If loving and fucking are one and the same, which I hope they are, I’ll add ‘partying with friends’ to my list. However, that would require having some first. My arm is feeling better. Thanks for asking.

New message: Kansas? Are you okay?

New message: Where are you? Are you in trouble?

I’m here , I text quickly. Again, he didn’t get a message from me this morning. Am I like Jenny, who forgot about me as soon as she suddenly had new friends and was a size zero? I feel bad, thinking I should tell him the truth.

I write: I’m never going back to that fucking hell Kensington.

That is at least partially true. Mr. Spock is offline, but I assume he’ll write this afternoon or evening.

I should ask River to drive to Oklahoma City so I can meet a Milford Holloway.

On the other hand, I don’t even know if that’s really his name.

Tai nasha no karosha , I type quickly in Vulcan. Live long and prosper.

We’ve just passed Mount Rushmore and are driving through the Black Hills when I notice River is constantly looking around.

“This dirty Camaro has been stuck to us for an hour,” he curses at one point, taking the next curve so sharply that I fly against the door. My shoulder throbs.

“Sorry, Tucks.”

He accelerates, and the Porsche flies across the narrow asphalt as if it were shot from a bow. In fact, it’s the narrowest road I’ve ever seen; two cars can barely pass each other without one having to pull onto the side of the road. There are only trees on the right and left, nothing else.

I rub my arm nervously, turn, and see a dark sports car behind us. Its headlights look like the evil eyes of an ancient, fire-breathing dragon, and it’s moving fast. As fast as we are.

For a split second, I’m afraid it might be Chester because he installed a tracking device on the Porsche—but then I dismiss that thought. If he had installed a tracking device, he would have appeared much earlier.

I glance at River, but he’s watching the road as intently as a Formula One driver. I can’t possibly shove a text message in his face. That’s why James almost ran him over the day before yesterday.

Maybe he’s running away from the people he was talking to on the phone. It’s hell there, Zozoo .

“Tucks!”

What?

River presses the accelerator, and the engine roars. Trees and low-hanging branches fly past us at high speed.

“Hold on!”

Oh my God! I glance at the speedometer—he’s driving over ninety miles per hour. I anxiously cling to the door handle with my right hand and nod, but he doesn’t see it. The wind grabs my curls, whipping them across my face.

Suddenly, a thought pops into my head. What if he just goes full throttle and drives us into the next tree? On impulse? What if he decides in the next second that he can’t wait until the end of summer?

The words dying companions haunt my mind.

After a killer corner, River continues to step on the gas on the straightaway, and the Porsche zooms forward like a jet on a runway.

He shifts up instead of down, and the next curve appears in front of us.

It’s sharper and faster than it looked from a distance.

River curses. The tires slide, and it smells like a mixture of exhaust and oil.