To pick up some extra money, I pull a double shift at Donutville on Saturday night. Steve puts too much apple filling in the mixer with the fritter dough. The gooey gunk sloshes all over the floor, and I have to mop it up.
Steve has the nerve to try to claim that the filling package was mislabeled. But he does make me a cup of coffee exactly the way I like it as a peace offering. And he’s a little less surly than usual, so it’s hard to stay mad.
After work, I go home and collapse on my bed, still in my uniform that reeks of chocolate frosting.
I’m having a dream about a seriously annoying woodpecker. I gradually wake up and realize that the tapping sound is coming from my window. Peeking out, I focus on the silhouette of Tommy’s poofy hair. Stumbling through the hallway, I head to the side door, trying to be quiet and not wake up Grandma.
“Come on. Let’s go,” he whispers as he steps inside.
“What? Go? Go where?” I take a couple of steps back and slouch into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, resting my head on a vinyl place mat.
“Just get dressed,” Tommy says. “I’ll explain on the way.”
I hesitate for a minute, but he’s nodding and giving me an appealing smile. “’Kay. Write a note for Grandma in case she wakes up.”
A couple minutes later, I’m back in a pair of leggings and a light sweater I made from an ultrafine gray wool. The best thing about my leggings is that I always sew in pockets.
“You smell good,” Tommy says.
“I smell like Raised Chocolate Frosted. Two for a dollar,” I grouse.
“Well, the way to the heart is through the stomach, I guess.”
My hands instinctively travel to my stomach and tug on my sweater to make sure it’s covered. We step into the night and I lock the door behind us. “Uh-huh. And where are we headed? Is our destination through the stomach, as well?”
“Very funny.”
We get into his truck but he doesn’t answer. “Well,” I prompt.
“Seriously?” he asks as he starts the engine. “Haven’t you been watching the news?”
I snort. “All I do is go to school, make doughnuts and write blog posts that some she-devil pretends to edit. Not a lot of downtime for CNN.”
“Then lucky for you that I’ve got my status updates turned on. Tonight the biggest meteor in more than twenty years passes close to earth and since it’s a new moon, we should get a good look.” He drives quickly through the neighborhood and heads for the freeway.
We drive south for what seems like an eternity. I yawn and blink over and over to stay awake. “Okay. Seriously. Is this really a ploy to get me to go on a cruise of the Mexican Riviera with you? Because if we drive much farther we’ll be in Cabo San Lucas.”
Finally, he pulls onto a lonely, deserted exit and drives east. “To get away from the highway lights,” he says.
Tommy hands me a red flashlight and pulls out a couple of lawn chairs and blankets from the bed of the truck. It’s quiet and dark and still. We take our seats and wait to watch the sky fall.
Our arms dangle over the sides of the chairs. I consider reaching for his hand. I think about it and my heart beats a little faster. About what it would mean for our friendship. Or for my life if he had to reject me. My palm sweats. I let my fingers fall slack until they are almost touching his, until I can feel the energy radiating off his skin.
I can’t do it. I pull my arm back into my own chair. My stomach sticks out of the chair farther than Tommy’s does. Hugging my arms close to my sides, I wish to be something other than a roundish lump in a lawn chair.
I think of Fairy Falls and the night I met Tommy. He ended up losing around thirty pounds after camp. I wonder if this changed things for him. I wonder if losing weight would change things for me.
“Do you think you’re different now? Since you lost your weight?”
Tommy shakes his head. “No. I think I’m the same. I feel the same.” There’s a pause. “And anyway, there’s more to life than this idea that everybody ought to be losing weight all the time. My cousin got celiac disease and lost fifty pounds. She’s basically skin and bones and constantly eating protein shakes to try to gain some weight. And people keep complimenting her, telling her how great she looks. I think she might punch the next person who asks what kind of diet she’s on.”
We’re quiet for a minute.
He hands me a can of Diet Coke. “Cookie, do you ever feel like you’re hoping for something to happen and you’re not sure if it ever will?”
I shrug and stop myself from looking at his face. Between the fact that I’ll probably never get to Parsons and my growing realization that the world of fashion simply doesn’t want a person who looks like me, Tommy’s basically described my entire existence. “Yeah. I guess.”
The first meteor drops toward the earth, creating a streak of white light before disappearing behind a saguaro cactus off in the distance. “Like falling stars. They seem like they can touch the earth. But, of course, they never do,” Tommy says.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” It’s a cool night. I put down the cold soda can and tuck my hands into the sleeves of my sweater. “I mean, isn’t it bad if a meteor hits the earth? Like, isn’t that what killed the dinosaurs?”
He laughs. “That was a good thing. For us, anyway. If dinosaurs still roamed the earth, mammals would be no bigger than chickens and about as intelligent.”
“You can always make a wish,” I say.
He turns to face me. In his black T-shirt, he’s almost a floating head. “What do you mean?” he asks with an odd sense of urgency.
I don’t know why he’s being so weird. “On a falling star,” I say. “Even if the meteor won’t come to earth.”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe I’ll try that.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes as the shooting stars become more frequent. Making tracks across the dark sky. The night silent except for our breathing and the sound of a passing car echoing from the highway. I consider making a wish too.
“Do you think my wish could come true?” he asks.
I smile. “If it could happen to anyone, it would be you.”
He’s perfect. Completely perfect.
“Thanks for bringing me out here. It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Yeah. Yeah.” He’s still facing me.
“You’re not even looking at it,” I tell him.
He squares himself in his chair. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.”
For some reason I think of Kennes. How she’s everything I’m not. How she wants to take everything I’ve got. The cool night air reminds me of standing on the curb that night Tommy ditched me to hang out with our town’s It Girl. I hug myself to fight off the chills. “I don’t want things to change,” I tell him.
It’s the wrong thing to say. I do want things to change. I put my arm back over the side of the chair, but the moment is gone. He’s busy fiddling with some kind of long-exposure setting.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess they won’t.”
The stars continue falling, hoping, in vain, to collide with the earth.