I fiddle with the scrap of paper Abbi wrote her number on last Sunday. I flip it between my fingers repeatedly, my eyes darting to and from my phone.

And I feel like a complete and utter dork.

I know nothing about this girl besides her name and the fact she can dance as well as any seasoned ballerina. I also know she’s beautiful – you’d have to be completely blind not to see that – and I am stupidly fucking attracted to her lithe little body. But that’s it. I have no idea what she does aside from dance, if she has a boyfriend, or why she gets a shadow behind her eyes when she dances. But I want to.

I spent all day yesterday convincing myself I want to know because we’ll be spending a lot of time together over the next month. That we’ll work best as a pas de deux if we’re friends. That to build the element of trust needed between dance partners, we should know each other as more than just dancers. And when I was telling myself that, I was denying the fact it’s because the shadows in her eyes are too familiar.

I was denying the fact I want to know Abbi because something about her reminds me of Tori. Something I can’t put my finger on; perhaps it’s the way she loses herself in dance, or the way she seems so delicate, so fragile. Maybe it’s because sometimes her smiles seem a little forced.

Or maybe that’s me. Maybe I’m seeing something that isn’t there, reading too much into it. She could just be shy. And here I am comparing her to my dead sister.

Maybe it’s all in my head and I’m looking for something that reminds me of Tori to hold on to. Maybe it’s a combination of both. That would definitely explain why something about Abbi bugs me. Why something about her taps on my shoulder repeatedly until I give in and think about it.

I grab the phone and dial her number before I can think about it anymore and it drives me insane. She answers on the third ring.

“Hello?” her voice is quiet and wary.

“It’s Blake.” God, I’m so eloquent. My mother would have a fit if she could hear me now.

“Oh!” I hear a shuffle. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I pause, looking around my apartment. “I hope you don’t mind me phoning you.”

“No, I don’t mind you calling me.” The hint of laughter in her voice makes me chuckle.

“I’m sorry – I hope you don’t mind me calling you, then.”

“No. If I minded, I wouldn’t have given you my cell number.”

“You know, if you said that to someone in the UK, they’d wonder why you were in prison.”

Her giggles ring down the phone. “It’s not my fault you British people talk strange.”

“Hey! The language is called “English” for a reason, you know. British and English are pretty much the same thing. It’s you bloody Americans that have changed the words.”

“Whatever. You freakin’ British just think you have some claim to the language because you’re from England.”

“I think we’ll have to come back to this,” I muse.

“I agree.”

“So, the reason I called.”

I almost hear her smile. “Yes?”

“I know we have class tonight, but I was just wondering if you were free today. You know, before class. I thought we could get to know each other. Or something.” I scratch at the back of my neck as I wait for her reply.

“S-sure. What were you thinking?”

“Uh …” I laugh nervously. “There’s something really funny about that, because my plan is kind of half-assed.”

“You don’t know anywhere in Brooklyn or New York to go,” she states, amusement lacing her tone. I’m seriously wondering if we’ll ever have a conversation where she doesn’t laugh at me.

“Yeah … That’s pretty much it.”

“Right. Well, it depends where you live.”

“Brooklyn.”

“Oh, me too. So, do you know where the Starbucks is downtown?”

“Uhh …” I try to remember what I know of downtown from walking to and from the restaurant, but I can’t think of a Starbucks.

“Whole Foods?”

“That I do know. Not much of a day out, I gotta say.”

“And there’s the famous British humor,” she retorts dryly. I grin. “If you can make it without getting lost …”

“Oi!”

“… Then meet me there in half an hour, and I’ll show you some of Brooklyn. Okay?”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you then.” I sink back into my sofa, leaning my head back over the top. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter to myself. I rub my hand down my face.

I only have half an hour, and I might know where Whole Foods is, but I have no idea how to get there by foot. That, and I’m still in my damn pajamas.

 

~

 

Abbi is sitting on the wall outside Whole Foods, her legs swinging, with her head bent forward and her brown hair hanging loose around her face. She tucks it behind her ear and looks up as I approach.

“Not bad,” she says, checking her watch. “Only ten minutes late.”

“Yeah. I cheated,” I admit. “I got lost after five minutes and called a taxi.”

Her lips pull up on one side. “I thought you said you knew where Whole Foods was?”

“I did. However, I didn’t say I knew how to get here.” I lean against the wall and gaze up at her. “So, where are you taking me?”

She jumps from the wall, landing gracefully on her toes. She lowers herself onto her heels and swings her head round to look at me. “Prospect Park. It’s one of my favorite places, especially in early summer, so I thought it was as good a place as any to start.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because most people think ‘Central Park’ whenever the words New York and Park are put together, even if they mean New York state opposed to City.” She smooths a lock of hair between her finger and thumb. “Which is a shame, because Prospect Park is beautiful.”

“Lead the way.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the other side of Brooklyn. You need to flag us down a cab.” Abbi turns and smirks at me.

No way. “Do you know how hard it is to get one of those things?”

“It’s not hard. You just wave at one and it’ll stop.”

“If it’s so easy, you do it.”

“If it’s so hard, you need the practice.” She grins. “One is coming down the street now. Try and get it.”

I look down the busy road and spy a canary car coming toward us. When it gets close enough for the driver to see us, I do as Abbi told me to and motion to him. The driver completely ignores me and drives straight past. Abbi tries to hide a small giggle behind her hand. There are little crinkles around her blue eyes that tells me she’s smiling, and even the fact it’s hidden doesn’t stop me from fighting my own.

“Try again,” she urges me.

I do.

And again.

And again.

And again.

“I give up!” I throw my arms up. “I really do give up. Why you have to wave at these guys is beyond me. In London we just call the taxi service and tell them to come to a certain place and they do. I feel like a right bloody lemon standing here waving at taxis.”

Abbi doesn’t try to hide her smile this time. She grabs the lamppost, raises herself onto her tiptoes and waves in the direction of an approaching taxi. The taxi slows as it nears us and pulls up by the curb. I stare at Abbi in shock.

“See?” She smiles. “Easy.”

“I have no idea how you just did that.” I open the door of the taxi. She climbs in, and I slide in next to her. She directs the driver to Prospect Park, smiling smugly to herself, but doesn’t say another word until we arrive. I pay the driver, and we get out, and I get my first look at her favorite place.

The large arch that greets us immediately reminds me of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. The stone is expertly carved and the statues of horses and men adorning it look regal and very military.

“Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Arch,” Abbi says softly from behind me. “My favorite entrance. When I was a kid I used to come here and stare at it for hours. I don’t know why, but it just amazed me.”

“I can see why.” My eyes flit from statue to statue, and I barely notice when she walks through the arch to cross the road.

“Are you coming or are you just gonna stand there like a lemon all day?” She crosses the road when there’s a break in the traffic, and I jog to catch her up. More monuments and arches are just inside the entrance to the park, all surrounded by lush green bushes and trees as they come into their summer bloom. Already I can see why Abbi is so taken with this place.

“This place looks huge,” I mumble.

“That’s because it is.” She runs her hand along the rough bark of the tree. “I think that’s why I like it. It’s a great place to disappear in.”

“For someone who lives for the limelight, you really like to hide a lot,” I say without thinking.

Her steps falter for a second. An unsettling cloud lowers over us, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Even people who live in a spotlight need to hide once in a while.” Her voice is soft, barely audible over the gentle breeze rustling through the trees surrounding us. “If you promise you won’t try to find me, I’ll show you where I hide.” She glances over her shoulder, and through the playful glint in her eyes are the shadows. Ever-present, they pull me in and entrance me as she takes a few skips away from me.

I hold up two fingers. “I promise. Scouts honor.”

“Were you ever a boy scout?” She stops.

“No. Well, once. I hated the uniform, so I quit.” I shrug. “Plus my brother loved it. There was no way I was going to spend more time with Jase than I needed to, believe me.”

“Don’t you get along?”

“About as well as water and oil,” I reply dryly. “We’re not that bad now. You’d think being the only boys in a family of six kids, we’d be close, but we’re not really. He’s seventeen, and I won’t lie, his ‘I know everything and I’m always right’ teen attitude really pisses me off.”

“Ever thought your ‘You don’t know everything and you’re nearly always wrong’ adult attitude might annoy him?” Abbi asks with a raised eyebrow as we walk down a seemingly never-ending path through the park.

“Not really.”

“It probably does.”

“How do you know?”

She points to herself. “I’m eighteen.”

“And to think I left London happy, knowing I wouldn’t have to deal with any more teenage girls. Damn it.”

“You’re really lucky I’m about as strong as a newborn baby or I’d throw you over this bridge for that comment.”

“Bridge?” I look down and realize we are indeed standing on a bridge. Below us is a mini waterfall surrounded by rocks and boulders. The water falls into a clear pool, and numerous birds I don’t know the names of fly around. Some zip off into the trees, and others land on the rocks and stare into the water before taking flight once again.

It’s completely silent apart from the water rushing and the birds in the trees singing. I didn’t notice how empty the park is until now, or even how beautiful it looks.

And Abbi is completely right. This is the perfect place to hide, to get lost, to disappear. I get the feeling we’ve barely even scraped the surface of what Prospect Park has to offer. Growing up in London and spending half-term holidays in my paternal grandparents’ country house means I’m no stranger to nature or parks, but I can honestly say none of them hold a candle to this place.

I turn to Abbi to tell her this, to thank her for showing me this of all places, but she’s not next to me. I spin on the spot, looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

“Abbi?!”

Giggles travel up to my ears, and I lean over the side of the bridge. She’s sitting on the boulder in the center of the falls, her shoes in her hand and her feet dangling in the water.

“I told you this is where I come to hide.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice. “Fallkill Falls. Only one of my hiding places, but by far the best one. The falls are linked to a whole stream of falls and pools and ravines. This one is further away from the main paths so less people come here. It’s usually only hardcore nature-lovers, or real-life-lovers looking for five minutes of privacy.”

I fold my arms against the side of the bridge and smirk. “I bet that’s a nice sight to wander onto.”

“It’s only happened once, and I’d prefer not to repeat the experience.” She shudders and tucks her hair behind her ear again.

I laugh and swing myself up onto the bridge. I scale the side of it until I can reach a rock with my foot and climb down. Abbi watches me as I pull my shoes off and step into the cool water. She scoots over on the boulder, so I can sit next to her, and tucks some hair behind her ear.

“I can see it being a perfect place for real-life-lovers,” I muse and look at the water rushing past. “These rocks would make for some interesting positions for sure.”

Abbi gives a quiet snort and glances at me. “Like what?”

“Uh.” I hadn’t thought of that. “I’m not a walking Karma Sutra, you know.”

“Really?” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re male, right?”

I turn my face toward her, my eyes meeting her bright blue ones. “I can assure you, Abbi, I’m all male.”

She blushes. “Well most guys I know have the Karma Sutra burned into their brains.”

“That’s probably because the guys you know haven’t passed puberty.”

“True, but they still know it.”

I grin slowly, putting one of my hands behind her, and lean back. I don’t take my eyes from hers, and her tongue runs across her lips when the flush disappears from her cheeks. “That’s because boys need the Karma Sutra. They haven’t worked out there are more ways to make a woman happy than just using your dick.”

Her eyes widen and her lips part as blood rushes to her cheeks again. She pushes hair away from her face and drops her eyes for a second. Only a second. Before I can say another thing, those baby blues are focused back on mine and holding me trapped.

“I’m guessing you consider yourself more than a boy?”

“I know I’m not a boy. I can probably use my hands better than boys can use their tool.”

She coughs and looks away. “Point taken.”

I watch her, still smiling. “I’m guessing you’ve only ever been with a boy.”

“Who said I’ve been with anyone?” she asks quietly.

“No one can look the way you do and be a virgin.”

Her lips twitch. “This conversation is getting real personal, y’know.”

“We’re here to get to know each other.” I grin. “And I maintain my last statement. There’s no way you’re a virgin.”

“I think I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Good. It’s meant to be. But, uh …” I nudge her and she looks at me. “If you are a virgin …”

Her lips twist upward, and she shoves me off the boulder before I can finish my sentence. I laugh as I try to steady myself on the small pebbles underfoot.

“Idiot,” she mutters, smiling.

I take a step but get my footing wrong and fall backward. Pebbles dig into my butt and Abbi doubles over with laughter. Hell no. I put my shoes on the boulder next to me and crawl across the small but strong stream of water toward her. My hands find her bare ankles and tug on them.

“Blake!” she cries, sliding down the rock. I laugh at the shocked look on her face as she falls into the water. It splashes as she lands in front of me. I grin.

“Not so funny now, huh?” I tease.

“I’ll give you funny!” She shoves me again and I fall sideways. My hand grabs hers at the last minute and I pull her with me, both of us laughing. She lands half on me and half in the water, and freezes.

Her body and her eyes tell different stories. Her body is frozen and the only part of her that’s moving is the rapid rising and falling of her chest. Her hand, pressed against my chest, trembles in something akin to fear. But her eyes aren’t wide and scared. They’re hooded and full of laughter. They’re focused on mine, intense, unrelenting, unwavering. They’re beautiful. She’s beautiful. My hand on her waist twitches, and water rushes past us as we lie here.

Slowly, Abbi pulls herself off me and stands. She grabs her shoes from the boulder and takes tentative steps over to mine as I get up.

“Careful,” she warns softly. “The pebbles are loose.”

“You don’t say,” I counter dryly when she hands me my shoes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She steps up onto the rocks and puts her shoes on the bridge. I follow her up, and she pauses just before she climbs over the bridge railing to speak in a quiet voice. “I’m not, by the way.”

She doesn’t look at me.

“Not what?”

“A virgin.”

For some reason, that annoys me.