Small Miracles

I’m in my study hall on Tuesday, trying to concentrate on the book I’m reading (but seriously, Lord of the Flies is really bumming me out) when I get a text from Ashley.

Word on the street is a certain football player is looking for you

I swallow. I haven’t told anybody but Savannah, Ashley, Kate, and Anna about what happened at the lake on Sunday. I haven’t seen or talked to Nick since then, either, so right now everything is more unclear than ever. I wonder if he’s avoiding me, or if I’m avoiding him, or both. Probably not both. It’s probably just me.

Oh I write back, since that’s all I can really think to say.

Yeah, oh. What are you gonna do????

Nothing I guess

My phone lights up multiple times after that, no doubt with a flurry of angry messages from Ashley, but I ignore them, preferring to continue reading about savagery vs. civilization and loss of innocence and all that other fun stuff.

Avoiding Nick works for the rest of the day; that is, until the final bell rings. I go to my locker, grab some books, put away some more, slam it, and walk off. Suddenly a hand reaches out of nowhere, grabs my backpack, and yanks me into a dark room, shutting the door.

“What the fuck?” I start to shout, but then a light clicks on and Nick is peering at me anxiously.

“Hello.”

“Kingston, what the hell is wrong with you? Where are we?” I demand, looking around.

“A janitor’s closet.” It’s only then do I notice the strong smell of bleach emanating from every surface of the room, along with the mops and buckets on the floor around us. Great.

“Okay . . . and why did you drag me in here?” I ask impatiently.

He shrugs. “I wanted to see you.”

“You couldn’t come to my locker? Or walk me to my car? Or do literally anything aside from yanking me into a janitor’s closet?”

“Um, I don’t know,” Nick says nervously. “It’s been two days and I just wanted to see you. Alone.”

“Well, here I am.” Now that my surprise and annoyance is wearing off, I’m able to appreciate how good he looks, as usual. I also realize how tall he is, practically looming over me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . I don’t know. Like that.”

“I can’t look at you?” He covers his eyes with one hand, pretending to be serious.

“No, you can. I don’t even know what I’m saying right now.”

He uncovers his eyes again, grinning. I continue, “Anyways . . . as I was saying, is there any real reason you chose to drag me into this smelly closet?”

“Yeah, actually.” His face gets a little more serious. “Are you – have you been avoiding me?”

“Um . . .” I think about lying for a second, letting my eyes wander everywhere except his face (which doesn’t give me many options, as we’re in a small closet and he’s right in front of me), but then I decide that honesty has gotten me pretty far before, so why not. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Why?” he asks. He doesn’t sound hurt or angry, just curious.

“I don’t know. I was just nervous.”

“Of what?”

“You, I guess.”

“I make you nervous?”

“I guess so. Don’t get excited,” I warn, as he’s got a dumb grin on his face now.

“Not getting excited, don’t worry,” he says, holding up his hands.

“Good. I guess I ‒”

“Go on a date with me,” Nick says over me in a rush.

For a second it feels like I can’t breathe. “What?”

“Go on a date with me,” he repeats. “Please.” I open my mouth to do God-knows-what, maybe laugh it off or tell him to try again another day, but then I realize I really do want to go on a date with him.

“Okay,” I agree, surprising both him and myself.

“Oh. Wow. I didn’t think it’d be that easy,” Nick says, blinking. “Cool.” He looks at me for a few seconds and it doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything else, so I press, “Um, so when and where is this date taking place exactly?”

“Oh yeah,” Nick looks startled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“And why not?” And now comes the part where I wonder what I got myself into.

“I didn’t think I’d get you to say yes,” he says sheepishly. “Let’s say Saturday. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Wow,” I say, but I’m smiling. “I expected better planning from someone like you.”

“Yeah, well, I expected rejection.”

“Seriously?” I’m not that bad, am I?

“You’re a tough one, Carter,” he teases. “I thought I would have to be persistent.”

“Well,” is my only response.

“Well,” he answers, grinning. “I’m glad we had this talk, aren’t you?”

“I certainly am,” I agree. “But don’t you have practice in a few?”

“You still know the practice schedule?” Nick asks. And then it hits him. “Oh, shit, I do! Fuck, I need to go.” He opens the closet door and takes off at a jog. I watch him get about halfway down the hallway before he suddenly stops, turns, and comes back.

“What are you ‒” I start to say, but am cut off when Nick leans down and kisses me. It’s a quick one, but I feel my face flush as he calls, “I’ll see ya later!” and starts running again.

▲ ▼ ▲

On Saturday night at seven on the dot, Nick pulls up in front of my house. Before he can even get out of his car, I’m flying out the door and shouting, “Bye Mom, I’ll be back later!” I hear her call something back to me, but I’m too far away to make out the words.

I fling open the door to the truck and jump inside. “Hey,” Nick says, surprised.

“Hey,” I say. “Drive, please.”

Nick furrows his eyebrows. “What’s the hurry? You don’t wanna be seen with me, Carter?” he says teasingly.

“No, I just don’t need my mother coming out and giving us the third degree,” I say, glancing out the window to make sure she’s still inside.

He snorts, but puts the car into Drive. “So, what’s the plan?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” Nick sing-songs. “You can put on the radio, if you want,” he adds. So I turn it on and flip to the country station, just to annoy him. I’m not a huge fan of it, but I can’t help but sing along to the latest Carrie Underwood single.

“What? You’re not a Carrie fan?” I joke in response to the pained look on Nick’s face. “Or is it my singing?”

“Both,” Nick says, laughing when I pretend to be offended. “Anyways, we’re here.”

I see that we’ve driven about twenty minutes out of Sterling to a neighboring, much larger town called Rockham, to a small coffee shop. Rockham is a more urban town, with restaurants, nightlife, and retail stores. It’s where most of us go when we’re looking for something to do that doesn’t involve football.“What’s this?”

“It’s called Royal Coffee,” Nick says as he finds a parking spot. “I used to come here a lot.”

“With Tara?” I ask. As soon as I say it, I want to kick myself. I don’t even really care if he came here with Tara (do I?). I might as well just volunteer to walk home now.

“No,” Nick says. “With Mariah.” Mariah is Nick’s older sister, who is two years older than Jase and goes to Texas A&M, studying biochemistry. She’s crazy smart and was the valedictorian of her class at school. Nick adores her, and it’s easy to see why: she’s beautiful, practically a genius, and insanely nice.

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”

He turns the car off before shrugging. “S’okay.”

We go inside and as soon as he opens the door we’re greeted with the warm, rich smell of coffee beans. It’s not big; every inch of wall space is covered with pictures or drawings. Bookshelves line one wall, and a small stage is set up at the front of the shop. A sign next to it says POETRY READINGS EVERY THURSDAY @ 8. Behind the counter is a bakery display case that holds cookies, cupcakes, muffins, and all kinds of other delicious-looking pastries.

“This is so cute,” I say, looking around. “I wonder why I never knew this place existed?”

Nick shrugs again. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Cream and sugar.”

“Me too,” he says with a small smile. We approach the counter and get our coffees and a muffin before finding a place to sit by the window.

Now that this has been officially recognized as a “date,” it feels awkward. We sip our coffee and eat our muffins and don’t speak, until finally I say, “So, how is Mariah?”

Nick gives me a look like really before he answers, “She’s good. She’s coming home for Thanksgiving and then staying for senior night.”

“Oh yeah, that’s really soon, right?” Senior night is the last home game, where the underclassmen decorate the field with posters of their seniors’ names and get them gifts. Before the game starts there’s a big ceremony where the seniors get walked down the field by their families. It’s pretty emotional.

“Yeah, end of November,” he says with a nod. “Are you, uh, coming to that?”

I knew he was going to ask that, but it doesn’t make answering any easier. I haven’t gone anywhere near a football since Dad left, strike that, since we lost the game last year. But he’s looking at me so nervously and earnestly that the next thing I know, I’m answering, “I don’t know. Maybe.” It’s not nearly the response I know he was hoping for, but it’s better than my original one, which was a flat-out “no.”

But Nick smiles. “Okay.” And after that, the mood becomes much lighter. Nick and I stay at that little table in the tiny coffee shop for hours, talking and telling stories and refilling our drinks when needed.

At one point, I say, “Have you ever read any of those books?” I point to the bookshelves pushed up against the wall.

“No, I haven’t,” he says. “Let’s read one.” I watch him get up and go over to the shelves, pulling books off, examining them, and then putting them back. He bends down and looks at the ones closest to the ground before straightening up to see the ones on the top shelf. He takes it so seriously it makes me smile, because that’s just Nick, and I really, really like him.

He comes back holding The Catcher in the Rye. “Ugh, really?” I say.

“What?”

“That book. We read it last year in AP Lang, remember?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I hated it. Holden is such a dick.”

“I ‒ I thought he was funny,” Nick says, his voice faltering a little. “And, I mean, there’s no such thing as a perfect character, you know.”

“I know that. Holden still sucks, though.”

“He’s not all back,” Nick says defensively. “He says some relatable stuff.”

“So did Hitler, and look what happened.”

Nick gives me a look that’s maybe a quarter admiration and three quarters disgust. “Did you really just compare Holden Caulfield to Adolf Hitler?” I shrug, and he shakes his head before going back to flicking through the book.

“Here’s something,” he says at last. “‘I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty . . . you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are.’ That’s pretty relatable.”

“Is it?” I say, and it’s a wonder that my voice still works.

“Yeah. To my situation right now, at least.” He raises his eyes up to my face and does that thing where he bites down on a huge smile.

Shortly after that, I get a few texts from Mom asking what time I’m coming home. It’s nearly ten o’clock; we’ve been here going on three hours. The shop closes at ten thirty, so we decide to leave anyway.

We’re driving home when I look out my window and spot the moon. It’s hanging low in the sky, huge and heavy, glimmering like a gem. “Look at that,” I say before I realize he can’t. “Pull over for a sec?”

He does, and we both get out of the car and walk into the field nearby, craning our necks back to see it. “I’ve never seen it get this big before,” Nick says in awe. “Or this white. It doesn’t look real.”

“I know,” I agree. We’re both speaking quietly, like we’ll wake something up if we talk any louder.

“I feel like we should make a wish or something.”

I giggle. “What?”

“I dunno. You ever get a feeling like that? Like you should be wishing for something?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, right now feels like that. So I’m going to do that, regardless of whether or not you participate.” Nick makes a face at me before closing his eyes and presumably wishing, so I do the same. I don’t know what to wish for. To get into college? To ace my Calculus test on Monday? For Dad to come back? Finally, I think, I wish this year will be a good one.

While we’re standing there, I feel Nick’s fingers nudge mine until he finally takes my hand. I feel my pulse jump and my face flush, making me thankful it’s dark. “Took you long enough,” I say finally.

“You have no idea,” Nick says, exhaling. “I wanted to touch you all night.”

“Easy there, horndog,” I say. “Isn’t it supposed to be the third date or something?”

“You know what I mean,” Nick says, and I can tell he’s scowling. I smile.

We get back in the car and drive the rest of the way home. I feel like something should’ve changed between us, but nothing does. Nick puts on the Beastie Boys and turns it all the way up and we both shout the lyrics to “Girls” at the top of our lungs.

We finally pull up in front of my house, and Nick says, “Should I walk you to your door?”

I snort. “No, that’s okay. My mother will probably be on the other side of it, trying to hear every word we say.”

“Oh,” Nick says. “Okay. Well, I’ll at least open this one for you.” Before I can say anything, he unbuckles his belt and jumps out. I briefly consider just pushing the door open on my own, but decide to humor him. So I wait for him to come around and open it for me.

I unbuckle my own belt, hopping down from the truck and facing him. This is it, this is the moment. “Well, this was a very good date, don’t you think?”

He nods. “Yeah, it was. Would you, uh, wanna do it again?”

“Again, and again, and again, and again?” I say, smiling.

Nick grins and shrugs. “I mean . . . yeah.”

“Is this your way of officially asking me out?” I say, because if I don’t bust his balls at least a little then I wouldn’t be me.

“Well, I was gonna ask you out that time I ran into you in the field,” Nick says, “I was really drunk and you were lying on the ground and it seemed like the right thing to do.”

I laugh. “So why didn’t you?”

“Are you kidding? You would’ve punched me out. And then the next time I saw you was when Ethan said those shitty things to you at the diner, and when I tried to help you out you yelled at me and told me to leave you alone.”

I cringe at the memory. “Yeah . . . sorry about that.”

He shrugs again. “S’okay. Point is, I knew I was gonna have to work on you. And it paid off, didn’t it?”

“I guess it did,” I agree. “And since you’ve been so patient, I would very much like to go out with you again and again and again and again.”

It’s dark out, but I can tell Nick is smiling. “Okay. Cool.” We fall silent after that, and now I don’t really know what to do.

“I should . . . go inside,” I say finally, my sentence coming out slowly because I’m too busy focusing on the outline of his mouth.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, but neither of us make an attempt to move. I’m about to call it a night when Nick suddenly steps closer until we’re nearly nose to nose.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

“Hi,” he says, his eyes roaming my face. In the darkness, they’re almost glittering, and I think back to the moon, how large and shiny it was, and how maybe it was just copying Nick’s eyes. “Hi,” he repeats. “Can I ‒ ?”

“Yeah,” I say instantly. “Yeah, please, yeah.”

Nick looks at me for another second before he puts his hands on either side of my face, tilting it up so we’re staring right at each other. He runs his thumb over my mouth in a way that should feel sexual but right now, just feels comforting. And then he finally leans in and connects our lips.

The air around us feels stiff and electric, the way it does right before a thunderstorm. I can hear my heart pounding, and when I reach out to touch Nick, I can feel his own thudding beneath the palm of my hand. His lips are slightly chapped and taste like coffee and the blueberry muffin he ate, and I like them a lot.

At first, they’re just soft, gentle kisses as we try to get comfortable with each other, but eventually they deepen, until Nick is sliding a hand in my hair and I’m standing up on my toes, trying to press myself closer.

Suddenly, the porch like flicks on, startling us and making us both jump apart. We both don’t speak for a second, and then I say, “My mom. Is definitely watching. So.”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees. “Okay.” He looks at me before he breaks into a satisfied grin.

“What?”

“Nothin’. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Just like he did the other day at school, he moves to get back into his car, and then turns around and kisses me again, like an afterthought.

I stand in my front yard long after he drives away.