“What’s the matter?” he asks with an adorably crooked grin. “Should I’ve brought a permission slip for your parents to sign?”

  “Funny guy.” A little annoyed I’d spent so much time perfecting my hair, I wiggle the helmet down over my head and flip up the shield, forcing a smile. “Let’s see what you’ve got, grandpa.”

  With another chuckle that vibrates against my bones, he steps in closer to nudge the helmet forward and secure the strap beneath my chin. When he’s finished, he throws the shield back down over my face and slaps the top of the helmet—hard enough to make my teeth chatter. “Just need a riding jacket, and you’ll be set. Come on—there’s one in the saddle bag.”

  He hands me a black, lightweight jacket that’s several sizes too big, but omits a heavenly combined scent of Theo and leather as I slip it on. Then he somehow coaxes me onto the back of the massive hunk of metal and tells me to hold onto his waist when he climbs on in front of me.

  “Tighter,” he commands over his shoulder before firing up the engine. I startle with the loud roar and vibration that follows, clinging to him for dear life.

  Despite the heat, it’s a beautiful day and the city is alive with others enjoying the weather. We come across entire groups of motorcycle enthusiasts, bicyclists, and dog walkers. Small children in swimsuits splash in plastic swimming pools and run through sprinklers in their frown lawns. We drive past a park where middle schoolers jump concrete ramps with skating boards and BMX bikes. Several older men on riding lawnmowers give a friendly wave as we roar past. Although the small-town vibe is something I’ve never experienced, it’s both comforting and gives me the sense of being at home.

  The way Theo steers the massive chunk of metal with confidence and ease is a major turn-on—especially when I feel the strength of his upper body beneath my grip with every corner he leans into. In no time he’s navigated through every last winding street and steep hill in the city. Just when I’ve somewhat relaxed and lightened my grip, we emerge onto a 4-lane highway and Theo opens the throttle some more. I’m all at once grateful for the helmet’s shield when we’re blasted with a strong gust of wind.

  When he eventually veers off toward a gravel road, I dig my fingers into his firm abs. Laughing in a tight sound, he pries my fingers loose and slows the motorcycle. Parking on a patch of grass beside a dirt road leading to a cluster of tall trees, he kills the engine before helping me climb off. After I remove the jacket, he pulls the helmet off of my head. The delightful smile that touches his lips will forever be burned into my memory.

  “We’ll walk from here,” he says, setting the jacket and helmet on the motorcycle’s front seat. “I hate getting my bike dirty.”

  He removes the stubby little key from the motorcycle’s gas tank and slips it into his pocket before gesturing for me to follow. As I stride alongside him in silence, my entire body still vibrates from the rumble of the motorcycle’s engine. When the back of his hand brushes against mine, I’m zapped with a surge of delightful electricity.

  With the mid-evening breeze, wide-open fields of tall, golden grass bend and sway beneath massive oak trees. It’s quiet and peaceful, giving the false impression we’re a hundred miles from civilization. It’s still plenty warm even though a passing cloud blocks some of the heat from the sun’s brutal rays. The sharp, sweet scent of the wild grass gives me pause and takes my breath away. It both feels and smells so familiar, triggering something in the back of my mind.

  “It’s pretty here,” I say after catching my breath. “Although I’m starting to wonder if I should’ve asked what you had planned. Walking with a stranger in the middle of nowhere…my mother would think I’ve lost my mind.”

  Theo’s head snaps in my direction, eyes ablaze with anger. “I would never hurt a woman.”

  “Sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay,” he interrupts, shaking his head with a bashful look. “You’re right. Guess I didn’t really think it through either. I should’ve run the idea past you first.”

  I hear the rush of water a beat before we come across a steep bank beneath the trees. “This is why you told me to wear a swimsuit? Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “We aren’t actually going to swim,” he says. “I just figured you’d want the suit when we walk under the waterfall half a mile down.” He turns to me, hand extended. “Come on. Take my hand. I won’t let you fall.”

  I’m struck with a crippling sense of déjà vu.

  Everything swirls around me in a haze of bright colors as my legs give out.

  7

  JACKIE - 1986

  With my new Trapper Keeper adorned with three brown puppies clutched to my chest, I shuffle down the bleach-scented, sparkling white hallways lined with gray lockers and duck into my homeroom. Diane also had Mr. Kabe when she was in sixth grade, and she told me he’s a pervert who only gives good grades to girls with big boobs and short jeans skirts. My stomach does a funny little dance when I notice Lori Matheson and Stacey Roberts, two of the school’s most popular girls from last year, sitting in desks front and center. With mature, curvy bodies, Lori and Stacey could easily pass as sophomores or juniors, and they’re wearing the kind of short jean skirts my mom sometimes wears when dancing.

  Careful not to make eye contact with anyone, I claim a desk in the last row with the hopes of avoiding any unwanted attention from my classmates. Right before J.R. took me shopping, I found enough change in my piggy bank—mostly coins I’d found laying around town throughout the summer—to buy a brand new t-shirt from Woolworth’s. It’s pale blue with white polka dots and loose enough to hide my flat chest. Before Diane woke this morning, I stole one of her scrunchies and brushed my hair back into a ponytail on one side.

  Although J.R. is attending West High School and Becky is gone, I feel a bit more confident this year since the older boys have gone on to high school, and at least one person on the planet doesn’t think I’m totally lame.

  Mr. Kabe enters the room just seconds before the first bell of the day rings. My mom has never taken either Diane or me to a single school conference, so it’s my first time being in a classroom with him. He begins scribbling on the chalkboard before turning to face the low din of the classroom. Whenever I’d see him around school in past years, I thought he looked a lot like Pee-wee Herman, only with more of a square head. He’s tall and slender with dark hair, oversized clear-framed glasses, and a stern face. His khaki pants continue for several inches above his bellybutton, and he’s buttoned his dress shirt all the way to the top.

  When his lips part, I half expect him to say, “I know you are, but what am I?” Instead he tells us, “Welcome to your new homeroom, sixth graders! Who’s ready to open their brains and learn new things?”

  As expected, no one raises their hand, but nearly everyone glances around the room with quiet, nervous laughter. I’m instantly annoyed by Mr. Kabe, thinking he’s one of those adults who talks down to older kids because he thinks it’s cool.

  I’m even more annoyed when he makes each and every one of us stand up, say our name, and share our favorite part about this past summer break. A sinking fear rumbles through me once the introductions burn through our row. By the time it’s my turn, I swear there are a thousand daddy long legs crawling through my skull.

  “Jackie Tanner,” I mumble, too afraid to look away from the ink stain on my desk. I can feel the judgmental stares of every one of my classmates. “My favorite part about summer was not having to come here.”

  My statement is met with a round of laughter that warms my insides. It’s the good kind of laughter, not the usual sounds of older boys making fun of me. I tilt my head up to look around the room and release a shy smile. When my eyes land on Mr. Kabe, a slimy feeling runs through my belly. He’s scowling, obviously displeased.

  “That is enough, Miss Tanner,” he scolds in a sharp tone. The classroom falls silent. “I expect your attitude to change if you want to succeed in my classroom.”

  My cheeks burn hot as I sink back down behind my desk. Mr. Kabe holds my stare for a moment, forcing me to absorb his disappointment.

  For an entire hour, he speaks about anything and everything like he’s the smartest man in the world. When the bell rings, announcing it’s time to move to our next class, I want to cry tears of joy.

  The way Mr. Kabe stares at me as I walk out with my classmates, I think it’s going to be the longest year of my life.

  When I walk out of the school building at the end of the day, I spot J.R. waiting on the lawn and feel that awesome warm rush blossom behind my ribs. He stands out as a high schooler with a navy blue backpack hanging from one shoulder, acid jeans ripped at the knees, white Nikes with a red stripe, red flannel shirt tucked in, jean jacket slung over one shoulder. His dad wanted him to get a haircut before school started, but I’m glad his shaggy curls still twist around his ears. I just hope he didn’t get into too much trouble for disobeying his dad.

  Lori and Stacey, the mature girls from my homeroom, also notice him and wave, then giggle and whisper to each other behind their hands. When J.R. rolls his eyes at my classmates, satisfaction bursts through me. I haven’t been able to picture what kind of friends he’s had in the past, but since he’s been so nice to me, I can’t imagine he was ever one of the popular kids who makes fun of others for being different.

  Before I can get to him, Matt Jensen and Ben Callvin block my path. Ben’s older brother Mark was one of the first boys to pick on me. Matt’s on the skinny side with shaggy blond hair and widely-set googly eyes, while Ben’s a husky kid, standing a head taller than the other boys in our grade, and is known for being a bulldozer in football. Heat drains from my face from their smirks alone. My fingers tighten on my Trapper Keeper, clutching it with all of my might. I wouldn’t put it past them to break it.

  “Nice hairdo, Jackie,” Ben sings, making Matt snigger. “Did your mom do it? Did she borrow you some of her glitter panties too?”

  With the sound of their cackling laughter, other kids begin to gather around us. A mountain of dread builds in my throat.

  Ben then leans in to grasp my arm. “Do you think your mom would do me?”

  Tears burn hot behind my eyelids. I know I should push them away or say something, but I’m unable to move a single muscle. Before he can say anything more, Ben is shoved sideways and J.R. appears in his place.

  “Leave her alone!” he snarls, his brown eyes even darker than normal as he casts the two boys a look of warning. Ben and Matt take a step back, their faces ashen and eyes wide. My heart nearly leaps from my chest when J.R. pries one of my hands from the death grip on my Trapper Keeper and twists our fingers together before leading me away. “Come on, Jackie. Don’t listen to these assholes.”

  I stumble to keep up with his clipped pace as we make our way past a sea of my gaping classmates. We’re several blocks away from the school when I finally drop his hand.

  “You shouldn’t have done that!” I snap, briefly glancing downward when we pass by a group of other students. “The kids at your school will give you a hard time once they see you hanging out with a sixth grader. You have no idea how mean the kids in Kato can get! When I was in second grade, I heard a girl my age from Washington Elementary had plastic surgery on her ears because older girls would surround her in the bathroom and call her Dumbo.”

  J.R.’s expression is serene when he shrugs. “I’m not scared of them. What’s the worst they could do? Hit me? At least I’d finally have a chance to fight back.”

  I bite my bottom lip, barely resisting the sudden urge to hug him. His black eye has almost completely faded, but it doesn’t mean his dad hasn’t hurt him again in places I can’t see. We walk in silence for a few moments before he nudges my shoulder and his dimples pop into place. I never fail to feel a buzz of comfortable warmth when he gives me that smile.

  “How was your first day, other than dealing with those jerks?” he asks.

  I puff out an irritated breath. “My homeroom teacher is lame. He made me feel dumb in front of the entire class.”

  “All teachers are lame. Don’t let him get to you.”

  Once again I feel the need to hold my breath immediately after I ask, “What about you? Did you meet any cool guys to hang out with?” Now that he’s in high school, I expect him to dump me as a friend at any moment.

  “Why are you so obsessed about me finding other dudes my age?” he teases, tugging on the end of my ponytail. “Tired of me already?”

  “Of course not.” I swat his hand away with heat rushing into my cheeks. “Knock it off.”

  We aren’t far from the trailer court when he asks, “Hey, do you think I could stay tonight for supper?”

  I almost immediately blurt, “no way.” My mom will be home between her shifts and would most certainly get angry if she found an older boy in the house. Then I think of him sitting all alone at home, eating a cold peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I nod. It’s not like we have anything a whole lot better than cold sandwiches, but at least he won’t be by himself.

  As luck would have it, my mom calls to let us know she has to report to Mettler’s early and won’t be home for supper. Diane comes home from the arcade as I’m returning the phone back to its cradle and the long, stretched-out cord is winding back around itself.

  “Mom just called. She isn’t coming home.”

  Diane’s shoulders roll inward. “Again? I haven’t seen her in a whole week.”

  “Maybe she’s having an affair with some married guy,” J.R. offers from the couch. “My old man says that’s usually the reason adults act weird—they’re either hiding a secret lover or an unplanned pregnancy.”

  A funny feeling makes a wave through my stomach. What if he’s right, and our mom is going to have another baby? She doesn’t even have the time for us. Would Diane and I have to raise the baby? There’s barely enough money for groceries and rent. Diane will leave for college in a couple of years. Would I have to raise the kid all on my own?

  “That’s dumb,” I scold J.R. “Our mom doesn’t have the time for that stuff. She’s always working.”

  “What do you dweebs want?” Diane snaps, digging through the mostly-bare cabinets. The way she slams the doors, I guess she’s also mad at J.R.’s idea. “SpaghettiOs, fried Spam, or tomato soup and grilled cheese?”

  “We have the same old things all the time,” I grumble, sinking back onto the floral couch at J.R.’s side. He’s busy clicking through the channels on our old Zenith TV. I’m embarrassed that we don’t have cable, and wonder if he watches MTV all the time like I often overhear other kids say. I’ve only seen short clips of a few videos, and don’t understand why watching a bunch of guys with long hair and weird outfits pretending to sing is so exciting.

  Diane turns to me, her fists resting on her hips in a Wonder Woman pose. “If you want to get a job so we can afford filet mignon, Jackie, be my guest.”

  Sighing, I throw her my most dramatic eye-roll. “Bite me, DeeDee. You don’t have to be so bossy all the time. Just make soup and grilled cheese then.”

  “What in the hell is fried Spam?” J.R. whispers, reaching over me to grab a handful of the Ruffles Cheddar chips he bought on our walk back from school.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” I reply, then tug on his arm. “Go back a channel. The Muppets are on.”

  “The Muppets are for babies!” Diane yells from the kitchen.

  “I like the Muppets too,” J.R. tells me with a grin.

  “Really?”

  “Are you kidding me?” His eyes light up. “Alice Cooper was on there—Johnny Cash too! And the Muppets have a wicked sense of humor—especially Statler and Waldorf. Those two can get dark.”

  “My favorite was when Crystal Gayle sang about believing in magic,” I whisper. “She’s so pretty—I love her hair.”

  With the sounds of Diane banging around in the kitchen and, eventually, the sweet scent of buttered bread frying, J.R. leans against my side, giggling like a little boy when Bunsen launches pointed bananas at Beaker. It feels like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. I don’t dare move a muscle, afraid to break the spell that somehow made a cute guy like me.

  8

  STERLING - 2018

  I rouse to a set of haunted brown eyes hovering above me. As gentle fingers brush my hair away from my face, I realize I’m lying on the ground near the park, cradled against Theo’s firm chest. What the hell? I passed out?

  “You gave me a helluva a scare,” Theo rasps. “I barely caught you in time. Are you all right?”

  Cheeks burning with embarrassment, I release a nervous laugh. I’ve never fainted in my life. “I guess it’s been a while since I last ate something. Between that and the heat…” I curl upright and pull in a deep breath. “At least we know your pacemaker works.”

  “And your humor’s still in tact,” he quips, helping me back to my feet. He holds onto me a moment longer than necessary, sparking something between us that I’m certain he also feels because I see the interest reflected in his eyes. “I probably should’ve taken you somewhere for dinner first. I guess I’m a little rusty at this dating thing.”

  If I wasn’t completely mortified, worried he might have sprained something when he caught me on the way down, I would be tempted to lean in and steal a taste of his scrumptious lips.

  “Was that pre-internet?” I tease, putting a safer distance between us. “Because they have apps now where you can meet women. I’m guessing you’re unaware, considering you’re still single.”

  The sullen carpenter returns with a dark flash of his eyes. “I told you, I like to keep to myself.” He starts back in the direction of his motorcycle. “Come on. If you won’t let me take you somewhere to eat, I’ll take you back home.”

  Note to self: if you want to see Theo Davies relaxed and carefree, don’t tease him about his dating history.