Джей Эшер - The Future of Us

“I thought you were joking about that the other day,” Kellan says. “No offense to Josh, but she’s a little out of his league. Has he ever even talked to her?”

“Actually, my very first instant message was from Sydney,” I say, resting my chin against my knees. “She was asking for his phone number.”

Kellan spits a mouthful of Sprite onto her legs. “Did she call him yet?”

“I know I’m the one who brought it up,” I say, “but do you mind if we not talk about this?”

“Okay,” Kellan says, “but I need to talk to you about something.”

My heart races. Is she finally going to admit she’s been having sex? If she does, that’ll force me to make a huge decision. Either I admit to Kellan what I saw on Facebook, or I shake her by the shoulders and tell her she’d better be using protection.

“I’ve been thinking about you and Josh,” she says.

I burrow my feet in the sand. This isn’t the conversation I thought we were about to have.

“I know it got weird between you guys last fall,” she says. “But this week, things have seemed… different.”

“Like how?”

“You finally seemed to be getting close again, but then today at lunch you both had your claws out.”

I wiggle my toes so they peek up from the sand.

“Let me put it this way,” Kellan says. “Now that Graham’s over with, do you ever… you know…?”

“ What? ”

“I’m serious.”

“No!” I shriek. “Josh is… Josh .”

“Because other girls are starting to notice that he’s a really good guy. There’s the girl we saw in the office. And now you’re telling me Sydney Mills asked for his number.” Kellan removes the cap from her Sprite again. “If there’s even a small part of you that ever wondered what Josh would be like as more than a friend, maybe you should think about doing something before it’s too late.”

As Kellan takes a sip, I stare at Josh’s future house on the other side of the lake.

After a minute, I make myself look away.

I SKATE PAST A YELLOW HOUSE with a tire swing out front. A Chihuahua scampers through the yard and starts yipping after me. If I slow down to take the next turn, he’ll catch me. While I’m not afraid of him nipping my ankles, his bony head is the size of one of my wheels and I don’t need that type of guilt.

By now, my ice cream is gone. I fling the remainder of my sugar cone toward the dog and it shatters on the sidewalk. As he stops to nibble a shard, I round the corner and coast toward the intersection. Across the street, Sydney’s convertible is still parked and empty.

I roll up to a lamppost and hug my arm around it to keep from drifting. The traffic light changes and I could cross to the other side. When Sydney comes out of the comic book store, I could be waiting at her car.

Instead, I skate over to a vending machine and buy a can of root beer.

BY MY SECOND ROOT BEER, I’ve skated around the block four times and I have a major sugar rush going on. When I round the final corner again, I decide that if Sydney is walking to her car, I’ll go over and say hi. If she’s already left, then I’ll bolt for the nearest restroom.

When the parking lot comes into view, I see her convertible pulling onto the street.

Decision time!

I skate hard toward the pay phone, and then kick the tail of my board to flip it upside down. I lift the receiver and, with shaking fingers, dial Sydney’s cell phone number.

It’s ringing!

Her car is stopped at a red light. I can see her lift her backpack onto her lap.

Answer it!

She brings her cell phone to her ear. “Hello?”

The light turns green and her car begins driving through the intersection.

“Sydney!” I’ve had way too much sugar. “It’s Josh. I think I… are you…?”

“Josh Templeton ?” she asks.

“Are you driving?” I ask. “Because I was sitting here eating ice cream and I think I just saw you.”

I watch her glance toward the sidewalk. “Where are you? I didn’t know you had a cell phone.”

“Pull over,” I say. “I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” she says, and her turn signal begins flashing.

I hang up the phone, jump on my board, and skate across the street toward her car.

The passenger window is down, and I rest my elbows on the door. She smiles at me and undoes her ponytail, her hair falling like ribbons over her silky blue shirt.

“Do you live near here?” she asks.

I nod in the direction of the ice cream shop. “No, but I had an intense craving for rocky road.”

“I love ice cream,” she says. “So where are you headed? Can I give you a ride?”

“I’m just going home,” I say. “I live over by the playground in Wagner Park.”

Sydney glances at her watch. “I need to be back on this side of town in twenty minutes, but that should give us enough time.”

I’ve never climbed into a beautiful girl’s convertible before. For a moment, I think about vaulting over the door, but then sanity kicks in. I fit my skateboard into the small backseat while Sydney puts on her blinker and gradually changes lanes.

“You can toss your bag in the back,” she says, adjusting her rearview mirror. “I know there’s not a lot of room up front.”

Before stopping by Dad’s office, I bought a three-pack of my own boxers. It’s not like Sydney’s going to unzip my backpack and see the boxers, but until she mentioned it I hadn’t realized I was hugging my bag so tight.

“Where do you have to be in twenty minutes?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t throw out a boy’s name.

“Home,” she says.

Yes!

“A woman’s coming over to show my family a slideshow, trying to get us to buy into a time-share package,” she says. “My parents aren’t very interested, but my sisters and I have been begging them to check it out. Plus, if you sit through the presentation, you get a gift card to the Olive Garden.”

“I love their breadsticks,” I say.

Sydney looks at me and smiles. “Me too!”

She’s gorgeous. I mean gorgeous . From her perfect face to her soft, tan skin and glossy hair. She’s wearing a skirt, which shows off her amazingly smooth legs. How am I allowed to sit in this car?

At my feet there’s a red plastic bag from Comix Relief. I nudge it over with my sneaker to keep from stepping on it.

“I picked those up for my dad,” she says. “It’s his birthday this weekend, so I bought a few of his favorite Archie comics.”

“I used to be an Archie freak,” I say.

She laughs. “Figures.”

“Why? Because we both have red hair?”

“I didn’t even think of that,” she says. “But I’m convinced all guys secretly worship Archie. He’s this average boy with two beautiful girls fighting over him. Don’t tell me that’s not every guy’s fantasy.”

One beautiful girl would be enough for me.

“Both of my sisters’ fiancés collect comics,” she continues. “Sometimes my dad tags along when they attend conventions, but they’re more into the mutant and superhero comics. Personally, I think the good guys like Archie .”

She is such a daddy’s girl. It’s kind of cute. I wonder if they’ll still be going to comic conventions when I join the family. Even though it would be cheesy, I’d go along.

We stop at a light and Sydney turns toward me. “Thank you for what you said in class the other day, about being considerate.”

“Human decency,” I say, groaning.

She nods and eases onto the gas. “I know you were just speaking your mind, but in a way it felt like you were defending me. So thanks.”