Джей Эшер - The Future of Us

My throat squeezes up tight. I give her a hug and say, “It’s a great sweatshirt. You should put your hands in the pockets. They’re so warm.”

Then I say goodbye and walk to the path between the trees.

I SIT WITH MY FEET buried in the sand, my sneakers beside me. With my knees facing the fire and a thick blanket around my shoulders, I’m able to stay warm. I’m not sure whose blanket this is, but Shana was wrapped in it before. When she left with one of the college guys, I claimed it.

Sydney went up to the parking area a few minutes ago. Someone called her cell phone saying there were hot drinks available. A few of her friends are still sitting on the log on the other side of the bonfire. They’re juniors like her, but I don’t know their names.

The fire where Emma, Tyson, and Kellan were sitting has almost burned out. All that remains are glimmering orange embers. A few times, I saw Tyson and Kellan walking along the shore, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen them. And I haven’t seen Emma since she brought back my wallet.

I turn and look out at the water. The dark sky and the trees blend seamlessly. The lake is nearly black, with small moonlit ripples lapping toward the shore.

“Do you have room for me?” Sydney asks. She’s standing above me, her fingers wrapped around a Styrofoam cup.

I take the warm cup and she sits in the sand next to me. The steam rising from the opening in the plastic lid smells like hot chocolate.

“I’ll share it with you,” she says, “if you’ll share the blanket.”

I lift a corner of the blanket and she scoots her body close to mine, wrapping us together. The voices around the bonfire settle into a hush.

Sydney holds out her hand and I give her the cup. She takes a small sip. “That was sweet of you to give Emma your sweatshirt. I always knew you were one of the nice guys.”

I turn to her. “How do you mean?”

She smiles and offers me the cup. “Trust me, not every guy would give up his sweatshirt just because a girl asks.”

I take a sip of hot chocolate. “Emma and I have been close for a long time.”

Sydney exhales slowly, tilts her head back, and looks up at the stars.

“If you told me you were cold,” I say, “I would’ve given my sweatshirt to you, too.”

She hugs her knees against her chest.

“And to be fair,” I add, “I think you’re one of the nice girls.”

“Unfortunately,” she says, “being nice doesn’t mean you get everything you want.”

It feels like she’s talking about us. Even though a relationship with Sydney isn’t what I want, hearing her say those words makes me sad.

I pull the blanket tighter around us. If Sydney wanted to rest her head against my shoulder, I would let her. But she doesn’t. So we just sit here, side by side, sharing the warm drink until it’s gone.

I DON’T TURN ON my bedroom light or even my desk lamp as I sit in front of my computer and sign onto AOL.

“ Welcome! ”

I click on Facebook in my Favorite Places. The white box opens and I type in my email address and password. The moment my finger presses Enter, the monitor crackles and flashes. As the light fades, the AOL screen reappears.

“ Welcome! ”

When I look in Favorite Place again, it no longer lists Facebook. I turn away from the computer and stare into my dark room.

Fifteen years from now, I did exactly as I said I would.

It’s over.

I’M RELIEVED that my mom and Martin are still out. I head into their bathroom, where I brush my teeth and pull my hair into a scrunchie. It’s strange to see myself without my E pendant on.

When I get back to my room, I take the broken necklace out of my backpack and set it next to the blue vase on my dresser. At some point I’ll get around to having it fixed.

I change into a long T-shirt and climb into bed.

Maybe my future self really did need to focus more on the life around her. Maybe it’ll help make things better. Or maybe my future self feels a connection to my current self, and she knew that I needed to focus on my here and now.

I reach over to my stereo and slide in Kind of Blue . My dad used to play Miles Davis for me when I couldn’t fall asleep.

Outside, I hear a car drive up the street. For a moment, I think it’s my mom and Martin returning from their night out, but it idles in front of Josh’s house, the headlights reflecting onto my window.

I don’t have to look outside to know it’s Sydney’s car. She’s probably leaning over to kiss Josh’s cheek right now. If she leans in again, he’ll turn, pressing his lips against hers.

I didn’t feel it coming, but suddenly tears are pouring down my face.

I’m crying because Josh is going to marry Sydney and they’re going to have a beautiful life together. And maybe I’ll have an okay life, too, but I’ll never meet someone like Josh again. Josh is loving and kind, and he knows me better than anyone. He knows the real me, and he likes me for who I am. Josh is… Josh. And now he’s gone.

I press my wet face into my pillow. This is what heartbreak feels like.

“DON’T TURN OFF the engine until you get home,” I say. “It might not start again.”

Graham pulls his hand away from the ignition. “Good idea.”

When I left the bonfire, I asked a few people for a ride home, but everyone was heading to other parties. Then I noticed Graham Wilde about to jumpstart his car. I helped him hook up the cables and then he offered me a lift.

When I open the passenger door to get out, Graham says, “Say hi to Emma for me.”

I lean my arms against his lowered window. “Can I ask you something? When the two of you were going out, did you ever really like her?”

His headlights dim slightly, so he taps the accelerator and they brighten again. “You’re her good friend, right?”

“Yes,” I say. “I am.”

“I did like her,” he says. “But neither of us wanted anything serious. It was just fun, you know?”

I look away for a second. I can still see him groping Emma in the dugout.

“Emma’s awesome,” Graham says. “If I did want something long-term, she’d be hard to top.”

The headlights weaken again, and I step back from the car. Graham puts it into reverse and backs away, waving out his window.

When I open my front door, Mom and Dad are reading magazines, pretending they haven’t been waiting up.

“That didn’t sound like Sydney’s car,” Dad says.

“It wasn’t,” I say, walking up to my room.

I TURN MY RADIO to a low volume and then sit on the floor, my back against the bed. Next to me are the eight charcoal sketches from earlier.

Downstairs, there’s a knock at the door. I can hear Dad answer it, followed by they voice of… Tyson ? Seconds later, two pairs of feet come charging up the stairs.

“Get up!” Tyson says, flinging open my bedroom door. Kellan stands beside him, wearing my black sweatshirt. “You heard the man!”

I put my hand on the mattress and push myself up. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to make sure you and—” Kellan stops talking when she notices the sketches. “Did you draw those?”

“Focus!” Tyson says to Kellan. “Besides, I can’t even tell what they are. Go back to drawing Tweety Bird, Picasso. Okay, so here’s the deal. We’re kidnapping you.”

“You and Emma,” Kellan says.

“Obviously, neither one of you were having fun tonight,” Tyson says.

“Not just tonight,” Kellan says, looking at Tyson. “They’ve been like this all week!”