Jeri Smith-Ready - This Side of Salvation

I tried to think of a nice way to say, Trust me, you don’t have what she likes , but my attention was drawn to the basement stairs beyond him. The door at the top had just opened, letting in a new voice. A girl’s voice.

A golden shaft of sunlight streamed down the stairwell, illuminating a pair of bright blue high-tops. Then tan legs that kept coming and coming and coming, ending in tight shorts that matched the shoes. Then a bare arm cradling a notebook against a lacy pink tank top. A thick, dark-blond braid swung over one shoulder.

The place went silent as the new girl descended the stairs, sun-yellow shoelaces flopping with each step.

“Jinx!” Mara shrieked.

Jinx was Mr. Ralph’s cat, who loved to stretch out on the third stair from the bottom, a cat who was the same beige as the carpet and therefore camouflaged.

Geographically, I wasn’t the closest guy to the new girl, but I was the first out of my seat as she slipped on the cat, yelped, then faceplanted at the bottom of the stairs.

I dropped to my knees beside her. “Are you okay?”

She winced and cradled her right wrist as she rolled over on her back. “What happened?”

“Jinx happened.”

“Huh?”

“The cat.”

“Oh no, is she okay? Or he?”

I tore my gaze away to see a ruffled Jinx on the bottom step, vigorously grooming her right side. “She’s fine, see? If she was hurt, she probably couldn’t lick herself.”

“Bailey, are you all right?” Mr. Ralph hurried down the stairs, his thin face full of panic.

“Mostly.” With her left hand, she pushed herself to a sitting position and frowned at her scattered books. One notebook was splayed open, showing a doodle of a squirrel wearing a jet pack. “But I think I hurt my arm.”

“I’ll call your mom,” he said, “and tell her to meet us at the emergency room.”

By this point, the other students had crowded around, the guys jostling closer to Bailey. Francis started to reach down for her trig textbook. I snatched it away and gathered the rest of her books and notebooks into my arms.

“That’s okay,” I told Mr. Ralph. “We’ll take her.”

As I’d guessed, Mara was happy to skip class to take Bailey to the hospital. At sixteen and a half, my sister had just earned her junior license and therefore jumped at every chance to drive.

“That poor cat.” Bailey clutched the ice pack Mr. Ralph had given her against her right wrist. “I hope I didn’t crush any of her internal organs.”

“She’s probably fine.” I was more worried about my own innards, knotted up in her presence as I sat with her in the backseat.

My eyes were drawn again and again to her bare legs. Was that a bird tattoo peeking out of the top of her Chucks? Why was she wearing shorts in February? Then again, it was almost seventy degrees, one of those weird Pennsylvania warm spells usually followed by a foot of snow.

“Bailey, where did you move from?” Mara asked.

“I grew up over in Swarthmore,” she said. “My mom’s a psych professor there. But she had a temporary teaching gig at McGill, so we’ve lived in Montreal for the last two years.”

Il fait plus froid là, non? I wanted to say, asking about the weather there, but by the time I’d reviewed each word for accuracy, the moment had passed.

One of Mara’s favorite songs came on the radio, by some Christian pop band. She turned up the music and started singing along softly.

“How’s your wrist?” I asked Bailey.

“Hurts like hell, but let me check something.” She lifted her uninjured left hand, slid her tongue along the side of it twice, eyes closed. Then she brushed the same hand behind her ear, like a self-grooming cat. Finally she looked at me, sliding her ring finger beneath her mouth to wipe her chin. “Can’t be that bad, since I can still lick myself.”

I just stared at her.

“Isn’t that your criteria?” she asked me. “You said Jinx was okay because she could—”

“I know.” My pulse slammed my throat so hard it hurt, like when I’d run on a cold winter morning. “It’s just that, I kinda missed it, so if you could do that again, only slower . . .”

I met her eyes, which widened briefly, then narrowed as she smirked and turned her face to the window. “You wish,” she said with a guffaw.

Mara turned down the radio. “What’s so funny?”

“Never mind,” I told my sister. “You had to be there.”

Bailey cringed as she adjusted the ice pack against her wrist. Then her shoulders twitched in a sudden shiver.

I slipped off my Windbreaker, leaned over, and draped it across the back of her bare shoulders. “Sorry, I should’ve offered sooner.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She tugged the material over the seat-belt strap to cover her right arm. The gesture drew my attention to her chest and what the cold air was doing to it.

Look away, I commanded myself. If she catches you staring at her nipples, that’s a game changer.

“Bailey, was that your Volt parked in front of Mr. Ralph’s house?” Mara asked, thankfully breaking my reverie.

“It’s my dad’s. Why?”

“I’ve never driven an electric car. Do you like it?”

“It’s awesome. I’ll let you guys try it out if you want.” She smiled at me. “As a thank-you.”

“David can’t drive yet,” Mara said. “He’s only fifteen.”

I glared at my sister. Not that I would’ve lied to Bailey about being younger, but I would’ve waited to tell her after she liked me— if she ever liked me. Now she could disregard me right off the bat.

The car lurched as it went over a pothole. Bailey cried out and clutched her wrist.

Mara covered her mouth. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Bailey gasped, but her face was turning so pale, her freckles seemed like its only color. Traffic was getting thicker, so it’d be almost ten minutes to the ER.

I had to distract her from the pain. “It’s a tradition in my family, when we drive people to the hospital, that we play Twenty Questions.”

Bailey gave me a look that said, You’re making this up, but I’ll play along. “As in, I’m supposed to guess what you’re thinking of?”

“No, twenty random questions about each other. Three rules: We take turns, answer only yes or no, and always tell the truth. Wait— four rules. No pauses: just ask the next question that pops into your head. Ready? Go!”

She hesitated, then asked, “Is math your favorite subject?”

“No. Have you ever bungee jumped?”

“No,” she said with a frown. “Do you hate Valentine’s Day, like most guys?”

“Yes.” Uh-oh. “Do you wish I’d lied about that?”

She laughed, then winced. “No. Um, let’s see, holidays: did you dress up for Halloween last year?”

“No.” I scratched the edge of my jaw, remembering the zit that was forming there. “Do you miss Montreal?”

Bailey looked at me sideways through her pale-brown lashes. “Mmm, no.” Her answer seemed to surprise her. “Do you celebrate Halloween at all?”

“No.” I put a self-conscious hand to the cross around my neck, checking that it was tucked inside the collar of my long-sleeved T-shirt. “Do you ever wear your hair down?”

“Yes.” She stroked the end of her long, thick braid. “Do you want to see it down?”

“Yes!” I rubbed my lips, embarrassed at how loud and quick that came out. “Um, not right now,” I added, breaking the rules. “Have you ever . . .” My mind flailed for a question, but all it could think of was what her hair would look like splayed over her naked chest. “Have you ever been to a Phillies game?” Baseball was my natural fallback.

“Yes. Have you ever read a book in one sitting?”