Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

I shrug. “What can I say? I like bridges. And since this one is practically in my backyard, I wanted to know more about it.”

“When was it built?”

“1939.”

A breeze comes through, and it catches a wisp of her hair, blowing it across her face. She reaches up and tucks it behind her ear. I know I should turn away. Stop staring. But I can’t. There is something so damn attractive about this girl and her curiosity.

“It’s so quiet and peaceful, isn’t it?” she says. “It’s almost like we’ve stepped back in time.”

“Come on. I’ll show you something else.”

We walk across the bridge, then down and around, through grass and past big trees, to a rickety waterwheel that sits on the edge of the creek.

“What is it?” she asks.

“A waterwheel power plant. It was used to power a sawmill that used to be down here somewhere.”

“It’s not very big,” she says. “I mean, shouldn’t it be bigger?”

“I think this is just part of it. I’m not sure.”

Just then, a robin lands on a branch not far from where we’re standing. We don’t move. The bird only sits there for a few seconds before it takes off, flying across the meadow behind us.

Lauren turns to watch it fly away.

I simply watch her. She is so mesmerized by that lonely robin; she looks like a little girl seeing a bird for the first time.

Guess I’m not the only one who thinks about flying away, to bigger and better things.

The party’s in full swing when we get there. People are spread out all over — some are in the creek; some are up by the rope, waiting for a turn to swing and jump; some are standing around, talking; and a few are sitting on the bank. We head toward the creek, since the bank seems like the logical starting point.

People say hi as we go along, and each time, I introduce Lauren.

We take a seat with our towels underneath us and the cooler beside us. Music’s blasting from someone’s car stereo. Lauren takes off her T-shirt, revealing a white bikini top underneath.

“I hate this,” she says.

“You want to get in the water, then?”

“No, I mean, I hate being the new girl. It’s so . . . awkward.”

“Sorry,” I tell her as I take off my shirt. I figure it’s only fair. “Better here than in the cafeteria the first day, though, right?”

She gets her sunglasses out of her bag. “I guess. But still.”

I turn and see Stasia a ways down. I know it’s her because of her pink hair. When I see her sitting by herself, I remember that her best friend moved to Berkeley a couple of months ago.

“Stasia,” I yell. “Come sit with us. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I turn to Lauren. “She’s kind of wild and crazy, but in the best possible way.” She raises her eyebrows. I laugh. “Trust me, all right?”

Sure enough, Lauren and Stasia hit it off. When Stasia hears Lauren moved from Seattle, she asks if Lauren knows the band The Head and the Heart, who are also from there. Turns out it’s one of her favorites. So they talk music for a while, until it gets hot and we’re all ready to make our way into the creek and cool off.

As we’re wading in, Stasia says, “This small town must seem so incredibly boring compared to Seattle. Why’d you move here anyway?”

Lauren looks down at the water, stepping carefully as she goes. “I needed a break from my mom. We were at each other’s throats all the time, you know?”

“Believe me,” Stasia says. “I know.”

“So my uncle,” Lauren continues, “who’s my mom’s brother, said I could live with them for a while.”

“Her uncle is Josh McMann,” I tell Stasia. “Owner of the bookstore?”

“Oh, right,” she says, smiling at Lauren. “Super nice guy.”

Suddenly, Lauren reaches down and splashes icy cold creek water at us. Stasia screams. I react by seeking revenge.

“Oh no you don’t,” I say, grabbing Lauren’s arm and pulling her down into the water.

Lauren wiggles out of my grip and pops up, laughing. She wraps her arms around herself. “You guys are crazy,” she says, wading back toward the shore. “That water is freaking freezing.”

“You started it,” I remind her.

She doesn’t deny it. Something tells me it was a strategic move on her part. After all, it’s hard to ask personal questions when you’re in the middle of a water fight.

Lauren’s sitting back, eyeing the people doing the rope swing into the water.

“You want to try it?” I ask her.

“Only if you’ll do it with me.”

“Think that thing can hold both of us?” I ask.

“Are you trying to tell me something? Like, lay off the snack foods, maybe?”

I laugh. “No, no. I swear. That’s not what I meant. All right, what the hell. Let’s do it.”

We make our way to the takeoff spot. I grab the rope with both hands as high as possible and tell her to grab below mine.

“What if I can’t hang on?” she asks.

“You’re wondering that now?” I tease.

“It’s just, things look a lot different up here, you know?”

“You can do it,” I assure her. “It’s only a couple of seconds until we’re over the water. Then you can let go.”

“Okay.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing. Say, ‘I believe.’”

She gives me a funny look. “What?”

“It’s something our team says. Come on. I believe.”

“I believe?”

“One thing’s for sure. You are not going to make it as a football player.”

“You know, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

How could I not like this girl? “Okay, smart-ass, do you want to do this or not?”

She takes a deep breath. “Yes. I want to. But, what if you land on me?”

“I won’t land on you. You’ll jump to the right side and I’ll jump to the left, okay?”

“Okay. I’m ready. On the count of three.”

We both count out loud. “One. Two. Three.”

As soon as we say “three,” we let the rope pull us out and over the water, our bodies hanging together, practically one. Lauren screams the entire way. Despite the possibility of damaging my eardrums, I love every second of being so close to her.