Just a Matter of Time (3 page)

“What did I ever do to Maya?”

The question had been haunting me since yesterday. Gordon and I sat, not in the coffee shop, but in that quiet corner of Five Mile Creek. Spring had cast a soft green over everything and brought out the flecks in Gordon’s eyes. I was resisting the urge to get lost in their depths, but it was a battle I didn’t mind losing. Earlier, I’d told him about how I’d stopped Maya’s solo and he’d given me a high five.

Now he plucked at the grass that poked up around the blanket we sat on. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I had a crush on you in ninth grade?”

My head shot up. My heart pounded so hard, I thought it might pop through not only my ribs but the skin surrounding my chest.

“No,” I said. “You didn’t. You went to the freshman dance with Maya.”

“Only because she told me that you thought I was a total creeper.”

“She told you that?”

He gave his head an emphatic nod.

“But—” My mouth hung open, but I lacked the willpower to shut it, so stunned was I by this revision of history. “I liked you.”

My words came out soft, so soft, I almost hoped the breeze would catch them and steal them away. But Gordon jerked his head, almost like I’d slapped him. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“You . . . liked . . . me.” Each word he spoke grew slower, so I wasn’t sure if he’d finished talking or not.

“You never wondered why I was always at your locker?” I shook my head, both in disbelief and to rid my cheeks of the shame that heated them. “Or why I rode my bike past your house a hundred times every weekend?”

“I just thought I was lucky.”

He kissed me then, one hand on the back of my head, my mouth still open and gaping, so it was just his lips and a lot of air. I exhaled. He inhaled. For one instant, we shared the same breath.

“Do you steal everything?” I said at last.

“Nothing that can get me arrested.”

He kissed me again. This time, he didn’t have to steal anything at all.

* * *

Monday morning at school, one glance at Gordon sent my insides twisting. No green glowed in his eyes. His skin was dull. Not a trace remained of the sunny, happy boy I’d spent Saturday with.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Every last hope sank to the pit of my stomach. I’d spent Sunday in blissful daydreams—walking the halls with Gordon, hand in hand, eating lunch with him every day, side by side. I’d even let my mind stray to next year—the homecoming dance, prom. Now, crashing through all that? A talk we needed to have.

“When?” I said, mainly because it was the only word I could force from my throat.

“After school.”

The bell rang. Gordon vanished. Students pushed past me on the way to homeroom. I stood there, dumb and numb. In those moments, no one stole my time. I doubt they could have. Every ounce of feeling I had was channeled into Gordon. I didn’t have any time to spare, even for myself, and I barely made it to homeroom before the second bell echoed through the empty halls.

If Maya stole any of my time that day, I didn’t notice. I suspect it really wasn’t worth stealing. Who wanted time that was sad, anxious, and depressed? Because I already knew how the conversation would go. Gordon would play nervously with his Americano. He’d tell me how great I was, but ninth grade was a long time ago, and while he liked me, he didn’t
like
like me.

Blah, blah, blah.

For once, I wished Maya would steal my time, if only so I wouldn’t have to notice the ache of each passing minute. In AP World History, Gordon slipped me a note. All it said was:

Coffee shop

I walked there alone. I ordered alone. I sat alone, for five minutes, until Gordon flew through the door like he’d sprinted the entire distance between the school and his afternoon Americano. He rushed past the counter without ordering.

Hard and quick then, with no small talk, no
you’re great, but . . .

“I’m sorry,” he said, his words insubstantial from lack of air.

“I know. I get it. You don’t want to see me anymore.”

“What? No. I want to see you every day. I want to spend every moment I can with you.”

Mere seconds ticked by, but I savored each one, simply so I could savor those words. Whatever came next would make my heart ache.

“Then . . . why?” I said when he didn’t speak.

“You don’t need me anymore. The fact you can mess up Maya’s solo gives you enough power to make it through the rest of the school year. Next fall, you’ll figure out something else to keep her in check.”

“But that doesn’t have anything to do with . . .” The word stuck in my mouth.

“Us?” Gordon said, as if he’d plucked the word from my tongue. “Well, that’s just it. Keeping Maya in check is one thing. Keeping me in check?” He shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“Why would I need to do that? You’ve been—”

“Helping you? Is that what you think?”

“Well, yeah.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t the happy sound from Saturday. “Remember when I explained how Maya was a time leech?”

The coffee in my stomach iced over. I nodded.

“How do you think I knew that? Why do you think I even cared what Maya did?”

“Because—” I began, but Gordon wouldn’t let me finish.

“She was poaching on my territory.”

“Your territory?” I didn’t like the sound of that.

“You,” he said.

I was right. I didn’t like it.

“I’ve been stealing time from you since first grade. Back then, all I knew was sitting next to you made me feel better—smarter. When you were close by, I could read the book or finish all the math problems. I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t know how to live in real time anymore.”

Maya’s angry words slammed into me and I understood what she’d meant that day in the practice room. “You’re addicted.”

“To stealing time?” Gordon snorted. “Yeah, maybe. You could call it that.”

“What were you going to do?” I demanded. “Follow me to college? Live next door?”

“Marry you?”

All of this, just for some time. Was the story about his crush fake? Were those kisses in the state park all fake too? Tears burned my eyes and a deep shame made my fingers tremble against the coffee cup. I couldn’t pick it up, but I couldn’t let go of it either.

“I like you too much to keep stealing your time. But if I’m going to stop, I can’t be near you. It just isn’t possible. Even now, during all this.” He reached forward and caught a tear with his thumb before I could jerk away from his touch. “Even now, I’ve been stealing bits of time.”

Even now? My mouth fell open and my tears dried on their own.

“Think of money again,” he said. “It’s like you’re standing in the middle of the road and tossing endless twenty-dollar bills into the air for anyone to take.”

“Oh. So this is all my fault.”

“I used to think that. I used to think that it didn’t matter if I took a little of your time, since you had so much and were so generous.” He shrugged. “But it hurts you. It’s wrong. And if I can’t be with you, at least I know I’m not hurting you.”

Gordon stood. He held himself stiff, like a soldier on a parade ground, and left the coffee shop by the back entrance. When the screen door bounced shut, I sank into my chair, my limbs useless, my coffee cold and congealed with cream.

My heart, smashed.

The coffee shop’s front door swung open. The bell clanged and I winced. It was as if Gordon’s confession had made every inch of me extra sensitive. I glanced up, half hoping Gordon had returned, half hoping this was some sort of cruel practical joke and—with time—I’d forgive him, half hoping I’d only imagined the last fifteen minutes.

Instead, Maya strode into the coffee shop.

* * *

I saw the moment she registered that it was just me at the table. Her eyes went wide. Her steps slowed, but not so anyone else noticed. She looked almost disappointed. Then that familiar smirk spread across her face.

I slid my foot around the leg of the chair opposite me, so when Maya pulled, it didn’t go anywhere. She yanked and the wood scarred my ankle.

“Where’s the addict?” she said, her voice all syrupy sweet. “It’s not like him to leave his supply unguarded.”

“Sorry, but the time store is closed—to him, and to you.”

“Hardly. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Actually, I have no idea what
you’re
doing. Maya, we used to be friends. What happened?”

“He did. You did. You got everything you wanted. Your dad totally spoiled you. Your grandmother never bitched about your GPA, and the cutest boy in our grade had a ginormous crush on you. What’s not to hate?”

Her words didn’t feel as harsh as they sounded. And all that hatred? Never touched me. It was all turned in on herself.

“Of course, then I figured out why he liked you.” She blew a bubble with the gum she was chewing and, when it popped, added, “I guess it’s better than him liking you just for your tits, you know?”

“When did you become such a cynic?”

“Ninth grade.”

It was true, of course, that Dad did spoil me. Only child of a single parent? It happened. The moment he walked in from his deployment, he’d want to take me to Build-a-Bear and the amusement park. And I was going to let him. It was as if every time he went away, he forgot how old I was. I didn’t just freeze in time; I went backward. And if Maya couldn’t remember a thing about me from all those years ago, then this wasn’t a relationship I could salvage.

I stood and planted my palms on the table. The surface was clammy, my skin hot and slick. I held fast and leaned forward.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” I said to her. “Steal any more of my time and I will ruin you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Think you’ll make concertmaster next year if you botch the solo at the spring concert?”

Maya’s jaws went still.

“You know I can do it.” Maybe it was the only thing I could do, but Gordon was right. It was all I needed to keep her in check. “Remember that every time you pick up your bow.”

I pushed away from the table, making it rock. My half-empty cup toppled over. I grabbed my book bag, slung it over my shoulder, and left the coffee shop.

I was never coming back.

* * *

For the first time in ages (possibly since first grade), I had time to myself. I’d glance at the clock after finishing my homework to find the evening stretching long and leisurely before me. The late-day sun filled our back porch, making the whitewash glow. I took to playing my violin there—Maya’s solo piece in particular—just to prove I could.

“I simply can’t imagine why you didn’t get the solo,” Grandma said one night. “That other girl must be something else.”

“Yeah,” I said, holding the length of the violin against me. “She is.”

If you ever wanted to bottle up awkwardness and shame, all you needed to do was walk into first-block AP World History. Gordon had switched seats again. Maya never looked my way. The air was thick with static from broken hearts and broken dreams and broken hopes over the final exam.

Anyone with a passing acquaintance with Mrs. Harmon’s grading structure knew the final counted for fifty percent of the grade.

“Relax, people. It’s not the end of the world,” she said the day of the exam. “You still have time to raise your grade. If anyone wants to know the ins and outs of an extra credit report, talk to Sadie or Maya.”

Maya would probably tell them how to do it backwards, not that anyone would ask her—or me, for that matter. The thought struck hard, another blow against my smashed heart. No one would ask me. That was more than shameful. It was downright sad.

The AP World History final was the easiest test I have ever taken in my entire life. I knew all the answers—almost before I finished reading the questions. I went over the test twice. The idea of walking to the front of the room and plopping the year’s hardest exam onto Mrs. Harmon’s desk, after only twenty minutes, seemed insane.

What was I going to do with all this time? Or maybe I could steal a little more. What then? Perfect scores on the SAT?
New Yorker
–ready college application essays? Valedictorian? It was all there, all within my grasp. Wasn’t that what Maya was doing? I glanced toward her, a burst of something sweet and rancid filling me.
Schadenfreude
. A word I’d learned last year in German. Joy at the misfortune of others.

I never wanted to feel that again.

Exam paper in hand, I stood. A few students murmured behind me, a muted “No way!” summing up the room’s general opinion. Mrs. Harmon raised an eyebrow, both skeptical and a little impressed.

I halted halfway to her desk. Maya looked grim, her pencil logging answers like a marathoner who had hit the wall—slow, deliberate tracks across her paper. A sheen of sweat covered Gordon’s forehead. He was maybe a third of the way through the exam. And I knew this: he wouldn’t finish.

You could hoard time, hold it tight and miserly against your chest. You could steal it from others, leaving them gasping and grasping. But could you give it away?

I thought about what Gordon had said, about how it was like I was standing in the middle of the road, throwing twenty-dollar bills into the air for all to take. I remembered how I felt when Gordon gave me a bit of his time—how that was even better than taking it from Maya.

So I stood in the middle of AP World History and thought about how fluid time was. Instead of sucking it all in with a giant straw, I imagined a fountain, filled with endless water, its spray covering everything. Just enough water to cool Maya’s hand and wash the sweat from Gordon’s face.

Eyes closed, I brought my fingertips to my lips and blew the gentlest of kisses. Like dropping a pebble into still water, the ripples flowed, touching each student in the classroom. Something shifted behind me. Pens scratched faster against paper. I didn’t turn to look. Instead, I accepted the library pass Mrs. Harmon offered and took the steps to the third floor slowly, savoring each one.

I’m pretty sure I daydreamed.