Before You Go (6 page)

All he could think of was one girl in particular, a face he barely knew.

Near the end of day, after he scraped tables for an hour at least, the muscles in Jude’s forearms burned. He felt a crick in his neck, so he stood to stretch. Jude noticed a little girl walk past, comically trying to balance a soda and a container of fries. A smattering of fries spilled onto the sand after her, like Gretel’s trail of crumbs in the woods. Ahead of her walked an older boy, surely her brother; he had the same body type and tussled blond hair, not much different from his own. Jude guessed the boy was about twelve years old. He stood watching as they walked in the sand toward the water, searching for a familiar blanket or beach umbrella.

Just a boy and a boy’s sister.

Take her hand
, Jude silently urged the boy.
Don’t let her out of your sight.
But the older boy kept walking, confident that his sister would always be there. Jude felt an old hollowness return to his stomach. He watched until they disappeared into the horizon, smaller and smaller, and then, fully gone, swallowed up by sand and sky.

Bickering seagulls landed to scavenge the dropped fries, Gretel’s trail vanishing to nothingness as they ate until there was no trace of the girl’s passage except for her small footsteps in the sand.

NINE

It was finals week at school, so Jude spent late nights cramming for tests. Still, he rose early most mornings to run, hard and long, just to clear his head. Jude sometimes imagined himself as an ancient Navajo among the mesas, running till he found the next tribe somewhere over the rise. It was never about numbers for Jude. Not the distance traveled, nor the time it took. He ran for the love of running, like a colt in the grass. All the while, Becka on his mind.

Come the weekend, he looked forward to work. Jessup said he wouldn’t put Jude on a full-time schedule until school ended in another week. But on Saturday the overcast sky darkened as the hours passed, and it became obvious that it would be a disappointing day for sun worshippers. The concession was overstaffed, the crowds meager, nothing to do. Jessup went around tapping people on the shoulder, sending them home.

Becka wasn’t too happy about it. She’d only worked three hours. “Well, I guess I’m outta here,” she told Jude. Her eyes spoke for a moment, lingered on his for an extra beat, and he sensed she was waiting for something.

“Hey, um,” he said, holding her there, “maybe I could get a ride from you. I mean, would that be okay?”

Gladness flickered on Becka’s face, like wind in the trees. She smiled and said yes.

“Problem is, I’m not off yet,” Jude said, trying not to sound too eager.

“You could ask him,” Becka suggested. “See if he’ll let you go.”

“I could use the money,” Jude countered.

Becka shrugged, noncommittal. “Up to you. Either way, I’m leaving in five minutes.”

Jessup hemmed and hawed at Jude’s request, said he was letting most of the cashiers go but still needed a few good workers for closing. Jude was persuasive; Denzel finally told him to go before he changed his mind.

Being alone with Becka outside of work made Jude feel light-headed, like he was walking on soft, fluffy clouds. Becka shifted around a bunch of junk in her car—it was a mess with blankets, bags, books, CDs, magazines, assorted crap everywhere—to make room for Jude in the front.

“What can I say? I’m a slob,” Becka said without apology.

The car was an old Toyota, a little worse for wear. “Sweet ride,” Jude whistled.

“You can walk if you’d like,” Becka replied. She grabbed a canvas bag from the backseat and said she’d be right back. “I’ve got to get out of these clothes.”

She returned with her hair tied loosely back, wearing shorts and some kind of spaghetti-strap top. She looked great, with tanned, toned legs. “I feel better already,” Becka announced, turning the key. “Now I’m myself.” She found a song on the radio and turned it up loud, moving her head to the beat. Becka was transformed, and it wasn’t just the clothes. She seemed more playful out in the real world, quicker to smile, more fun, way sexier. As they drove east toward the roundabout, Becka asked, “Are you in a hurry to get home?”

Jude told her that he definitely was not.

Becka pulled the car into the huge Field Four parking lot. “Let’s do the boardwalk,” she said.

“Do you play putt-putt?” Jude asked.

“I’m beast!” Becka said. “You are so dead.”

“Oh, really?” Jude asked skeptically.

Becka nodded. “When it comes to putt-putt, I’m pretty much a ninja.”

Jude laughed, pushing her gently on the shoulder. “Ninja, huh? We’ll see about that.”

Jones Beach had a two-mile boardwalk, with the sand and the Atlantic to the south, and various concessions, pools, and sport activities on the other side. There was shuffleboard, tennis, basketball, and more. Like the boardwalk itself, most of the courts were in a semi-dilapidated condition. The entire place had seen better days, including the ocean itself. Yet on sizzling summer afternoons, the whole place jumped. Not today though, when it felt like the park had been built expressly for Jude and Becka’s pleasure.

“It’s quiet,” Jude observed. “I like it.”

“Look at that surf,” Becka said, marveling at the ocean. “The waves are kicking up pretty high. Storm’s coming.”

“I wish I didn’t feel like such a dork in this uniform,” Jude said.

“So take off your shirt.”

Jude had spent a lot of time over the past few years at the beach. It was no big deal for him to hang out all day in bathing trunks, shirtless. He had a firm stomach, did push-ups, looked okay—nothing to be ashamed about. But this felt different, alone with Becka. He rolled his shirt sleeves above his shoulders and left it at that.

At the third hole of the putt-putt course, as Jude struggled to direct his ball safely through a rotating windmill, he asked Becka why she decided to work at Jones Beach instead of some other job.

Becka balanced the putter upright in her palm, making small adjustments to keep it from falling. “My older brothers worked here, so did a lot of their friends,” she said. “I guess it felt like an easy job.” She popped the club into the air, spun around, and caught it with her right hand.

“What’s the matter, no jobs at the circus?” Jude joked.

“I wish! You should see me on a unicycle,” Becka said. “Do you want to know
why
I’m working?”

Jude ventured a guess. “You love the smell of sunscreen and grease?”

“Yeah, sure, who doesn’t?” Becka replied. “Actually, I’m saving for my dream guitar.”

“Really, you play?”

“Since I was twelve. I love it.”

“Me, too,” Jude said. “What kind of guitar do you want to buy?”

“Rickenbacker 330,” Becka answered.

“You like that jangle sound, huh?”

“John Lennon, Johnny Marr, Peter Buck, they all played Rickenbackers,” Becka said. “You know Guitar World in Massapequa? That’s where I’m going to buy it. I’ve got mine all picked out.”

“Tell me,” Jude said, tapping the ball into the hole. He didn’t bother to fill in the scorecard. Jude hated those ultra-competitive guys who took things like P.E. way too seriously. He and Becka randomly cut over from the third to the eleventh hole. Nobody was around, nobody cared, and this one had a fake pirate ship in the middle of it to enhance the awesomeness.

“You should see it, gorgeous guitar,” Becka enthused. “Semi-hollow maple body, fireglo finish, rosewood fretboard with dot inlays, single-coil pickups—”

“Wow, you know your stuff,” Jude said. “That’s not a cheap guitar.”

“Almost two thousand balloons,” Becka said. “My parents are willing to go halfsies.”

“Halfsies?” Jude laughed.

“You know what I mean,” Becka protested, a hint of color rising to her cheeks. “I’ve been staring at that guitar for the past year. It’s my goal for this summer. I need that guitar.”

Jude knew exactly how she felt. He was always coveting a new guitar, or considering a trade-in. Every guitar had an individual sound, a character of its own, something that most people didn’t understand. Jude and Becka talked guitars and music, compared iPods and favorite tunes, thrilled to have that connection. “I’d love to hear you play,” Jude said.

“I sometimes jam out with my brothers and their friends, nothing serious, just goofin’ in the garage,” Becka said. “You should come over someday.”

“You’ve never even heard me play,” Jude said.

“I can tell about these things—it’s part of my ninja powers. I know you’re good,” Becka replied. Teeing off, she swung mightily and bounced the green ball off the turf and into a bush.

“Nice shot, tiger,” Jude chided. “I hate to say this, but for a ninja you’re kind of hopeless. Me, I’m more like Chuck Norris. Last time I played an eighteen-hole golf course, I scored a twelve—two off my personal best.”

Becka laughed, said, “Chuck Norris doesn’t bowl strikes; he knocks down one pin and the other nine faint.”

For the next few holes, Becka surprised him with her knowledge of cornball Chuck Norris jokes. “I learned them from my brother Matt,” Becka explained. “He’s a pop-culture killer—he’ll run a joke into the ground till it’s good and dead.”

This girl was cool, Jude thought—like a guy. If it turned out Becka liked chicken wings and college basketball, he’d drop down on his knees to propose.

And at that, the sky cracked open. The rain that had threatened all day finally came, in torrents, soaking them instantly. Jude and Becka ditched their clubs on the spot, ran hard toward the car, pausing in the shelter of an echoing underpass. They laughed together, shivering close, while the rain drummed overhead.

Becka had a towel in her car and dried off. She even tried to lend him a Batgirl T-shirt, but Jude couldn’t see himself in it. “I’d rather die of hypothermia,” he explained. Becka shrugged and drove to Jude’s house, door-to-door service. “Here you go,” she announced, pulling over to the curb.

“Thanks, Beck,” he said, and paused. “I really had a great time.”

“Me too.” She smiled at him, studied his house from the road. “This isn’t too far from where I live, you know. I’m just on the other side of the Seaford-Oyster Bay Expressway.”

Jude waited, not ready to leave the car. It was still raining pretty hard. Becka flicked off the wipers, let the water stream over the windshield. The windows clouded, closed in on them like a canopy bed.

Becka looked toward the house. “I hate to say this, but that is one sorry-looking tree you have in front of your house.”

She wasn’t the first one to make that observation.

“I know,” Jude said. “My mother likes it, though. She calls it her giant parasol, keeping out the sun and rain.”

Becka shook her head. “Nothing can stop the rain.”

Jude nodded, lips downturned. “You have plans for tonight?”

For the flash of an instant, Becka looked distressed. Then recovered, said, “Yeah, kind of do. You?”

Jude shrugged. “Probably the same old thing—another Saturday-night brodown.”

Becka laughed. “A brodown, huh? Sounds fierce. What do you boys do? Play video games and burp a lot?”

“Something like that,” Jude said. “If you fart, nobody has to apologize. That’s how we roll. Seriously, we won’t go big. I have to be at work by nine tomorrow.”

“Really? Same here.”

“I’ll see you then.” Jude lifted the handle, cracked the door.

“You don’t have your license yet, do you?”

Jude shook his head. “I was thinking about running to work tomorrow.”

“Running? Like with your actual feet?” Becka asked.

Jude grinned. “It’s not that far, probably take me an hour. I can shower and change when I get there. Jessup let me stash a spare set of clothes in his office.”

Becka’s head ducked forward, shock registered on her face. “Really? Won’t you be exhausted?”

“I love running,” Jude answered. “It beats waiting for the bus.”

“Are you some kind of track star?”

“Used to be,” Jude admitted, “but I quit. I guess I’m not a team guy. The coach was super-serious.” Jude remembered the pressure, the high expectations everyone had of him. As a ninth grader, Jude almost beat the school record in the mile. He was shocked at that, because he wasn’t even really trying. After he pulled in that time, things changed. Everyone’s eyes were on him, watching, watching. So he ditched. “I just love to run,” he tried to explain to Becka. “It doesn’t matter to me how long it takes. I’m not trying to beat anybody. I don’t want to be the star.”

Becka listened with interest. That was her gift, Jude realized: She had a way of making him open up about stuff he rarely talked about.

“I could give you a ride … if you want,” Becka offered.

“Okay, you sure? I’d like that,” Jude said. “I’ll be ready at, um, what time?”

“I’ll text you.” So they did the phone swap thing, punching in the numbers, before saying good-bye.

Jude ran into the house, darting between raindrops.
Becka Bliss McCrystal
, he thought.

Becka, Becka, Becka.

By the time he reached his bedroom, there was already a message on his cell. It was from Becka:
Hey u! Now what r u doing?

TEN

That night, Jude told Corey Man about his rainy afternoon with Becka and the message she’d left on his cell. “What did she mean, ya think?” Jude asked.

Corey was sprawled on the bedroom floor, Jude’s acoustic guitar in his hands, strumming artlessly. Corey couldn’t play except for three simple chords, but he loved holding Jude’s guitar, striking hilarious rock star poses. Corey shrugged. “She likes you, I guess.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Lemme see, lemme see,” Corey said, indicating the phone. He tapped some buttons and parsed the message. He pointed to the screen,
hmmmmmed
thoughtfully. “You didn’t tell me about the first part, where she started with ‘Hey, you.’ That’s promising, Jude.”

“‘Hey, you’? That’s a good sign?”

Corey shook his head definitively. “Do I have to explain everything? ‘Hey, you’—that means she’s way, way into you. I mean, if she wrote ‘Hi,’ you might as well give it up. Forget it, you’d be done. ‘What’s up?’ that means she’s like a buddy,” he opined. “And I have to say, I like that she doesn’t have emoticons sprinkled all over the place; that shit’s annoying.”