Authors: Mandy Hubbard
Landon drives up the grassy knoll, and at the crest, he lets off the gas, just as the rolling green hills unfold before us. The view of the golf course never gets old. The sprinklers are on,
skit-skit-skit
ting across the emerald-green lawns.
“You guys don’t mind getting a teeny bit wet, do you?” Landon asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer before hitting the gas again. We bound down the hill, the little golf cart motor making a low humming noise as we pick up speed. He’s battling a grin and losing.
I turn just in time to get blasted by a sprinkler—straight to the face.
He bursts out laughing and the cart speeds past, my shirt now dripping wet.
“Landon!” I say, wiping the water from my nose and cheeks, then wringing out my shirt.
“What? I warned—”
Bailey shrieks as another sprinkler whips around and hits her side and legs. I whirl around and look at the sprinkler, realizing it was barely hitting the path at all.
“You’re doing this on purpose!” I say, poking his arm.
His lips tremble with a smile. “ ‘You’re doomed! You’re all doomed!’”
“Friday the 13th
,” I say, recognizing not just the words but the weird way he’s saying them. But before I can say anything else, another blast of cool water hits my bare legs. I reach over and grab the steering wheel, veering it to the left so that a
sprinkler on the other side of the path just skims across his ankles.
“I’m driving! You totally can’t do that!” His laughter, low and deep, says otherwise. I push harder on the steering wheel and even though I know he’s much stronger than me, he must be playing fair because the cart dodges to the left again. A sprinkler hits the entire side of the cart, so that both Todd and Landon are blasted across their arms and shoulders.
Landon grins at me, a smile of pure, unadulterated glee. The kind I would trust if I didn’t know better. He turns us back onto the path, and I glance around, looking for the next sprinkler. But just as I see it, Landon hits the brakes, and the cart skids to a stop.
I realize a heartbeat too late what he’s up to.
“Ahhhh!”
Bailey and I shriek and leap from the cart because he’s stopped at the perfect spot so that we’re being drenched in a torrential blast of water.
I dash around the cart and hide on the other side, shoving Landon with all my might into the passenger seat, but he doesn’t move.
Instead, he stands and, before I can turn and run, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. I have no time to react, struggle, grab the cart—anything, really—before he’s jogging across the lawn and sprinklers are hitting me on all sides.
“Okay, okay, okay! Put me down!” I’m breathless with laughter, soaked to the bone, and …
Loving every minute.
He gently sets me back on my feet. I kick off my flip-flops and enjoy the cool, moist grass against my skin. “I bet I can beat
you to the sand trap,” I say, pointing to the peanut-shaped white sand just down the hill. The entire hillside is lined with sprinklers, and we’ll be soaked all over again before we reach the trap.
“You’re on,” he says, kicking off one flip-flop.
Before the second one is off his foot, I sprint away, half-heartedly dodging the sprinklers as I go, squealing when one spins around and blasts the backs of my legs.
The grass is slick and I slow as I descend toward the sand trap, but then there’s Landon, running by.
No, not running past me. He grabs my hand and we’re running down the slope together, the night air cool against my wet skin and clothes. Behind us, Todd and Bailey are laughing, jumping through the sprinklers as if this was the plan all along.
We reach the sand and half slide to a stop. I’m breathing hard and so is Landon—his T-shirt, now drenched, clings to every muscle and curve of his shoulders. My own T-shirt is practically see-through, to the point that Landon must be able to see the dark outline of my black bra, but I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed.
We face each other, and the smile slips from my face as I see the intensity of his look. He steps toward me, cupping his hands around the back of my neck, and pulls me to him.
I’m breathless as our lips touch for the first time in nearly a year. His are soft, warm, so perfect, that I find myself leaning into it, the world around us disappearing. It’s him and me and the night and nothing more.
And then the fireworks explode above us.
We pull apart, just enough so that he can wrap his arm
around me, and we look up at the now-dark night sky as red and white explode into a star-shaped formation.
“Let’s find a patch of dry grass,” he says, his breath hot as he talks, so close to my skin. I nod.
He leads me away from the sand trap until we’re on the other side, where the sprinklers aren’t currently running. They’ll probably turn on next, but I can’t bring myself to care.
We find a soft flat spot and stretch out side by side. He puts his arm under my head, and I cradle into him, staring up at the sky as a flash of green spirals across the night. I want the moment to last forever. I want to fall asleep out here, in his arms, staring at the night sky.
In this instant, everything clarifies.
I want desperately for him to fall in love with me, for this relationship to last beyond the fall, beyond the few short weeks it did last year.
I want forever.
“It’s beautiful,” I say after a few heartbeats of silence.
“Yeah. It’s better than I imagined,” he says.
And as purple explodes above him, I wonder if he means the fireworks or being with me.
I’m in Landon’s cabin, waiting as he showers, because he invited me over to watch a horror movie. Together. Alone. Like we did last year. Except last year it was always some generic block-buster we borrowed from Bailey’s collection, and we always ended up making out.
It feels weird, being in here waiting for him. Like it’s too intimate, listening to the water run and imagining …
No, not imagining. I shake my head. I refuse to imagine.
“Danger, Will Robinson,”
I think,
imagining Landon naked will only
…
Dang it, I’m thinking about it again.
I sit up straighter and cross my legs at the ankle, as if proper posture will clean out my thoughts too. I glance around the room, taking in the standard-issue couch, small fridge, and cupboards. The only personal effects are the Seahawks throw blanket tossed over the couch, a magazine about classic cars and
trucks on the coffee table, and a small stack of DVDs on top of the TV.
His phone chirps, and I lean over to where it sits on the side table. It’s a text from his sister, something about a soccer game.
But seeing it gives me an idea. My feelings for Landon might have shifted, but this little prank war of ours—except for the disastrous buckle incident—is too fun to give up. I pick up the phone as I realize he hasn’t locked the screen. I tap on the Facebook icon and the empty white box pops up, the cursor blinking at me. Then I close the app and grab an image off of Google, swapping out his main header image for one of six kittens in a little basket with flowers. Then I find every Justin Bieber–centric fan page possible in under thirty seconds, liking all of them, and changing his religion from blank to “Belieber.”
I pause, listening to the running water. May as well keep rolling. I open his contacts list and start editing. Mom becomes Effie Trinket; Mike, his buddy from auto shop, is turned into Peeta Mellark; his sisters become Katniss and Primrose; some random girl named Trina becomes Tribute From District 7. By the time I’m done, every number on the list has become a character from
The Hunger Games
.
But when I scroll further and see Natalie, my heart skips a beat.
Natalie. She’s still in his contact list.
I’m positive they’re not together anymore—I heard she was dating this guy named Barrett, from White River High School, but I don’t think it matters. I know how he worked last time. He enjoyed our fun little summer fling. I fell hard, and he moved on.
Somehow it has to be different this time.
So I change her contact name to Seneca Crane, then put the
phone back to sleep and set it on the little table. Landon steps out of the bathroom a moment later.
“Sorry that took so long,” he says.
“Not a problem,” I say. “I didn’t even notice.”
“Great. I have an idea,” he says, rubbing the towel over his hair before tossing it onto a nearby chair. He’s now wearing shorts and no shirt and I force myself to look at his face and nowhere else.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. What do you say we ditch the movie idea and just sneak into the spa?”
“Why would we do that?”
“Hot tub. Duh.”
Hot tub. Hot. Oy, I should not be nodding my head. “Yeah, that sounds … kinda amazing. I’m totally sore from riding.”
“Awesome.” He picks up the remote and clicks the TV off.
“Let me grab us some towels and put on my swim trunks. I’ll meet you over at your cabin in a few minutes,” he says.
“Sounds good,” I say, heading out the door. Once out of sight of his windows, I grin. I have another idea. I hustle down the path, winding around to my cabin. I stop at the door and tap twice, just in case Bailey’s inside doing her own little dirty deeds, but she hollers, “Come in.”
She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, her iPad in her lap. “Hey,” she says without looking up. I can tell even from the side, however, that she’s wearing some kind of goopy purple mask.
“What is that crap?” I ask, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water.
“Something my mom sent in a care package. A deep moisturizing, clarifying mask or something.”
“Ahh.” I stare a moment longer.
“Why are you back so early?” She taps away at the screen, and something explodes in a dazzling show of lights. She whispers
yesss
under her breath. She must be winning.
“I’m not back yet. Landon wants to sneak into the spa and use the hot tub.”
Her eyes finally snap up to meet mine. “Sexy.”
“Yeah. Huh. I guess,” I say, acting as if every thought I’ve had of him in the last sixty seconds can’t be summed up with that one word.
Sexy
. Yes.
She’s back to tapping at the screen. “Have you pranked him lately?”
“I used his phone while he was in the shower and changed all his contacts to the cast of
The Hunger Games
, so yeah.”
“Brilliant. But kind of … benign?”
“What makes you think I’m done yet?”
She quirks a brow, then slides the iPad off her lap and stands. “I’ve just decided that you are definitely wearing that new white bikini I bought in town.”
I picture the tiny little thing she picked out in the boutique we visited a few days ago. “By white bikini, you mean mass of tangled strings, right?”
“Something like that.” She disappears into her room.
And even though I know I should object, I follow.
A few minutes later, Landon and I are walking the path to the spa, hand in hand.
“So, zombies,” I say.
“Zombies?”
“Yeah. If they ever become a real thing, what do you think is the most likely cause? Virus or genetic mutation?”
“Easy. Virus.”
Dang. I was hoping he’d go with genetic mutation, because I actually agree that a virus makes more sense.
“No way,” I say. “With all the genetically engineered crap these days, mutation is way more likely.”
“With all the genetically engineered crap? What about viruses? Every time we turn around there’s another bird flu or swine flu and another rushed vaccine to battle it.”
“Yeah, but you’re talking about changing the very essence of humanity, not giving them the flu. I mean, rotting flesh, scrambled brains? That’s got to be genetic.”
“Yeah? And how exactly do you think we spontaneously mutate?”
I shrug. “People are already trying to clone themselves or create designer babies. It’s only a matter of time before one goes wrong, but since it’s a
baby
, they won’t kill it off.”
“So you think a single baby is going to start the zombie apocalypse.”
“I didn’t say anything about the apocalypse. Just the existence of a zombie,” I say as we approach the back side of the spa. “Huh. I forgot about those prongy things,” I say, pointing to the teeth at the top of the swooping iron fence.
“There aren’t any at the top of the gates,” he says, leading me down the fence line to a pair of gates with pretty iron ivy twirling around the slats. The decor belongs at a winery, but whatever. “And we’re tabling this zombie convo, but I’m not letting you off the hook. Your argument is weak.”
“Oh, whatever! You just can’t admit you’re wrong.”
He shakes his head. “Not true. And anyway, let me boost you over.”
“Um, okay.” I eyeball the gate. “But are you sending me first because it’s really a ploy to be sure that if there is a laser-guided security system, I’m the one who trips it?”
He snorts. “This isn’t a casino or a bank vault or something.”
“But they could still have security in place, right?” God I am being such a chicken right now.
“Didn’t you ask Bailey this? Or get her key?”
“It didn’t occur to me until now. But I’ve opened the spa with her before and we never turned off any kind of alarm, so …”
“Okay then. Here.” He squats. “Step on my leg and then into my hands, and I’ll push you over. Then you can unlatch the gate.”
“Right.” I take a deep breath and then grab hold of the iron slats, stepping up onto his knee with my right foot, then into his interlaced hands with my left foot, and then he pushes me up over the gate.
And then I’m dropping onto my feet inside the spa. I pause and survey my surroundings, making sure there isn’t a camera I’d never noticed or the blare of a horn. But nothing.
I turn around and hit the latch on the gate.
“See? Easy.” He walks in, and I forget to step back to give him space, and then we’re inches apart. He leans down and kisses me. I close my eyes until I hear the clang of the gate behind him. He’d reached back and shut it while I was distracted.