Where You Are Read Free

a slight nod. “I was wrong. I just… didn’t know it yet.” Her eyes fill and her voice is uneven. “I know that’s not good enough.”
    Fingers below her chin, I tip her face up so I can look into her eyes. “It’s the truth, so it’s good enough. Did you… love him?”
    Sniffling, she shakes her head, setting a finger over my lips. “Nuh-uh,” she says. “It’s my turn.” When I frown, she laughs, and a tear escapes the corner of her eye. She dashes it away with the back of her hand. “But no, I didn’t.”
    Squashing the urge to beat my chest like a Neanderthal, I pull her closer and inhale her scent, so familiar, even these months later. My voice drops. “Can I kiss you now?”
    Her expression turns coy. “Graham, that’s three questions in a row. I’m starting to think you don’t understand the concept of taking turns.”
    To hell with questions. We can talk on the phone. I can’t kiss her long-distance. “Oh, I’ll give you your turn, Emma.” Closing the small space between us, I slide my hand behind her neck and touch my lips to hers. She presses closer—warm lips, sweet breath, soft fingertips drifting down the side of my face as we kiss.
    Up to this point, we’ve been ignoring the small number of fellow passengers entering and exiting as we move down the line, stopping every few minutes. And then the train squeals to a stop, and three dozen loud, matching-t-shirt-wearing middle schoolers and their harried chaperones crowd into our car. A small pack of girls stare at Emma and me unabashedly, like we’re on a screen and not real people. Whispering behind their hands, their eyes wide, their attention swings between us and the group of boys who plop onto the adjacent seat and proceed to make fart noises with a weirdly impressive array of body parts.
    So much for that kiss.
    *** *** ***
    Emma
    I thought of Graham a dozen times since we arrived in New York, chiding myself when my focus lingered on some tall, dark-haired guy standing hands-in-pockets at a deli counter, or crossing quickly at an intersection, or smoking in a courtyard.
    Graham quit smoking months ago, of course.
    More to the point, though—what was the likelihood I’d just happen upon Graham in a city this enormous? I felt silly for even considering it a possibility. And then—there he was, sitting in a coffee shop on MacDougal. With his daughter.
     “So, Cara is four?” I ask, taking my turn.
    “She’ll actually be four in a couple of months,” he says, leaning close, his breath warm in my ear. “Right after my birthday.”
    “Landon is so immature ,” one of the girls across the aisle declares to the others. They all nod and level disdainful looks on the boy responsible for the majority of rude noises.
    “What’d I do?” he says, palms up. “ What ?”
    One of the other boys offers, “Bitches, man,” and a fist bump in consolation, and they all howl with laughter while the girls huff and refuse to look openly at them again.
    Graham and I stare at each other, our eyes tearing and lips compressed in an effort to remain outwardly indifferent. “I would be willing to swear I was never a preteen boy,” he says, rolling his eyes.
    “That sounds like denial.”
    “Yeah, well, that’s my story.” His eyes dance. “Next question: Are you seeing anyone now?”
    Emily set me up with several guys during the past few months—dinner, movies, ballet, bowling. Each one was perfectly nice, but I didn’t feel a connection with any of them. Then, during the community theatre production of It’s a Wonderful Life over the holidays, I met Marcus. He’d already been accepted early-decision to Pace, and was elated at the possibility of us both starting college in New York in the fall. Since December, we’ve been out multiple times. I saw him last weekend. We’re supposed to hang out tonight when I get home. And… I agreed to go to his small private school’s prom next weekend.
    “Hmm. Not the quick refusal I was