Lockers at our high school were sacred spaces: staff stayed out, allowing us creative freedom to decorate the interiors however we chose, asking only that we didn’t leave food overnight and that we cleaned them out at the end of every year. Girls taped up photos of friends and boyfriends, stored love notes and to-do lists, maybe a dried flower from prom, while guys hid a pinup or two behind their football practice or band rehearsal schedules.
I was one of the first at school. I woke up before my alarm in anticipation of meeting Nate for our usual morning run. I was nearly out the door when I remembered Nate left for Honduras yesterday. I even reached for my phone a few times, checking for messages from him. Of course, there were none. My morning felt strangely empty.
With almost an hour to spare before first bell rang, I took my time putting mementos up in my locker: a photo of Nate and me dressed up for last year’s Spring Fling, another of us at a poolside party. As I taped each picture to the metal walls, I was reminded of one more outing, one more event, one more party or date or kiss we’d shared. I supposed it was my own shade box.
Just as I was putting the finishing touches on my decorating, I heard my name. Haley Larkin, one of my best friends since grade school, was hurrying toward me, blond braid trailing behind her, canvas book satchel strapped across her chest. “Middie! Middie, we are seniors!” She grabbed my hands and twirled us in a circle in the center of the hallway. “Seniors! Whoo-hoo!”
I rolled my eyes, even as I laughed. “You did not just say ‘whoo-hoo.’”
“I did. And I’m doing it again. Whoo-hoo! Senior year!” Haley had a contagious smile. Her blue eyes dazzled and shone when she was happy, which was often. She was like a walking positive affirmation, spreading sunshine wherever she went. Except when she was on the softball diamond. Then she crushed everyone in her path. “This is going to be the best first day ever.”
“Our last first day,” I told her when she stopped spinning us. I went back to my locker to get my books for our first class.
“You make it sound so dire,” she drawled. Her eye caught the photos in my locker, and her smile twitched. “Do you think you can’t have any fun without him?”
“I think I can get along without my boyfriend for a year.”
A year? I gulped, swallowing my anxiety. I could do this. I had Haley and my friends and my classes and family and a million other things to keep me busy. A year would fly by before I knew it, just like Nate said.
“Of course you can! I’ll help you!” She tapped a finger against her chin and squinted as if she was thinking hard. “You know . . . there is a party on Saturday night.”
“Uh-huh.” I eyed her warily.
“Dr. Haley thinks a little beer pong is just the treatment you need.”
“Well, maybe . . .”
“Really?” Haley’s eyes lit up.
Nate and I didn’t go out much. We preferred to spend time in his parents’ rec room. Haley always understood, even if she wished we’d come along.
“Senior year kickoff party with my best friend!” She clapped with glee. “It’ll be amazing!”
Typically, kickoff parties involved gathering around some body of water—either a lake at the edge of town or someone’s backyard pool. There were the obligatory kegs, very little food, and lots of making out. Nate and I went to his last year, and it was okay. I couldn’t imagine this year’s would be much different.
The first bell rang. We had three minutes to get to class.
“Let’s do this. Hold it up.” Haley lifted her schedule from her satchel.
I grabbed mine from my locker and held it up to hers to compare. “Hmm . . . AP English? Is that it?”
She nodded. “All your classes are for nerds.”
I elbowed her with a smirk. “Shut up.”
Haley slammed my locker door closed for me. “Senior year, here we come!”
I glanced back at the hallway and saw students quickly filling up the wing: football players and cheerleaders in uniform, lost freshmen desperate for a friendly face, sophomores thrilled to no longer be freshmen. I closed my eyes and smelled someone’s breakfast—a fried egg sandwich—sweet coffee in a teacher’s travel mug, and a hint of bleach used to clean a locker.
I’d write it all down in a letter to Nate later.
“Middie, come in, please,” Mr. Ziegler said, raising his voice a bit over the ring of the last bell. He’d been my guidance counselor since my freshman year, although I rarely needed to see him. Today, however, we had to talk about my college applications.
Mr. Z’s cheeks were round and ruddy and he wore glasses perched on the end of his nose. He loved to travel, and his office was filled with souvenirs of his trips from around the world. Every summer he visited a different country, happily crossing one off his list when he returned.
He moved aside a pile of Italian language books for me to sit in a chair opposite him. “How’s the new year look?”
I resisted the urge to tell him it had only been one day, and an easy one at that. I rattled off my classes. “AP English, Spanish, and history, Calc 2, Honors Chem.”
He nodded, an impressed look on his face. “So, Lewis & Clark, is it?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got a campus tour scheduled for November.”
“Fine school. Anyplace else?”
I hesitated. “No. Not really.”
He leaned forward and I felt his stare. “Why not?”
“Because . . .” Nate is going there.
But I couldn’t say that. It sounded too . . . Mr. Z wouldn’t understand.
“I like it.” I’d only visited the campus once before with Nate. It was nice, a lush environment, not much different from our small town. In fact, it kind of was our small town, with pretty brick buildings, cafés, green lawns, and a decent football stadium. “I follow their dean on Twitter.” I held up my phone as if I needed to remind him what Twitter was.
He frowned. Maybe he did need to be reminded. “That’s all well and good, Middie. But it’s not a bad idea to have a second choice, or maybe even a third.”
My pulse quickened. “You don’t think I can get in? Is it my grades?”
“I just want you to consider other options. That’s all. It’s a big world out there.”
“Oh. Okay, sure.” But I didn’t need a second choice. I had only one. I picked up my books and started to slide off the chair. “Anything else, Mr. Z?”
He grinned, appreciating his nickname. “No worries. Go do your thing.” I could just imagine him thinking, Do your thing . . . That’s what the cool kids say, isn’t it? I smiled to myself as I closed the door to his office.
Hurrying off to my SAT prep class, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. A text. Miss u. Luv u. xo.
I smiled and felt my cheeks blush. Nate. Somehow he’d gotten a few characters off.
My fingers dashed over the keys: Miss u more. NM4eva.
A moment later, it buzzed again. By some miracle had Nate found a Wi-Fi connection in Central America?
Party! Whoo-hoo! the screen read.
Haley. I shook my head with a laugh. I sent one back to her: all exclamation points.
Nate found the community garden two years ago when he was searching for a volunteer gig that would look good on college applications. He wanted something outdoors since he loved spending his free time in fresh air. Naturally, he convinced me—and eventually others—to join him there.
We typically harvested one or two days each week and then spent a day boxing and delivering fresh greens and vegetables to people around town. While I was often nervous visiting private homes, Nate was the picture of confidence. Everyone knew who he was and looked forward to seeing him on their doorsteps.
Today was a harvesting day. When I arrived, I snapped a photo of the vegetables we were going to pick and sent it to Nate.
In the office, I waved to a couple of older, graying volunteers who were finished for the day and washing their hands at a wide stone sink.
One of them called to me over the running water. “You talked to Nate yet?”
“Not yet.”
“You tell him all us old ladies said hello, all right?”
“Will do.”
They giggled behind their hands like my little sister, Emma, would. Nate would be tickled knowing he had fans back home.
I grabbed a pair of canvas gloves that hung on a nail under a strip of tape with my name on it. Next to them were Nate’s. While mine were daintily flowered with purple and pink daisies, his were striped in blue and white. I ran my bare fingers over his gloves, as if I could take a little of him with me, before tying a tool belt around my waist and heading to the garden with a wicker basket.
I really hoped I could talk to him soon.
“No phones at the dinner table,” my dad said around a forkful of beets. One of the perks of the community garden was free vegetables, which my parents loved but Emma hated. She’d have preferred that I work at McDonald’s and bring them leftover McNuggets instead.
Tonight Mom had roasted the beets with basil and olive oil and served them alongside cold chicken. The night was so warm, we ate on the back patio under the stars, with citronella candles burning to keep the mosquitoes away. The moon was a mere sliver of white, but it shone brightly enough to light up our backyard.
“Dad, you know I’m waiting to talk to Nate.” I sighed and sat back in my chair.
My mother’s brow creased. “I thought you talked to him yesterday.”
I plucked a beet from my plate and popped it in my mouth. The juice left stains of red on my thumb and forefinger. “No. We were supposed to, but . . . it’s been weird. He’s busy, I guess.” I spun my phone on the table, hoping I could jar loose a call. All I got for my efforts was another text from Haley about the party on Friday night.
Emma glanced over my shoulder at the message and opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something. “Yes?” I dared her.
My little sister liked to poke her nose where it didn’t belong. She’d tattled on me before, on the rare night when I’d come in a few minutes past curfew.
Her gaze held mine and then flickered away. “It’s ringing.”
“What?”
She pointed at the table. “Your phone. It’s ringing.”
“My phone . . . It’s ringing!” I had put it on silent. I forgot! I snatched it off the table. “Nate!” His face was on the screen, calling me for a FaceTime chat. I pressed Accept.
My mother waved me away from the patio. “Go inside, please.”
With my phone held in front of me, I dashed indoors. On the screen, Nate made a face. “Stop running, Middie! You’re making me nauseous!”
I laughed but didn’t slow down until I’d gotten upstairs to my bedroom. I collapsed onto my bed and placed my phone on my knees. I wanted to smother the screen with kisses but settled for an air-peck near his lips.
“Where are you? How are you? Is it awful? Are you okay?” My words came out in a rush before I’d even given Nate a chance to say hello. I took a breath and smiled. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His grin was soft, his eyes tired. A hint of stubble dotted his chin. I wondered how long he’d been awake. The time difference between Oregon and Central America was only an hour. “I’m outside Tegucigalpa,” he said. “There are two other Americans with me, and we’re training with the doctors now. And learning Spanish.”
“But you speak Spanish!”
“It’s different here,” he said. “Like, I know the language, but then when I’m surrounded by it . . .” He rolled his eyes as if he were overwhelmed. “It’s not easy.” His smile slipped a little, betraying anxiety. My Nate? Worried?
“You’ll be fine,” I told him soothingly. “What about the training? Do you like the doctors?”
“They’re amazing!” He went on to tell me about the group of doctors and relief workers who were part of his team, about the other volunteers from the US and Canada. I didn’t catch all of it as the connection between our phones started to drop out. While Nate talked, I slowly rose from the bed and walked to the window, hoping to get more bars on my phone.
“. . . rainforest . . . ,” I heard. And then “. . . gangs . . .”
Gangs? We had talked about some of the dangers. In Central America there was a lot of unrest. Was he seeing signs of it already—before they had even left base camp?
“What? Nate, you’re breaking up.” His face pixilated on the screen and then righted itself when I leaned out the window and got more range. “Nate?”
“I’m here,” he said, waving a hand at me. “Middie?”
“I’m here too.” I waved back.
“This is probably the best it’s gonna be for a while,” he admitted with a frown. “The service is only going to get worse when we leave for the village.”
I felt my chest tighten. “What about texts?”
He held his phone out farther from his face and I saw his shoulders shrug. I strained to see behind him, to get a picture of where he was and what he was doing. I couldn’t see much but a bulletin board with a map on it and the corner of a metal bunk bed.
His image started to get funky again. No, no, no! I leaned farther out the window until my head and arms were free. I filled my lungs with clean late-summer air, as if I could suck it all in for Nate. There was so much I wanted to tell him: the SAT prep classes I was taking, his old-lady fans at the farm, the upcoming party. But it all paled in comparison to what Nate was doing and where he was doing it.
“Middie? I should go. I’m really tired and I have to get up early.”
“Oh, sure.” But I didn’t want him to leave—not yet. “Did you open the box?”
“The box? No, was I supposed to?”
“Get it! Open it! But just take one out, okay? One thing?” I waited while he rummaged in his backpack for the shade box I’d given him. When he came back to the phone, he held it up. “Reach your hand in and close your eyes,” I told him.
He did as I instructed, closing his eyes to me. He looked like he was sleeping with a smile on his face. “Can I open my eyes?” He peeled open one eye at me and squeezed the other shut.
“Yes! What do you have?” I watched with delight as he stared down below the screen at something I couldn’t see. He grinned in recognition. “What? Which is it?”
He held the fortune cookie paper up to the camera. The love of your life has always been right in front of you. “Your fortune,” he said. “From our anniversary dinner last year at Kung Pao.”
I laughed into my hands, blushing. “Yes! You remembered!”
He rolled his eyes. “Middie, I rem . . . thing.” His image was breaking up again. His voice skipped and cracked apart.
“Nate? Nate?”
“. . . iddie?”
“I miss you, Nate.”
“. . . iss . . . oo . . .” Miss you too, I filled in the blanks.
“I love you.” But it was too late. He was gone and I was staring at the words “Call Failed” across a black screen. Tomorrow, I told myself. We would talk again tomorrow night, and I would hear him tell me he loved me too.
On the edge of the windowsill, hands holding tightly to the sides of the wooden frame, I leaned back and found a constellation of stars high in the sky dotting the velvet blackness as if they’d fallen from a giant’s kaleidoscope. The brightest of them seemed close enough to touch; I just knew that if I could climb upon a ladder, I could pluck it from among its twinkly friends and hold it in my arms.
And wish upon it forever.