Allie Jo
I am squished so low in the gazebo I think my knees are going to bust. What is so interesting about that moon? It feels like Chase has been staring at it for hours. I can just make him out through the lattice.
Oh, my gosh, I need to pull my legs out, but I don’t dare because he might hear me. Streaks of pain race along my neck from tilting my head at a weird angle, but I hold this position. I am aware of everything—my heartbeat, my breathing, the crickets, the frogs. I feel like I did when I drank Mom’s coffee once; every single nerve throbs with energy. It’s kind of exciting.
Go, go, go! I can’t be crimped down like this for much longer. A caterpillar climbs onto my flip-flop and crawls over my toes. It tickles, but I don’t dare move.
Tara taps my shoulder and I almost yelp. Craning my head around, I glance at her and she gestures toward the pool, where Chase is slipping through the hotel door, back inside.
I bolt upright and shake my foot. The caterpillar goes flying. That’s practice for when he becomes a butterfly later.
“Whew!” I laugh and turn to Tara. “He didn’t see us! That was great.” It was her idea to hide from him.
She peers over the lawn, then gets up and sits on the bench, sopping wet. She’s wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday. I guess her mom didn’t pack a lot of outfits.
Even though it’s muggy outside, the springs are seventy-two degrees all year round. I touch her arm. “You must be freezing!” I say.
She seems to think about this as she rubs water droplets off her arms. “I’m not used to swimming without my coat.”
“Your coat?”
Her eyes widen for second. “I mean …” She laughs. “Perhaps I am cold!” Leaning her head, she drapes her hair to her side and twists it, wringing out the water. “And wet!”
“I’ll get you a towel!” I dash over to the cabinet and come back with a nice, fluffy towel.
She wraps it around herself like a cape. Even sopping wet, she could be a model—she’s that pretty. She dabs her face with the towel, then lowers her arm.
“I like it here,” she says.
“Me too,” I reply. “The gazebo and the garden room are tied for my favorite spots.”
“I mean, I like everything here.” Turning to me, she asks, “Have you enjoyed growing up in this place?”
“Oh, yeah!” The Meriwether is like my own little town, and I know all the villagers—Clay, Chef, the cooks, the housekeepers. My dad is like the mayor and my mom is the first lady. And don’t forget the privileges. “From my bedroom to the counter at The Meriwether’s ice cream parlor are two hundred and fifty-three steps.” I know this because I’ve had more than one occasion to count them. “I get blueberry pancakes every morning and everyone here knows me.” I give her some tidbits from the tour, not the whole spiel, of course, but just the stuff about the old days. “I love living here,” I say.
She takes it all in, everything I’ve just described. “It’s quite beautiful,” she says.
A warmth pours over me and settles into my heart. The Meriwether is part of me; it’s built into my bones. Hearing how she feels about it makes me like her even more.
As she pulls the towel off her shoulders, I can’t get over how graceful she is. And soaked. “Do you want to go in? You should probably change into something dry.”
I stand up, thinking she’s going to do the same, but she only watches me. I quickly sit back down again. “Um …”
The look she gives me is direct and open. I don’t know why, but it scares me a little.
“I don’t have anything dry,” she says.
I know she’s waiting for me to say something, but her words don’t make sense. My head tilts.
“I have no other clothes.”
I pull my head back and laugh a little, like I do when I’m nervous. “What?” Is she playing a joke on me? But when I look at her hard, I see she’s dead serious. “But you’re on vacation!”
Slowly, she shakes her head while staring directly at me. “I’m not on vacation, Allie Jo.” Her eyes gleam in the darkness.
“I ran away.”