Erica George - Words Composed of Sea and Sky

I f Im being honest, Ive imagined countless scenarios in which one could meet the perfect boy in the most romantic way.

Take number seventeen on my list: the run-in at a bookshop among the shelves, stealing glances between the spines of classic books. Then, of course, theres number twelve: being caught unprepared in the rain, standing under the wilting pages of a newspaper that I just so happen to be carrying, and he comes to my rescue with an umbrella. And perhaps my personal favorite, number one: standing in line at The Good Bean, my local coffee shop, waiting forever to order my favorite muffin, the double mocha, only to find that the most charming stranger has ordered the last one. He realizes that this muffin holds the key to our lasting relationship and offers it to me.

I like the last one best because I get the cute boy and the muffin.

Narrowly escaping being plowed down by the cute boy in his navy-blue Audi convertible on my way to pick up my little sister from school was decidedly not on my list of ways to meet the perfect boy. Admittedly, I could have avoided the entire situation if my earbuds hadnt been in, and if I wasnt obsessing over the best way to broach a particularly touchy subject with my mom and stepdad once I got home.

I dont hear the car coming because my playlist is too loud, full of angsty, contemplative music to make me feel brave enough for when I get home. Its only when I notice one of the parents on the sidewalk in front of Bayberry Elementary School waving her arms in the air hysterically that I pull out one of my earbuds. The screeching of brakes behind me makes me whirl, catching a glimpse of the Audi swerving to avoid me, running up the curb, and careening into the fire hydrant. Frothy white water spews heavenward, glimmering in rainbows on its way back to the earth.

I remain in the middle of the street, gawking at the scene. The driver, a handsome boy with porcelain doll skin and curly chestnut hair, grips the cars steering wheel and hits his forehead against it dramatically.

You almost ran over my sister! Mellie, my sister, screams beside me, grabbing my hand with her free one and trying to maintain her grip with the other on what looks to be a papier-mch whale.

She was in the middle of the road! he yells, struggling to unbuckle the seat belt and open the door at the same time.

I stand there, blinking, trying to comprehend the fact that if I hadnt taken out my earbud at the last moment, I might be dead. The boy stands in front of me now, his fingers raking through his shiny hair, his eyes taking me in.

You okay? he asks.

Im okay, I assure him. Your car is decidedly less so.

He almost laughs until he turns to see his crumpled grill and bumper. Then his shoulders slouch and he curses under his breath. But youre okay, so thats He sighs. Thats whats important.

Ive never seen this boy before. He doesnt go to school with me, and he seems so much more mature, so much more collected, than boys my age. Maybe hes in college. Or maybe hes one of Highlands part-time residents, spending summers on Cape Cod and the rest of the year someplace else.

I havent exactly played out this scenario in my head, so everything I do from this point forward is just improvising. I reach around to my messenger bag, stuffed with end-of-the-year assignments, random poetry books that littered the bottom of my locker for most of the year, and my trusty notebook, still somewhat fresh and filled with blank pages ready for my summer musings.

You should take my information for when the police arrive. I scribble down what I think is important: my name and cell number. Then I offer it up to him, my hand lingering between us, his eyes studying the paper for a moment.

Thanks, he says, taking it with his pointer and middle finger and offering me a tight smile as he turns back to his car.

Sure thing.

Mack, says Mellie from beside me, yanking my hand and tightening her grip. Lets go. I have to show Mom my whale!

All right, Mellie. Chill out. I glance down in time to catch her rolling her eyes and swiping her bangs out of her face.

The boy remains focused on the Audi, the khaki-hued leather interior getting soaked by the hydrant and the gathering crowd of parents and teachers growing agitated over the fact that he was driving so recklessly around little kids. None of this seems to faze him.

Come on, Mack. Mellie pulls me down the street toward home.

When we get back to the house, Mom is already inside, unpacking groceries from her shopping trip and watching the little kitchen TV on mute. Mellie plows through the back door, unhooking her backpack from her shoulders and depositing it on one of the kitchen chairs. Hey, Mellie-bear, Mom says, leaning down and kissing the top of my sisters head. How was World Ocean Day?

Exquisite, says Mellie, emphasizing the t and shoving her right whale into Moms hands. Just like I knew it would be. All the teachers told me that the day wouldnt have gone as well if I werent so responsible and helpful.

Took the words right out of my mouth. Moms standing at the stove, monitoring a pot of water that starts to boil softly. And how was your day, Mack?

Fine, I reply.

Mack almost got run over, Mellie announces.

What? Moms face blanches, and she strides across the room, her hands suddenly on my shoulders. What happened?

Im fine. Mellies making it sound worse than it was. A guy swerved to avoid me and hit a fire hydrant.

Mack gave him her number.

Oh my God, Mellie, I say, sliding into a chair beside her. Dont you have some homework to do?

I only have a noun worksheet to do, says Mellie, her feet tucked up under her knees on the chair. I already finished my reading during workshop this morning.

This is it, I think. This is my chance. My sister has literally placed the opportunity at my feet. I take a deep breath. Speaking of workshops I start.