Page 30 of The Strawberry Field
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”
“Smith Mountain. I’ve always wanted to go to the top at night.”
“If the gate’s open.”
We drove with the windows down. Sawyer found a radio station, let the wind tangle her hair. The image stayed with me, burned in like something I’d want to remember years from now.
We talked. Nothing heavy. Her mom didn’t let her buy junk food. My mom didn’t care what I bought as long as I cooked it. She had two parents. I had one, and barely that.
Tommy had a date. We both knew that. He’d probably never imagine we were together right now.
Sawyer stuck her hands out the window, air rushing past her fingers.“You’re a lot like Tommy,” she said.
I shook my head.“No. You are.”
She smiled, and it lit up the truck like moonlight.
“You’re smarter than you think, you know.”
At the top, we parked and walked out onto the overlook. I helped her up the rocks, careful to keep some space between us.
“Thank you,” she said, holding onto my hand.
“I don’t bite,” she teased.
“I know,” I said, but slipping my hand out of hers.
The lake shimmered below us, moonlight glinting off the surface like scattered glass.“Thank you,” she whispered.
We sat. Talked. She asked questions—about school, football, concussions, college. About my mom. About who I thought I might be someday.
And then, the question I wasn’t ready for: “When I’m older, do you think you could ever like me as more than a friend?”
I looked at her, and the weight of it sat between us.
“It wouldn’t be right,” I said.“Not now.”
“I know,” she said.“But it doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.”
Her honesty was sharp and soft all at once. It undid me.
She asked if we could still be friends.
I told her yes.
And I meant it.
She said,“When I’m sixteen, can we talk about it again?”
I smiled, shook my head.“Then I’ll be eighteen. You still won’t be.”
“People used to get married at sixteen,” she argued.
“Things aren’t like that anymore.”
We stared at the lake, the world quiet around us.
