Jay Asher - What Light

“We call this Garage Alley,” he says.

The further we move into the alley, the more the light from the lamppost fades. On either side, short driveways lead to garages. High wooden fences around the backyards keep out most light from the houses. I almost lose my balance in the gulley, but Caleb grabs my arm.

“It’s kind of spooky back here,” I say.

“I hope you’re ready,” he says, “because I am about to majorly disappoint you.” He tries to make his shadowy face look serious, but I can see a slight grin.

We stop where the alley meets his driveway, and he turns my shoulders toward the garage. The large metal door is mostly buried in the shadow of the roof’s overhang. He takes my hand and pulls me forward. A motion sensor above the door clicks on an attached light.

“My mom warned you that I’m terrible with surprises,” he says.

I push his shoulder. “You did not!”

He laughs. “Not on purpose! Not this time. I had to get bungee cords out of the garage, and my present was right there.”

“You ruined your mom’s surprise?”

“It was her fault!” he says. “It was right there! But I think you’ll be glad because now I can share it with you. So you won’t tell her, right?”

I can’t believe this. He is acting like such a little kid, which is far too cute to be annoying. “Just show me what it is,” I say.

The motion sensor light stays on, and Caleb walks to a control box mounted beside the garage door. He lifts a hinged plastic flap, which covers a pushbutton keypad.

“When we were little,” he says, his finger hovering over the first number, “every year I asked Santa for the same gift. A few of my friends had one and I was so jealous, but I never got one. After a while I gave up and stopped asking, and I guess everyone assumed I outgrew it. But I totally didn’t.”

His smile is radiant.

“Show it to me!” I say.

Caleb’s fingers tap-dance a four-digit code and then he closes the flap. He steps back and the garage door slowly rolls open. I’m pretty sure he didn’t ask for a convertible as a child, though that would make tonight very fun. When the door is halfway up, I duck to peek inside. Enough light creeps in that I can see… a trampoline? I collapse onto my knees laughing.

“Why is that funny?” Caleb says. “Jumping is fun!”

I look up at him, but he knows exactly why it’s hysterical. “Did you just say that? ‘Jumping is fun’? How old are you?”

“Mature enough not to care,” he says. When the door is all the way up, he enters the garage. “Come on.”

I look at the low wooden beams of the ceiling. “We can’t jump in there,” I say.

“Of course not. How old are you?” He grips one side of the trampoline and bends his knees. “Help me out.”

A few feet at a time, we carry the trampoline onto the driveway.

“Aren’t you worried your mom will hear?” I ask. For me, the giddiness on his face makes that possibility worth it. So much for teaching him the value of anticipation.

“It’s the holiday office party,” he says. “She won’t be home until late.”

“And Abby?”

“She went to a movie with a friend.” He steps on the heels of his shoes to pop them off and then springs onto the trampoline. Before I get my first shoe off he’s already leaping about like a goofy gazelle. “Stop stalling and get up here.”

I slip off my second shoe, lift myself onto the edge, and then swing my socked feet around. It only takes a few minutes and we develop a rhythm as we circle and laugh around each other. One goes up as the other comes down. He keeps bouncing higher to give me more spring and soon we’re catching enough air for Caleb to get fancy and do a backflip.

It’s amazing to see him so free and unburdened. Not that he’s always serious, but this feels different, like he’s recapturing something he lost.

Despite his pleading, I refuse to attempt a flip, and eventually we both get tired enough to take a break. We plop down onto our backs. The night sky is brilliant with stars. We’re both breathing heavily, with only our chests moving up and down, slower and slower. After a minute of near stillness, the light on the garage flicks off.

“Look at those stars,” Caleb says.

The driveway is dark and the night is so quiet. I can only hear our breathing, a few soft crickets in the ivy, and a bird in a distant neighbor’s tree. Then, from Caleb’s side, I hear a metal spring squeak.

Keeping still so the light stays off, I ask, “What are you doing?”

“Moving very, very slowly,” he says. “I want to hold your hand in the dark.”

I move my head as little and as slowly as possible to look down at my hand. Our silhouettes are dark against the even darker stretch of trampoline. His fingers sneak closer to mine. Still needing to catch my breath, I wait for his touch.

A blue spark shoots between us. I jerk to the side. “Ow!”

The light kicks on and Caleb laughs hysterically. “I am so sorry!”

“You’d better be sorry,” I say. “That wasn’t romantic at all!”

“You can shock me back,” he says. “That’s romantic, right?”

Still on my back, I rub my feet back and forth hard against the trampoline, and then I reach over to his earlobe. Pzzt!

“Ah!” He grabs his ear, laughing. “That actually hurt!”

He pushes himself to his feet and then shuffles his socks across the surface of the trampoline in one big circle. I stand up and mirror his movements as we stare at each other.

“What, are we doing battle here?” I ask. “Bring it.”

“You bet we are.” He points a finger in front of him and lunges for me.

I duck to the side and zap his shoulder. “Twice! I got you twice.”

“All right, no more Mr. Nice Guy.”

I skip-jog to the other side of the trampoline, but he’s right behind me, his fingers reaching out. Watching his feet closely, I do a small hop to land just as he steps, fully knocking him off balance. He falls forward and I shock the back of his neck.

I throw my hands in the air. “Denied!”

Laid out, he looks up at me with an evil sneer. I glance around but there’s no escape on a trampoline. He does a quick hop to his knees and then his feet and tackles me. We bounce once and he twists so that I drop on top of him. The breath rushes out of me. His hands clasp behind my back, holding me tight. I raise my head enough to see his eyes, blow my hair out of his face, and we both laugh. Slowly, the laughing stops, our chests and stomachs breathing hard against each other.

He touches my cheek with his hand and guides me toward him. His lips are so soft against mine, sweetened with peppermint. I lean farther in and get lost kissing him. I slide off him to the mat and then he rolls himself on top of me. I wrap my arms around him and we kiss with more intensity. We pull back to catch our breaths and look into each other’s eyes.

There are so many things prickling in the back of my mind, threatening to take me out of this moment. But instead of worrying about anything, I close my eyes, lean forward, and allow myself to believe in us.

The drive back to the lot is mostly quiet. I find myself nearly hypnotized by Caleb’s keychain, swaying with our picture on Santa’s lap. If only this week would never end.

When he pulls into the lot and parks, he takes my hand. I look to the trailer, and a curtain in Mom and Dad’s room swings shut.

Caleb holds my hand tighter. “Thank you, Sierra.”

“For what?”

He smiles. “For bouncing on the trampoline with me.”

“Oh, my pleasure,” I say.

“And for making these past few weeks the best I’ve ever had.”

He leans over to kiss me, and once again I lose myself in his kiss. I trace my lips from his jaw to his ear and whisper, “Mine too.”

Pressing our cheeks together, listening to each other breathe, we don’t move. After next week, it will never be like this again. I want to hold this moment and imprint it on my heart so it never fades.

When I finally get out of the truck, I watch the taillights of his truck until they have long disappeared.

Dad walks up behind me. “That has to be the end, Sierra. I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”

I spin toward him.

He shakes his head. “It’s not the thing with his sister. Not just that. It’s everything.”

The warm and beautiful feeling I’ve experienced all evening bleeds out of me, replaced by a heavy dread. “I thought you were letting it go.”

“We’re leaving soon,” he says, “you know that. And you must know that you’ve been growing way too attached.”

I can’t find my voice or even the words to shout at him. Things were finally going right and he has to ruin that? No. I will not let him do this.

“What does Mom say?” I ask.

He turns slightly toward the trailer. “She doesn’t want you to get hurt, either.” When I don’t respond, he turns the rest of the way and begins to walk back to the cramped trailer that used to feel like home.

I turn toward the Christmas trees. Behind me, I can hear Dad’s boots shuffle up the metal steps and the door closing behind him. I can’t go in there. Not yet. So I walk into the trees, the needles scratching against my sleeves and pants. I sit down in the cool dirt where the outside lights can’t reach me.

I try to imagine myself back home, where these trees around me once grew, looking up at these same stars.

Back in the trailer, I barely sleep all night. When I first pulled open my curtains, the sun still hadn’t risen. I lay on my bed, looking out, watching the stars slowly begin to fade. The more they disappeared, the more lost I felt.

I decide to reach out to Rachel. We haven’t spoken since I missed her performance, but she knows me better than anyone, and I just need to tell her how I feel. I send her an apology text. I tell her I miss her. I tell her she would love Caleb but that my parents think I’m getting too close to him.

Eventually, she responds: Can I help?

I let out a deep breath and close my eyes, just so grateful to have Rachel in my life.

I tell her: I need a Christmas miracle.

In the long pause that follows, I watch the sun start to rise.

She answers: Give me two days.

Caleb shows up the next day with a big grin, carrying a package wrapped in Sunday comics and way too much tape. Behind him I can see Mom watching us. While visibly not thrilled, she stays with her customer.

“What’s that?” I ask, swallowing my fear of Dad returning from his lunch run. “I mean, besides an invitation to teach you how to wrap.”

He hands it to me. “There’s only one way to find out.”

The gift is somewhat floppy, and when I tear into the package I see why. It’s that silly knitted Christmas tree hat he wore the other day. “No, I think this belongs to you.”

“I know, but I saw how envious you were,” he says, unable to hide his smile. “I figured, your winters get much colder than ours.”

I bet he doesn’t think I’ll wear it, which is why I put it on immediately.

He pulls the sides down over my ears, and then leaves his hands there as he bends forward to kiss me. I let the kiss happen, but I keep my lips tight. When he doesn’t pull back, I have to.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t do that here.”