Jo
"I DIDN'T KNOW you had a pick-up truck," I say once we get to the drive-in theatre while he parks next to a blue sports car. The interior of the truck is clean and organized but the fading paint and the vintage stereo makes me realize that it's old.
"You don't know anything about me," he says and pauses to give me a look. "Which is why we're doing this."
"I'm certain I know some things about you."
He raises his brows. "Like what?"
"Um, you're a womanizer and you think everyone has a crush on you," I reply, giving him a look of my own.
A faint smirk plays around his lips. "Fair enough but not entirely true," he turns off the ignition and gets out of the car. He closes the door and slaps it twice. "Be right back."
I turn around in the chair and look out the window. About a dozen and a half cars are parked behind us while a shadow dances across the huge white screen. A couple of people are lying on the hoods of their car while most of them remain seated inside. About five people linger around the snack stalls and when I don't see Flynn, I assume he's at the back of the truck doing whatever he's doing.
I face forward and open the cabinet in front of me and I'm surprised when I see the number of CDs stacked together in a pile. I leaf through them and then I realize that they are a mix of Elton John, Beethoven, The Beatles and an 80's rock band I didn't know existed. There's also an album sitting right next to it, but before I'm able to reach for it, Flynn raps my side of the truck and gestures for me to come down.
I get out of the car and stretch my arms as I stare at the sky. It's a little past eight o' clock so it's pitch black but the number of stars illuminating the sky makes it picture perfect. Inwardly I'm relieved because I'd rather sit here with Flynn than go home to answer mum's flurry of questions concerning how it went with Drew. I follow Flynn to the back of the truck and I'm impressed when I see it covered in blankets and a little more than half a dozen funnily shaped pillows. He climbs onto the platform and sticks out a hand.
"Nice job," I say, taking his hand and climbing onto it.
He shrugs, like he's heard this several times. "I'm a natural."
"Yeah, right." I roll my eyes and sink down on the incredibly soft floor layered with multiple blankets that almost make it seem like a bed. I sit upright and grab the baby whale pillow before turning to Flynn. He sits next to meânot too far and not too closeâand then, he hands me a bucket of caramel coated popcorn and a vanilla milkshake.
"Merci," I place the baby whale between us and balance the snacks on my legs. "So when'd you get the truck?"
He sucks from the straw in his milkshake and licks his lips. "It's my dad's," he says. "I mean, it used to be his until he stopped driving so it's kinda mine now. Take it out from time to time."
"Why'd he stop driving?"
"He enlisted when I was three. They were ambushed in Afghanistan and he got wounded in action. Paralyzed from his waist down. Once in a while, he still has nightmares about it."
I frown, remorse sticking to me like a second skin. "I'm sorry."
He shrugs and lifts his gaze to the white screen. The opening credits are being projected on it already which means it has started. "It's okay."
I try to relate to him. "My grandfather was also in the army," I say and he turns his head to me.
"Yeah?"
I nod. "He was MIA for about three years and then, when they found him, he didn't make it. I never met him though," I pause and then I chuckle. "But you'd wish you did if you listened to my grandma rave about him every night at dinner."
Flynn smiles and leans further into the pillow behind his head. "Sounds like a great guy."
I take some popcorn into my mouth just as The Princess Bride begins to play. "I've never seen this before."
"I've seen it a thousand times."
I raise my brows at him. "Why'd you get tickets to a movie you've seen a thousand times?"
"It's Ellie's favorite movie," he replies. "She makes me rewatch it with her each time it's shown in the cinema. In her words, 'Westley is too die for'," he imitates her in a bored tone and adds emphasis to her words with an exaggerated air-quote. "Plus, it's not bad so I can tolerate it or else, she'll have my head."
I smile. "Charming."
"Real charming."
"You wanna tell me about her?"
He runs a hand across his jaw while he stares at the screen. "Well, she's smart, she's better than me at English Lit," he turns to me and grins. "She's beautiful, like my mum, a little too mature for her age and sometimes she's a brat. Seventy percent of the time, I want to stick her head down a toilet but I can't do that because she's my best friend and I'd die of guilt and probably bad odor."
My best friend. I wish I could say the same about my brother.
I must have communicated my thoughts in words because he looks away from the screen and looks at me.
"Yeah," he says. "It didn't seem like that earlier today."
I twirl the drink around with my straw. "Drew and IâI don't know, we used to be close, so close. We used to tell each other everything and nothing and then my dad left," I place the straw in my mouth and suck before watching the characters on the screen. Flynn is quiet beside me but I can feel his eyes on my face. "And when my dad left, it wasn't the same anymore. It was bearable for the first year and then, we just started to drift apart," I sigh. "I barely even know him anymore." I add quietly.
He sinks down on the blankets, so that he's lying down now and then he stares at the sky. "That must suck."
It's a little bit quiet after that. Flynn just lies there, staring at the sky while I divert my attention to the movie and absentmindedly play with the baby whale.
"What's it like?" He asks after a few moments pass and I turn to him.
"What's what like?"
"Dealing with diabetes," he says carefully like he's trying not to offend me. "Injecting yourself with insulin and stuff."
I shrug. "It's way more than just injecting myself with insulin," I explain and think of better ways to express myself. "A lot of things come with it. Carb counting, always being careful, regularly checking your blood sugar, constantly wallowing in anxiety when you try to remember if you'd taken too much insulin or taken too less, random strangers assuming they can dictate what you can eat and what you can't, consuming less of some of your best foods especially if you want to live and all.
"When I get a low or a high, I feel like I've failed. In all ramifications, even though it can't be helped sometimes. It's distasteful, like a bad grade or an odd number but it's something I've learnt to live with," I straighten my spine against the wall of the truck. "Diabetes is a part of me as much as I'm a part of it. There's absolutely nothing I can do about it and even though I've been living with it for ten years now, it still sucks to think about."
He looks at me. "I'm sorry. That sounds difficult."
I nod. "It does but y'know, when it becomes a part of you, you'd barely notice the difficulties that come with it. It becomes a routine. It becomes something so basic and necessary, just like breathing."
"Sometimes it's hard to breathe, Jo."
I don't meet his gaze, instead I look down at my empty milkshake bottle and rattle it because if anyone has a firsthand knowledge of that fact, it's definitely me. I can't concentrate on the movie anymore, so I drop the empty cup and sigh inwardly.
Flynn passes me his cup which is still half-full and I take it gratefully.
"Thanks," I murmur quietly as I stick the straw in my mouth. "You told me one of your tattoos meant 'I can't breathe'. What was that about?"
He remains still on the layers of blankets and I almost think he doesn't hear me. The night is pitch black now and the only sounds apart from the echoed laughter from the movie are chirping of crickets, a distant train whistle and a silent flutter of fireflies dancing around.
"Things were a bit difficult when my dad returned home without walking legs. I was four, I can't remember much but he would scream every night and wake us all up," he hesitates but continues anyway. "I'd walk to their bedroom and see him thrashing around on the bed and calling for people I had no knowledge of. Mum said it wasn't unusual for veterans to have ptsd so he tried therapy. It wasn't exactly working because one night, he'd mistaken mum for an enemy and punched her across the face."
I swallow but I don't say a word. A lot of emotions hit me at once and I don't want him to stop talking.
"When he'd found out what he did in the morning, he hated himself so much he wanted to die. My mum knew it wasn't intentional but he didn't want any excuse. He didn't want any explanations. He thought separating until he healed would be good but she didn't want that. She took him to another shrink and he advised him to focus all his pent up aggression on something else. An activity. Anything. At first, it was drawing. Making out buildings out of nothing but that wasn't enough. So one day, he looked at me and said, 'I'm going to teach you how to swim' and that was how it started." He stops to take a deep breath and I sink further into the pillows until I'm lying down next to him, the movie long forgotten.
"And it was good. Mum practiced in the water with me and when I was good enough to swim on my own, he taught me all he could without being able to join me. He pushed me and sometimes he'd take out his aggression on relentless hours of swimming but it felt good anyway," he looks at me. "Swimming was everything to me, Jo. My mum actually nicknamed me after a fish because I preferred spending time in the water than doing anything else," he smiles. "But after it happened, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't swim. The water was no longer home to me. It became my enemy. My fear."
It.
I have no idea what 'it' is, but I'm assuming it's related to the scar I saw on his shoulder back at debate club. He has told me a lot about himself within ten minutes than in the few months I've been acquainted with him and I don't want to push him beyond his comfort zone. Yet, I'm so curious as to what 'it' is that caused him to stop swimming.
"Is 'it' related to the scar on your shoulder?"
His eyes harden slightly under the dim lighting reflecting from the screen. "Yes."
I don't ask anymore questions pertaining to swimming. If the light tremor underneath his voice indicates anything, it's clearly not something he wants to talk about right now. I can only assume it was a swimming accident or something like that.
I roll slightly and stare at the sky, thinking of how to lighten the mood. "We never really finished the game the other day."
Even without looking at him, I know he's smiling already. "Right? You were too busy trying to get me naked."
I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm not quite sure that's how it went."
He ignores me and asks a question. "How many people have you kissed?"
I blush and avoid his gaze. "A lot actually." I say not wanting to seem inexperienced or anything.
He laughs. "Oh yeah?"
"Fine. Two." One silly truth or dare in a tween summer camp and Craig. Repeatedly. "Have you ever been in love?"
He hums quietly and places an arm under his head even though there's a pillow right underneath. His bicep flexes out of his short sleeved shirt and he purses his lips in a thin line. "I'm not sure. How do you know when you're in love with someone?"
"You just know, I guess," I say. "You think about the person before you sleep and when you wake up, they're always on your mind, you always want them to be happy. You know, stuff like that."
He turns his head to me. "Were you in love with Craig?"
"I was. I don't know, I think I was. I really did like him a lot." I look at him and find him staring at me. "And he knew that."
"Well, if that's what love is, I'm sure I've been in love with someone before."
"Who?"
"Selena Gomez. When I was 14."
I smile. "Fair enough."
"Wildest thing you've done to get someone's attention?"
"Agreeing to fake date an infamous womanizer."
He grins widely, dimples sinking into his cheeks. "Isn't that fun?"
"I think you and I have different interpretations of fun," I look away from his dimples and ask, "Any hobbies?"
"This might sound a little weird but I like making greeting cards or any cards in general."
"That explains why you're so good at it," I say, remembering his idea of a publicity stunt.
"I guess," he says animatedly. "I also like playing the guitar and sketching, every once in a while. My mum has a thing for music so she plays the cello when she's less busy while my sister plays the piano."
I've seen him with a sketchpad once but the guitar is new information. "That's kind of hot, Cauley."
"I don't know." The moonlight reflects on his face, so the pink tinge on his cheeks doesn't go unnoticed. "I haven't played in a while," he tells me. "What else do you love doing apart from writing?"
I sigh dramatically. "Eating, sleeping and stuff like that. Nothing extraordinary. If you were to change anything about yourself, what would it be?"
He scrunches his nose cutely and tries to think about it. "I don't think I'd change anything. Would you change anything?"
"A lot," I murmur to myself but he doesn't hear me so I just shake my head in response. "What are your plans for college?"
"I don't have one," he shrugs dismissively.
"You don't plan on going to college?"
"I don't know, I used to. I had a scholarship and then I didn't. So that's that." He finishes. "You?"
I look at him. His eyes look distant and an emotion flashes through his eyes as quickly as it leaves. "Stanford, hopefully. And then medical school and every other thing that comes with becoming a doctor. By the time I'm 28 or 30, I should be wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around my neck."
"Why do you want to be a doctor?"
"As cliche as it sounds, I really just want to save lives. Ever since my diagnosis, I've felt obligated to help other people battling with some kind of illness or the other." And also because my dad couldn't be one.
He looks impressed. Or is it something else? I don't know. But he looks at me like I've said something really amazing and it makes my face heat up. "What's that look for?"
"Nothing, I just think that's amazing. Seems like you have your life planned out already."
"Life doesn't always work out the way we plan."
"Doesn't matter though. I know you can do it. You're smart, beautiful," he shrugs. "I've got faith in you."
You're smart, beautiful, I've got faith in you. Geez. My pulse quickens and the distance between us is closer than it was in the beginning. I roll away and then I remind myself that the person I have a crush on, is Daniel Corrigan.
I roll my eyes nonchalantly like his words didn't settle at an intimate part of my heart and then I reach for my half-empty bucket of popcorn.
"Favorite childhood memory?"
I chew and think, trying to filter out the good ones from the bad ones and then I smile genuinely. "Well, every year on my birthday after a party is thrown, my brother and I would gallivant around town to do something I wouldn't do on a normal day."
"Like what?"
"Climb a tree and then jump into a pile of leaves, eat a fruit directly from the tree, lay on the roof and steal hotdogs with a thread and a stick or a fishing rod from a food truck below," I laugh at the same time Flynn does. "Eat the spiciest ramen while walking on the street to see who would finish first without water, If it was raining, we'd dance under it, cannonball into the lake from a cliffâa low cliff cos I was still littleâand come home, soaked and happy and wait for the sun to rise. Best times of my life."
"I'm extremely jealous right now," he laughs and I shrug, unable to hide my smile.
"You have nothing to be jealous of anyway," I say, my smile quickly slipping. "We don't do any of that anymore."
"Jo, whenever you need someone to talk to, you can always interrupt my beauty sleep and call me at 1 a.m," he says very seriously. I snort because I can't help it. "If you need to hold someone's hand, my hand's big enough for both of us."
"I could get cooties from holding your hand," I say equally as serious as him and he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration before flipping me off.
I laugh and look away before discreetly placing a hand on my racing heart when he laughs as well. A soft breeze travels past us and sends the usual rogue strands of hair into my face. I brush them away and then I hear a click of a camera.
I turn to him and he's typing away on his phone.
"Did you just take a picture of me?"
"Oh yeah," he nods. "I'm going to post it. That's the first step to get Daniel to confess his undying love for you that he didn't even know existed."
"Flynnâ"
"Too late," he quips. I grab his phone from his hand and see a slightly blurry image of myself on his Instagram. It's a little bit dark and my hair is all over my face, but I'm smiling and I'm brushing them away with my eyes closed. He's captioned it with a single two hearts emoji and within seconds, comments are already rolling in. His phone is blowing up and shit, so is mine.
I toss him his and grab mine. Amanda, Cass and every other person in debate club, including those classmates of mine who I probably won't recognize if I see them have sent me texts.
"Debate club is going crazy," he laughs and I bite my lip unsurely, nerves coming to play at the unusual amount of attention I'm getting. He scrolls through his phone while I look through mine, hastily ignoring the texts.
Just then, Daniel's message comes rolling in.
Daniel: Hi Josephine.
I tap Flynn repeatedly, heat spreading across my cheeks. "Holy shit, he just texted me. He even got my name right."
Flynn smirks knowingly. "I knew he would." He drops his phone and stares at me with amusement.
"We got invited to a party tomorrow," he says, stretching his hand for a handshake. "You in?"
Shit, shit, shit.
My phone lights up again.
Daniel: You busy? Can I call?
I slide my palm into Flynn's, ignoring the tiny sparks that flow from his to mine and the way they fit together perfectly. "Fuck it, I'm in."