Someone has to know. I have to tell someone, or I feel I might die. The uncertainty about everything is overwhelming, and sometimes I think I have to tell people about you, even though you said I shouldn’t.
The first time I came upon you, I thought I was going crazy. But after you kept showing up, I couldn’t tell if you were real if I really was going crazy.
I know better know.
I remember it plain as day. I was walking into school, alone, as usual, when I saw you. You were standing by the door, leaning against the wall, and smoking a cigarette. As I came nearer, you beckoned me over, and I came, hesitantly.
You didn’t say anything. You just showed me my mom’s lost necklace, and then you were gone. What do you want with me? How did you get Mom’s necklace? It had been missing for over a year. I need answers, and I need them soon, or I’m afraid I’ll kill myself or something. Stop torturing me like this. What ever you want, just tell me, and I’m sure I’ll be able to give it to you, just leave me alone. Please.

Sometimes I think you show up inconveniently on purpose, like today at dinner. Why did you have to show up, sitting on our table, in the middle of my parents’ discussion? They were talking about politics, when you appeared on my plate, saying, “The time is near. I’ll show you soon, and you must decide.”
Mom and Dad didn’t notice you. I couldn’t answer, or they’d think I was crazy. I didn’t have time to, anyway, as you and your tan skin, blonde hair, plaid shirt, faded jeans, blue eyes, and smoking cigarette disappeared. I don’t know why you still come. Haven’t I proved useless to you?

I know why you come as I read what you wrote on my bathroom window. It’s red and sloppy, as if you were in a hurry. It says, “You’re wrong. You’re not useless. You gave me the necklace and a friend.” What’s that supposed to mean? If by “a friend”, you mean me, then you’re terribly wrong. I haven’t had a friend since second grade, and that one lasted about a month.
It reminds me of your second visit, again at school. This time you said something.
“You and I are both looking for something, and we both have it, we just don’t realize it yet,” you said. “I can feel it.” You were still smoking and you were wearing Mom’s necklace.
I pointed at it and asked, “Can I have it back?”
You replied with a crooked smile, “No. It reminds me of someone who was like you. I lost her.” I tried to make a grab for it, but you and it vanished, and I was left groping in air, while being laughed at by everyone in the cafeteria. Another reason I’m friendless.
I think I would know if you mean I really do have a friend. I think back to all the relations I’ve had in the past. Most of them are just kids I’ve sat with at lunch, or kids who’ve laughed at me. Nope. I definitely don’t have friends.

I pour Mac ‘n Cheese into the boiling pot of water, and suddenly your there. I drop the box in surprise.
“You okay, honey?” Mom asks. It’s a Saturday afternoon so she’s home from work and I’m not at school. Dad’s in California for business.
“I’m fine," I say retrieving the now empty box of noodles. I glare at you. “You made me lose my lunch.”
You shrug. “No I didn’t. I just delayed it.” I roll my eyes and head into the pantry for another box.
“I still don’t know what you want from me,” I say.
“Yes you do,” you say. “You just don’t realize it.”
I let the subject drop. You never answer my questions directly, so I don’t know why I ask you this one. “What’s your name? You never told me.”
You stare at me for a while, blue eyes burning into my brown ones. “Haven’t you guessed, Christina? I’m Jacob Furroway.” I stare at you. I don’t believe you. Do you expect me to believe you? Jacob Furroway was my great grandfather. I open my mouth, but you’re gone before I can say anything
You’ve visited me five times now, this one being the last.

The third time was at my house, the first time it was there. You said, “Christina, you need to choose; I need to choose, and we need each other’s help.” I had screamed, and Mom and Dad came rushing upstairs and burst into my room. As soon as the door opened, you vanished.
By then I knew that you weren’t human anymore. A ghost, spirit, coming to haunt me. It frightened me, and it still does, now more than ever since you revealed who you were. I couldn’t get to sleep that night.
I hate all this talk about choosing and having things we don’t realize we have. Why don’t you just come out and tell me what I have to choose and what I have? I’ve been tempted to tell Mom, but when I got up in the morning after your third visit, you had left a note on my mirror, much like the one explaining I truly wasn’t useless.
“Do not tell anyone of me. It would be bad for both of us.” It took all morning to get it off the reflective glass.

I lay awake until midnight. I can’t get to sleep; your announcement that you were Jacob Furroway shakes me so much. I had asked Dad about you, since you were his grandfather. He showed me pictures of you, both from right before you died and when you were still young. Your younger self looked so much like your ghost self I knew you weren’t lying.
And why would you be? You have no reason to lie to me. At least, none that I can think of. You’re dead, so there can’t be anything worse than that, right?
I turn around and you’re leaning against the door frame. You don’t have your cigarette this time. “Christina,” you say, “I have to show you something.” When I don’t get out of bed, you add, “Now. Get up. It’s important.” Reluctantly, I crawl out of bed and slide slippers on. You grab my hand jump out the window.
I scream, and a firm hand covers my mouth, blocking the sound. I’m surprised your hand is that solid.
As you release your grip on my mouth, I shut my eyes. The ground is rapidly approaching, and I would rather not see my end come.
But we never get that for. I’m suddenly aware that my hair isn’t flying out behind me. I cautiously open my eyes and gasp. We are high above the city, at airplane height, speeding along with gentle acceleration. I glance at you and see the corner of your mouth lift up. The closest you’ve come to a genuine smile.
Then you release my hand, and I’m still suspended in mid-air. I flap my arms widely, but I don’t necessarily have to. You look at me with mild interest and say, “Don’t worry; you won’t fall.”
I turn to you and respond with uncertainty, “How can you be sure?”
“I temporarily made you a ghost,” you respond as if it were the most casual thing in the world. I, for one, don’t think that it is, and immediately I feel my heart flutter inside my chest and my breathing quicken.
“What do you mean? Am I dead? Don’t make me dead!” And then you actually laugh. How could you laugh? If I really am still alive, I’m about to have a heart attack, and then I definitely won’t be.
“Don’t worry, Christina. I wouldn’t kill,” you say. Then your face darkens for a split second before you continue. “I just simply left your body in your room and took your spirit. It’s nothing to worry about,” you add hastily when you see my concerned face. “You can return easily by just climbing back inside your body.” I take deep breaths to calm down, then turn to you again. We are still moving forward, but I’m not entirely sure how.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I’m showing you one of the answers to your numerous questions.” I fall silent. Finally we reach a small cottage, tucked away by a stretch of woods and positioned at the end of a small lake.
“Are we going to take a swim, or something?” I say, attempting at a joke. Your face remains grim.
“Look in the upper window,” you instruct. I do as you say, but cautiously and reluctantly.
There is only one window in the upstairs, so at least you were straight forward. As I look inside, I see a boy, about my age, sitting on a bed and staring out the window. His eyes are big and green, and his sandy hair is sticking up in every way imaginable. He’s cute.
I turn to you as you say, “This is what you want, what you will have. But you need to make a decision, and I’m afraid it will not lengthen the time you know him.” And then you’re gone, and I sit up in bed, sweating and panting. The clock says one-fifteen.


I didn’t believe you. But he is here at school today. His name’s Eric Towling and his hair is still a mess. I try to stay away from him, but he’s in every one of my classes and he sits next to me at lunch.
“Hi,” he says hesitantly. “I’m Eric.”
“I’m Christina Furroway.” I don’t mention that I already know his name. “How’s your first day?”
He sighs and answers, “I like being homeschooled better. It was more comfortable.”
“Why’d you sit next to me?” I ask, suddenly baffled.
He shrugs. “I dunno. Everyone else seems… you seem more… nicer.” I take the compliment, even though it was delivered with bad grammar.
We spend the rest of lunch and recess talking about ourselves. I tell him about Mom’s lost necklace, which was presumably stolen after we moved into our house after Dad found a better job. I leave out everything involving you, including the fact that I already saw him last night. He tells me that he still lives in the cottage, but his parents couldn’t home school him anymore (he won’t say why) so he came here, which, surprisingly, is the closest school his parents could pay for.
“My dad has cancer,” he says abruptly, stopping in his slow walk. I stop next to him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I don’t know what else to say.
“Don’t be.” After a long and awkward silence, he said, “I don’t think there’s any hope.” I feel awful, but the only thing I can think is that I’m glad none of my parents have cancer.

Eric and I talk to each other every day, and I haven’t seen you in a while. I hope you finally decided to leave me alone, but I now that’s far-fetched.
Yesterday Eric surprised me and told me he wanted me to come over. What do I bring to someone’s house? Do I have to do anything? I’m not sure, but I accept the offer anyway. It feels good to be liked.
As Mom drives me there, I can’t imagine how he manages to go to school every day. The drive takes about half an hour.
Finally, we arrive, and I walk nervously to the front door. Mom’s right behind me; she wants to make sure I get in okay, like she can’t tell from the car. I just think she wants to make sure they’re nice people.
About a minute after I ring the doorbell, I hear feet running forward. A little girl about eight years old opens the door, smiles at us, then runs inside the house, yelling, “Eric! There’s this really pretty girl about fourteen years old waiting on the front step!” I blush. I’ve never been called pretty before.
Eric runs down the steps, murmuring on the way down, “Shut up, Sophie!” Louder, he says, “You can come in, Christina.” Obediently, I step over the threshold and take off my shoes. Mom follows, but keeps her boots on.
“Eric, who’s at the door?” a friendly voice says coming from what I can tell is the kitchen. Before Eric can answer, his mom comes out of the kitchen, hair pulled back in a messy bun, dirty towel draped over her shoulder. She looks strikingly like my mom – I guess all moms dress the same.
She smiles when she sees us and says, “Hello. You must be Christina. I’m Mrs. Towling.” She puts out her hand and I shake it. Turning to Mom, she says, “I’m Carol.”
“Suzy,” Mom replies. Then, as most moms would, they strike up a conversation, leaving Eric and me to hang back, feeling awkward.
He smiles at me and says, “I think we should go. Let’s go in the basement. All of the interesting stuff is there.”
“Okay,” I agree. “Buy Mom,” I interject, cutting her off mid-sentence.
She stops and gives me hug. “Bye Christina. See you at three.” And then she’s back with Mrs. Towling, discussing the best way to get out stains, while I’m nervously following Eric, his hair bobbing up in down as he rushes excitedly down stairs. I guess I’m not the only one who’s never had a friend over.

We play this game on his Xbox where you have to go around killing aliens. It seems pretty pointless, and I’m not that good at it. Actually, I suck.
“I don’t think this is my forte,” I say.
He lifts his eyebrow. “You don’t say.” On the big screen, a grenade explodes, killing us. “Why didn’t you kill him?” Eric complains. “Oh yeah. This isn’t your ‘forte’.”
“I’m sorry!” I exclaim. “It’s not my fault I suck!”
He laughs. “No,” he agrees, “it isn’t. Do you want to play something else?”
“Yes please.” He pauses the game and opens the cupboards under the TV to reveal a rather messy pile of movies, games, and game controllers. I search through the cupboard until I find something that looks more my speed. “Here,” I say, handing him the game.
“Lego Star Wars?” he says, raising an eyebrow again. “You know Sophie finished this in three days when she was five?”
“Well it sounds like Sophie doesn’t have a life,” I retort.
“No,” he agrees, “she doesn’t.” Without further delay, he ejects that crappy game we were playing and inserts Lego Star Wars. Turns out, I’m just as bad at that as I was at the other game. We quickly eliminate Xbox from our to-do list, and move on to just eating chips and talking.
“What would you do if you saw someone nobody else does?” I suddenly ask. You told me not to tell anyone about you, but you didn’t say anything about asking anybody about you.
Eric looks at me like I’m crazy. “What, you have?”
“No. I read a few books like that, and I was wondering, you know, if it could, like, actually happen.”
Eric shakes his head. “No, I’ve never seen anything unusual, except maybe a purple iguana barf.”
“Eww,” I say, screwing up my face.
“Yeah. It was pretty nasty.”
“Great. Now I’m going to have nightmares about purple iguanas barfing on me while I sit there helpless.”
Eric smiles. “Don’t worry; you won’t be the only one.”

“Why did you tell him?”
Your voice wakes me up. I groggily check the clock and notice with dismay that it’s two in the morning.
“I didn’t tell him. And plus, I have school in the morning.”
You seem to take no notice. “You didn’t tell him directly, but you’d be surprised how much beating around the bush will let people know.”

I groan. “Jacob, please –”

“Call me Grandpa.”

“Um, okay – Grandpa. Listen, you can talk to me in the morning, but I need to sleep so I can stay awake tomorrow in school, so if you’ll please leave me, I have sleeping to do.” I turn away from you and pull the covers over my head. Amazingly, you leave me alone.

Today I visited your grave. It’s this decrepit little thing in the middle of some woods within walking distance of my house, surrounded by other just as terrible looking gravestones as yours. I half expect you to be sitting on the tomb or something, but you’re not. It has the feel that most cemeteries do of hours of weeping and the presence of the bodies buried here, and it seems almost as if I am invading as I walk among the crumbling gravestones, stopping every once and a while to try to read the letters on the eroded stone. I finally get to yours.

Jacob Furroway
Rose Furroway
1919-2001
1921-1996

Their journey together was one filled with love, fun, and blessed family

“I see you’ve come to my garden.” I whirl around and find you standing a few feet behind me. “It’s more of my home as it is my garden, actually,” you continue. “Everything is so peaceful, don’t you think?”
I stare blankly at you.
You sigh and say, “I guess I should thank you.”
“What for?” I don’t remember doing anything for you.
“For helping me get what I want.”
“What do you want? You’re always going on about choosing and wanting, but you’ll never tell me! Why can’t you just tell me something directly for once?” All of my anger toward you finally comes out, and I find myself screaming the words.
You stare at me a moment, cigarette hanging out of the corner of your mouth, before you reply, “Okay. I’ll tell you some things, but other things are better left alone."
I throw my arms up in exasperation. “Fine. Go ahead and tell me, then.”
“I wanted to thank you,” you say, “because you were able to make Rose come back for me. You were able to make me feel alive.” You pull a clutched hand out of your pocket and, staring at it, you say, “I guess I should give you this. I took it away for awhile, but all thank yous should come along with a gift.” You hold out your hand and open it. Lying on your palm is Mom’s necklace, tiny red rose glittering in the sun. Speechless, I reach out and grab it. I caress the delicate pedals, holding it to my chest. It’s real. You slowly fade leaving the words, “Thank you for being my new Rose,” hanging in the air like some sweet fragrance.

“Mom, Mom! Look! I found your necklace!” I bound happily down the stairs, Mom’s necklace clasped in one hand, the other trailing the banister.
Mom’s concerned face peeks around the kitchen door. “What? Christina, that’s impossible. It’s been lost for over a year.” I hold up the necklace, and Mom’s face goes white. She takes it, holding it gingerly to her chest, then bursts out in tears.
“It’s been lost for so long… Christina, where did you find it?” she sobs.
“Under my mattress. I went to take the sheets off, and it fell out.” I know it’s a pretty lazy excuse, but it’s the only one I can think of.
Mom leans down and kisses the top of my head. “Thank you, honey. You don’t know how much this means to me.” I smile, then go back upstairs to finish making the bed. I didn’t know one necklace could mean so much.

“Dave, look what Christina found,” Mom says as a hello to Dad.
Dad’s face blanks and he says in obvious astonishment, “Where’d you get that?”
“Under my mattress,” I reply.
Mom places the small red rose in Dad’s outstretched hand, and he stares at it, still with his coat on and his work bag in the other hand. “It was my mother’s,” he says quietly. “She gave it to me and said, ‘When you find the right girl, Dave, this is hers.’ So I gave it to your mother when I asked to marry her instead of a ring.” He looks up at me. “I believe your great-grandfather gave it to your great-grandmother. Her name was Rose, you know.”
I know, I think. Out loud, I say, “It’s really pretty.”
Dad smiles and ruffles my hair. “I’ll make sure your husband gives you something as pretty as this.”

Eric and I get together for the rest of the month, and into the next one. He’s the only person my age that makes me happy.
Purple iguanas have become our motto. Every time we see each other, instead of saying hello, we say, “Purple iguanas”. I’m not even sure if there are such things as purple iguanas, but I go with it anyway.
Today we are sitting at lunch, the only two people to occupy our table. Eric turns to me and says, “What’s your middle name?”
The question takes me by surprise, but I say, “Rose.”
“Christina Rose Furroway. Pretty.”
“Thanks. What’s your middle name?”
“My full name goes something wonderfully sounding like, ‘Eric Jacob Towling’. It is a very handsome name, in my opinion. My parents did a good job.”
I laugh. “Indeed they did.” After a pause, I say, “Have you ever wanted to change your life?”
Eric snorts. “Well, yeah. I’ve thought more than once, ‘God, why can’t I have a different life? My dad has cancer, my only friend’s a girl – no offense – and I have an annoying monkey for a sister.’ Yeah, I’ve wanted to change my life.”
Another long pause.
Eric leans across the table. His green eyes meet mine, and he says in a quiet voice, “You’re pretty. Did you know that blond hair and brown eyes are a very attractive mix?”
I blush. “Eric, stop.”
He sits back again. “Sorry.” The rest of the lunch is in awkward silence.

I am beginning to hope you won’t show up again. You haven’t in a whole month and a half. Then you crush my dreams when I’m brushing my teeth.
“Hey, Blondie.” At first I think that you’re Eric, but then I see you in the mirror and I roll my eyes. “So, you’ve had what you want for a while now, and so have I. I think it’s time we split ways.”
I spit the toothpaste out of my mouth, rinse, then turn to look at you. “You could have just never come back, and I would have been equally happy.”
You smile and shake your head. “What’s the fun in that? Besides, all goodbyes should be formal.”
“You really like formal stuff, don’t you?” I say, thinking of your thank you.
“Why, I guess I do,” you say as if it just occurred to you. “Why, I’m so into having a formal goodbye, a sacrificed a cigarette for you.”
I roll my eyes again. “Spit it out.”
“I have come to say goodbye, Christina Rose Furroway, and I am deeply troubled to see you go. It has been an honor knowing you as a young lady instead of as a tiny baby. That’s what you were when I passed away, you know. In the short time I have known you, you have made a friend, learned not to scream when you see a ghost, and learned how to fly. Well, sort of. All these things would make any great-grandfather proud.” You take off the straw hat that you’re wearing and bow low to the ground. “Until next time, sweet child.” Straightening up, you put the hat back on your head and say as you start to fade, “By the way, it’s almost time to choose.”
“Wait!” I say. I still want to say goodbye to you. “Don’t you think I should have a chance to say a formal goodbye, too?”
Something flashes across your face, and then you are no longer transparent. “I guess you should.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. I have to ask you a question, first.”
“Shoot.”
“You said we both have to choose. I’m not even going to ask what I have to choose from, but I assume you already made your choice?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” you say smiling. “My choice was to help you with your choice. I don’t know if it worked or not, but we shall see. Now I’m waiting for a farewell speech, Christina.”
“Okay,” I say, confused. “Dear Grandpa. Even though I have only started seeing you a month ago – okay, that sounded wrong. Let me start over. I’m kind of making this up on the spot, so please forgive me.
“Dear Grandpa. The first time we met, you scared the crap out of me. I stand here before you today, saying with all my heart and in all sincerity, I will miss your little visits. Even if they did get on my nerves sometimes. Grandpa, I’ll miss you. Until next time, goodbye.”
I don’t realize I mean it until after I say it, and I find myself crying. You’re crying too, and you kneel down and hold your arms out. I run into them, surprised to find out they feel solid.
“Christina, my first and only great-granddaughter, it has been an honor knowing you,” you whisper into my ear. And then you’re gone, and I’m hugging myself, wishing that you were still here without me knowing why.

Eric’s not at school today. I ask the teachers where he is, but they just shake their heads and say they don’t know.
I think they know.
The day’s extremely boring, and I don’t know how I survived before he came. There’s nobody at lunch, nobody laughing at my impossibly stupid jokes, and no one to tell impossibly stupid jokes to. I was miserable.

When Mom picks me up after school, I immediately whip out my iPhone and text him.

WHERE WERE YOU?

Mom looks at me and then says, “So?” as if she asked me a question. She probably did.
“Sorry, what?” I say, putting my phone away.
“I asked how your day was,” Mom says.
“Oh. It was okay.” After a pause I say, “I don’t know how I survived without Eric.”
Mom purses her lips and says, keeping her eyes on the rode, “You heard, then?”
“Huh?”
Mom glances at me and says, “Never mind.” I don’t press the subject.

Eric replies about ten minutes after I send him the text with:

I WISH I HAD A DIFFERENT LIFE.

I know exactly what he means. I instantly reply:

I’M SO SORRY.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he calls me.
“I’m so sorry, Eric,” I say once I answer the phone.
“Don’t be sorry,” he answers. His voice keeps cracking and it sounds like he’s choking. In the background, I hear wailing. “I hate it when people are sorry for something they’re not responsible for. It’s stupid.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. “Sorry,” which sounds like a really stupid thing to say, but I can’t think of anything else to say. There’s a long, awkward pause, in which I keep inhaling, about to say something, only to close my mouth again. What do you say to someone whose father just died?
I little voice inside my head says, Don’t say anything about it. It’ll only make him feel worse. Change the subject. But another voice answers, Yeah, but won’t he want some comforting? The first voice says, You’ll be comforting him by talking to him, and it won’t matter what your talking to him about. The first voice wins.
“Will you be in school tomorrow?” I ask.
“Christina, tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“Oh,” I say, “right. Well, what about Monday?”
He sighs. “Yeah, I’ll probably be there Monday. Anything to get away from a weeping mother and a crying sister.”
“Do you want to come over to my house?” I offer.
He seems to brighten at the idea. “Sure. Let me ask my mom first.”
Oh, I think, right. That’s probably a good idea. Oops. While he’s asking his mom, I go down stairs to ask my mom.
“Hey Mom, can Eric come over?” I say, shouting from the hallway.
“It’s fine with me,” she yells back.
“Awesome. Thanks.” I bound back to my room and put the phone to my ear.
About a minute later, Eric comes back. “Yeah, I can. Just… can you promise something for me?”
“Sure, anything.”
“Please don’t bring this up. Ever. At least not today, okay?”
“Okay. See you later.”
“Bye.”
The connection ends. I hang up.
“Mom!” I yell. I don’t feel like getting off the bed. “Don’t mention anything to Eric about his dad, okay?”
Mom comes in the room and leans against the door frame. “Did he tell you not to mention it?” she asks. I nod. “Okay. You two have fun, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Just don’t have too much fun,” she adds, smiling and detaching herself from the wall, going back to the kitchen.

It’s an hour before Eric arrives. In that time, I pull my hair up in a high ponytail, but my face frame and side bangs won’t fit, so I leave them hanging on either side of my face, partly because I’m too lazy to use bobby pins, partly because I know he likes it when my hair’s wild. I read a whole book, and go to draw. When I pull out my sketchbook, a slip of paper falls out. I bend down to pick it up and know immediately that it’s from you.
I thought you said you were leaving me alone, I think, but I read it any way. It says, “I cannot see you anymore, but nobody is banning me from still helping you.” That’s it. I frown and stick it my pocket. What are you trying to tell me?
The doorbell rings. I bound down the stairs and open the door. Eric is there with his mom. He looks fine. She looks terrible.
“Hi,” I say. “Come on in.”
Mom comes from the kitchen and starts talking with Mrs. Towling. What a surprise.
“So,” Eric says kind of awkwardly. “Purple iguanas. Pretty cool, right?”
I laugh. “Totally. Actually, I’ve been wandering, do purple iguanas actually exist?”
Eric mimes an accused face. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve never heard of one.”
Eric rolls his eyes. “Sure. Want to look it up?”
I shrug. “Okay. The computer’s in my room.” We go upstairs, leaving our parents behind. Once we reach the top of the stairs, I hear Mom say, “I’m so sorry about John, Carol…” I glance at Eric, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
We look up purple iguanas on the internet. First time around we get this picture of a band and tags say “Purple Iguana Beer…” Then I type in “animal” after it. Still nothing. Well, there’s one picture of a purple iguana and the color of it is so faint it’s hard to tell.
Eric is shocked. “I can’t believe there isn’t anything about purple iguanas. I swear I saw one barfing.”
“Sure,” I say smiling.
“No, seriously. I was with my dad –”he broke off. “Dammit! I can’t seem to escape him”
“Hey!” Suddenly Mom is in the door way, holding a bowl of chips. “Even if it is allowed in your house hold, there will be no cussing in this household.”
Eric smiles, but I can see how much effort he’s putting into it. “Sorry, Mrs. Furroway.” He takes the bowl from Mom. As she’s leaving the room, he says, “And by the way, cussing isn’t allowed in my household either. That’s way I do it.” Mom rolls her eyes and leaves without another word.
I close the top to the laptop and grab a handful of chips. “I don’t think you have to escape him,” I say, thinking of you. “In fact, I don’t think he’d want that.”
Eric gives me a watery smile, and through a mouth full of chips, he says, “You’re breaking the promise, Christina.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” A long silence followed. “Now what?”
“You don’t by any chance have an Xbox, do you?”

His Mom picks him up around six. She still doesn’t look too good, but she fixed her make up and her eyes aren’t so red.
“By the way, you look cute,” Eric says as we’re heading down the steps. He pauses midway and stops next to him. A strange smile plays across his mouth. “Actually, cute is understatement. You’re gorgeous.”
“Eric!” I say. I feel my cheeks get hot and wish I’m not blushing, which I probably am.
“No, seriously. I think I’m in love.” With that, he runs down the rest of the way.
Mom and Mrs. Towling are talking, as usual, but they stop as soon as we arrive.
“Alright, Eric. Time to go,” Mrs. Towling says.
As Eric’s tying his shoe lace, he glances up and says, “Thanks again, Mrs. Furroway. The chips were a special treat, and I’ll try to cut on the cussing habit.”
Mrs. Towling looks at Eric, then at me, and finally to Mom. “It’s nothing,” Mom says, waving her off. “We just had a little… disagreement.” Eric and I smile.
“Okay, then. Come on, Eric. Thanks again, Suzy,” Mrs. Towling says as she’s heading out the door. Eric, however, lingers. He takes a breath, but then closes his mouth again. He starts out the door, only to turn back around and plant a swift kiss on my cheek. Then he leaves me as I stare out the door, watching the car pull out of the driveway, my cheek still tingling where his lips had brushed them.

The rest of the weekend I’m extremely giddy.
“What’s up with her?” Dad says to Mom as I skip down the hall after planting a kiss on his cheek for no apparent reason. In fact, he’s only in his boxers and looking pretty crappy after an apparently troubled night.
“I believe it is the effects of first love,” Mom replies, barely looking up to see what my peculiar behavior was this time. Dad lifts his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything.
I keep getting notes from you, but I barely process the words I’m reading. At least, not until this note.
“Don’t get too attached. It will only hurt you when you have decided, no matter what choice you make.”
Great. Just what I need. A note saying I can’t full in love. Like most of your other notes, I ignore it.

Monday morning comes faster than I expected, and for once, I’m looking forward to school. School means Eric. Eric means fun and compliments. Fun and compliments means being happy. All of these things I enjoy.
I slip on a thin coat, only because Mom insists that I wear it, saying it might rain today. I’d like to take this moment to underline the word, “might”.
I say goodbye to Mom and Dad, then head out the front door, swinging my backpack over one shoulder. It only takes about a minute for the bus to come. I stuff my hand in the pockets of my jacket as I sit down in my own isolated seat and my fingers brush against a crumpled piece of paper. Curious, I pull it out.
"I believe you choice will be today. I’ll be waiting for you on the other side."
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I whisper. “Not only have you told me not to fall in love, you sent a note with a creepy message that practically ruined my day. I can’t believe how brilliant this is.”
Five words slowly materialize on the bottom of the page. "What are great grandpas for?" I roll my eyes and stuff your note back in my pocket.

I smile when I see Eric, and he returns it. Unfortunately, we are on opposite sides of the classroom, so we can’t do anything more than exchange looks as our teacher rattles on about equations and variables and solutions.
Eric mouths, I hate math.
I reply, Good thing there’s lunch after. He nods in agreement. Our teacher stares at us, and we reluctantly turn our attention back to her as she continues her speech about powers and dividing.
“Man, that was awful,” Eric says as we get our lunchboxes.
“You can say that again,” I say. “The only word I can think of to describe math class is a word I can’t say.”
“That bad, huh?” Eric smiles. He won’t stop looking at me.
“What?” I say, self-conscious.
“Nothing,” he says grinning. “You’re just so cute the way you won’t swear.”
We sit down at our table and I take a bite of baloney sandwich. “I was brought up that way. Old habits die hard, as they always say. At least I don’t deliberately disobey my parents.”
Eric shrugs. “Hey, I haven’t broken my promise yet. And besides, I never swear at their face.”
“I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.”
“Let’s just say it’s better, for the sake of my soul and all involved.” I laugh.
There’s a long silence. I guess both of our lunches are really tasty. Then Eric says, “Want to come over today?”
My heart skips a beat, but I try to act like it’s not the biggest thing in the world, which it is. “Sure,” I say, shrugging. But all I can think is, Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! Now’s my chance to kiss him! HE’S SO CUTE! “I’ll need to call my mom, though.”
In the bathroom, safely hidden by a stall, I text Mom.

CAN I GO TO ERIC’S?

She replies almost immediately.

AS LONG AS IT’S FINE WITH HIS MOM

Which it is. At least, according Eric it is.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. The only words going through my head our, Eric. House. Eric! Finally the day is over, and I meet up with Eric in the hall.
“Hey,” I say.
“Purple iguana,” he says. “My mom parks kind of far away, so we’ll have to walk a little.”

“I don’t care. As long as it’s, like, only a block away or something,” I say.
“Ooh, then you might not want to come,” says Eric, making a concerned face.
“Why not?”
“Because she usually parks on my street.” I give him a playful shove and he shoves me back, laughing. Together we head out of the building.
He’s fine up until the second street-crossing. We’re laughing and joking, and all of a sudden his smile falters and he stares ahead, not seeing anything.
“Eric?” I say, concerned. “Are you alright?” I have to shake him before he answers me.
“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he says with little emotion. I don’t think that he is.
We continue walking, but the happy spirit went down a notch. He zones out a few more times, and finally I make him sit on the curb.
“Eric, what’s wrong?” I ask. When he starts to say he’s okay, I cut him off. “No, you’re not. Something’s wrong. Are you sick? What?”
“No. No, I’m not sick,” he says rather harshly. “I’m fine.” He starts to get up and I watch him, trying not to cry. He never said anything to me in that tone before. Is this my choice? I think almost absently. Leaving him or helping him? Before I can decide, Eric sits back down and starts sobbing into his hands. Shocked, I hesitantly put my arms around his shoulders.
“Who am I kidding?” he says, voice muffled. “I’m not fine. I’m anything but fine, and I sure as hell want a different life.” I tighten my grip on him. “I hate it. I hate it! It’s not fair!” He lifts his head and looks at me, tears spilling out of his eyes. He tries for a smile and fails. “Great. Now I sound like a three year old.”
“No,” I say, even though it’s kind of true. “No you don’t. You sound like someone whose father just died. Eric, this is normal. Heck, I probably would be crying on a curb if one of my parents died. It’s alright. I’ll always be here.” A little voice inside my head says, No you won’t. Remember what Grandpa said? You won’t know him for long? I tell myself to shut up and I lean over, kissing his cheek before I can tell my body otherwise.
He looks at me kind of surprised and says, “Thanks, Christina. You still want to come over?”
“Of course I do,” I say, getting to my feet. I hold out my hand and he takes it. Together we walk down the street, our hands still clasped in each others.
We get to a traffic light. The little one for pedestrians is red, so we wait. Suddenly Eric opens his mouth, staring across the street. I follow his gaze and see…
You. I see you, standing calming at the opposite side of the street, staring me in the eye. “It’s time,” I hear you say. The air next to you shimmers in a vaguely human shape, but I can’t make out anything.
Eric looks from side to side, sees the rapidly approaching car – at least I think he does – and sprints across the street.
“Eric!” I scream, totally shocked and horrified. The car isn’t slowing down, and neither is Eric. “Eric!” I scream again. “Get out of the road!” Finally he slows to a halt and looks back at me, questioningly. He makes no attempts to move. I see the car, a silver streak, and its driver, a young man texting. Realizing the car won’t stop, and Eric won’t move, I start crying.
“Be brave,” your voice whispers in my ear. “Do what’s right.”
I gasp and turn to look at you, still across the street. You’re on your knees and your arms are outstretched, just like they were in my bathroom. Without thinking, I take a deep breath and run into the street, pushing Eric aside and taking his place.