Souvenir. Therese Fowler
have one until her birthday in mid-May, a small detail she could work out later. She wiped her damp palms on the bedspread, waiting to see if he was serious.
Kyle wrote, luv 4 u 2 hang w/us. try?
sure! she replied, though she didn’t have a clue how she could get there without her parents’ permission. Not that they paid close attention to what she did with her time, her dad in particular. They believed whatever she told them. If she planned things carefully, she might be able to make it work. ‘Holy shit,’ she whispered, but played it cool, typing, will check to see if I’m free.
hope so, Kyle wrote. hey babe, gtg – frenz here. Call your cell sat?
Disappointed to be done so soon, she wrote, ok. ttyl! and added a smiley face, to show she was just fine with letting him go. Then she signed off, so that none of her friends could interrupt her glow.
Wow, she thought, snapping her laptop shut: Kyle. Miami. She couldn’t wait to talk to him about it – it would be only their second conversation, the first having been Monday night. They hadn’t talked for long, but long enough for her to determine that he wasn’t geeky or weird. Long enough to discover that his voice, a midrange tenor that might complement her alto if he could sing, filled a hole in her heart – or maybe her soul, she wasn’t sure – in a way nothing else quite managed to. She stood and stretched and grinned.
As she washed her face, she imagined walking with Kyle on soft white sand, holding hands, kissing … French kissing, like she’d done experimentally a few times with her friend Jonathan, who lived two houses over. She was fascinated with the male body and the way she felt when she thought about getting firsthand knowledge of Kyle’s. Now that she’d found a guy worth her time, she was ready to try out a lot of the things she knew most of her friends were doing already. Had been doing since eighth grade, some of them. Her stomach turned a funny little flip when she thought of how it would be to slide her hand inside the waist of his cargo shorts.
She leaned close to the mirror to inspect the few blackheads dotting her forehead and the top of her nose. She’d need to get rid of those before Miami – what twenty-year-old girl would still have blackheads? Getting rid of the freckles banding her nose and cheeks would be nice, too, but that wasn’t going to happen. Her height, her freckles, her smile, and the red highlights in her brown hair were gifts from her mother – that’s what her Grandma Anna used to say; she tried to appreciate them, but what she wanted was to be petite, with blond hair and spot-free skin. Or that’s what she often thought, but now that she’d snagged Kyle’s interest, she might concede that she looked okay as is.
With his perspective in mind, she peeled off her T-shirt and looked at her breasts critically. ‘Average,’ she said, turning sideways, then facing front again. Not like she could do much to improve them, short of getting implants, and she was not an implant kind of girl. She knew girls who were, though – girls who’d already had nose jobs, girls who were all about improving their bodies so they could get better guys. Girls who knew how to flirt. Girls who wore those mini-stilettos called kitten heels, and big smiles for their daddies so they could get more money to shop with.
Savannah knew she wasn’t especially good at flirting, not with boys and not with her dad, but she was a straight-A student, good at figuring things out – which was much more valuable in the long run. Besides, Kyle obviously liked smart women, seeing as how he thought she was a college student with serious career aspirations and all.
She’d just changed into the yellow Earth Day tank top and gray knit shorts she slept in when she heard a tap on her bedroom door.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
The door opened. ‘Hey, sweetie, you ready for bed?’ her mom asked.
‘What does it look like?’ Savannah said, moving her laptop from her bed to her desk in a show of being finished with it. She knew that once her mom left the room, she could play guitar or make a phone call or open up the computer again without any fear of being interrupted. Her mom was nothing if not predictable; once she said good night, Savannah wouldn’t see her again until the next morning. Some kids might take much better advantage of this predictability than she ever had – sneaking out, for example, or sneaking someone in. She never did that kind of thing, never had a reason to, before.
Her mom sat on the side of the bed. ‘You’re such a wise guy. What does it look like? It looks like you’re ready to race sled-dogs in the Iditarod. But I think maybe a good night’s sleep is in order first.’
Savannah sat down near her pillows and pulled her knees up to her chest. ‘Funny,’ she said. ‘Not.’
‘Actually, you look like you might be about to audition for a strip-club job.’
‘Mom,’ Savannah said.
‘What? Those shorts are scandalous.’
‘You bought them.’
‘When you were twelve, if I remember right. What is it with teenage girls and short clothing?’
‘It’s just a style.’
‘Hmm. Well, don’t wear those in public. Dad would kill you.’
Savannah looked down at the shorts, which she was planning to wear in Miami. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said.
‘So … do you need anything?’ her mom asked, looking around her bedroom in that way Savannah knew parents did when searching for signs that their kids smoked or drank or whatever. This made her feel guilty before she’d even done anything wrong.
She took a bit of her hair and pulled it in front of her face, braiding it quickly. I need my car, she thought. She said, ‘Shampoo.’ And then, seeing an opening, she added, ‘Oh, and I have this question: Remember how, when we were in London last fall with Aunt Beth—’
‘Wasn’t that a great trip? This fall, the conference is going to be in Singapore. Do you think you’d like to go? Dad’s been there and he loved it – well, he loved the golf courses, anyway; the food wasn’t his thing. But—’
‘Mom,’ she interrupted, now unbraiding her hair.
‘Oh, sorry. What about it?’
‘I was thinking it might be cool to fly out to visit her this summer, like, just on my own. Can kids do that, fly alone, I mean?’
Her mom said, ‘Sure. Remember, there were three little boys in matching tie-dye shirts and airline badges on that flight to London?’
‘Oh, yeah. So then, you don’t have to be eighteen or whatever?’ She began braiding again, then caught herself and pushed the hair back behind her ear.
‘Nope. As I understand it, the airlines all have special services for unaccompanied children – they have flight attendants assigned to them, and a parent or relative has to meet them at their destination gate.’
‘So basically I’d be tracked like a convict.’
Her mom laughed. ‘No, you’re old enough to go on your own, the program’s for younger kids. Do you know, I heard on the radio not long ago that Atlanta has the busiest airport in the world? I always thought it would be New York – but they’re not even in the top ten! I think O’Hare was the second busiest, and then Heathrow …’
Savannah listened with half attention while thinking of how to buy a ticket to Miami. Her mom was always taking the long way through explanations, which used to delight her but now often felt unnecessary. Sometimes she wanted to say, Just get to it already. She never did though, maybe because a small part of her still liked seeing her mom as an all-knowing authority. Maybe because she knew that asking questions was a good way to get and hold her mom’s attention – not that she wanted so much of it anymore. She didn’t. She wanted her own life, a life where she fit, a life where no gung-ho dads looked down on low-money career aspirations. A life where she was important to the people around her. To Kyle, maybe. With her Grandma Anna gone now,