It occurs to me that I just used the word love. Does Ivy love me? Could she love me? My throat goes tight.
But I don’t have time to dwell because she’s laughing hysterically. One of us slips, pulling down the other one, and somehow I end up on top of her. We’re covered in mud. Our hair, our clothes, our faces. It’s literally everywhere.
Her eyes are suddenly serious. God, even covered in mud, she’s hot. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand, which doesn’t do any good because my hand is covered in mud, too. I kiss her. Her lips are soft against mine…and muddy. Other runners skirt around us, giving us weird stares.
The realization that I’m falling for Ivy hits me hard. I’m at a loss to know what to do, because I’ve never felt this way before. It’s uncharted territory, and I’m afraid I’m going to screw things up like I always do. Reluctantly, I break the kiss and we get up.
Ivy has a strange expression on her face.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Jon. Your flag. It’s gone.”
I glance down. She’s right. There’s just an empty race belt around my waist. I look at her muddy tutu. “So are yours.”
She spins around. “Did we lose them in the mud?”
“I don’t know.”
We spend the next few minutes sloshing around in the mud pit looking for our flags, but we can’t find them.
I grab her hand and lead her out of the mud. Zombies are waiting for us, but they leave us alone when they see our flags are gone. We’re one of them now.
“I always knew you were too perfect to be completely human,” I tell her.
“And I always knew there was something wild inside you.”
chapter eighteen
dream [noun]: a cherished hope; ambition; aspiration
Jon
The next few weeks fly by with midterms, study sessions, work and the occasional party. Why is it that when you’re doing something boring, time slows to a crawl and every passing minute is an eternity, but when you’re enjoying yourself and having a good time, it feels like it’s over before it really even starts?
As much as I love having Ivy here in the White House, I know she can’t stay here indefinitely. Cassidy’s already moved back to the dorm and Ivy’s stayed there a few times. But almost every day, I’m dreaming up some new excuse why she needs to spend the night with me, and they’re getting more and more ridiculous.
The other day, it was because I needed her help on a photography assignment. I’d already finished it, but I didn’t tell her that.
And today—don’t laugh—I got her to stay because of a bee sting. Although I really did get stung on my forearm this afternoon, it didn’t hurt that much. I just said it did to get her sympathy. And it worked. She applied a paste of baking soda and water, then kept me well supplied with ice packs so it didn’t swell. I probably didn’t have to use the bee sting excuse, because we’ve got people coming over to watch a movie tonight, so she’d be here late anyway.
“How’s the swelling, babe?” Ivy comes out of the kitchen holding a bowl of popcorn and another ice pack.
“Better, I think.”
“Oh good.”
The front door bangs open and footsteps pound through the entryway to where we’re gathered in the family room. Tate and James are holding two cases of beer and several bags of chips.
“What’s that fucking awesome smell?” James asks.
Cassidy comes out of the kitchen holding a heaping plate of brownies. “Is this what you’re smelling?”
“Fuck, yeah.” He grabs one and stuffs it in his mouth, then he grabs another. “Do you think someone’s started a Fuck Yeah Brownies Tumblr yet? Or maybe just Fuck Yeah Chocolate. Because if not, you totally should. These are that good.”
She laughs. “Thanks.”
The doorbell rings. It’s one of those sing-song chimes that you hear at old people’s houses. No one uses it much, but when they do, it strikes me as funny because a bunch of college guys live here now.
“Come in,” Rick yells, and a moment later Kelly and Reese step into the room.
I remove the ice pack from my arm. It’s easier being a wimp in front of my girlfriend than my buddies.
Reese grabs a beer. “So we’re watching Terminator? Which one?”
I grab a handful of popcorn. “The second one. It’s still playing on PSU Net and Ivy has never seen it.”
Reese holds his hand out to Kelly. “Come with me if you want to live,” he says, quoting a line from the movie.
“Wait, wait,” she says laughing. She lies on the floor and dons a panicked expression as she looks up at him. “Okay, say it again.”
He repeats the line and reaches down.
Warily, she takes his hand, and he pulls her to her feet. Everyone claps.
“Shut up, asshole,” Tate says in a monotone voice.
Everyone turns to look at him.
“What?” he says, eyes wide. “It’s a line from the movie. Don’t you remember?”
“Are you sure?” Rick glares at him.
“Yes, it’s when Arnold—” Tate throws up his hands. “No one ever believes me around here. Just wait. You’ll see.”
Ivy and I are cuddled up on the recliner together. James, Cassidy, and Tate are on the couch. Rick is in the other chair, while Kelly and Reese are in the giant beanbag with a blanket.
As the opening credits roll, Ivy shifts slightly. “I’m not really an Arnold fan. Not since he cheated on his wife.”
“Yeah, that sucked, but aren’t you supposed to separate the art from the artist?”
“Some things you just don’t screw up. If we were talking about my next-door neighbor, I’d say the same thing.”
“He’s an actor. All celebrities have fucked-up lives.” Trust me.
“I don’t care. It still makes me mad.”
I read once that some men are hard-wired to be cheaters. That it’s in our DNA. I know that’s probably a bunch of crap dreamed up by guys who cheat to help them justify their behavior, but what if it’s not? What if it is a legitimate Darwinian tendency, passed down from father to son?
She takes a drink of her beer. “Does this mean I’m slipping on the movie slash likeability scale?”
“Good thing you have other redeeming qualities that make up for it.”
She pokes me in the ribs.
“Ouch. Remember my bee sting.”
“You got stung in the arm.”
“Yeah, I know, but you might jostle it.”
The movie starts and we all settle in. When we get to the part where the kid is being chased by the semi truck, there’s a knock at the door. Pounding, actually.
“I’ll get it.”
I untangle myself from Ivy’s legs, walk to the front of the house, and open the door.
On the covered porch is a young woman, her face streaming with blood.
Ivy
The girl’s name is Leesa. Cassidy and I are standing on either side of her, holding her up. We tried to get her to sit, but she refused. Jon and James are hovering over her boyfriend, Mark, who’s lying out on the lawn. A wrecked blue car is in the ditch. Kelly is on the phone with the 9-1-1 operator.
“It happened so fast,” Leesa sobs. “We got out and then he just collapsed.”
“An ambulance is on its way,” Kelly says, phone to her ear.
“Is there someone we can call?” I ask Leesa. “Your parents?”
“I’m visiting from out of town. They’re in Seattle.” She’s shaking so hard, I can hear her teeth rattling.
I run inside, grab a blanket from the couch, then run back out to the front porch and wrap it around Leesa’s shoulders.