We cross the small street that leads to the pond, and the closer and closer we get to the water, the braver I get. I think of the story she told me. The girl wishing for love. The man in the moon answering that wish.
Do it, I tell myself, watching her hand as it moves back and forth next to mine, centimeters away.
I take a deep breath and reach out, taking it, a sharp pain jolting through my head at the same time. Damn, my head has been pretty good all week.
“Okay?” I ask as I fight past it, focusing instead on her rose-petal lips and the fact my heart is about to hammer straight out of my chest.
She hesitates for a second, so I take a step closer to her.
“Our story won’t be a sad one, Marley,” I whisper to her. “I won’t let it be.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she twines her fingers tighter in mine. I tuck her hair behind her ear, my hand lingering on her face, her lips inches away from mine. I lean slightly forward, barely even breathing, unsure if she’s going to lean forward or bolt.
She doesn’t bolt.
She closes the gap and we kiss, and it’s a rush of everything all at once: her face framed by the flurry of cherry blossom petals, her eyes the day we first met, a waterfall of pearls.
I pull away, smiling at her, her face aglow in the afternoon sun. “My friend rule was a terrible idea—”
She muffles the rest of my sentence, laughing as she leans in for another kiss. I move to wrap my arms around her, but her eyes widen as she looks past me and suddenly jerks away, my hands grasping at empty air.
She rushes across the grass, frantic, pushing past a group of kids playing soccer. She races into the street to grab a little girl from the middle of the road, pulling her onto the sidewalk.
What the hell? Did I miss something?
I hurry to catch up as Marley marches the child toward a group of older kids. She deposits the kid next to a tween girl who shares the same shade of hair as the little girl.
“Is this your sister?” Marley asks angrily.
The girl nods, clearly frightened. She can’t be more than twelve.
“Do you know what could have happened to her running into the street like that?” Marley is yelling now, her hands on the girl’s shoulders. Her eyes are wild, but I can’t tell if it’s with anger or fear. This is a side of her I’ve never seen. “What is she…？ What if…？”
I step in, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Marley,” I say firmly, but she ignores me.
“You’re supposed to watch out for your sister. She could have been killed.”
I stand there, confused, my eyes taking in the other kids, their scared expressions as they simultaneously try to hide behind one another and get a closer look.
“Take your hands off my daughter!” a voice calls suddenly, and a woman who could only be the girls’ mother is storming across the grass, out for blood. We have to get out of here.
“Marley,” I say, pulling her away. “Stop. She’s fine. Let’s go.”
She looks around at the group of kids, at the terrified girl, the angry mother, her eyes finally landing on me, her wrists now grasped firmly in my hands. Tearfully, she rips out of my grip, running off across the grass, in the direction of the cemetery.
“What is wrong with you?” the mom calls after her.
I watch her go, taking a second to process whatever the hell just happened.
I make a quick apology to the lady and the frightened girl and run after Marley, cutting quickly through the park, knowing exactly where she’ll be. I head straight into the cemetery, where I find her slumped next to Laura’s grave, her head down, long hair hiding her face.
“She’s right, you know,” Marley says as I come closer, my chest heaving. “Something is wrong with me.”
I bend to gently push her hair behind her ear so I can see her face. “What’s going on?”
“No sad stories,” she says, shaking her head.
“Okay,” I say as I sit down next to her. All I want is to understand what just happened. But I know better than anyone what it takes to be ready to tell that story. “You don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, I’m here.”
Her body has totally huddled in on itself. Then she looks up, touching what I now see is a pink sapphire pendant around her neck. Usually, only the chain is visible; I’ve never seen the stone before.
“I always wore yellow,” she says, and I think about all the touches of it I’ve seen her wear. The headband, her shoes, the cardigan, the raincoat. “At first it was just something my mom did when we were really little to give us our own special look, since everything else about our appearance was exactly the same, but… later it became more than that. Yellow made me feel happy, light. Even when I was anxious.”