I Wanna Be Where You Are Page 3

“What weird thing?” I cover my nose with my hand, suddenly self-conscious. “What weird nose thing?”

  He twitches his nose like a rabbit. “Like that.”

  “And you still … you still…” I’m trying to think of a snarky comeback. Eli waits, looking amused. “You still have crooked teeth on the bottom row.” The minute I say it, I regret it. Weak. So weak. I could have done better than that.

  “Wow, Chlo. That really hurt my feelings.” I don’t have to look at him to know that he’s grinning.

  “I don’t want you to talk to me for the rest of the drive,” I snap. “Just be quiet.”

  “Fine with me.” He turns his attention to his phone and doesn’t say anything else.

  Eli’s always had a way of getting under my skin. Like at my eighth birthday party when he kept threatening to stick his hand in my cake before we sang “Happy Birthday.” Or my first day of freshman year when he tricked me into believing that underclassmen had a separate cafeteria and I spent all of my lunch period looking for it. And then, of course, there was the fight we had last year before Homecoming. Each time always resulted in me screaming at him like a maniac, and each time I felt stupid afterward for letting him make me so upset.

  The most we ever got along was during middle school when our friend Trey Mason lived around the corner. Too sweet and unwilling to argue about whether we’d ride bikes or go to the community pool, Trey was great at steering us toward a middle ground. Then he moved to Delaware the summer before he and Eli started high school. I haven’t seen him since.

  People are driving a lot faster once I merge onto the turnpike. I can hear the wind as they fly past me in the slow lane. A guy zips by on a motorcycle and my stomach clenches.

  How do people drive on this every day?

  “So what’s up with not telling your mom about this trip?” Eli asks.

  I give him a look to remind him that he shouldn’t be talking to me, but I’m sure it’s less intimidating than I mean for it to be. You can’t look threatening while also looking freaked out about driving.

  “What?” He throws his arms up. “You won’t let me play any music. The least you can do is talk to me.” He sighs when I don’t answer. “I’m sorry about smoking in your car, okay?”

  I wait. Is that all he’s sorry about?

  It must be, because he doesn’t say anything else.

  “My audition is for a dance conservatory in New York City. She doesn’t want me to live there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Probably because she doesn’t think it’s safe.”

  I don’t have to explain much else. Eli knows how Mom is. When he was twelve, she discovered him trying to climb the cherry tree in our backyard. He was so startled when she caught him, he almost lost his grip on the bark and fell. Then she lectured him for an hour on the different bones he could have broken and how long they would’ve taken to heal.

  Eli asks where she and Jean-Marc were going this morning, and I tell him about the free cruise tickets. Before he can ask another Mom-related question, I remind him that I made a no-talking rule.

  He’s quiet for all of four seconds before he says, “Larissa’s coming home for Easter this year.”

  “Really?” I break my own rule, because this intrigues me. Ms. Linda invited Mom and me to Easter dinner, too, but I had no idea Larissa would be there. I haven’t seen Eli’s older sister in years. We text every now and then, but she goes to college all the way in Virginia and she never comes home. She spends her summers doing internships near her college and she’s at their dad’s house during the holidays. When I was younger, I wanted to be just like her. It’s funny how once people are out of sight, they become out of mind, too.

  “Yeah. My mom threw a fit and said Riss never comes home to see her. Blah, blah. She guilt-tripped her.” He shrugs. “After my dad forces me to tour UNC on Saturday, I’m gonna catch the train home so I can see her.”

  “Oh, right,” I say, remembering Ms. Linda told Mom and me that Eli will be a freshman at the University of North Carolina in the fall. “Pre-law, right?”

  He shrugs again. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “What are your other options?”

  With a sigh, he says, “I’m still pissed my parents didn’t take my clown school dreams seriously.”

  I roll my eyes. I will gladly go back to ignoring him now. But then Geezer sits up in the back seat and starts pacing. He whines when he realizes he has no way out of the car.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I ask. His restlessness makes me nervous.

  Eli turns around and rubs Geezer’s head. His deep voice turns soft. “What’s wrong, boy? You okay?” To me, he says, “He has a weak bladder. He probably needs to pee.”

  In the distance, I see an exit for a rest stop. We’re not even out of New Jersey and I already have to pull over.

  “No, this will put me behind schedule,” I argue.

  “It’s either that or he goes all over your back seat,” Eli says. Why did I let him and his dog come with me? I can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for his blackmailing trick.

  Quickly—or as quickly as a driver like me can go—I take the rest stop exit and pray that Geezer can keep it together until he’s out of my car. When I pull into a parking spot, I turn to Eli and he’s already looking at me.

  “There you go again with the nose twitching,” he says.

  * * *

  Eli and Geezer take off toward the woods by the picnic area. I check my phone and see that I have two texts. One is from Ms. Linda asking if I’ve seen Eli. I’m not going to answer her. There’s no way I’m lying to someone else’s mom, too. Eli will have to deal with that on his own.

  The other text is from Reina, sent two minutes ago. It’s a picture of a soggy-looking sandwich and a small bag of potato chips.

  This is what they’re feeding us at camp. Save me

  I FaceTime her and pray that she’s still on a lunch break.

  “Hello!” she sings when she answers. She’s sitting on a bench, wearing a bright orange T-shirt that says CAMP CENTER STAGE and her favorite cat-eye sunglasses that make her look like a movie star. Her dark curls are piled into a bun. “How is my professional-ballerina-to-be? Are you in D.C. yet?”

  “No.” A few yards away I can see Eli and Geezer standing in between two trees. Eli leans against a tree and lights a cigarette. So gross.

  Reina lifts her sunglasses and brings the phone closer to her face. “You look absolutely miserable, Chlo. What’s wrong?”

  “You will not believe who I’m with right now.”

  “Wait … this isn’t an SOS call, is it? Is a creep lurking around, trying to kidnap you?”

  “What? No!” Sometimes her level of dramatics still surprises me. “I’m with Eli Greene.”

  She blinks and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. Do you mean Eli Greene … as in neighbor-who-we-no-longer-speak-to-under-any-circumstances Eli Greene?”

  “Yes,” I say. “That one.”

  “What? How in the world did that happen?”

  “I don’t know,” I groan, sliding a hand over my face. I tell her how he threatened to blackmail me.

  Reina sucks her teeth. “What an asshole.”

  “I know.” I watch as Eli and Geezer make their way back toward me. Geezer trots happily now that his bladder is empty, and Eli swings his lanky arms like he has not a care in the world. Like being around me doesn’t make him feel awkward or sorry for what he’s done in the past.

  I swallow thickly. “I’m starting to get nauseous. I think feeling nervous about my audition, and the stress of him being here is getting to me.”

  “I can’t believe you used to have a crush on him,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “Can we please pretend that never happened?”

  “I am more than happy to do that.” She lowers her voice. “Did he bring up…?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “And I doubt he ever will.”

  Eli is closer now. Close enough to hear w
hat I’m saying. “I have to go,” I tell Reina. “I’m about to start driving again.”

  “Call me when you get to D.C.,” she says. “And listen, don’t be afraid to kick him out of your car and leave him on the side of the highway. You’re being nicer to him than you should be.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. Though we both know I would never do something like that.

  I hang up as Eli approaches. I tell him that his mom texted, and he sighs.

  “I’ll call her,” he says. He lets Geezer in the back seat and sticks his head in the passenger-side window, peering at me. “Are you okay? Your face looks weird.”

  I roll my eyes. “Wow, thanks.”

  “I’m serious. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, annoyed. “Hurry up and get in the car. I have an audition to get to, in case you forgot.”

  “I’m just gonna grab some stuff from the convenience store really quick.” When I groan, he says, “Relax. It’ll take two seconds.”

  He walks away and Geezer whines, clearly unhappy to be left with me. I wait for him to stop, but he doesn’t. I’ll never understand the bond dogs have with their owners. Mom never let me have a dog. She read an article once about a Rottweiler that bit a toddler in the face, and that was that.

  When Eli comes back outside, he’s carrying a plastic bag full of snacks. He sits in the passenger seat and pulls out a pack of Starbursts. When he was younger, he used to take the wrappers and fold them into different shapes: cranes, cubes, stars.

  I’m surprised when he tosses a bottle of ginger ale into my lap.

  “For your stomach,” he says.

  He looks a little unsure, like he’s afraid I might throw the bottle back in his face. For the first time today, I think that maybe Eli wants to tell me he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know how.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You’re welcome.” He clears his throat. “So, listen. Why don’t you let me drive the rest of the way? We’ll get there faster.”

  I almost choke on my sip of soda. “Absolutely not.”

  “You want to be rid of us, don’t you?” he says. “If I drive, we’ll be in D.C. and out of your car in no time. Plus, you don’t have to worry about driving with a messed-up stomach.”

  The last time I depended on Eli to drive me somewhere, things ended badly. I don’t trust him. But I do want to be rid of them, he does drive faster, and I want my nausea to go away. If letting him drive means that I won’t be late to my audition, then I guess I can stand him sitting behind my wheel for the next two hours.

  Hesitantly, I open my door so we can switch seats, but I pause before getting out all the way.

  “You can’t play your music,” I warn.

  He flashes his wolfish grin. “I didn’t expect to.”

  When we pass each other in front of the car, I find myself agreeing with Reina. I can’t believe I used to have a crush on him, either.

  Chapter 4

  The World’s Smallest Circus

  As we drive over the Delaware Memorial Bridge, I look down at the greenish, murky water below us and realize my nausea is getting worse. The ridiculous decision I’ve made to go to this audition is finally starting to sink in. I don’t know if I’m ready.

  I can’t stop thinking about the night I broke my ankle right before the Homecoming dance last year. While walking to the school in heels, I ran to get out of the way of a car that was trying to run a red light, and I lost my footing and tripped once I reached the curb. My ankle bent as I fell, and I heard the crack before I actually felt any pain. But then I did feel the pain, and it was excruciating. Later, at the hospital, they told me that my ankle was fractured. A fractured ankle meant no ballet. It meant I would no longer be the Snow Queen in our upcoming production of The Nutcracker. It meant all my hard work was going right down the drain.

  I spent seven months rehabilitating and watching the other dancers in my studio get cast for roles that should have been mine, and nine more months of playing catch-up. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never been the most confident person offstage. I don’t raise my hand to answer questions in class or easily strike up conversations with strangers. In everyday life, I fold into myself and blend in with the crowd a little too well. But when it came to ballet, I always stood out. I moved with grace and strength. Since my injury, though, I spend so much time second-guessing myself, nervous that I’m not dancing as well as I used to, or that if I do something wrong I’ll get hurt all over again. The uncertainty shows.

  After my surgery, my doctor told me that I’d never be the dancer I once was. That haunts me. What if he’s right? What if I go to this audition and completely embarrass myself?

  What in the world was I thinking?

  Eli smoothly weaves in and out of traffic. He’s getting us to D.C. much faster than I would have, but the weaving rhythm makes my stomach churn.

  “You really need more practice driving on the highway,” he says. He switches into the middle lane to get around a bus and easily merges back into the fast lane. Other cars whiz past us, and I close my eyes to keep from feeling dizzy. “I know that everyone can’t be as good a driver as me, but you can be almost as good if you try. When’s the last time you even drove on the highway before today?”

  I shrug and stay quiet. I can feel the bile at the top of my throat, threatening to rush out at any moment.

  “When my dad gave me my Camaro last year, I drove straight to the highway,” he says. “Camaros aren’t meant for suburban roads. They’re too fast. On the way home, I picked up Isiah. He was jealous as hell.”

  I peek one eye open and glance at him at the mention of Isiah’s name. Isiah Brown is Eli’s idiotic best friend, who is mostly known for making stupid jokes, sleeping in class, and hitting on girls who have zero interest in him. Isiah used to tease Eli and Trey endlessly when we were younger, but somehow, he and Eli became friends after Eli quit the basketball team. Eli was already popular for being a good basketball player, but his popularity skyrocketed when he became friends with Isiah, the class clown. Last Halloween, they dressed as Kris Kross and won first place in the costume contest. They didn’t even do anything but hop around the stage, barely mouthing the lyrics to “jump,” but they still got more votes than Reina, who did an amazing rendition of Lady Macbeth’s soliloquy.

  “I don’t know why I let my mom borrow my car,” he continues. “She always tells me I’m inconsiderate, and the moment I do something nice for her, she’s inconsiderate.”

  I swallow and ignore the terrible taste, daring to open my mouth. “Eli—”

  “Her boyfriend, or whatever guy she went out with, should have picked her up. Why the hell did she have to borrow my car to go see him?”

  I squeeze my eyes closed again. You’re fine, Chloe. You don’t need to stress out. So what if you fail? It won’t be the end of the world. At least Avery Johnson will finally know you exist.

  I’m only making things worse. I grip the sides of the seat to hold myself in place. “Eli—”

  “You know why he didn’t pick her up? Because he’s a bum. That’s all she dates these days. Bums.”

  I turn to face him. “ELI.”

  “What?”

  When he finally gives me his attention, it’s too late. I’m already puking all over the front of my new leotard … and I get some on his arm.

  “YOOOOO.” His eyes grow as wide as golf balls.

  He shoves the plastic bag that once held his snacks into my lap while cutting across the highway in a frantic attempt to pull over. Angry drivers honk at us, and the ruckus combined with Eli’s breakneck speed wakes Geezer from his nap, and he starts barking again. I wonder what a sight we must be: Eli shouting FUCK and HOLY SHIT and WHAT THE HELL, CHLOE, over and over; Geezer running from window to window as if he’s rabid; and me, vomiting into a plastic bag. We’re the world’s smallest circus.

  Eli grips the steering wheel with new ferocity and presses on the brake as
we merge into the slow lane. For one second he takes his eyes off the road to look at me. His gaze is hard and concerned. Then his expression turns grim as he glances at the throwup covering his arm.

  We both turn our attention back to the road at the same time. I notice that the old silver Impala in front of us has a license plate that reads HIP PIE before it comes to an abrupt stop and Eli slams into the back of it.

  There’s the loud bang of metal crashing against metal. Geezer goes nuts and starts barking at an all-time high. I wish everything would slow down so I can process what’s happening. A minute ago, we were in motion, and now we aren’t.

  I see smoke rising from the hood of my car. I touch my face, my neck, my arms, my legs. Nothing is broken. I think of my dad, and how lucky I am to be alive.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Eli’s voice is low and panicked. He twists around to check on Geezer, who is curled up in a ball in the back seat, unharmed. Eli turns back around, presses his face into the steering wheel, and grips his head with his hands. Slowly, he leans back and looks at me. “I’m sorry, Chloe. Fuck.”

  Then he lowers his hands from his head and I suck in a breath.

  “What?” he says, running his hands over his face, checking for scars or bruises.

  “You have a bald spot,” I say, and it’s ridiculous because we just got into an accident and my car could be totaled, but this is the only thing I can clearly focus on. Right in the middle of Eli’s thick, dark curls is a big bald spot the shape of a jagged square. “Why do you have a bald spot?”

  “Who gives a shit?!” He reaches up to cover his head, brushing his fingers over the exposed patch of skin. “I just crashed your car!”

  The woman who drove the Impala is standing by the guardrail, surveying the accident with a perplexed expression. She’s really tall and skinny. Like a human ostrich, with pale skin and long blond hair. She’s wearing a flowy orange dress and worn sandals. I realize her license plate isn’t referencing a weird type of pie, but that it says hippie. Oddly enough, her car hasn’t been harmed at all. Just a tiny dent in her back bumper. She walks over to my window and leans down so that her face is level with mine. She has to hold her wavy hair back with her hands. This close I can see that she’s youngish, probably in her early twenties.