Meet Me Here by Bryan Bliss Page B

you couldgive her a call when you get back. She’d like that.”
    Then he turns around and walks away. As he disappears into the night, I’m not sure if I’ve won something or not.
    I tear through the field once he’s gone. I check the ditch by the road, the tall grass near the tree line, but she isn’t in any of her old spots. When at last I come back to the bridge, she’s sitting on the tailgate of my truck, staring out into the field.
    “Hey,” I say, out of breath, “Will was here.”
    “I saw.” I expected anger, but her voice is soft. “Is he gone?”
    “Uh, yeah. He was looking for his wallet.”
    “What did you guys talk about?”
    “What else? World politics,” I say. When it doesn’t get a laugh, I add, “I had the best hiding spot ever, and he pretty much ruined it because he walked across the field and I thought it was you, so I Snapped! him. Let’s just say we were both surprised to see each other.”
    She smiles this time, rubbing her eyes.
    “So he thinks you’re out here playing Snap! by yourself. That’s . . . wonderful.”
    “I told him I wanted to be alone. In a field. In the middle of the night.”
    This cracks me up.
    “It happens,” she says, and this gets her laughing, too. “God, tonight is so messed up. I’m sorry about this.”
    “What else do I have to do? Join the army?”
    This time, though, she shuts down, staring at me the way Will did, a kind of hurting disbelief in her eyes. And for a moment we’re both quiet, looking at each other, waiting for the other one to say something that will give the conversation momentum again.
    Mallory shakes her head, like she’s trying to forget a bad dream, and says, “Do you ever worry that you’re going to miss out on something by leaving? Like, obviously the army’s a good decision—something you want to do. But do you ever wish maybe you had decided to go to college?”
    “I don’t know if I could get into college,” I say.
    “Even community college. Just anything other than what people expect.”
    A familiar tightness pulls at my lungs. If there was a time to tell anyone, this is it. It would be so easy—open my mouth and say the words.
    I’m not going to the army.
    “I went and visited my sister down at Chapel Hill last year,” she says. “And I know it sounds stupid, but that weekend was kind of a revelation. I didn’t want to come back.”
    Tell her. Right now. Tell her everything .
    “But I know Will wouldn’t be able to get in; he’s already got a job working at his dad’s church as the youth pastor. He might go to Bible college or something, but right now this is it for him. But sometimes I want to go away, pick up and leave. I can’t explain it.”
    She stops talking, kicking her heel against the tire of my truck until she looks up and says, “Do you think that makes me a bad person?”
    I think about what to say for a long time. “Sometimes you need to do what’s best for you, even if it’s going to make people upset.”
    She doesn’t agree or disagree with me, just kicks the tire until I swear her heel makes a dent in the rubber. I watch her, wondering if she really would leave, if she could cut her ties as easily as I’m about to cut mine. And for a second I imagine us with the sun at our backs, leaving North Carolina together.
    “Well, I’m going to let myself believe that—at least for tonight,” she says. “So where was it?”
    “What?” I ask.
    “Your spot. Where were you hiding?”
    “Oh. Well, I’m not sure I want to tell you, because it’s pretty much a guaranteed win if we ever decide to do this again.”
    She looks bored, almost offended. “The hollow tree.”
    “I’m not telling you.”
    “The tires?”
    “Seriously, it’s not going to happen.”
    “You are a man of limited options, Thomas. I’m going to figure it out eventually.”
    “ Limited options ? Jesus, that’s the worst thing anybody’s ever said to me.”
    She’s smiling as she says, “If you don’t