Rose, head still tilted back, raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Spider!” I finally spit out. Rose looked down, her eyes widening as she spotted it. I think it waved back.
She screamed and swatted it at me.
I screamed and spun like a matador dodging a bull.
I’m sure the spider was the most scared of all, and have no doubt it screamed too as it cartwheeled past me into the leaves.
I brushed myself off, performing a top-to-bottom inspection. Rose did the same.
“What a perv. That spider totally just made it to second base,” I said.
“No kidding. It didn’t even buy me dinner first.”
I paused for a moment. “So what are your dinner plans tonight?”
She slapped my shoulder. “Shut up! I just got fondled by a spider. I need to start saving for therapy.”
“You? I just pulled some Matrix shit. I’ll need a chiropractor.”
A laugh fell from her mouth. “You’re funny.”
I knew it was my turn to say something, but suddenly I forgot every word I’d ever learned. I just looked at her as a warmth spread from my chest to my fingertips all the way down to my toes. She looked back.
I softly cleared my throat. “Well, then.”
Rose smiled and bit her lip. “Well, then.”
She walked under the dripping roots and tilted her head back again.
I joined her.
Turns out cave water tastes delicious after all.
NINE
WE SOON DISCOVERED A TRAIL LEADING OUT THE OTHER SIDE OF THE cave, descending deep into the lowlands of the park. Once at the bottom, the cool funk of mud, decay, and oxygen-rich air filled our nostrils. We traipsed through hidden channels and canyons—green, moss covered, and hauntingly beautiful. Stray beams of sunlight penetrated the canopy, illuminating tiny moths, which fluttered among the foliage. We traveled a narrow path along a creek that buckled and gushed around stray timber. The source of the flow soon revealed itself in the form of a seventy-foot waterfall.
It felt like we were in a movie.
Almost.
Before the waterfall stood a family of six, arranged by height and decked out in matching outfits in complementary colors.
The dad, fumbling with a camera on a tripod, waved us over enthusiastically. “Hey guys, mind doing me a huge favor?” he asked with a salesman’s toothy smile.
Normally it drove me nuts when people asked me to commit to a favor before revealing what said favor was. Mom was the queen of that. And huge favors were the worst, because people would deceive you with smaller, no-big-deal favors first, then pounce on you unexpectedly, like a hungry puma. Before you can blink, you’re mucking out a flooded basement or babysitting your neighbors’ tyrant offspring. Like so: Mom: Will you do me a huge favor?
Me: Sure.
Mom: Take out the trash?
Me: No problem.
Mom: Will you do me a huge favor?
Me: Sure.
Mom: Put that tofu back in the fridge?
Me: No problem.
Mom: Will you do me a huge favor?
Me: Sure.
Mom: Leave Chicago behind, move to a small town, and start a new high school one month before final exams?
Me: . . .
But in this case, I knew exactly what “huge favor” the man wanted, so I decided to comply.
“Sure, we’ll take a picture,” I said as the youngest in his brood broke formation.
“Thanks, bro,” he said, as if he were sixteen too, not forty-seven. “Just press that button there. Take a bunch, don’t be afraid.”
“Got it,” I replied.
“Don’t be afraid, Zeus,” Rose whispered once the man was out of hearing distance.
“I’ll try, but don’t leave me, just in case.”
“Don’t worry, I’m here for you.”
The man hustled back while barking out orders. “Maisie and Marlo, switch places with each other. Michael, straighten your shoulders. Honey, grab Mason before he shoves more sand in his diaper. All right, gang, everyone look natural!”
“Everybody say ‘jalape?o-cheddar-jack cheese!’” said Rose.
After I snapped a dozen of what felt like the exact same picture, the man thanked us again, then he and his wife herded their litter away.
“They better send us a Christmas card,” Rose said, then pointed left of the waterfall, where large sandstone boulders studded the hill. “Let’s go sit over there.”
We climbed to one of the flatter stones that looked like it could seat both of us. I attempted to brush the sand from it, which proved to be as easy as brushing water from a puddle. We sat anyway.
“You said you moved here three years ago. Where from?” I asked.
“Iowa City. My dad taught history at the University of Iowa, but now he’s up in Minnesota.”
“I’ve never been to Iowa City. Do you miss it?”
“A ton. It’s a cool town, really artsy. Lots of music and festivals. It has this beautiful outdoor Ped Mall where they have the Iowa Arts Festival. Jazz bands, craft shows, food trucks . . . I used to go every summer when I lived there.”
“I know how you feel. There was so much to do in Chicago. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to this town.” I kicked a loose piece of sandstone and watched it tumble into the water below.
“How long ago did you move here?” Rose asked.
“April.”
“Gotcha. I guess that’s why I don’t remember seeing you at school.”
We sat for a while watching the water crash off the rocks. The static noise covered our own silence. I remembered the bag of trail mix Mom had packed and pulled it out of my pocket. The chocolate morsels had long ago melted, coating the nuts and dried fruit with a sticky layer of confection.
“Want some?” I offered the bag to her.
“Absolutely.”
“So, how long have you been playing piano?” I asked. “You must have started before you could walk.”
“Not that long ago, actually.” Rose licked some melted chocolate from her knuckle. “A little over three years, right when I moved here.”
“What?! How’s that possible? You don’t even use sheet music.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but piano just makes sense to me somehow. I mean, think about it. It goes from left to right, low to high. Twelve notes and they just keep repeating. Black keys are sharps and flats, white keys are naturals. They all fit perfectly together.”
I snorted. “For you maybe.”
“I suppose. For some reason my fingers just seem to know where to go. Do you play anything?”
I hesitated. “I have a guitar.”
“That’s awesome!”
“I’ve only been learning for a few months. I wouldn’t call it playing, but I can make a few noises come out of it,” I admitted.
“Sweet, you’ll have to show me sometime! I’ve never played a guitar, but it can’t be that much different from a piano, can it?” She looked out into the crashing water. “It’s all just notes, whether it’s a voice, or a piano, or a guitar, or a tuba. Vibrations. Harmony and dissonance. Major and minor. Check it out—hear that hum from the waterfall? Mmmmmm,” she hummed. “Hear that?”