The Trouble Is

Chapter 29: Fireworks

Now that everyone has been baptized, East and I decide to hang around with Doug. Chris comes over and we do Fourth of July sparklers and smoke bombs. It doesn't take long for the air around us to turn to smoke. Doug loves the fireworks that look like little snakes, but Chris thinks those look like a pile of dog poop. (His words, I swear.) As the firework stash starts to run dry, Skip calls the boys around to the back yard to come get their hot dogs. East and I take advantage of the change in activity to make our exit.

I don't even bother asking about the whole "stay out until sunrise" item on the summer list . Just being with East is more than I imagined for myself this summer.

East drives us to a local roadside shop where the chefs create some incredible sandwich concoctions from locally sourced products. I go with smoked ham, lettuce, and avocado. East picks the grilled cheese toasted with mayo instead of butter. We add a large bag of salt and vinegar chips and a few sodas. He drives in the direction of his uncle's place but goes on past the exit.

The road is nothing but bumpy dirt, and it's so dark outside that I can't see anything but the tree lines. The truck has filled with the scent of delicious food, and we both laugh when my stomach growls.

"Two more turns, baby," he says. "You're going to love this view."

And suddenly, there we are at the top of a high bluff. East parks the truck, and we walk to a clearing and spread out the old blanket East keeps in the truck. The fireworks over the lake have already begun. I can't believe the view. It feels like our own private showing of red, white, and blue. It's kind of weird because the sounds echo a few seconds after each color explosion. We devour the sandwiches, and then I lean back against East and soak it all in. The temperature up here is a little cooler. East wraps his arms around me.

"Should we stand up and sing the national anthem or something?" East asks. I laugh until he starts laughing, and then I lean into him to feel his laughter resonate through his chest. This, above all else, warms me.

"No," I answer. "I think we're good here."

"Me too," he says softly. Then he gently turns my head toward him and kisses me. The rest of me follows. I drape my legs across his and put my hands on his face, feeling the soft whiskers along his chin. He is so beautiful, I think. How did I get this beautiful guy? I am a nobody; I'm nothing special at all. He could have had any girl in the town. But he didn't. He picked me. He chose me.

I choose that moment to ask the simplest, most important question that I have been holding in since our first date. I ask him why me.

"I watched you, you know," he says, looking straight at me. "I watched you a few times after we first met. Not in a creeper way, like some old man at a mall. I watched you with Katie and all your friends at the lake that first day of summer. I think I only knew one other person there, and that was my cousin. I saw you dive off that rickety old boat dock. You looked so beautiful and fearless. I held my breath waiting for you to come up again. I remember thinking at the time, 'Damn, she is amazing.' I want to be with someone so amazing."

No one has ever said anything like this to me before, I think. I search his face and see sincerity reflected.

"Annie," he says, drawing it out so that it sounds like hope and love and truth. "Life is short. I believe in holding out for real love. I don't want to be standing there in the end—whether that's the end of the summer, the end of high school, the end of possibilities, the end of my life—and wish . . . well, wish for anything different.

"I saw you taking that fearless dive, and I just knew. I knew that you were the only one for me. You were just . . . you."

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