Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries invaded my dreams, the dramatic notes of strings, horns, and winds gliding on a crescendoing wave of music in my inner ear.

Burrowing further beneath my blankets with a groan, I pulled the pillow over my head, willing whoever was calling my cell to hang up and leave me alone, or at least send a text like everyone else. The music stopped finally and I squeezed my eyes shut tighter with the hope of falling back to sleep.

I had just started to drift off when the music started up again. "All right, all right," I said grumpily, fumbling for the cell on my nightstand. I pressed the TALK button. "This had better be important."

"Blake?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"John Kelly. Don't tell me you've forgotten me already." There was a smile in his voice. "I bought you lunch. I took you home. We shared one hell of a kiss. Any of that ring a bell?"

As if I could forget.

Struggling to open my eyes, I looked at my alarm clock and did a double-take at the time. Surely it couldn't be almost eleven. My head swam as I tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. Pushing back the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I combed my fingers through my hair, preemptively working out the tangles before my shower.

"I remember you." I didn't add that I especially remembered the kiss. "How did you get my number?"

"You programmed it into my phone," he said.

"Right." Unable to think of anything else to say, I, unfortunately, said the first thing that popped into my head. "Why are you calling?"

"And here I was about to compliment you on your impeccable phone manners," he said. "I thought we had a fun time."

"We did." I rose and began making my way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. "It's just that," I said, peeking into my parents' room as I passed. Their bed was already made and the space tidied, although that was nothing unusual. Their room was always neat.

"It's just that what?" John prompted.

"It's just that I have a boyfriend, remember? Or . . . had a boyfriend."

"Given that you're speaking about your relationship in the past tense, I don't see what the problem is."

I momentarily gave up the idea of using the bathroom and was already on my way down the stairs, intent on finding out where my mom and dad were. They usually reserved Sunday mornings for sipping espresso, noshing on croissants from the expensive bakery around the corner, and reading the paper with the voices of NPR droning in the background. And yet I couldn't hear anything but my padding footsteps and too-loud voice as it echoed off the walls.

"The problem is that I broke up with Zach because of you," I said, without really thinking about what I was saying.

"You broke up with your boyfriend because of me?" John said smugly. "Must have been some kiss."

"Yes, well . . ."

My parents were not in the living room or kitchen, but I did find a note tacked to the fridge. I scanned the sparse wording: Tried to wake you. Dead to the world. Gone to brunch. Be back later. Mom.

My mother wrote in fragments only when she was angry, which obviously meant she must still be upset about how I'd broken up with Zach. So much for being on my side.

"I'm sorry. What was I saying?" I said into the phone, my attention momentarily distracted.

John laughed. "I'm not entirely sure. Listen, how about I swing by your place and pick you up? I'll take you out. The sky is blue. It's a good day to be alive."

"I don't know, John . . ."

"Great. I'll be there in an hour."

The phone went dead, and I stood there staring at it in my hand. I guess that settled it.

"An hour," I said, checking the time. "I can do this." Jogging down the hallway, my sock-clad feet slipping on the hardwood floor, I took the stairs two at a time.

Thankfully, I had washed my hair the night before. It usually took an hour just to blow my unruly mane straight, but I hopped in the shower for a refresher, and to shave my legs and underarms. Then I cleansed, exfoliated, buffed, moisturized, and plucked until there was not a smudge of oil or unwanted hair anywhere on my body.

Standing in front of my closet in nothing but my underwear, I scanned the racks for the perfect outfit that would show off the lean muscles of my arms and legs. Being a cheerleader had its perks, a decent body being one of them. Not knowing what John had planned, I opted for a pair of mid-thigh khakis and a melon-colored top to accentuate the seasonal darkening of my olive complexion. It was a one-sleeved blouse that left a shoulder bared, with a subtle ruffle running the length of the diagonal neckline. "Very feminine, and not at all slutty," Olivia had said when I'd held it up for her opinion in the store. I dressed up the outfit with a pair of small diamond studs and a matching bracelet.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about my hair in such a short amount of time. I had let it air-dry after last night's soak, which meant it was a mess of dark curls. Considering John had already seen it at its worst after getting drenched in the lake, it didn't matter. I scooped the bulk of it up into an intentionally untidy knot, leaving a few wispy tendrils to frame my face. It was the best I could do under the circumstances. My stomach growled just then, and I remembered I had eaten nothing for dinner the night before. Shoving my feet into a pair of sandals, I rushed down the stairs to the kitchen for a banana and a glass of juice.

I had just finished brushing my teeth and was applying the last of my makeup when the doorbell rang. My heart skipped a beat, and my palms seemed to instantly spring a leak. I took a deep breath, checked myself in the mirror one last time, and then answered the door.

"Zach," I said, my heart leaping in my throat. "What are you doing here?"

In my rush to get ready for my unexpected date with John, I had managed to put the breakup out of my mind. Given how we'd left things the night before, he was the last person I expected to see.

Zach held a bouquet of sunflowers in front of him. "Hi," he said shyly. "These are for you. You look nice, by the way."

He looked mostly good himself in tan shorts and the navy polo my parents had given him for his last birthday. Yet his normally expertly styled hair was a bit disheveled, and his eyes were red and grainy looking, like he'd been up half the night.

Taking the flowers, I placed them on the table just inside the foyer. "Thanks. They're really pretty."

Zach dug his hands in his pockets and shifted from one foot to the other. "I wanted to see you. I thought we could, you know, talk."

I glanced nervously over his shoulder, anticipating John's arrival. Zach had picked the worst possible moment to show up unannounced.

"This isn't a good time," I said.

"But your parents and my parents made plans to meet up for brunch so we could have some time alone to talk and work things out," he said. "Didn't your mom tell you?"

My mouth fell open, and yet I wasn't surprised. I was pretty sure the whole thing was strictly my mom's idea. Apparently, she would stop at nothing to see the two of us get back together, and we hadn't even been broken up a full day.

"That may be the case," I said, "but this really isn't a good time. I'm going out."

His eyebrows pushed together. "You are?"

"Yes."

"Who with?"

I squared my shoulders. "A friend."

"Olivia?"

With impeccable timing, John's car pulled into the driveway. I closed my eyes and sighed, hoping that when I opened them, Zach would have magically disappeared. Unfortunately, my wish didn't come true. Zach didn't say anything as John got out of his car. He stood dumbfounded as he watched John make his way up the walkway.

"Hey man," John said cheerily to Zach.

Zach turned to me. "What's he doing here?"

Extending his hand, John introduced himself. "John Kelly."

Zach batted his hand away. "What are you, forty? I know who you are." He turned to me again. "You broke up with me for this guy?"

"Nothing is going on between us," John said. He glanced at me then, and I knew from the smirk on his face that he had purposely refrained from adding the word yet.

"Then what are you doing here?" Zach said.

"We're going out."

"I thought you said there wasn't anything going on between you."

"There isn't. We're just friends."

Zach's brows rose. "You expect me to believe that?"

"I think you should leave," I said to Zach, not allowing John to answer. "My mother should have talked to me rather than leave a note that didn't even mention you'd be stopping by."

"Seriously, who the hell do you think you are?" Zach said to John, poking him in the chest with his finger and ignoring me altogether. "If you think you can just waltz in here and steal my girlfriend, you're insane."

"You guys," I said, seeing all too well where this was heading.

John took a deliberate step back. "From what I understand, she's not your girlfriend anymore. And I would appreciate you keeping your hands off me."

"What if I don't?"

"You guys. Cool it."

Zach shoved John in the shoulders with both hands, making him rock back on his heels. I rolled my eyes. The last thing I needed was two guys fighting over me.

"Stop," I said, tugging on Zach's arm. "You should leave."

He yanked his arm out of my grasp. "He's the one who should leave, Blake. I came over here to talk to you. I brought you flowers!"

"I appreciate that," I said, "but can we please talk about this later when you're not so emotional?"

Zach laughed, trying to disprove my point, but failing miserably. "I'm not emotional! I just can't believe you broke up with me for him, and you didn't even have the decency to tell me why."

He glared at me then, his face going an angry shade of red. "You know what? You're nothing but a back-stabbing bitch!"

My mouth fell open. Not once in my life had I ever heard Zach curse. I honestly didn't know whether to laugh or be offended.

"Go," John said, inserting himself between us. "Get out of here before I do something that will get me in a lot of trouble."

Zach's eyes widened, but he turned without another word and stormed down the walkway back to his car. John and I watched in silence as Zach reversed out of the driveway, his tires screeching as he sped off down the street.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Did that actually just happen?"

John's hand brushed my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have provoked him. He seems like a nice enough guy, all things considered."

"You're defending him? He called me a bitch!"

"He's mad. I'd probably react the same way if I'd been dumped for some loser."

I sighed. "You're not a loser, John."

John thrust his hands in his pockets and looked around, his eyebrows pushing together. "We can do this some other time if you want."

But what good would it do to cancel? I'd only be stuck at home dwelling on the fact I'd made Zach miserable. Yet again.

I shook my head. "No. I need to get out of the house. Let me leave a note and lock up, and then we can go."

**********

We ended up at the trail leading to Taughannock Falls. It had been years since I'd visited the landmark waterfall, so I was gaping at the surrounding scenery just like everyone else. When we had walked a few hundred feet, clusters of people passing us coming and going, John pointed to a break in the spindly pines.

"This way," he said, taking my hand.

We picked our way down a steep slope, ending up in the valley of a dried-up riverbed, the dark gray walls of the shale-rock canyon rising to the sky on either side. My breath caught in my throat as I turned a circle. "Whoa!"

"I know, right?" John said with a grin, satisfied by my reaction. "Makes you feel pretty insignificant, knowing that this was here long before you were born and will be here for an eternity."

We were not alone. Other people had the same idea, and scatterings of small groups filled the canyon. Still, the space was so vast it felt like it could have been just the two of us.

The bedrock dipped and rose, allowing rainwater to collect in shallow, isolated pools. "Take off your shoes so they don't get wet," John suggested. "And watch out for the algae. It's slippery."

As if to prove him right, my right foot skidded out in front of me. I flailed my arms to compensate, but John had quicker reflexes. He grabbed me around the waist to steady me, gently setting me back on my feet.

"I'm not usually such a klutz," I said. "I'd probably get kicked off the team if Coach saw that brilliant move."

John laughed. "I doubt it. I've seen you. You're better than all of them."

I ducked my head, embarrassed by his flattery, and untangled myself from his grasp. "I'm not, but thanks anyway."

John kept glancing at me as we walked, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What?" I finally said, self-conscious.

He shrugged. "I was just wondering how you got to be a cheerleader. You don't seem like the type."

I laughed. "Olivia dragged me to this cheer clinic when we were in the sixth grade. I didn't want to do it—had no interest whatsoever—but she was too scared to go alone. I was more interested in other things back then."

Every so often John's arm grazed mine, his dark, coarse hairs tickling my smooth skin. "Like what sort of things?"

"Drawing. I had this idea I wanted to be a fashion designer. Go to school in New York. Move to Paris one day. The whole bit, you know? But I discovered I was pretty good at cheering and tumbling, and now here I am, co-captain of the varsity team with Olivia."

"You and Olivia are pretty inseparable, aren't you?"

"Pretty much," I said. "So . . . are you and Jill officially over? I had no idea you were even a thing."

"We weren't. We just hung out a couple of times."

"Ah."

We walked in silence for several moments until we came upon a length of bedrock completely submerged underwater from one bank to another—inches deep in some parts, though mid-calf in others, judging by the way a group of girls was squealing and splashing. John and I made our way across an uneven path of rocks jutting slightly out of the water until we reached drier ground. He pointed to a large boulder, and that's where we headed to sit down and rest.

Removing the pack he'd slung across his back, John wedged it in his lap. Rummaging inside, he produced a blue aluminum bottle, which he handed to me. "Provisions."

"Thanks," I said, accepting the bottle. "At least one of us came prepared."

Pulling out a red bottle for himself, he unscrewed the top.

"It's hot," I commented to fill the silence, watching his throat bob as he swallowed. Strands of hair stuck to my face. I hoped I didn't stink and resisted the urge to lift my arm and sniff.

"Hungry?" he asked.

My stomach gurgled at the prospect of food. My meager breakfast had done little to fortify me for a day of hiking. "Very."

"I figured." He pulled a brown paper sack from his bag and passed it to me. "It sounded like I woke you up when I called. You probably didn't have a chance to eat anything."

I peeked into the sack, my stomach growling again, and pulled out a wrapped sandwich from the local bakery.

"Tomato and mozzarella on rosemary focaccia," John said. "I hope that's okay."

"More than okay," I said, unwrapping the sandwich as I glanced at him. "That was thoughtful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, waving away my offer of half the sandwich.

He placed a container of strawberries between us and held one at the level of my mouth. "I had some of these left from yesterday. Open," he said.

I opened my mouth obligingly, despite feeling silly and self-conscious, and he popped the strawberry inside. I bit down, the firm fruit bursting with juicy sweetness.

"For all that you know about me," I said around a mouthful of berry, "I know very little about you."

He inserted a strawberry into his mouth. "What's there to tell? My life is pretty boring."

I pinched off a bit of bread and tossed it to a nearby bird hopping from one rock to another. "I'm sure it's not. What do you do for fun?"

"Think about you."

I smiled. "Be serious."

"I am." But then he relented with a sigh. "I work mostly. It's just me."

"What do you mean it's just you?"

Two young kids—a boy and a girl—ran by us just then, their mother yelling from a short distance away that they'd better stop this instant and wait for her, or they were turning around and going home. John watched them for a moment before his gaze came to rest on me again.

"My parents are gone," he said.

"Gone?"

"Overseas."

"You mean to tell me they're letting you stay by yourself for the entire summer?"

"I'm eighteen. I'm legally an adult," he said. And then he added with an eye-roll: "There's a family that watches out for me. They make sure I eat regularly and don't get into any trouble, that sort of thing."

"Oh," I said, still finding the situation unorthodox but admittedly awesome. "So there's no one else?"

"No. Well . . . there's Ian."

"Does he live in town?"

John looked down at the strawberry still grasped in his fingers, seemingly seeing it for the first time. He put it in his mouth and chewed in silence before answering.

"He travels around. I'm not sure where he is right now."

I had finished half the sandwich by then and wrapped up the other to save for later. John's mood had changed abruptly, and I suspected it had something to do with this Ian person. It seemed like there might be more to the story, though I didn't want to pry.

"I'm ready whenever you are," I said as I brushed the crumbs from my lap. He could fill me in later if he wanted.

John returned the supplies to the bag and slung it across his back. Then he stood and offered me his hand. "C'mon," he said, mood restored as he pulled me to my feet. "We're almost there."

*****

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