I ran the tip of my tongue over the edges of my front teeth in time with the second hand ticking toward the end of class. My tongue still felt singed and raw from when I burned it on hot chocolate the day before, and the sting from rubbing it against my teeth was enough to keep me somewhat alert while I struggled to stay awake.

"Why was your car parked at my house so late last night?" Eric asked from behind me after the bell rang.

"Oh. Um, it wouldn't start. So I walked to work."

Researching the pros and cons of water fluoridation at Eric's house seemed like a lifetime ago. We didn't make much progress on it either. I couldn't believe I still had to be a functioning high school student while the daunting task of changing history loomed in my near future. Or more like correcting a small part of history.

"It was really nasty outside yesterday. I would've given you a ride if I knew you were stranded."

"It's not that far."

I sensed Eric beside me as we walked down the hallway, but I was a world away. I'd returned from 1953 late the night before, sitting on the wet grass in his backyard with my arms wrapped tightly around a paper bag and a suitcase.

All night I tossed and turned, and I still wasn't sure if the visions I had were dreams or memories or a series of images that flashed in my mind in that moment before drifting into sleep that I rejected, preventing myself from falling asleep as a result. All morning my surroundings were filtered through the hazy glare of exhaustion. I probably should have stayed home sick.

"Is everything okay, Ness?" Eric had stopped walking while I continued on for a few steps. "You just walked past your locker. And you seem a little out of it."

"Oh, whoops. Yeah, I don't think I slept at all last night." I tried to offer him a reassuring smile and then hoped muscle memory would take over to get the combination on my locker correct because my brain for sure wasn't reliable enough for the task.

"Were you up all night filled with regret?" he asked. He was leaning against the locker next to mine, so close that the scent of the beach emanating from him, the salt and citrus and driftwood in the warm sunshine, made my head spin. "Wishing you'd taken the opportunity to run your hands through my hair?"

"Ha! That must have been it."

And then, as if my body was not my own, I did. His hair was coarser than I'd imagined and feeling the warmth of him against my cold fingertips made me feel more grounded than I had all day. Once I realized what I was doing, my arm dropped like a dead fish and I muttered an apology.

"It's okay," he said, though he looked bewildered before he recovered with a warm smile. "Hopefully now you can sleep at night."

"It was worth a try, I guess." I pressed my cool fingers to the back of my neck, which was burning up.

"Do you think we could try to hang out this weekend?" he asked. He must have sensed my suspicion and added, "With no school work, no damage control, and no discussing last summer- unless you want to."

"We could try that," I heard myself say.

"How about tomorrow?"

"I work at four."

"I think it's supposed to be nice out. How about I pack us lunch and you decide where we eat?

"Like a picnic?" This was sounding date-y. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but I had too much else on my mind to let the question of whether a picnic with Eric was a date or not take up much space.

"Sure, is that okay?"

"Yeah." I nodded slowly and imagined my head continuing on its forward trajectory until my face landed against Eric's chest, where I would let it rest for a while. But that wasn't an option, especially after the hair touching. I had to hold my own head up, along with everything going on inside of it.

"I'll pick you up," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "Since I'm determining the location."

"Sounds good, Ness." His genuinely happy smile warmed my heart. It felt kinda good to be responsible for that smile. Maybe that was enough.

Sophie and I were the first to reach our lunch table, as I'd hoped. I wanted to get this conversation over with as soon as possible.

"Question," I said as soon as I sat down. "On a scale of one to ten, how mad would you be if I hung out with Eric, like voluntarily?"

She grimaced. "Have you been hanging out with him involuntarily?"

"Kind of. We've worked on some class projects together."

"Like, a one," she said with a careless shrug. "Nothing ever happened there."

"Yeah, but you wanted it to, right? And Kaitlin said you were all sad on Halloween because you heard he was with Danielle."

"Oh. That had nothing to do with him." She scanned the cafeteria for a few seconds and when she faced me again, she looked like she was going to cry. "Um, I have one, too. On a scale of one to ten how mad would you be if I kissed Jason?" The words spilled out of her mouth in a quiet rush, like she'd been holding them in for awhile.

Was she talking about my brother Jason? She'd wanted to kiss Jason since we were thirteen, so I didn't understand why she seemed so upset.

"Like, hypothetically?" I asked.

She pressed her lips together in a thin line and slowly shook her head.

I started methodically unpacking my lunch bag while I tried to work out what to say next. "When?" was all I came up with.

"When we were breaking into your accounts."

So, my best friend and my brother made out when they both thought I was either dead or in significant peril. I had my suspicions, but I was still too stunned to speak.

"It was a really weird time," she explained. "I knew he had a girlfriend, and I felt so bad about it after. But when you told me they broke up I texted him. And we were in touch for a while and I saw him one weekend at State and-"

"You saw him one weekend at State," I repeated. "Did you stay with him?" I was under the impression this was a one-off kiss, but it was escalating quickly into a lot more.

"No, I spent the night at my cousin's dorm. But I did meet up with him and then a few days later he stopped responding to my texts."

"Wait, he ghosted you?" A sudden flash of anger quickly cut through the fog that had been hanging over me all day. "That's a ten on the scale. You get a one, he gets a ten. That is unacceptable."

"Don't say anything to him, okay?" she pleaded. "The whole thing is so embarrassing. And I don't think I'll ever be able to look at him again, if that makes you feel better."

Her eyes were wet with tears again and she scowled as she looked up at the ceiling and rapidly blinked them away. In our entire five year friendship, I'd never seen Sophie cry. I couldn't believe my own doofus brother was the source of her pain.

We were talking about Jason, who ironically wore eighties hair band t-shirts, who once cut his hair into a mullet because he thought it would be funny, and who'd nerd out over obscure movies and describe the entire plot to anyone he thought would listen. He got too competitive during trivia games, conveniently forgot to do anything remotely helpful he was asked to do, and drove five to ten miles under the speed limit on the expressway.

"I'm sorry my brother's a jerk, Sof. I think it might be genetic," I joked weakly.

"Hey, I'll accept that for an explanation. Then it has nothing to do with me." She sniffled and pulled a tiny cheese wheel from her lunch bag. "Maybe it's for the best. Maybe I needed this to happen to finally get him out of my system. So you're not mad?"

"Not at you."

~~~~~~

While I sat in the car waiting for my shift at the Shipyard to start after school, I called Jason. I almost never called him. He was going to think there was a family emergency and I wasn't even going to feel bad about scaring the crap out of him.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked with nervous tension straining his voice.

"I cannot believe you. You ghosted my best friend! Did you think you were gonna get away with that?!"

"Wait, you're mad because I cut things off with Sophie?"

"You didn't cut things off! You ignored her. There's a difference. Did it ever occur to you that you might see her again, because she's your sister's friend? What were you planning to do then?"

All I could hear was movement and distant car traffic. He must have been walking somewhere.

"I haven't really thought about it," he finally said.

"No surprise there."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you do things without thinking. You just do whatever you want and you don't think about anyone else. And now you're a film major and I'm going to have to support Mom someday!"

"Whoa, whoa. What are you talking about? What does my major have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. I got sidetracked by a me problem." I took a deep breath and exhaled before I went on, "I don't know if you know this, but Sophie's been in love with you forever. And whatever went on between you two made her think something might happen there, and it's not going to happen is it?"

It was quiet for a minute before he answered, "No."

"Why not? You don't like her or what?"

"Sure, I like her. But she's in high school!"

"For like, six more months. So, it's an age gap issue then?"

He sighed. "It's a life gap issue."

"Then tell her that. The least you can do is apologize and try to explain yourself. But wait a few days because she told me not to say anything to you. Better yet, do it when you're home for Thanksgiving. Apologize to her face."

"Seriously? Why do you care so much?"

"Because today I saw my friend cry for the first time ever and it was over your dumb ass, and I am shaken. And because avoidance is not a solution! What if she spends the rest of her life thinking she did or said something wrong, or that you didn't even like her at all? You have to say the things that need to be said, because you never know what might happen before you get the chance."

By the time I finished ranting, the car windows were starting to fog. I wiped away the condensation with the sleeve of my jacket while I waited for him to respond. Eventually I asked, "Still there?"

"Yup," he said with an emphasis on the 'p'. He was clearly annoyed and done listening to me get on his case. I wondered if anything I'd said would actually get through to him.

~~~~~~

The next day I texted Eric from my car when I arrived at his house. I wasn't quite ready to go near that place again. Eric loped down the front steps holding a thin plastic shopping bag. He was wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt and jeans.

This is going to be fine, I assured myself. Hoodies and food in plastic shopping bags were not the stuff of dates. But then what did I know about dating in my own era? Almost nothing. It was a harsh reminder of my limited history, while Eric's was extensive. But that didn't matter, because this wasn't a date.

"Where are we going?" Eric asked as soon as he got in the car. He pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt to his elbows and clapped his hands together in anticipation.

"Guess," I teased.

"The boardwalk?"

"Nah. Too obvious."

"The beach?"

"Too far away for today. I love the beach in November, though." I glanced over at him, a perfect image of the memory of summer; fading tan on his forearms, the sun-lightened ends of his hair growing out. He even smelled like warm days and carefree nights. "But you seem more of a beach in July kind of person."

"What if you stop making assumptions about what kind of person I am? I do like the beach in July, but I think I could like it in November, too."

"Could you like a picnic in a cemetery?"

"I could."

I parked on the street so we could take our time to walk through the cemetery. The newer section closest to the road was all flat and angles; the gravesites neatly plotted on level ground, the tombstones smooth and reflective. I wanted to go to the oldest section of the cemetery that was at the top of a gradual hill, where the markers were chalky and dimpled, with black and mossy green stains, and the trees were tall and unruly.

"I read once that Americans used to picnic in cemeteries in Victorian times," I explained, "before there were very many public parks."

"And Latin Americans have been picnicking in cemeteries for centuries. So you're not going to scare me off with a cemetery picnic, if that's what you were hoping."

"Do you have any relatives here?" I asked, avoiding his accusation.

"Nope. My family isn't from around here."

"I always wonder how people end up in Palmer when they're not from here. Like, did your parents drive through one day and see the river and say, 'this idyllic waterfront village is where we want to raise our children!' without looking the other way and seeing the actual town?"

"Good question. Their story is that they thought they could make a bigger difference in a smaller community. But Owen and Emma and I have theories that involve witness protection, running from a criminal past, stuff like that."

The uniform stones with crisp engraving gradually gave way to time and weather worn angel statues and obelisks. Many of the thin, rounded markers emerged from the ground at odd angles and had symbols at the top, like an index finger pointing to the sky, an open book, or a weeping willow tree. We pulled out our phones to search for the meanings of the symbols.

"Was there someone in particular you were looking for?" Eric asked when we'd reached the center of the old section.

"No, I thought we'd wander until we find a picnic spot that speaks to us. But not, like, literally."

He laughed. "If that happens, I'm outta here."

We came across a newer plaque that didn't quite fit in and stopped to read it.

"It's an Underground Railroad memorial," Eric said. "It says this couple escaped slavery and assisted others to freedom from their home. I guess Palmer was a good spot for that, right across the river from Canada."

And then a name in big, block letters jumped out at me. Rockmore.

"Whoa," Eric said as he spotted it. "Samuel's got an obelisk. He must've been a legend."

"The taller the obelisk, the more legendary. I think we found our spot."

We sat on the grass near the Rockmore plot and Eric took two foil packets out of the plastic bag.

"Still warm," he said, as he handed one over.

I held it between my hands for a minute to absorb some warmth. It was a sunny day with a cloudless blue sky, but still chilly. Most of the gnarled tree branches over our heads were bare, allowing the sun to shine through to our spot on the hill.

The few leaves that remained on the trees were actively dropping, which could be relaxing to watch. But sometimes it was alarming, like watching the last few grains of sand slipping through an hourglass.

"Confession: I didn't make the empanadas. I only packed them."

"I'm just glad it's not canned salmon surprise."

The crispy cornmeal crust and spiced potatoes were delicious. I tried to discreetly pick the beef chunks out and set them on a piece of tin foil I'd torn from the wrapper.

"Are you a vegetarian?" Eric asked when he noticed.

"I am," I said apologetically.

"Fail! I'm so sorry, Ness. Next time I'll bring a vegetarian option." He looked past me and his eyes widened in shock. "Don't move," he warned in a low voice.

"What?" I whispered.

"It's a fox. There's a fox right behind you. What do we do?"

I slowly turned my head and saw a rusty red furry face and pointed black-tipped ears poking out from behind Samuel Rockmore's gravestone. The fox stood perfectly still with its copper-colored eyes fixed on us.

"You're attracting it with your meat pile," Eric whispered.

"My meat pile?" I snickered, which turned into a giggle, and it then was impossible to stop, like all ill-timed laughter.

Eric shushed me, but then started to quietly laugh, too. "We're gonna get rabies," he bemoaned as his shoulders shook with laughter. "It's not going anywhere."

"Let's take our food to go," I suggested. We slowly stood and I dumped the meat from the foil onto the ground as a peace offering.

Once we were sure the fox wasn't following us, Eric said, "I've been waiting years for this, you know."

"To visit the cemetery?"

"No, to have a conversation with you where you're not all..." he waved his hand as he searched for the right word.

"Bitchy?"

He grinned. "Sometimes that. But mostly, I don't know, aloof? You've always blown me off. Ever since middle school."

"I guess I used to think you were friendly to everyone out of obligation to your reputation as Mr. Nice Guy."

He shrugged guiltily. "I'm glad you picked this spot," he said. "Being here makes waiting to see if I get accepted to my number one school seem like less of a big deal. Kids died, people died in wars, young moms died. People risked their lives to escape slavery. Kinda puts things in perspective. I'm not going to die if I don't get into U of M. I probably needed a wake up call to get my head out of my own butt."

I sighed. "Don't make me regret saying this, but if anyone deserves to walk around with their head up their butt, it's you. You're super smart and you work hard and you care about people, and they can tell, you know?" I was already starting to regret what I was saying, but I kept going anyway. "You're not well-liked just because you're good at sports and not terrible to look at. I think you might be a genuinely good person. So, I don't know what you're worried about. You're definitely getting into U of M and you'll be right on track to give people brand-new bionic knees."

He watched his shoes scuff the ground as he walked, with his face contorted in thought. "That's like the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

I scoffed. "Right."

"No really. Except for when a girl called me a 'perfect cookie' once, but I don't think she meant it in a good way."

"You're kidding. You're trying to tell me everyone around you isn't blowing smoke up your ass on a daily basis?"

"Blowing smoke up my ass? I swear, sometimes you talk like a drunk Boomer uncle."

"Maybe I was a drunk uncle in a past life."

Eric looked at me in a weird way, like he was surprised to find me there walking next to him, and then he jolted forward.

"Whoops!" I exclaimed as I reflexively reached out to catch him.

"Tree root," I pointed at the ground as he steadied himself.

I heard him say, "Vanessa, I-"

I looked at his hand, which was still clutching my wrist, and though I didn't want to pull away, my heart protested. While I wanted to believe this was enough, it wasn't.

Then Eric mumbled something unintelligible, dropped my arm and walked backward a few steps.

"Tree root," I warned. But I was too late, he tripped and that time I let him stumble and fall.

Once he brushed the dirt from his knees and laughed it off, I said, "This was actually nice. Thanks for observing the rules."

"Yeah, it was. We passed the test. And I think we have potential."

His dimpled smile was irresistible, and I decided that I didn't have to resist it. I could appreciate it, along with everyone else in the world, like a painting at a museum. I didn't have to have it in my house. It was too nice for my house, anyway.

"To be pretty decent friends," I clarified.