Kids These Days

Chapter 26: Becca

"Can't sleep?"

Finn sinks down next to me on the front steps, dragging a hand through his untidy curls. There are dark half-moons under his eyes. He flashes me a half-smile when I nod in agreement. "Yeah, me neither. What's got your goat?"

"I have dreams." This, I suppose, is the only rational explanation for why I'm sitting outside of Floyd's ranch at two in the morning, sipping a cup of lukewarm lavender tea as if it'll somehow cure my insomnia. "What about you?"

Finn picks at a loose thread on his Indiana State sweatshirt. "Same thing. Dreams."

Lightning crackles in the distance, turning the horizon briefly purple, and I can't help but think of a rainy night from last summer, playing that ridiculous game of spin the bottle, shivering in the damp Alaskan cold and spilling my secrets to the last person at Lightlake I ever thought I'd confide in. What did Ronan say -- you're quite the woman of mystery, Becca Fisher? As if that was something to be proud of.

I try not to linger on Ronan's words for too long, because then I start thinking about everything else that happened last summer, and that's heading into dangerous territory.

"What do you dream about?" asks Finn.

We're sitting close together -- our shoulders are almost touching. He smells like his pine body wash. It's hard to believe that we've occupied the same space for almost a month, dancing around each other in some elaborate game of blind man's bluff, and this is the first real conversation we've had since Rachel's open house.

"My grandmother," I tell him. "She's in the hospital, and she's not getting better. My cousin Julia called me yesterday. Apparently, this is the last round of chemotherapy, and if it doesn't work, well..." Thunder rumbles through the smoke-gray clouds, and I sniff loudly. I'm not going to cry again. Not tonight. "Then again, I also have a recurring dream where my best friend is an iguana, so I probably shouldn't take myself too seriously."

"I once had a dream where all my teeth turned into baby carrots."

"Wow. That's bizarre."

Finn clutches dramatically at his chest. "I bare my heart and soul to you, and you call my carrot dream bizarre? I will not tolerate this slander!"

"Uh, it's not slander if it's true."

We banter back and forth for a few minutes, but I can tell Finn doesn't have it in him to keep trading jokes, and honestly, neither do I.

So we sit there in silence instead, listening to the steady, percussive symphony of water rattling through the metal gutters. Raindrops smack against the flagstones, washing away a month's worth of dust. The ranch sits quietly, stoically weathering the storm. All of Finn's family members have retreated to their rooms. I don't know where Ronan is, but I doubt he's going to turn up anytime soon.

And then there's us. Sitting here, on the doorstep, listening to the rain.

Without really thinking, I lay my head on Finn's shoulder. "God, I'm so tired."

"Want to go back to sleep?"

"Not really."

"Want to get out of here?"

"More than anything."

***

We ride our bikes down the deserted highway to the Winnebago. The wind whirls and eddies around us, carrying with it the dusty smell of rain mixed with asphalt. It's still pouring, and my hair gets immediately soaked, plastering itself against my cheeks and the back of my neck. Finn hits a pothole and tips over into a puddle, and I laugh so hard that my abdomen actually aches. He shakes the water off like a dog and gives me a bemused smile.