Falling in the Dark | ✓

4 | FroYo

"I saw the weather forecast, honey," my mother says, her voice sounding tinny and distant on the phone. "It might snow soon. Are you wearing your coat?"

A group of students on bicycles round the corner, the ringing of bells echoing through the cool afternoon air.

"Yes, Mom," I reply as I walk towards the cluster of restaurants and cafes in the center of the university campus. "Stop worrying!"

"What are you going to eat today? Not deep-fried Twinkies, I hope," she mutters, totally disregarding my latter statement.

I roll my eyes. On a boring Sunday when we were in high school, Vera and I had decided to challenge each other to a deep-fried Twinkie eating contest. Much to my mother's horror, we fell violently sick after consuming too much of the snack cake.

"That Twinkie thing happened once," I groan. "Three years ago. Besides, I'm getting FroYo with Astrid now."

And she's going to give me the names of all the guys from that night, I think to myself with a shudder of anticipation.

"Hmm," Mom replies, unconvinced. "I'd prefer if you ate something hot . . ."

"HoYo doesn't exist, ma," I say, raising my eyes to the gray sky. "Thank god for that."

The sound of her high-pitched laughter makes me smile.

"So, how's Vera doing?" she asks with obvious concern in her voice. "I haven't heard from her in two weeks. Is everything okay?"

Immediately, I think back to the conversation Vera and I had that Sunday evening shortly after her fight with Liam.

"Just . . . promise me you won't tell your mom about what happened, okay?" Vera asked, her eyes piercing mine with a pleading intensity that threatened to dissolve my anger.

"Vera, I—"

Her hands seized mine, and I winced as her long fingernails dug into my skin.

"Please. I don't want her to know. Promise me, Car."

"Okay, I promise," I said, nodding with unwilling resignation.

"Carmen?" Mom calls, snapping me back into the moment.

"Yeah, of course," I answer in a rush, lowering my eyes to my feet. "She has been really busy studying." 

"Oh?" Mom says just that one word, but it is heavy with skepticism and disbelief.

"I'll Skype with you tonight, okay? Vera will talk to you then." In a bid to change the subject, I ask, "Is Dad going to be at home?"

"Yes, but you know what it's like," she sighs. "He's buried in work."

"I know, ma," I say, relieved that we aren't discussing Vera anymore.

I look up to find the FroYo store just two blocks ahead. A colorful sign hangs above a set of glass double doors, leading into a cozy, brightly lit space. I push through the doors after exchanging goodbyes with my mother and hanging up.

I look from left to right, scanning the neon greens and pinks of the quirky furniture for any signs of Astrid. But she isn't here yet. I decide to occupy one of the smaller tables, tucked away in a discreet corner of the shop.

Unlike my hands resting on the tabletop, my mind is neither still nor relaxed. After waiting five agonizing days for Astrid to reveal the list of names, I can't bring myself to wait another moment. Thankfully, my wait is cut short when the front doors swing open with a loud whoosh. I lean forward in my chair to look, my eyes landing on Astrid's tall frame and golden curls.

Yet again, she manages to look effortlessly stylish in an oversized blue sweater and white leggings with a multi-colored print that is almost too bright to look at. I'm severely underdressed in comparison, clad in a red floral top and skinny jeans, my black coat hanging over the backrest of my chair. Astrid's left wrist is laden with bracelets that clang together noisily when she waves at me.

"Hey!" she says as she reaches the table, returning my smile.

"Hey," I reply, gesturing for her to take a seat.

She drops her large tote bag onto the table and points at the display of frozen dessert. "Let's order, yeah?"

"Sure," I say, standing up to walk by her side.

Too anxious and excited, I can't bring myself to focus on the seemingly endless range of choices. I just choose the first flavor of yogurt I can spot — mint — and hurriedly add a few pieces of fruit and chocolate sprinkles. Astrid takes much more time and care with her order of coconut-flavored yogurt with a dozen different toppings.

"So, finding this mystery man," she says once we've sat down with our cups, "might be harder than we first thought."

I swirl my plastic spoon around the soft yogurt. "What do you mean?"

"There were fifteen participants, but . . ."

"But . . . ?"

She looks at me squarely, blue eyes wide and lips turned downward. "I only have fourteen names."

A beat of silence.

"What do you mean?"

"One of the guys must've left the party before the interview. People were invited to participate by word of mouth, and even I didn't know everyone's names until I actually interviewed them."

It takes a moment for her words to sink in.

Maybe it's Felix, I tell myself feebly. Maybe he left the party earlier. It won't matter if he's not on the list.

"Can I see the names?" I ask. My teeth press down on my lip as Astrid grabs a sheet of paper out of her gray tote.

"Here," she says, placing the paper on the table.

I trace my index finger along the names randomly, wondering which one of them is the stranger I want to find. Alex Bergan, Wesley Vivet, Dong Kim, Jake McKibben . . . The unfamiliar names leave my stomach churning with frustration. I stop at the fourth one, shutting my eyes tightly in disappointment. Felix Reed.

"I don't know any of these people," I mutter, shaking my head in dismay. "Except Felix."

"Maybe it's him?" she suggests encouragingly.

"Maybe," I say, raising my eyes to hers. "I'm meeting him at The Blacktop to study for a test tomorrow."

"Ooh, a date," she sing-songs, swallowing a spoonful of yogurt.

"A study date," I correct her with a laugh.

"As if you're going to get any studying done," she retorts, tossing her long hair behind her shoulder.

Rolling my eyes playfully, I focus on the list again.

Fourteen names.

"But what about that one guy that didn't show?"

"Carmen, the chances of him being the guy are very slim. I mean, I have a feeling you won't have to search beyond Reed."

"That would make things easier," I admit, examining a sliced strawberry as though it may hold all the answers.

"Maybe even if he isn't the guy, you know what I'm saying?" she says, winking suggestively and fanning her face with her hand.

I laugh weakly, thinking to myself that Astrid has no idea how desperately I want to find the beautiful stranger. The boy that is in my thoughts in the brightest moment of the day and the darkest hour of the night.