brother’s car, and if I get into Stanford next year, I’ll get a car. But if I don’t need a car, why buy one?” He shrugged.
“I think that’s great,” I said sincerely.
He seemed embarrassed, and he looked up at our apartment. “You have a nice place.”
“Thanks,” I said, but I could tell that he was trying to be nice. The Palms apartments aren’t exactly luxurious. They’re a series of slightly run-down two-story buildings with balconies, forty years old, as old as just about anything in Phoenix ever got before some new developer came in and tore it down. Chris’s family, on the other hand, lived in a neighborhood full of new houses, huge Tudor and French château mansions. I knew that because the swimming bus had dropped him off there after a few late meets.
I led him around to the tiny side yard. We stashed his bike in the oleanders, dragged an old ladder from its resting place in the crabgrass, and leaned it up against the side of the house. “Be careful of the roof tiles,” I whispered as I began carefully climbing. “There were a few loose the last time I was up.”
“You’ve been up here before?” Chris asked, following my slow steps up the ladder, the blanket around his shoulder and the picnic basket tucked under his arm. “And here I thought I was being so original.”
“Well, I’ve never been up here
with
anyone before,” I said. “It’s a good place to think. You can see a lot of the neighborhood—though not the whole city, the way you can from Squaw Peak.”
We climbed onto the gently sloping rooftop, spread out the blanket, and settled down to watch the sky. I couldn’t help feeling grateful that my mom was asleep on the first floor, rather than right below us. Chris lay backagainst the roof. I sat up straight beside him, my arms wrapped around my knees.
Chris looked adorable in his baggy shorts and baseball T-shirt. I felt strangely calm sitting next to him. My heart wasn’t hammering, like it was the day we watched the sunset together, and my palms were dry. I’d never done anything like this in my life, but somehow it felt perfectly right.
“Fifty-three minutes to show time,” I said, squinting at my glow-in-the-dark wristwatch. Tayerle had told us that at 12:08 A . M ., the moon would slowly move into the Earth’s shadow. Since this was a total lunar eclipse, the full moon would be entirely in shadow. I knew from our astronomy book that the eclipse could last over three hours.
“Let’s synchronize our watches,” Chris said.
“Eleven-fifteen,” I said, and Chris answered, “Check.”
We were quiet for a few minutes looking up at the sky. “This sort of reminds me of camping,” Chris said finally. “The darkness, the quiet, the whole sky spread out above you …”
“The backache you have in the morning from sleeping on the ground …”
Chris laughed, and readjusted his body on the hard, jutting tiles. “All we need to make it perfect is some poison ivy and a few mosquitoes. I remember once, when I was a Boy Scout—”
“
You
were a Boy Scout?” I interrupted.
Chris propped himself up on one elbow. “Went all the way to Eagle,” he said.
“No way!”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“I just can’t see you in one of those little uniforms,” I said. “I mean, don’t you lose merit points or something if you have holes in your pants?”
Chris sat up and tried to look indignant but then let a grin escape. “I’ll tell you, wearing that uniform was lame. But my parents were always too busy being lawyers to take my brother and me camping. If it hadn’t been for Boy Scouts, I might never have gotten out of Phoenix or learned the names of the stars.”
“I didn’t know both your parents were lawyers,” I said.
“Yeah,” Chris said, but he didn’t sound too impressed. “And they’re waiting for one of their children to follow in their footsteps. My brother Dave wants to join the Peace Corps, so I guess they’re thinking
“I think that’s great,” I said sincerely.
He seemed embarrassed, and he looked up at our apartment. “You have a nice place.”
“Thanks,” I said, but I could tell that he was trying to be nice. The Palms apartments aren’t exactly luxurious. They’re a series of slightly run-down two-story buildings with balconies, forty years old, as old as just about anything in Phoenix ever got before some new developer came in and tore it down. Chris’s family, on the other hand, lived in a neighborhood full of new houses, huge Tudor and French château mansions. I knew that because the swimming bus had dropped him off there after a few late meets.
I led him around to the tiny side yard. We stashed his bike in the oleanders, dragged an old ladder from its resting place in the crabgrass, and leaned it up against the side of the house. “Be careful of the roof tiles,” I whispered as I began carefully climbing. “There were a few loose the last time I was up.”
“You’ve been up here before?” Chris asked, following my slow steps up the ladder, the blanket around his shoulder and the picnic basket tucked under his arm. “And here I thought I was being so original.”
“Well, I’ve never been up here
with
anyone before,” I said. “It’s a good place to think. You can see a lot of the neighborhood—though not the whole city, the way you can from Squaw Peak.”
We climbed onto the gently sloping rooftop, spread out the blanket, and settled down to watch the sky. I couldn’t help feeling grateful that my mom was asleep on the first floor, rather than right below us. Chris lay backagainst the roof. I sat up straight beside him, my arms wrapped around my knees.
Chris looked adorable in his baggy shorts and baseball T-shirt. I felt strangely calm sitting next to him. My heart wasn’t hammering, like it was the day we watched the sunset together, and my palms were dry. I’d never done anything like this in my life, but somehow it felt perfectly right.
“Fifty-three minutes to show time,” I said, squinting at my glow-in-the-dark wristwatch. Tayerle had told us that at 12:08 A . M ., the moon would slowly move into the Earth’s shadow. Since this was a total lunar eclipse, the full moon would be entirely in shadow. I knew from our astronomy book that the eclipse could last over three hours.
“Let’s synchronize our watches,” Chris said.
“Eleven-fifteen,” I said, and Chris answered, “Check.”
We were quiet for a few minutes looking up at the sky. “This sort of reminds me of camping,” Chris said finally. “The darkness, the quiet, the whole sky spread out above you …”
“The backache you have in the morning from sleeping on the ground …”
Chris laughed, and readjusted his body on the hard, jutting tiles. “All we need to make it perfect is some poison ivy and a few mosquitoes. I remember once, when I was a Boy Scout—”
“
You
were a Boy Scout?” I interrupted.
Chris propped himself up on one elbow. “Went all the way to Eagle,” he said.
“No way!”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“I just can’t see you in one of those little uniforms,” I said. “I mean, don’t you lose merit points or something if you have holes in your pants?”
Chris sat up and tried to look indignant but then let a grin escape. “I’ll tell you, wearing that uniform was lame. But my parents were always too busy being lawyers to take my brother and me camping. If it hadn’t been for Boy Scouts, I might never have gotten out of Phoenix or learned the names of the stars.”
“I didn’t know both your parents were lawyers,” I said.
“Yeah,” Chris said, but he didn’t sound too impressed. “And they’re waiting for one of their children to follow in their footsteps. My brother Dave wants to join the Peace Corps, so I guess they’re thinking
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