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“Do you know this person, Meg?” The weasel asks.
“Ah…” she nods her head. “Yeah, I—”
“Are you Kyle?” I say, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I faced off with Phyllis—and lost. I have entered a school building unlawfully. If I’m going to jail today, it won’t be without kicking Kyle’s butt first.
The man backs up, hitting the neat and tidy desk behind him, that I’ve no doubt belongs to my Meg. “No. I am Jim. I am Jim. Jim.”
Meg holds up her hands and blows out a breath. “Jim, take a break. Go find…something to do. We’ll start up again tomorrow.”
The man—Slim Jim—watches me while hugging the opposite wall, making his way to the door. He trips over a standing ABC chart, stumbling his way out of the classroom.
He’s gone, and with him, all the sound in the room.
“Kal?” Meg watches me but doesn’t move. “What are you doing here? In Love?”
“It’s been a week.”
“Okay,” she says.
“You didn’t come back.”
Meg shuts her eyes. “I told you I couldn’t. This,” she motions to the stack of papers and computer on the horseshoe table behind her, “is important to me. I agreed to do this.”
“I know.”
“So, you hopped on a plane? You left…You left the island?”
“You’re my girl,” I say, my voice cracking—praying that she truly is my girl.
But she doesn’t move closer with my confession.
I’ve come so far. I’ve left Hawaii. I’ve traveled three thousand miles. I just need her to move ten feet. Come on, baby. Ten feet.
Meg blinks, watching me, but not moving. She swallows. “Here’s the thing, I don’t want to be Sandy,” she says, and there’s a breathless, tearless cry in her tone.
“Sandy?” I say, not following anything she’s said. I take one step closer. Nine feet, Meg. That’s all.
“You know? From Grease.” Meg licks her lips—those sweet, soft lips that melt me every time.
“I don’t follow.” Not only do I not follow, I am completely lost.
“I like myself, Kal,” she says, her knees bouncing with her conviction. “I like being organized and prepared. I like Post-it notes and calendar reminders and nice neat stacks of paper.” She swallows and peers at me, her eyes locking on mine.
Nine steps, Meg.
“And yes, I like being spontaneous too. But it’s not me.”
“It is you,” I insist before I’ve even had a second to contemplate if it’s the right thing to say. But it is what I believe.
She shakes her head. “Sandy changes everything about herself to be with Danny. And the thing is, I like poodle-skirt Sandy. I like that she’s sweet and kind and thoughtful. Tight-pants-Sandy can suck rocks. I like the real Sandy!”
My expression must explain that I am more confused than ever.
“Being spontaneous with you was the best time I’ve ever had. But I don’t want to change who I am. Not forever. Not for anyone. I like me.” A trembling breath falls from her lips. Her lecture is at an end.
And with her grand ending, I am all caught up. I get it now.
