Just a Matter of Time Read online

  “Do you steal time now?” I asked.

  “Look,” he said, like I’d bumped a recent bruise. “People are incredibly careless with their time.” He cocked his head, his expression thoughtful. “Imagine if everyone let dollar bills float out of their pockets and litter the street. Would you blame me for walking behind them and picking up all that cash?”

  “Technically, isn’t that stealing?”

  “If the other person doesn’t miss it, does it matter?”

  “I’m seriously missing my time,” I said.

  “That’s because you have quality time.”

  “What?”

  “You’re smart and creative.” Gordon’s cheeks went this amazing pink. It made his dark eyes brighten so I could see the tiny flecks of green. Deep down, the embers of that long-ago crush flared. My own cheeks heated. Between us, we could’ve brewed a fresh pot of coffee.

  “You really don’t want some people’s time,” he continued, “like if they’re drunk or high. Easy to steal, but pretty worthless.”

  “Oh.”

  “And some adults, like workaholics?” Gordon rolled his eyes. “Just clutter and full of static.”

  “Can anyone steal time?”

  “I don’t know. Some people seem born to it.”

  “Like you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What about Maya?”

  “Maya’s special. She’s a time leech.”

  “A what?”

  “You know that saying about how everyone has the same twenty-four hours in a day?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, if you can figure out how to steal time, you end up with more—or at least better—time. Maya’s been using yours. It’s why I’ve been trying to run interference. That’s why I gave you a little bit of my time.”

  “You can do that?”

  “It was extra, from someone else, and I didn’t really need it.”

  Those little bursts. I felt my eyes grow wide. Despite everything, I smiled. “That was you?”

  He nodded. “Except, I can’t always do that. I mean, I won’t always be around.”

  “How do I get rid of her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can I learn to steal time?”

  “No idea.”

  Then what was the point to all this? “So you’re trying to help me, but have no idea how to do that?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I sighed, took a sip of my coffee, but it had gone cold. I scrunched up my nose and Gordon laughed. “I’ll buy you another,” he said.

  “And then what?”

  He stood, picked up my cup, and gave me a grin. “Time will tell.”

  * * *

  According to Gordon, you didn’t actually need to touch people to steal their time, not when you got good at it. But you did need proximity. In my case, distance was the best defense. I could simply avoid Maya when he wasn’t around.

  And when he was, like in AP World History, Maya faded into the background. Gordon talked Mrs. Harmon into letting him switch seats, so he sat by me and, as he called it, ran interference. Maya scowled, but I hardly cared. At last, I could breathe in that room, and concentrate on the lecture, and earn 100% on extra credit reports.

  We returned to Jumpin’ Java, day after day. Gordon schooled me in the finer points of time thievery; I asked endless questions.

  “How did you figure it out?” I asked him during one of our sessions.

  “Over time,” he said, then grinned as if he’d been waiting forever to tell time jokes. “Seriously, you get a feel for it. You start recognizing who else can do it too.”

  “Any honor among thieves?”

  “Not really.”

  “Is that why you’re helping me?”

  He grinned again. “Maybe.”

  Unfortunately, when it came to technique, my mind couldn’t grasp even the basics. Intellectually, this new interpretation of time fascinated me. On a practical level? It was Title 1 all over again. More often than not, I drifted off, savoring the luxury of un-stolen time. Gordon was the salt for my time leech.

  Not that he was always happy about that.

  “You’re daydreaming,” he said during another session at the coffee shop.

  “I am?”

  “I can feel it.”

  “You can?”

  “Yeah. So cut it out.”

  I hadn’t daydreamed in ages, it seemed, and I hated to give it up just because he said so. I touched my cheek as if that could bring back the elusive images floating just out of reach. They had been, in fact, images about Gordon—

  “I said, cut it out.” He pulled my hand from my cheek and gripped my fingers. “It’s like a beacon, okay? I’m surprised every time thief in a five-mile radius hasn’t come crashing in here. I’m surprised Maya hasn’t—”

  The bell over the door jangled and in waltzed Maya, violin case swinging from one hand, book bag slung over the other shoulder.

  “Time to leave,” Gordon said.

  “What?” I glanced at my half-full cup of coffee, then to his face, his eyes dark and fierce. I blinked a few times, trying to collect all my stray thoughts. We’d been doing . . . what?

  “Wow. That was fast.” He stepped to the side, blocking Maya’s line of sight. All at once, my thoughts were mine again.

  “Come on.” Gordon extended a hand to help me up. “Let’s leave before you end up needing a time transfusion.”

  I hated being so helpless—the classic damsel in distress. I hated those, too. There had to be a way I could fight Maya on my own, so she’d leave me alone, once and for all.

  In orchestra, we sat side by side, her first chair to my second. Mentally, I tried pushing her away. Her grin told me I was like a toddler trying to wrestle with a ten-year-old—cute and totally ineffective.

  The only relief came when Maya played her solo, the highlight of our upcoming spring concert. For weeks, I lived for that moment. For weeks, I never knew why. Then, that Friday, it hit me. When she was the only one playing, she couldn’t steal time. Her full concentration was on that solo, and every last bit of my leeched time came rushing back. It made me wonder.

  What if I tried to steal Maya’s time?

  I focused all my attention on her, bit my lower lip in concentration. I thought about Gordon giving me some of his extra time, how it felt like a burst—a cool drink of water on a hot day. Maybe time wasn’t like money at all. Maybe it was more fluid, more like water. You could bend it and make it do what you wanted it to, if only you knew how.

  So I imagined sucking up Maya’s time through a straw. All at once, I felt that little burst. Not as intense as when Gordon had given me time, but still there, still wonderful.

  Maya’s violin screamed.

  * * *

  Maya came after me in the hall outside of Orchestra. She shoved me into a practice room, her arms like steel from years on the violin. She slammed the door behind us, then leaned against it so I couldn’t escape. We were both going to be late for next block. When I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out.

  “That wasn’t funny,” she said.

  “Yeah. Well, now you know how I feel.”

  “You don’t have a clue.”

  In a way, Maya and I were alike, both of us girls whose names kids remembered during calculus and then forgot by lunch. We filled our days overachieving—extra credit reports, extracurriculars, extra-everything—to forget how lonely we were. And once upon a time, we’d been friends.

  “I don’t know what I did to you,” I said, “but—”

  “Right. Like you and Gordon aren’t laughing about it.”

  “Laughing about what?” Nothing about this was funny: not Maya stealing my time, and not me stealing hers.

  She pushed off the door and stepped close enough that I could see where the red in her hair ended and the brown roots began.

  “Here’s what you don’t understand,” she said. “It’s an addiction. And there’s no rehab for it, no twelve-step pr
ogram. And do you know just how dangerous it is to get between an addict and his supply?”

  Was she threatening me? Really? After all this? This time, I stepped closer. “I just messed up your solo,” I told her. “I can do it again.” At least, I was pretty sure I could.

  Her lip curled in a sneer. “I’ve been doing this for years, and you’re way behind the learning curve.”

  The bell for last block rang, then a hush fell over the hallway. I was a statue in the center of the room. Maya’s hand was frozen on the doorknob.

  “Listen,” she said, and if her voice wasn’t softer, at least it wasn’t harsh. “You’re the one who needs to be scared, okay? Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  With that, she threw open the door and ran from the room.

  * * *

  “What did I ever do to Maya?”

  The question had been haunting me since yesterday. Gordon and I sat, not in the coffee shop, but in that quiet corner of Five Mile Creek. Spring had cast a soft green over everything and brought out the flecks in Gordon’s eyes. I was resisting the urge to get lost in their depths, but it was a battle I didn’t mind losing. Earlier, I’d told him about how I’d stopped Maya’s solo and he’d given me a high five.

  Now he plucked at the grass that poked up around the blanket we sat on. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I had a crush on you in ninth grade?”

  My head shot up. My heart pounded so hard, I thought it might pop through not only my ribs but the skin surrounding my chest.

  “No,” I said. “You didn’t. You went to the freshman dance with Maya.”

  “Only because she told me that you thought I was a total creeper.”

  “She told you that?”

  He gave his head an emphatic nod.

  “But—” My mouth hung open, but I lacked the willpower to shut it, so stunned was I by this revision of history. “I liked you.”

  My words came out soft, so soft, I almost hoped the breeze would catch them and steal them away. But Gordon jerked his head, almost like I’d slapped him. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “You . . . liked . . . me.” Each word he spoke grew slower, so I wasn’t sure if he’d finished talking or not.

  “You never wondered why I was always at your locker?” I shook my head, both in disbelief and to rid my cheeks of the shame that heated them. “Or why I rode my bike past your house a hundred times every weekend?”

  “I just thought I was lucky.”

  He kissed me then, one hand on the back of my head, my mouth still open and gaping, so it was just his lips and a lot of air. I exhaled. He inhaled. For one instant, we shared the same breath.

  “Do you steal everything?” I said at last.

  “Nothing that can get me arrested.”

  He kissed me again. This time, he didn’t have to steal anything at all.

  * * *

  Monday morning at school, one glance at Gordon sent my insides twisting. No green glowed in his eyes. His skin was dull. Not a trace remained of the sunny, happy boy I’d spent Saturday with.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  Every last hope sank to the pit of my stomach. I’d spent Sunday in blissful daydreams—walking the halls with Gordon, hand in hand, eating lunch with him every day, side by side. I’d even let my mind stray to next year—the homecoming dance, prom. Now, crashing through all that? A talk we needed to have.

  “When?” I said, mainly because it was the only word I could force from my throat.

  “After school.”

  The bell rang. Gordon vanished. Students pushed past me on the way to homeroom. I stood there, dumb and numb. In those moments, no one stole my time. I doubt they could have. Every ounce of feeling I had was channeled into Gordon. I didn’t have any time to spare, even for myself, and I barely made it to homeroom before the second bell echoed through the empty halls.

  If Maya stole any of my time that day, I didn’t notice. I suspect it really wasn’t worth stealing. Who wanted time that was sad, anxious, and depressed? Because I already knew how the conversation would go. Gordon would play nervously with his Americano. He’d tell me how great I was, but ninth grade was a long time ago, and while he liked me, he didn’t like like me.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  For once, I wished Maya would steal my time, if only so I wouldn’t have to notice the ache of each passing minute. In AP World History, Gordon slipped me a note. All it said was:

  Coffee shop

  I walked there alone. I ordered alone. I sat alone, for five minutes, until Gordon flew through the door like he’d sprinted the entire distance between the school and his afternoon Americano. He rushed past the counter without ordering.

  Hard and quick then, with no small talk, no you’re great, but . . .

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his words insubstantial from lack of air.

  “I know. I get it. You don’t want to see me anymore.”

  “What? No. I want to see you every day. I want to spend every moment I can with you.”

  Mere seconds ticked by, but I savored each one, simply so I could savor those words. Whatever came next would make my heart ache.

  “Then . . . why?” I said when he didn’t speak.

  “You don’t need me anymore. The fact you can mess up Maya’s solo gives you enough power to make it through the rest of the school year. Next fall, you’ll figure out something else to keep her in check.”

  “But that doesn’t have anything to do with . . .” The word stuck in my mouth.

  “Us?” Gordon said, as if he’d plucked the word from my tongue. “Well, that’s just it. Keeping Maya in check is one thing. Keeping me in check?” He shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

  “Why would I need to do that? You’ve been—”

  “Helping you? Is that what you think?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  He laughed, but it wasn’t the happy sound from Saturday. “Remember when I explained how Maya was a time leech?”

  The coffee in my stomach iced over. I nodded.

  “How do you think I knew that? Why do you think I even cared what Maya did?”

  “Because—” I began, but Gordon wouldn’t let me finish.

  “She was poaching on my territory.”

  “Your territory?” I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “You,” he said.

  I was right. I didn’t like it.

  “I’ve been stealing time from you since first grade. Back then, all I knew was sitting next to you made me feel better—smarter. When you were close by, I could read the book or finish all the math problems. I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t know how to live in real time anymore.”

  Maya’s angry words slammed into me and I understood what she’d meant that day in the practice room. “You’re addicted.”

  “To stealing time?” Gordon snorted. “Yeah, maybe. You could call it that.”

  “What were you going to do?” I demanded. “Follow me to college? Live next door?”

  “Marry you?”

  All of this, just for some time. Was the story about his crush fake? Were those kisses in the state park all fake too? Tears burned my eyes and a deep shame made my fingers tremble against the coffee cup. I couldn’t pick it up, but I couldn’t let go of it either.

  “I like you too much to keep stealing your time. But if I’m going to stop, I can’t be near you. It just isn’t possible. Even now, during all this.” He reached forward and caught a tear with his thumb before I could jerk away from his touch. “Even now, I’ve been stealing bits of time.”

  Even now? My mouth fell open and my tears dried on their own.

  “Think of money again,” he said. “It’s like you’re standing in the middle of the road and tossing endless twenty-dollar bills into the air for anyone to take.”

  “Oh. So this is all my fault.”

  “I used to think that. I used to think that it didn’t matter if I took a little of your time, since you had so much and were so
generous.” He shrugged. “But it hurts you. It’s wrong. And if I can’t be with you, at least I know I’m not hurting you.”

  Gordon stood. He held himself stiff, like a soldier on a parade ground, and left the coffee shop by the back entrance. When the screen door bounced shut, I sank into my chair, my limbs useless, my coffee cold and congealed with cream.

  My heart, smashed.

  The coffee shop’s front door swung open. The bell clanged and I winced. It was as if Gordon’s confession had made every inch of me extra sensitive. I glanced up, half hoping Gordon had returned, half hoping this was some sort of cruel practical joke and—with time—I’d forgive him, half hoping I’d only imagined the last fifteen minutes.

  Instead, Maya strode into the coffee shop.

  * * *

  I saw the moment she registered that it was just me at the table. Her eyes went wide. Her steps slowed, but not so anyone else noticed. She looked almost disappointed. Then that familiar smirk spread across her face.

  I slid my foot around the leg of the chair opposite me, so when Maya pulled, it didn’t go anywhere. She yanked and the wood scarred my ankle.

  “Where’s the addict?” she said, her voice all syrupy sweet. “It’s not like him to leave his supply unguarded.”

  “Sorry, but the time store is closed—to him, and to you.”

  “Hardly. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

  “Actually, I have no idea what you’re doing. Maya, we used to be friends. What happened?”

  “He did. You did. You got everything you wanted. Your dad totally spoiled you. Your grandmother never bitched about your GPA, and the cutest boy in our grade had a ginormous crush on you. What’s not to hate?”

  Her words didn’t feel as harsh as they sounded. And all that hatred? Never touched me. It was all turned in on herself.

  “Of course, then I figured out why he liked you.” She blew a bubble with the gum she was chewing and, when it popped, added, “I guess it’s better than him liking you just for your tits, you know?”

  “When did you become such a cynic?”