For The One(72)

“So Maja lived here too. When did she go back?”

“We went back for a summer when I was sixteen and she was twenty-two. My mom asked us to stay and she did. I came back to the US.”

“So your mom had to talk you into coming to the US when you were five, but she couldn’t talk you into staying in Bosnia when you were sixteen?”

I darted a glance at him, impressed by his perceptiveness. “Yep. I was bound and determined to stay here.”

“Why?”

“Well...” I glanced at him and then away, motioning for him to move ahead of me in line.

We were just about to go through the turnstile when William balked. The person behind me in line bumped up against me, and I, in turn, bumped up against William’s well-developed backside. Not that I minded. He had a great butt.

“Sorry! Are you okay?” I asked.

“Um,” was all he said. His hands began rubbing up and down his thighs. Was he panicking?

Quickly, I turned to the people behind me and directed them to the turnstile next to us, then I moved to William’s side.

“Hey! You haven’t heard the end of my story yet. I’m going to go through the turnstile, and if you want to hear the end, you’ll have to follow me through.”

He was frowning, staring at the turnstile. I handed the ticket lady both of our tickets and then slowly walked through. Then I turned back around and called, “Don’t think about it, Wil. Just think about how much you want to hear my story.”

He looked up and bravely met my gaze. I smiled and nodded to him, and he visibly swallowed. Then, he pushed through the turnstile without touching it with his hands.

We ignored the ticket lady, who was looking at us like we were aliens. William approached me, his eyes never leaving mine, and then he smiled.

“Now, tell me that story.”





Chapter 18

William

“High five!” she says, holding up her hand and I slap it. Then she moves to hug me. I instinctively step back, not because I dislike hugs, but I don’t take surprise hugs very well. It’s startling when people reach out to grab me without advance notice.

Jenna’s eyes widen when she sees my reaction. “I’m sorry.”

“I prefer to be asked first.”

“For a hug? Okay. Got it.”

We walk toward one of the two tunnels that go under the train tracks and lead to the main plaza. There’s artwork on the walls—stylized posters from the fifties and sixties advertising various attractions at the park. I stop to admire them for a moment and she stands beside me. “You could do better than that.”

It’s true, I could. But I haven’t forgotten why I’d moved through that wretched turnstile in the first place, with the threat of getting stuck inside it still as strong as when I was six and being dragged through it by my irritated mother.

“So are you going to tell me why you decided to come back to the US?”

She glances at me. “Oh, well that’s mostly the end of the story.”

“But you said you were going to tell me why.”

She nods and turns, indicating we should exit the short tunnel. It brings us out into the Town Square, which, despite its name, is a circular plaza. From here, a street leads toward the rest of the park. There’s a horse-drawn trolley car rounding the bend, and I give it a wide berth as we walk. Horses also make me uneasy, especially big ones like that shiny black draft horse.

I take note of the buildings stretching down the short length of the “road,” thinking I’d like to paint this scene some day. I wouldn’t do it here, of course. So I memorize as many details as I can, in order to recall them later. Doing so also helps keep me distracted from noticing the people milling around. Thankfully, there aren’t enough of them to be considered a crowd.

“I came back because I was in love.”

I jerk my eyes to Jenna’s face. It’s hard to tell if she’s joking, but she isn’t smiling or laughing. I have to really know a person to know their body language and what it means. I can mostly read Adam, Britt and my dad, but Jenna is still about seventy percent mystery to me.

“Who were you in love with?”

She shrugs again. “A boy. Hey, we should go to the City Hall and find out what attractions have turnstiles so we can avoid them. Unless…you want to work on that today, too?”

I frown, picturing the turnstile again, reliving that fear of getting stuck or chopped in half. I shake my head. “One thing at a time.”

“I’ll be right back.” Within minutes, she returns holding a list in her hand. “Apparently, you are far from the only person who has an issue with turnstiles! They had this list all prepared.”