Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
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Suzy had to go help her parents at Korea House, and I was sorry to see her go, but also just having Zeke here to witness my humiliation is bad enough. Suzy knows about my fear, and she’s always been understanding about it, but still.
And luckily Caroline is home now, so we were able to swing by Zeke’s house and drop Mia off before heading to our next destination.
Zeke and I stand at the base of the Space Needle, looking up.
“It goes up so high . . .” I trail off, my breath stuck in my throat.
The air has cooled now that the afternoon is turning into evening, and I shiver in my peacoat.
A chill wind rustles the trees that line the parking lot, and people crowd around the doors to enter the building.
The base of the needle is wide, but it narrows into a peak with an oblong sphere at the top. I assume that’s where people gather to take in the view. Looking at it makes my stomach spin.
Zeke stands close by, closer than he needs to, probably to comfort me with his presence. It works . . . a little. “It’s amazing,” Zeke says. “I can see why people want to go up.”
There’s a line of people walking in, getting tickets and taking the glass elevator to the top, and getting an amazing view. Like it’s no big deal.
I breathe in and out, but my hands are already shaking. “I—I may have lost the notebook with our contract,” I say. “I’m so sorry, Zeke. I never take it out of my bag. I’ll find it, I’ll—”
“Callie.” Zeke reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. An electric zing shoots up and down my arm. “It’s okay. We don’t need it. We remember everything on the list, right?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “But if someone finds it . . .” I practically choke on the word, fear clogging my voice.
Zeke shrugs. “It looks like an ordinary notebook, right? They probably wouldn’t go rifling through it.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” My voice shakes.
Zeke looks at me, and I feel mortified.
“Callie, we don’t have to do this. We saw the Space Needle. It’s cool. Let’s go.”
“I want to do this,” I say, surprisingly myself. I take another deep breath, trying to stop my hands from shaking and my heart from hammering. “I can do this.”
I helped Zeke face his fear of spiders. Well, sort of. But I want to do this. For me.
I take a step toward the building. Then another. Before I know it, we’re inside in a large atrium with a crowd of people listening to a tour guide explain what the Space Needle is and handing out pamphlets encouraging people to explore Seattle.
Zeke heads to the counter to buy our tickets. I focus on the people, studying their carefree faces, anything but looking at the glass elevator that’s going to take us up to the top. What is wrong with me? We’re still on the ground. I should be fine. I’m fine.
Zeke returns with the tickets. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He looks at me with a tender expression.
“Yes.” I steel myself. “I want to.”
Zeke puts a hand on my arm. “You can do anything. I know you can. Spider-slayer.”
I roll my eyes, but I appreciate his attempt to comfort me. Zeke lowers his hand, and we join the crowd of people being herded into the elevator. Holy crap. The floor and walls are glass. Focus on the people. Focus on the people. “Is that my new nickname now?”
Zeke chuckles. That’s such a weird word. Chuckle.
The elevator fills up, and we are shoved closer and closer together until my body is pressed into Zeke’s, my back to his front. How many people are they going to cram into this thing? Zeke’s hands grip my upper arms to hold me steady.
And then the ground drops out from underneath us, and my stomach whirls. Zeke’s grip tightens. I purposefully keep my eyes away from the glass walls that look out over Seattle and the Puget Sound as we get higher and higher . . .
What was I thinking? I can’t do this. I can’t get the image out of my head of that tiny needle swaying in the wind, snapping in half.
I tremble, unable to control the shaking any longer.
Zeke holds me even closer until the space between us is completely gone, our bodies melded together.
I choose to focus on that instead of the pit in my stomach.
The elevator stops. People file out, and we’re given a little breathing room.
I step away from Zeke, even though I miss the closeness.
Zeke looks at me with concern. He knows what this kind of deep fear is like, a fear that you just can’t talk yourself out it. You can’t face it no matter how hard you try, no matter how badly you want it.
“I can’t do it.” My voice is shaking. “We—we need to go back down.”
“I can ride down with you right now.” Zeke pauses. “Or we can just try. You can hold on to me, and we can just go one more step.”
We’re the last ones in the elevator now, and the female attendant in a navy blue uniform is glaring.
I turn back to Zeke and look into his brown eyes. He’s so beautiful . . . how does he not realize it? Why does he keep to himself and not get out there and make real friends?
“Okay,” I find myself saying.
Zeke puts an arm around my shoulders. “Is that all right?” He’s a little breathless.
I can only nod, and we walk, exiting the elevator. Zeke follows my lead. I take it slow, one trembling step at a time. I know I’m a wreck. I know this is silly. But I can’t reason away this fear.
Once we’re out of the elevator, we walk up a spiraling ramp that leads us even higher. People crowd the walkway, posing for pictures and taking in the view. Sweat drips down my neck, and I want to take off my coat, but I also don’t want to let go of Zeke.
“You smell so nice,” I say. With his arm around my shoulders holding me close, I feel relatively safe, tucked into his body. I breathe in his smell—cinnamon and cedar. “Are you wearing Eternity by Calvin Klein?”
Zeke chuckles. “No, I’m not.”
I don’t look out the glass walls. I focus on Zeke’s arm across my shoulders. He pulls me in tight to him, and it’s almost involuntary when I snuggle in deeper.
I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—
Zeke puts his other arm around me and pulls me in close. I am completely enveloped by him. I bury my face in his chest, and he leads me forward. I probably look like a complete idiot, but I don’t care.
Zeke stops. “Callie,” he breathes.
I don’t dare lift my head. “Yes?” I whisper.
“You did it. You’re at the top.”
I grip him tighter, my arms around his broad back. There’s a part of me that’s not completely enshrouded by fear that screams, What are you doing? He’s not for you! And there’s another very tiny part that says, This is right. This is where you belong.
We stand there, letting the crowd flow around us. Finally, I work up the courage to lift my head, just a tad, and take a peek.
First, I focus on the eclectic group of people inside.
There are groups of hipster types with beanies and tattoos, to-go coffees in hand.
Stressed moms and dads are trying and failing to keep track of wild little ones, forcing them to sit still for pictures using bribes of Goldfish crackers and fruit snacks. Groups of teenagers pose for selfies.
The building itself is a circular room with walls. People press up against the glass, exclaiming over the view. Even the floor closest to the walls is made of glass.
My breathing speeds up. “Don’t let go of me.”
Zeke grips me tighter in response.
I get the courage to glance out the window.
It’s a good distance away since Zeke thoughtfully led us to the center of the circle, but I can see the pointed silvery skyscrapers of the Seattle skyline.
I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never seen them like this.
The Ferris wheel by the bay turns in a slow circle, and the shining waters of the Puget Sound glitter.
The coastline is vibrant green and blue.
“It’s . . . it’s beautiful.” Zeke trails off, still crushing me to his chest. I don’t want him to stop.
“Wow,” I say, breathless.
“Callie,” Zeke says. “Thank you. This is incredible.”
I’m surprised at how my panic is receding, the intense fear lessening. But I still let Zeke hold me, and it feels amazing.
Oh no.
What is happening to me?
“I—” Zeke starts. “I want to give you something.”
“Zeke, you don’t need—”
“Shhh.” He rests his head on top of mine, and it’s my undoing. I melt into his arms.
“Let me finish,” Zeke says. “You’ve braved spiders and heights for me. You’ve shown me so much of your world. Will you please let me show you some of mine?”
I frown, confused. “We played video games . . .”
“Yes,” Zeke nuzzles my hair, and I swear my heart skips a beat. “I want to show you things that I . . . that I care about.”
I wait for him to go on.
“Will you play D&D with my brothers and me?”
I pause. It should be funny, this question that he’s taking so seriously. But I know how much it means to him. I know that his friends, the ones that hurt him so badly, used to play. So I know what this question means.
Does Zeke think . . . that we’re really friends?
Is Zeke feeling about me the way I’m feeling about him?
“Yes,” I say. “Yes.”
And he squeezes me tighter and doesn’t let go as we awkwardly make our way back toward the elevator, holding each other. People give us some funny looks, but it’s Seattle. It’s not like they haven’t seen anything stranger.
My heart pounds, and this time it’s not from fear.
It’s Zeke. It was always Zeke, it just took me until now to admit it.
I’m falling for him.
But . . . there’s a big difference between hanging out with a nerd and dating one.
The scorn Destiny Chodekwitz endured proved that last year.
Hanging out with him at school and dealing with people’s strange looks and judgment is hard enough.
I’m beating Brielle, but nothing is guaranteed.
People can still change their votes, and I can’t throw away the crown just because I like Zeke.
I like Zeke.
We leave the building and breathe in the fresh fall air.
The leaves in the trees surrounding the parking lot are red and gold, and I can appreciate their beauty now that I’m not fighting panic.
Slowly, ever so slowly, we unwind from each other.
The chill feels even more intense after leaving Zeke’s arms.
Zeke smiles at me shyly, and I smile back.
“Thank you,” I say with all the sincerity I can muster. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”
Zeke grins, and I notice two adorable dimples in his cheeks. We walk through the parking lot, and the residual sweat clinging to my neck feels like ice.
I’m quiet, processing what just happened. What I just realized.
I cannot let Zeke know how I feel. It would ruin this very tenuous thing that we have. It would ruin him.
Because he’s leaving at the end of the semester. And if I care about him at all, I won’t let him get hurt again.