Midnight Sun Read online

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say into his shoulder.

  He pulls back and gives me a long, hard look. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, Katie! I thought you were dead. I have no idea who this boy is or what he thinks he’s doing keeping you out until all hours of the night—”

  “This wasn’t Charlie’s fault. Breaking curfew is all on me.”

  “If you were any later, you could’ve gotten UV exposure!” Dad says, getting angry now that he can see I’m alive and well. “You should know better than anyone what that kind of trigger can lead to!” He’s so worked up now, he’s practically spitting the words out.

  “Dad, chill,” I say. “Look at me. I’m fine. No harm, no foul.”

  “Only because you were lucky this time,” he says.

  I heave a huge sigh. I truly can’t take being coddled one second longer. “Dad! Listen to me. I’m not a child. I can take care of myself. I can make my own decisions. I’m sorry that tonight I chose to stay out later than you were comfortable with, but I’m fine.” My voice rises with my frustration level. “No, I’m more than fine. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. Can’t you see that?”

  He shakes his head sadly. “All I can see is my little girl ready to throw away everything we’ve worked so hard for on a boy who doesn’t respect our house rules.”

  “Will you stop judging Charlie? You don’t even know him!” I yell. “He’s the best, most kind, and most respectful boy I’ve ever met! The only person you have a problem with here is me. Your own daughter. If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve grown up, Dad. I’m not a little girl who can be satisfied with you blowing up photos you took on safari and creating a fake African savannah for me in the basement anymore. I need to get out and really live.”

  My dad looks ready to cry. I’m so aggravated now, I might, too. I can’t believe my night turned on a dime like this, from perfect to total disaster in a matter of minutes.

  “I knew this might happen once you got to a certain age,” my dad says, almost to himself. “You’re so strong-willed. I guess it’s inevitable that would work against me.”

  I step forward, put my arms around his neck, and rest my head on his shoulder. “Dad, I’m fine. I promise. In fact, I’m more than fine. I’m great. Maybe for the first time since I got diagnosed. Please just let me be normal. Please. You have to trust me.”

  He relaxes into the hug. “I just want you to be safe, Peanut,” he says. “You’re my girl. I can’t bear to think of anything bad happening to you.”

  “I know,” I tell him. “I love you. I promise to text next time I’m going to be late. And I promise you’re going to love Charlie when you meet him. He’s coming to pick me up tomorrow—well, tonight, I guess. And he can’t wait to meet you.” So I might be exaggerating a little… “He’s a good guy, Dad. He reminds me of you.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he says. “I hope he takes the news about your XP like the respectful, mature young man you say he is. I hope he doesn’t run away because he can’t handle it.”

  I hate that my dad thinks Charlie might ditch me when he finds out about my disease. So much so that I tell him the biggest lie of my life. It’s a whopper. “He already knows,” I say. “And it doesn’t change the way he feels about me in the least bit.”

  Dad’s wrinkles relax. He truly seems happy for me. “That’s great,” he tells me. “Really. It’s everything I’ve ever wished for you.”

  I feel bad about making up Charlie’s reaction, but not bad enough to take back what I’ve said. I’m fairly certain it will become the truth once I finally get up the guts to actually tell him anyhow.

  I text Morgan once I’m back in my room. I’m home. Safe and sound.

  She texts back: …

  Don’t be mad--my dad isn’t.

  Three bubbles appear, then disappear. There they are again. There they go. Finally, a text comes through. Another ellipsis.

  I don’t think I can remember Morgan ever getting mad at me before.

  I know you’re used to being my only contact to the outside world. But at least try to be happy for me, please.

  More bubbles popping up and then leaving. Then this. Are you kidding me? I am not jealous of your stupid boyfriend. Good for you! All I’m trying to do is make sure you’re alive to actually enjoy your relationship with Charlie. Sorry for caring.

  Doth the lady protest too much? Methinks yes, I type. I’m not actually going to send it, but then I hit send by mistake and it goes flying out into the world.

  Morgan’s reply comes quickly. Get over yourself. And don’t come crying to me when he turns out to be an ass about your XP. Not everyone is as cool as me about stuff like that.

  Ugh. First my dad and now Morgan assuming that Charlie will leave me when he finds out. I re-create my lie and decide it only counts as one since it’s the same thing I told my dad.

  Charlie is. He knows and he’s completely cool.

  Good for him. Good for you. I’m turning off my phone and going to sleep now. I was up all night. Later.

  Who knew relationships could be so complicated? I toss and turn in bed, worrying about how to convince my dad to give me more freedom. How to actually tell Charlie what I supposedly already told him. What to do about Morgan. I’m mad at her, but maybe I shouldn’t be. Maybe I should apologize to her, not the other way around.

  Eventually, I fall into a fitful sleep.

  15

  “So tonight’s the night,” my dad says.

  “Yup,” I say, gnawing on a nail. I know I shouldn’t be this nervous. How could my dad not like Charlie? He’s, like, perfect. Not to mention a perfect gentleman. Still, there’s a lot riding on what my dad thinks of him. I need everything to go just right.

  “But you’re going to be normal, right?” I’ve managed to convince my dad to not lecture Charlie about XP and how dangerous it was for me to be out so late last night. I’ve told him that normal dads don’t talk about their daughters’ medical conditions when they meet the Boyfriend.

  This one lie sure is snowballing. And it does not feel good. My life as a rebellious teen is really stressing me out.

  The doorbell rings. I let Dad answer it alone. The plan is that I’m supposed to go to my room and wait until he calls for me, but I can’t stand the suspense of not knowing how it’s going. I walk halfway up the stairs and stay put.

  I hear Charlie introducing himself, my father ushering him into the den, then telling him to sit.

  “Ever been arrested?”

  This is my dad’s idea of an opening line? I can’t even.

  “No, sir,” Charlie replies.

  Dad’s questions come rapid fire and only go downhill from there. “What’s your curfew?”

  “One AM.”

  “What time do you actually get home?”

  “Around two,” Charlie admits. “Sometimes later. Like last night. I’d like to apologize to you, sir, for getting Katie home so late. We lost track of time.”

  “Don’t do it again,” my dad tells him. “Now, why aren’t you going to college?”

  Ugh. I’m sure Charlie didn’t want me discussing with my father how I think he should use the money to fund his education instead of tooling around the country in a new truck. The little nest egg he’s accumulated would probably cover classes at the community college and then some. After that, he could transfer to UW and still afford it with in-state tuition and maybe some loans and grants. (I may have done a little research on this in preparation for subtly suggesting it to Charlie.)

  “I got hurt and lost my swimming scholarship,” Charlie tells him. I wonder if he’s looking my dad straight in the eyes or staring at his feet like he does when he’s sad and/or uncomfortable.

  “How many times a week do you shave?”

  “Like four…?” I can hear the confusion in Charlie’s voice. He’s definitely thinking Why does it matter?

  “I don’t believe you,” my dad tells him. I’m dying. What is this, the Inquisition? Who cares how
many times a week he shaves? “Who’s your team?”

  “The Seahawks,” Charlie answers. This has to win my dad over.

  But my dad persists. “Why?”

  Charlie gets bonus points here. “Because they’re great and also because one time I met Richard Sherman at this burger place and he ate some of my fries.”

  There’s silence for a good minute. I’m sure Charlie is squirming in his seat. I know I am. I’m desperate to go save him. I keep staring at my phone, waiting for that text to pop up telling me I can go join them.

  Finally, my dad cracks. “That’s awesome. That’s important.”

  I know he’s grinning. I’m so happy. Until a second later when he almost outs me. “Charlie, I know she seems strong, but she’s fragile. She—”

  I’m not waiting for any text; I go bounding down the stairs, yelling a greeting that’s really meant to interrupt the bomb-dropping in progress. “Hey! What are you guys talking about?”

  Charlie gets up from the couch to give me a hug.

  “Nothing, just getting to know each other,” my dad says.

  “Wow,” Charlie says.

  He’s staring at me like he can’t believe I exist. It’s funny because it’s not like I’m dressed up or anything. I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt and weathered white Vans. But I did do my hair and makeup just like Morgan showed me, so maybe that’s it.

  I reward him with a huge smile, grab my guitar case from where it’s sitting in the corner—Charlie told me to bring it, I don’t know why, but he sounded so excited I couldn’t say no—and give my dad a little hug.

  “Well,” Dad says, “be safe, okay?”

  I nod. “Love you as much as possible.”

  Charlie reaches out his hand. They shake. “Thanks for letting me take her out, Mr. Price,” he says. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  We’re about to walk out the door when my dad calls after us. “Wait! Let me take your photo.”

  I whirl around, embarrassed. “Dad…”

  But Charlie seems perfectly happy to oblige my father’s mortifying whims. He puts his arms around me from behind. “What do you think, prom pose?”

  I laugh. My dad raises the camera to his eye. “Ready?”

  I look up at Charlie and he looks down at me. We’re grinning at each other. No phony smiles for us. The flash goes off, and we’re on our way.

  16

  “The train station?” I say as Charlie pulls into a space in the parking lot.

  I’m trying not to look disappointed—I don’t know what I expected for our date.

  “You might know where we are, but do you know why we’re here?” he asks, pulling me along by the hand.

  I shake my head. “No, but I hope you’re not trying to make me play on the platform tonight. Remember how awkward that got the first time around?”

  Charlie laughs. “How could I forget the dead-cat funeral you had to go plan? It is where we first met, though.”

  He has a point. And I start to feel the disappointment slip away.

  We stop short right in front of Fred’s little window. There are two tickets waiting there for us.

  “I believe these are yours,” Fred says, grinning at me.

  I look from Charlie to Fred and then back to Charlie again. “Where are we going? And why do I have my guitar?”

  Charlie shrugs and smiles. I try Fred. He gives me an even more exaggerated shrug.

  “I know nothing,” Fred tells me.

  “Fred…” I try to implore him to spill it with the most innocent and sweetest look I can muster.

  “Don’t even try it,” he tells me, pretending to lock his lips and throw away the key. “I’m a steel trap.”

  The train is approaching. Taking us on an adventure to who knows where. I’m so excited.

  The doors open and the conductor gives me a huge smile. We’ve exchanged hellos before when I was playing here, but he’s certainly never had me as a passenger. “All aboard,” he calls out.

  Charlie and I climb the stairs and head into a car. It’s basically deserted. Just us, dim lighting, and the rumble of the tracks underneath the wheels.

  “Your seat, mademoiselle,” Charlie says, gesturing to an empty row.

  I put my guitar down in the aisle and slide in. Charlie sits across from me. He starts setting up paper plates, napkins, and plastic silverware on the table between us.

  “I slaved all day on this,” he says, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a big bag from my favorite Chinese food place. I shake my head in disbelief when I realize all the trouble he went through to make tonight perfect for me. He’s included all my favorites: lo mein, orange chicken, fried rice.

  “Did you just pull Chinese food out of your backpack?” I laugh. “Do you always travel with hot food?”

  “This is a romantic picnic!” Charlie exclaims, trying to keep a serious look on his face and totally not succeeding. “You can’t ride a train without Chinese food out of a backpack.”

  “I don’t know, that could be true, I’ve never been on a train before,” I say.

  “Neither have I,” Charlie tells me.

  “Really?” I thought I was probably the only person on earth who hasn’t. I love that it’s the first time for both of us. We “clink” our chopsticks and dig in.

  “You know what I’ve been thinking about?” he says when we’re almost done eating. “How insane it is that you’ve lived right here since you were little and I’ve never seen you riding your bike or, like, out with a lemonade stand. I would have bought your lemonade!”

  My heart skips a beat. The last thing I want to discuss right now is why we never met until a few weeks ago. I just want to enjoy the dinner, the ride, the date. Keep things light while we still can. I promise myself that I’ll tell him before the night is over.

  When he drops me off tonight, before he gets out to walk me to the door (like I know he will), I’ll come right out and say it. I’ll be factual and to the point. No drama. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us,” I’ll say. Easy-peasy, just like that.

  When I imagine it this way, I can’t imagine Charlie, like, screaming and running away or rejecting me or never talking to me again. I really don’t think my worst fears will come true. He’s too good of a person to freak out over some faulty DNA. And he’ll understand why I didn’t tell him. I know he will.

  For now, though, I tell him, “I don’t like lemonade,” as if that covers it.

  He presses his lips together and gives me a look. “You do know I know the truth, right?”

  I’m about to apologize for not telling him myself when he leans forward and looks left, then right, then directly at me again. “You’re an international spy. You were always off on missions in exotic locations while I was sitting in the cafeteria, bored out of my mind. I’m sure Katie Price isn’t even your real name,” he whispers.

  I’m relieved that he was only kidding around, but I feel like it’s one close call after another. Maybe my news can’t wait until the end of the night. Might as well rip this Band-Aid off now—as quickly as possible—and just deal with whatever happens as a result. Reality is reality; I can’t change what is. “That’s very close. The real truth is…”

  But I start rethinking how he’ll take the news now that I’m about to be faced with it. All my confidence that he’ll be chill and cool and that nothing will change is gone. I decide he’ll probably pretend it doesn’t matter and profess that my condition won’t come between us. But then we’ll somehow start seeing less of each other. He’ll suddenly become busy at night. And the best thing that’s ever happened to me will be over.

  I lean my elbows on the table and decide to offer up half the story. Test the waters. “No exotic locations. Because you’re my mission. I was under strict orders not to be seen, but I’ve been watching you for years from the safety of my own room.”

  A beat. Charlie blinks. Then he grins at me. “See? I was close. Sorry if I blew your cover.”

  He g
athers up the now-empty boxes of Chinese food and goes to throw them out. When he comes back, he slides into the seat next to me and puts his arm over my shoulders. We watch the stars go by as the train chugs along.

  “You were so young. When your mom died, I mean,” he says softly.

  “Yeah.” I often wonder about what happened to my mom after the car hit her. What did she think about? Was there a white light, did her grandparents escort her to heaven? Will she get me when it’s my turn? Or will it just be blackness, a big void, a curtain coming down and that’s it, like I never existed at all? For some reason, I always get stuck on that last thought. It’s, like, my biggest fear, even though I can’t explain why. I have to make a mark on this world before I’m forced to leave it. I have to make my time here matter somehow.

  “That must’ve been awful,” Charlie says, interrupting my dark and desperate thoughts. “Do you remember much about that time?”

  I think back for a moment. Dad and I dealt with Mom being gone in much the same way we’re dealing with the current situation: We slap a smile on our faces and power through, usually pretending the problem doesn’t exist at all. Like if we ignore it long enough, maybe it’ll just go away.

  “Um, honestly, all I remember from that time is my dad. Watching him pretend to be okay so I’d be okay. And I’m pretending to be okay so he’ll be okay,” I tell Charlie. “But somehow… you know, I guess we actually did make each other okay. We learned how to miss her together without being swallowed by the grief.”

  Charlie nods. “Yeah, you and your dad seem like you’re really close.”

  I shrug, staring out the window at Cassiopeia. According to Greek mythology, she’s chained to a throne, forever stuck there as punishment for her boastfulness and vanity. I wonder sometimes if I did something to deserve XP, something terrible that requires me to do penance in my house and my room all day, every day, until the sun sets.

  “Yeah. I wish he knew me a little less well, though,” I say.

  This isn’t an entirely true statement. I know I’m lucky my dad loves and understands me. I just wish I had an opportunity to be loved and understood that same way by more people, people my own age, like, at college. I want to be heading off in the fall, too, instead of watching everyone else’s lives expand while mine continues to contract. I’m terminally frustrated by my situation, especially by the recent realization that having XP basically means neither of the people closest to me will ever consider me an adult in the same way they would if I was disease free. They’ll always feel the need to watch over me and baby me.