Matt and Elena - Tenth Date: On Wickery Pond by L.J. Smith (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

of this, but the one thought
that really went through his head was, She pays attention to every detail
because she canʼt stand for herself to be less than perfect. And she
wants that same perfection from me, too. And strangely the thought only
buoyed his spirits up farther. Because Elenaʼs standards were high, but
the person sheʼd picked to go steady with had to meet those standards.
But as for the pond-walking nonsense, well, Matt would put a stop
to that, he decided. And as he decided this, he had no idea that this
thought was going to go down in history as the first time heʼd thought of
trying to talk Elena out of a scheme.
“Elena, Iʼm wearing shoes,” he started, murmuring as she was
doing.
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“I know. I can hear them very clearly,” Elena said, but in her sweet
little hum it sounded like the kind of nonsense traded by happy couples.
“I mean, I can walk on the ice and—”
“And probably fall right through, you great big football star.”
“Actually, Iʼm the most compact guy on the team—”
“Iʼm going to break a lifetimeʼs habit and tell you my weight,” Elena
said, and she did, whispering it into his ear. Then she added, “I look taller
than I am because I hang out with that munchkin Bonnie. Now, which of
us is going to fall through that ice first?”
Matt couldnʼt think of a thing to say. Not one.
“Thank you,” Elena murmured, somehow putting sunshine into the
hum. Then she shook her head. “Look.”
The had reached the edge of the pond. The ice was mushy here,
with dark water clearly showing through the crumbling chunks. Matt was
cold now, but he was damned if he was going to leave those stupid kids
out there on the pond and maybe have one of the fall into the water and
be drowned.
Matt poked at the mushy ice with a stick. “Canʼt get onto the pond
here. Weʼll have to walk around testing.” He tried not to shiver, tried not
to think how cold Elenaʼs poor feet must be. He comforted himself with a
vision of wrapping them in a blanket in front of a fire, while his mom made
raspberry-chocolate cocoa for everyone.
They followed the contour of the pond, walking on leaves that now
ripped soggily underfoot, sticking to his shoes, and sticks too sodden to
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crackle underfoot, until Elena, tapping with her stick in front of them,
stopped and put fingers to her lips.
“Good ice,” she whispered.
“Okay, what—”
“Iʼll just try Plan A, okay? If it doesnʼt work Iʼll tell you Plan B.”
Matt was too dumbfounded to feel that his masculinity was being
threatened. It was true that heʼd never gone with such a takeover girl
before. But the way Elena looked in the moonlight, now that the full moon
had risen high in the sky . . . well, it took all the fight out of him. She
looked . . . the moonlight on her golden hair . . . the way it reflected back at
him in her large pupils . . . the way her lashes cast shadows on her rosepetal
skin . . . she couldnʼt be an angel, she was too vibrant and alive.
Maybe she was an enchantress. Maybe she was a water spirit. No
question that she was magic.
Matt wanted to hug her just to give her some of his own body
warmth—but that was the last thing he dared to suggest. And yet a thing
inside him that had never awoken before was awake and rampaging. Pick
her up, idiot! it was screaming. Carry her back to the car—you know the
moves to keep her from hurting herself. And in case you havenʼt gotten it
yet, Iʼm your primal manhood, fed up with your wimpy, thatʼs right, your
atrociously civilized wimpy behavior. If you donʼt sling her across your
shoulder right now, you cowardly, spineless, gutless reject from a sausage
factory—
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But he didnʼt swing the girl over his shoulder, and he knew he never
would. Elena might be lighter in weight than he was, but she had a spine
of armored tungsten or something. And besides, she would have a Plan C
by now. She would weep. She would tremble. And then when sheʼd got
him distracted, she would run, putting herself into far graver danger than if
she simply picked her way across the thin veneer of ice over the dark
pond as she was doing now.
Matt didnʼt know why he could read her, but somehow, after ten
dates he could. After all this time, he felt as if Elena were somebody heʼd
known all his life—somebody whoʼd shared her life with him, or that maybe
even sometime a long time ago they had been part of each other.
And besides all that, very simply, she was too smart for him. No
matter what the subject was, Elena was swifter at finding a snappy answer.
They were closing in on five reckless little figures. The moonlight
was bright. In a minute they were going to be seen—
“Hi there,” Elena called, and somehow, to Mattʼs amazement, she
kept her teeth from chattering. “Wow, what a great night for skating.”
There was a moment of pandemonium and Matt thought one of the
little figures would surely go down. But then everyone suddenly stopped,
staring. Three little boy-faces and two little girl-faces were turned toward
them, in awe.
“Are you—ghosts?” one boy asked, looking more intrigued than
scared. Well, that made sense or he wouldnʼt be out here risking his life in
the first place, Matt thought grimly. And Elena, in her slim pearl-white
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sheath, with her drift of hair silvery-gold in the moonlight, barefoot in winter,
did look as she might have been a ghost.
Elena laughed a sweet little, oh-so-non-threatening laugh. And
then Matt saw why somebody had once said that you could catch more
flies with honey than with vinegar. Although what anybody would want
with the amount of flies you could catch with honey was beyond him.
“Donʼt any of you know me?” Elena asked, as if she were princess
of the realm of Fellʼs Church and they were peasants whoʼd never seen
royalty before.
One of the girls spoke in a whisper. “Youʼre . . . Elena.” As if Elena
were a pop star that everyone knew by only their first name.
“Thatʼs right,” Elena said. She was pacing a little, never toward the
children, but never too far away. Suddenly Matt realized why. One
danger of bare feet was that any scrap of residual warmth she might have
would probably melt this ice—-and if it didnʼt, the ice would freeze her solid
in place. She gave a little twirl to show off the dress. “We just got back
from a date. What do you think of that?”
Two little boys snickered and nudged each other. Two little girls
stared with worshipful eyes. One little boy stepped forward and said,
seriously, “Iʼd go out with you,” and then hid behind one of his companions.
“Well, weʼre having an adventure together,” Elena said without
haste. “Isnʼt the moonlight beautiful tonight?”
Three heads and two little hoods nodded, five pairs of eyes staring
up at the moon. “My brother Josh said it would be pretty in the moonlight,”
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one of the little girls offered, and one of the boys blushed crimson. The
moon was bright enough to show that, Matt thought, awed. He realized
that he hadnʼt said a word so far, and decided it was better that way.
Elena was charming them as if they were five identical cobras coming out
of five identical baskets, and he didnʼt want to break the spell.
“Itʼs a wonderful adventure,” Elena said. “The only problem”—she
was still swiveling, but slowly, picking up her feet like a high spirited
thoroughbred, Matt thought—“is that my feet are awfully cold. You donʼt
have a blanket or anything I could wrap them in, do you?”
The Iʼd-go-out-with-you boy instantly pointed back at the bank. “We
have some there.”
And in a reverent whisper, one of the girls said, “Iʼll go get one for
you.”
Aha, Matt thought. It wasnʼt just admiration of Elenaʼs delicate
style. It was memory. Some days it seemed at Robert E. Lee that
everybody was just either just getting finished with or just started running
an errand for Elena Gilbert. Now Matt saw how she managed to arrange it.
Or did he? She would use different methods with older kids, of course,
but . . . he shook his head. It was as if Elena had as many facets as a
diamond, and you thought you saw the real her every time a new facet
flashed.
“Iʼm gonna get it,” one of the bigger boys snapped with heavy fifthgrade
authority. And here, Matt thought, we have the leader of these
reckless roughnecks.
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“Well, letʼs all go get it, shall we?” Elena said merrily, tilting her
head and gazing at the kids as if she just adored children whose snot was
freezing on their small red faces. As if she had finally found her true
love . . . times five. It looked so far from being an act that Matt wondered if
Elena herself realized she was playacting. Or. . . or. . . if she even was
acting at all.
“Come on,” she said, reaching a hand out to the biggest boy, “Letʼs
be as quiet as we can and sneak up on the blankets so they donʼt run
away.”
This time everyone laughed. Even Matt. He couldnʼt help it. Elena
had just done a magnificent thing. And sheʼd made it look so effortless,
when he could see—even if the young kids couldnʼt—that she had every
muscle locked against every other muscle to keep from shaking like a leaf
in the bitter wind. Heʼd seen—heʼd imagined heʼd seen—the real Elena
Gilbert on every date or get-together—and then heʼd thought this was just
a kiddy-version imposter—but now he wasnʼt sure of anything except that
she was the most beautiful thing under the moonlight on Wickery Pond.
“You slide and Iʼll glide and weʼll both get there together,” Elena
was saying merrily to the big boy, meanwhile somehow keeping enough
distance between them not to stress the ice too much in any one area.
“And Matt, you send the others, one by one. Wonʼt that be fun?”
There were giggles from the girls, and from one little boy. Elena
made getting sent to shore sound like more fun than a carnival.
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“Aw,” muttered the other boy, watching Elena disappear still hand in
hand. “Josh gets everything.”
The boy who would date Elena in spite of highly infectious girlcooties
just sighed. The two girls were whispering about the pearl-colored
sheath. “Like almost moonlight color, isnʼt it?”
“Letʼs all go,” the complaining boy said, but Matt, driven to speech
for the first time, said, “Oh, no, you donʼt. Weʼre playing Elena Says, and
Elena didnʼt say anything about you going over yet”—just as Elenaʼs sweet
voice called out, “We made it! Whoʼs next?”
Figuring that the squeaky hinge should get to where the honey was
soonest, Matt told the letʼs-all-go-together boy, “See if you can sneak up
on them from that way.” He pointed in the direction the ice looked
strongest. “On your mark!” he snapped in his best imitation of his football
coach. “Ready, set, GO!”
The complaining boy went off in high style, doing figure eights and
S-curves—and Matt held his breath until a laughing Elena called out,
“What is this, sexist chauvinism? Give me a girl!”
Sheʼs saying everything she can to make them think of other things,
Matt thought in awe. All the kids were snickering, giggling, or roaring with
laughter, because “She said ʻsex,ʼ ” a girl snorted.
“Iʼd like to give her a girl—a baby girl,”