Melina said it was nice to meet him. Was it really nice to meet him, or was she just being nice?

Eli said it was nice to meet her too. He wanted to deliver a witty line, but his brain had gone on vacation. His body was already on vacation; his brain had probably gone somewhere further away.

It had begun. Maybe it would end in seconds.

Perhaps an awkward silence was in the cards. Nothing worthwhile would come out of his mouth. Melina would finally leave her spot behind the pool table, leaving him behind in a pool of emo tears.

“I like your name,” she said. “Eli. It’s different.”

A smile on her lips. Had it been there before? He must’ve missed it, since looking at her lips was dangerous. Not that staring into her eyes was any safer. It was like being between a rock and a hard place—if you replaced “a rock” with “something beautiful” and “a hard place” with “something just as beautiful.”

“I like your name too. Melina. It’s different.” His brain decided to copy her. Smooth.

Every time Melina spoke, all his neurons decided to analyze the frequency, intensity, and resonance of her voice. There was no processing memory to construct his own words.

“I like your shirt,” she said. “Especially the color.” Was that a compliment? On his appearance?

“I like your hair,” he said. “Especially the color.” No processing memory.

“Yours is nice too. It’s... ruffled.”

His free hand shot to his hair. She chuckled. Was that a good sign? Was that a bad sign? Was that a sign at all? Maybe she was chuckling because she didn’t want to give a sign?

“Uh...” Now would be a good time to say something. “Thanks?” One word. One measly word that couldn’t decide whether it was a statement or a question.

“Ruffled is fine.” Was she being sarcastic? No processing memory to detect sarcasm.

Enough about his stupid hair. He was more interested in hers. Her magnificent, marvelous hair.

“What other colors has your hair been?”

“Pink. Blue. Green. Orange,” she answered like she was saying she had bacon and eggs for breakfast. Did the people from whichever country she was from have bacon and eggs for breakfast?

“Wow. That’s hot.” Eli hadn’t realized he could stick his foot in his mouth while standing. That chuckle again. That chuckle again! It was like the best song ever. “Um, uh, so what’s your natural hair color?”

“Maybe you’ll find out someday.” That smile could bring down armies. And navies. And an air force or two. Maybe even a dragon.

Eli resisted the temptation to tug at his collar. But he did have to clear his throat. “Is blue your favorite color?”

“Yes.”

That smile again when he asked why. It was too bright. Like the sun. He looked away. Considering the direction his eyes were pointed, a passerby might think Eli found his crotch more interesting than Melina’s smile.

“It’s... everything,” she began. “It’s the sky. It’s the ocean. People say blue is a sad color. Like, ‘the blues.’ But I think it’s a wonderful color. When I think of blue, I think of peace. Calm. Like floating in a pool or in the sea, looking up at the sun. With sunglasses on, of course. And in nineteenth-century Paris, blue was the most sought-after color among painters because it was so difficult to produce.”

That was the greatest explanation of blue he’d ever heard. “That’s the greatest explanation of blue I’ve ever heard.”

She grinned. No dimples. He had never cared for dimples. Or freckles. Melina had no freckles.

Was this the part where she would take a sip of her drink? She didn’t have one. He would buy her one, but he didn’t want to sound clichéd. Or risk finding out he was broke. He hadn’t touched his own drink since they started talking.

Melina bounced the question back at him.

“White,” he answered.

She didn’t ask why. Didn’t have to. The tilt of her head and the slight widening of her eyes and the small movement of her mouth asked the question for her.

“It’s blank. It’s pure. Like a new sheet of paper. It has no past or baggage. You can do anything with it. You can write on it. You can add color to it. You can even fold it into an airplane and fly it away.”

Melina nodded in semi-approval, deeming his words a good explanation of white. But not the greatest.

Now came the customary Q&A about country of origin.

She was Dutch and guessed he was American. Was his accent that obvious? She barely had a foreign accent. Mom had told him the Dutch spoke great English. Melina’s father was Dutch, but her mother was Japanese. Eli’s mom’s family was originally from Germany, and his dad was originally from Hong Kong.

He didn’t want her to think he was like most Americans who thought Amsterdam was the only city in the Netherlands, so he insisted on guessing her hometown.

The tilt, the slight widening, and the small movement again.

Not Amsterdam. Of course not.

Rotterdam. Nope.

She half-closed her eyes when she shook her head. It was lovely.

The Hague. Try again.

“Utrecht?” He could barely pronounce the name.

“Yeah!” He saw her teeth for the first time. They were beautiful. “You’re the first American guy I’ve ever met who knows my hometown.”

“Well, a lot of American guys are dumb. Especially guys my age.”

Great. He had to bring up his age. Why did he do that? She was asking now. Should he say eighteen? No, he didn’t want to start their relationship out on a lie. What relationship?

He told her the truth. “I’m sixteen. And you?”

“I’m nineteen,” Melina said.

A stunning, older woman. What a cliché.

Melina wanted to know how he knew her hometown.

He confessed his love of maps and told her he might major in geography in college. Ideally at UCLA. Her major was going to be psychology when she started school in the fall.

“Oh.” That dragon-slaying smile yet again. “UCLA was my dream school. Are you from Los Angeles?”

“Yeah, I am.” Her dream school was in his hometown, her dream school was in his hometown, her dream school was in his hometown!

Melina had visited the City of Angels. She loved the beaches. The lack of originality did nothing to diminish her beauty. She said she was dazzled by the Danube, the river that cut Budapest into Buda and Pest, the two halves of the city. He was dazzled by her eyes, portals that cut his life into two halves: BM and AM (Before Melina and After Melina). He kept it to himself.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed some of the guys—and girls—shooting him funny looks. They must be shocked that he was talking to this goddess. He didn’t blame them. If he saw himself talking to Melina, he would also wonder if reality had realigned itself.

When she asked whether he was staying at a hostel, Eli wanted desperately to say yes. It sounded way cooler than staying at a hotel with his parents.

But he didn’t want to start their relationship out on a lie. What relationship?

He told her the truth.

“When are you and your parents leaving?” She lingered on that last word.

“Tomorrow.” It was now or never. Now or never. He didn’t care how stupid he was going to sound. Moronic, idiotic, imbecilic, whatever. “Listen, Melina... I—”

A smack sounded from the pool table. An eight ball flew into the air and dropped square into someone’s beer mug. Applause was made. Shouts were heard. No one got hurt.

“Holy Sephiroth!” he blurted.

“Did you just say ‘Holy Sephiroth’?” She had to yell to be heard.

Oops. Cover blown. Videogame nerd he was. “Yeah...” he mumbled.

“I can’t hear you! Let’s get out of here!”

As they pushed their way through the crowd, their knuckles brushed against each other. It was exhilarating. He reached for her hand a few times but chickened out at the last moment. He needed to grow a pair.

“Are you hungry?” he asked as fresh air hit them. He really wished she was hungry.

“A little.” Good enough for him!

“Do you like souvlaki?” He really wished she would say yes.

“Love it.”

They sat across from each other in the mostly empty souvlaki joint. Between bites, Melina asked again about “Holy Sephiroth.”

“This is so embarrassing.” The chipmunk cheeks only reinforced his claim. Mom told him not to talk with his mouth full, but he figured it was okay as long as the bits of food didn’t show, so he pushed everything to the side.

“Final Fantasy VII?” Melina ventured.

He swallowed and coughed. “No way! You know it?”

“It’s my favorite videogame!”

“Mine too!”

This was unreal. This girl didn’t really exist. But she did. Melina’s eyes glistened. Eli saw tears welling in her eyes as she talked about the scene when Sephiroth kills Aeris.

“I feel you,” he said. “I cried. I was only nine.” Smart move. Might as well remind her when he was in diapers.

“I know what you mean. I can’t believe I cried as an adult.”

“What do you mean? Final Fantasy VII came out in 1997. Weren’t you, like, twelve then?”

“I was a very mature twelve-year-old. Nearly a teenager. That’s kind of technically an adult.”

He chuckled even though it made no sense. The two of them sitting at the same table made no sense. “I like you.” Too much food in the stomach. Not enough oxygen in the brain.

The awkward silence had finally arrived. They had finished their souvlaki. Their bottles of water were empty.

“Eli... I... would like to leave now. Thank you for the souvlaki and water.”

He tried not to look crestfallen. It didn’t work. “Okay.”

“I... don’t think I want to walk back alone.”

He looked back up. “Would you... like some company?”

“Maybe.” She smirked.

“Would you... like that company to be me?” The grin on his face couldn’t be bigger.

“It’s up to you.”

He bounced to his feet. “Let’s go.”

As they crossed the street, their hands found each other, and their fingers interlocked.

Eli’s world exploded in fireworks.

If there was a fourth dimension, Eli dived in headfirst. He might get lost, but he knew he wouldn’t. His right hand was his north star, and the frantic needle of his heart was his compass.

The world receded. No one existed but the two of them; nothing existed but their hands.

They said nothing as they walked. As if words would cheapen the moment. He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand; she rubbed back.

All too soon, they arrived at the entrance of Sexy Tractor Hotel.

Melina took both of Eli’s hands in hers. “Eli, would you like to see me again?”

More than anything in this world and the next. He took her left hand and—before he could think about the consequences—kissed it, the softness of her skin lingering on his lips, its natural fragrance filling his senses. “Of course.”

“Come to Istanbul. Next summer. The thirtieth of July. At Eminönü ferry station. At noon.”

Istanbul? The most famous city in Turkey? The crossroads of Europe and the Middle East? The only city in the world that straddled two continents, Asia and Europe? Another trip across the Atlantic?

Eli’s head spun. No, that wasn’t right. It had already been spinning. Now it was going out of orbit. Had Melina just invited him to see her half a world away a year in advance? He was probably hyperventilating.

“That’s... really specific.”

Her hands tightened on his. Her eyes glowed. “Will you come?”

For her, anything. “Yes...” But he needed her to repeat the time and place. It was a lot of information to take in.

Melina repeated the time and place. And her question. “Will you... come?” She almost sounded shy, like she would be disappointed if he said no, like she was skeptical that he would actually come even if he said yes.

Eli would move heaven and earth and hell to see her again. “Yes... I will.”

She squeezed his hands one last time. He didn’t want to let go. But he did.

“Next summer,” she said, and walked away into the night.

“Next summer,” he said.

Next Chapter: Fall 2004: I