“It’s a little slick so watch your step,” she hollers.
I run my finger along one of the shingles and feel the dampness. It was pretty cloudy all day, which made things cold and moist. Still determined to join her, I crawl up on my knees, my weight balanced on either side of the pitch of the roof. I’m sure she walked to her spot like a gymnast on a balance beam, but I have to find my center before I can make any forward progress. My hands held out at my sides, I slowly work myself to a standing position but I keep my back hunched until I test the grit of the shingles under my shoes.
“Oh, my God, you’re never going to get here at that pace,” she laughs out, hopping to her feet again as if she’s on flat ground. She’s beside me in a matter of seconds, holding out her hand. I take it, and not because I don’t think I’ll find my footing but because somehow, holding Eleanor’s hand, I’m a whole lot more, well, everything.
We walk sideways along the ridge of the roof, stopping at the spot near the chimney, and we both sink down with our backs against the bricks and our legs stretched out before us. I shove my hands inside my sleeves for warmth and Eleanor does the same.
“The sun goes down so early in the winter. In California, they get an entire extra hour. It’s not fair,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and adjusting her back against the bricks in a bit of a pout. It’s cute, and she catches me laughing at her.
“What? You don’t ever wish you could zap yourself to California for just a little while?”
I laugh a little harder at her follow-up question, which makes her shift to face me, head cocked to the side waiting for my answer.
“I mean, sure, I guess. But more for the beaches and ocean and schools like UCLA. And palm trees. Gah! How cool do palm trees seem?” I look out at my front yard and the bare-boned sticks left behind after our elm tree lost all its leaves. “Besides, we really have about the same amount of daylight hours as California. You just have to wake up earlier here to take advantage of the full spectrum.”
A few quiet seconds pass before I turn to meet her stare. Brow pinched and mouth open, she’s looking at me like I’m a green alien spouting off Lord Byron or something. I did use the term full spectrum. Probably not a very cool moment for me.
“What?” My voice comes out in a nervous chuckle. Thankfully, her puzzled expression morphs into a more amused one as she shakes her head.
“Of course you know the number of daylight hours in California.”
I swallow behind my tight smile and her lip ticks up as her eyes flinch. She’s read right through my bluff.
“Wait a second,” she says.
Oh, God.
“You know all of them, don’t you? You know every state’s sunrise and sunset times, don’t you? Jonah! Do it, tell me! What is the sunset time in Cali today?” She pokes my side with her elbow a few times in an attempt to egg me on, and I laugh off her suggestion, mostly because she’s right and I feel like an enormous loser somehow having this skill. It was a boring summer in fifth grade and I was really into climate studies, which then got me hooked on earth rotations, and well—
“Fine. Four-fifty-four, okay? That’s what time the sun sets in California today. Give or take.”
Eleanor practically cackles.
“Give or take. As if four-fifty-four could be a rough estimate. That’s rather exact, Jonah.”
I roll my eyes, and I’m only partly playing. I’m actually a little embarrassed. I really was guessing, but I know I’m close. It was probably fifty-five after at the start of the month, and surely the time has slid a minute by now.
I glance to my side and find Eleanor looking it up on her phone. I try to interrupt her search by pushing her screen away, but she stiff arms me then holds up a finger.
“Come on, I didn’t know you were going to make fun of me,” I say.
Eleanor snaps straight up at my plea, holding her phone against her chest while her face takes on a more serious expression.
“I’m not making fun of you. I think you’re amazing!”
I breathe out a laugh at her compliment, not fully bought in to its sincerity. I bring my knees up and prop my elbows on them, shielding my eyes with my hands from both the sun and Eleanor’s expectations.
“Two minutes off. Amazing,” she says.
I shrug. “Like I said, give or take.”
“And what’s our time?” I can tell she’s already looked it up by the way she cups her phone to hide the screen from me. I don’t need to cheat.
“Two minutes off, you said?” If I’m going to show off one of the many ways I’m like a robot, I might as well be good at it.
“Two minutes. It was fifty-six after,” she answers.
“Okay, so that makes it about four-thirty-seven or thirty-eight here.”
Eleanor punches my arm in her enthusiasm.
“Thirty-eight! Holy shit, you’re good at this. Do New York!” she begs.
My chest is tight, but my embarrassment fades a little. It helps that she seems to be enjoying this. I rummage through the logic I created when I first committed these things to memory, and I know that New York falls somewhere between home and the times on the West Coast, which seems weird but is true. I rub my temples while I calculate and Eleanor teases me that I’m doing it for show.
“I’d guess around forty-five after,” I relent.
“Exactly!” She punches my arm again and this time I rub it. It didn’t really hurt,
