Her eyes go a darker shade of blue as she processes my response. I can see that she’s reasoning things out. “You haven’t told us the whole story, have you?”
Not the most excruciating parts. I haven’t told those to anyone. Not even Dr. Roland.
“Is this true, Dee?” Jordyn’s voice is hurt.
What kind of person am I that I choose to safeguard my secret and continue to hurt the people I love? I’m a hypocrite—expecting Dwayde to come clean with his secret when I can’t come clean with mine.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my gaze falling to my lap. “You both deserve the truth.” Just as Mama and Papa T did. “But I can’t go there. Not today.”Not when it would break me all over again.“Don’t be mad, Jord.”
She sighs and when I glance up, offers me a smile. “I’m not mad. We’re here whenever you’re ready to talk about it.”
“You’ve both been great…cleaning my kitchen and taking such good care of me. I’ll try to talk to you about it soon, but right now, I need to be alone to clear my head.”
Not giving them a chance to argue, I manage to usher them to the door. They’re reluctant to leave me to my own devices, considering the state they found me in this morning. But after a round of hugs and a promise to call later, I shut the door behind them.
The empty echo confirms I’m completely alone.
As I move through the house, Mick’s lingering presence closes in on me. I can smell the scent of his cologne. Hear the words he whispered above my lips. Feel his mouth moving slowly and sweetly over mine, tearing me apart with tenderness.
I can’t stay here without the grief conspiring against me again. Quickly changing into leggings and a long knit sweater, I slip on canvas sneakers and head a block away to the beach.
It’s mid-October. The trees are a canopy of reds, russet browns, and golden yellows. A cool breeze floats off the water, whipping my curls against my face, and the kuk-kuk of gulls is carried along the shore of Lake Michigan. The crisp, sunny weather’s lovely, and the number of people strolling on the boardwalk attest to that.
But even out in the fresh air, I can’t escape Mick. It’s as if he’s lurking in the shadows of the lake, taunting me.
I’m reminded of what Jordyn said yesterday. There are two kinds of men: the gentle surf and the tidal wave. I know exactly what she means. The gentle surf is safe and steady. It lazily rocks boats on breezy days and placidly laps against the shore on cool nights. It’s relaxing, comforting, and lulls you to sleep.
There’s nothing steady or relaxing about a tidal wave. There is no easy float, no predictable crest. It’s wild and exhilarating. It rips through your resistance, crashes up against your heart, and leaves you breathless.
Yet it can also crush you, and you won’t even see the destruction coming until you’re drowning in it.
Mick Peters was my tidal wave.
Fifteen years ago…
AFTER COMPLETING MY ENGLISH EXAM, I hurry to the girls’ restroom to read the note Mick slipped me. I hadn’t a chance to open it before the test was handed out. But I felt his piercing eyes from the row behind and snuck a peek just to experience that hot surge of excitement course through my veins.
I push the door to the bathroom open and peer inside. It’s empty but I duck into the corner stall anyway and unfold the sheet of lined paper. My pulse bursts into a thousand fluttering beats. It starts off with these words: Five long days…
Between basketball, our part-time jobs, and being discreet, we haven’t been able to meet up alone in almost a week.
As much as it confuses me, my heart swells at the thought that I could have such an effect on him. I tear out a piece of paper and press it against my binder to write back.
I won’t see Mick until later in the day, so I stuff the note for him in the front pocket of my baggy jeans and dash off to my next exam, arriving just as the second bell rings. The day drags on, but I light up just thinking about the possibility of being with him tonight.
During lunch, I eat on the back stairwell that leads to the furnace room because I hate going into the cafeteria, especially since that humiliating incident with J. T. Today, Molly joins me. We work together at the library after school twice a week and on Saturdays. She’s my unwitting alibi on the evenings I sneak off with Mick. We’re not really friends in that we don’t share personal confidences. But she has enough geek in her to be as much an outcast as I am, and that bonds us in an odd way.
“Could we switch hours this evening?” I ask her. “I’ll cover your three to seven if you can cover my five to nine.”
She scrunches the wire frames up her nose and takes a bite out of her tuna sandwich. I munch on carrot sticks in another attempt to diet.
“I guess so,” she says around a mouthful of braces. “How come?”
“The Tylers need me to watch Johnny,” I say of the family whose holy terror of a son I sometimes babysit. Only this time, I’m lying.
Behind her round lenses, her soft brown eyes scrutinize me.
“What?” I ask.
