Reed—the enthusiastic, wild-mannered, shameless flirt that he is—whoops and hollers, “Teddy! You look so hot out there!”while Miles shouts, “You’re doing amazing.” They’re both beaming at me with a sense of pride, and between the two of them, it’s enough to make me feel like I’m sailing. I’m not sure I care to ever tube again.
As the end of summer draws closer, I feel a growing sense of anxiety over the thought of spending a school year without them. The pull to make sure they don’t forget me has me staying up late one August evening downloading a mixtape of all the songs that remind me of our summer together.
I burn a single a copy and sprawl out on my stomach with a permanent marker in my hand. I carefully lay the disc flat on the blanket draped near the foot of my bed and lose myself to the intricate round, the disc mirroring my friendship with Miles and Reed. A friendship where I am beginning to wonder where they end, and I begin.
“We should go out in the canoe one last time,” Reed suggests over the chatter of our parents. It took all summer to coordinate, but they finally got together for a BBQ hosted on our patio to get to know each other.
We duck out in the middle of their conversation and head for the canoe. I snatch my sketchbook off a lounge chair and chase after Reed and Miles toward the dock. The boys each take an oar and row us out until our families look like miniature figurines on the shore.
It’s blanketed in a dusky haze and too good not to capture, so I say, “Miles, trade me spots.”
When we both stand, the boat rocks back and forth with the shift in weight, and Miles reaches out to lace his fingers with my free hand.
“Maybe you two should play chicken instead,” Reed encourages.
Miles pushes on me, and I lean backward just enough to feel the tip of the boat.
“Behave,” I grunt, shoving the sketchbook between my teeth so I can grip his other hand too. I ignore the flames that stoke inside of me with the sensation of his skin touching mine. They’re there, but if I fall prey to them, there’s no way I’m keeping my balance. I’m sure to ruin every sketch I’ve ever drawn from my summers here. The sketches of Miles that get me through the nine months we spend apart.
Both boys laugh as he and I shuffle in a half circle before sitting in our new spots.
“That’s better,” I say, tucking the paddle across the front of the boat and opening my sketchbook, eyes focused on the shoreline.
“You two may not be getting in, but I am.”
Reed rips off his shirt and backflips off the back of the canoe, making a giant splash. Water droplets spray in a rain shower that drenches our clothes but miraculously avoids my book.
“REED!” Miles and I yell in unison.
He grins and swims a few laps around the canoe while I begin sketching the place where the lake meets the shore. I brush the charcoal strokes with my fingertip so they’re a bit softer to match the blades of grass that sway in the breeze. The world falls away whenever I’m making art, but when I feel the boat dip forward, my hand stills.
“I don’t think there’s anything you aren’t incredible at,” Miles whispers over my shoulder.
I can think of one thing: not having the breath punched from my lungs anytime you’re close to me.
Three fingertips trace down my left arm and stop at the crook of my elbow. It’s nothing like the first time I felt his touch, that day on the boat, because this time it’s intentional. Chills erupt on my skin with the sensation of his breath on my neck.
“Do you think you’ll be back next summer?”
There’s a sad longing to the sound of his voice, and I realize my response to his compliment should have been:Leaving you.That’s the thing I’m not any good at.
I’m afraid of ruining the moment. This is the most vulnerable he’s been with me since that first day I came back. Reed may be ten feet away like always, but right now, it feels like it’s just him and me. Alone in this canoe.
I want to tell himyes, but this time, I need to be honest. I just hope my answer conveys the feelings I have in my heart.
I set down my pencil and reach my hand across my stomach to touch his fingertips. They’re warm and soft. The connection feels like the kind of dream you long to hold on to and never let go.
“I hope so.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NOW
It’s 6:58 when I hear tires skittering down the steep slope of our driveway. I’m waiting, Converse crossed at the ankle on a lawn chair, for myfun timewith Reed. It’s the one time of day I can count on my parents being out of the cabin. They take a canoe ride together down the shoreline every night before sunset. Even though I’m past the age of a curfew, I want my time with Reed as free of expectation as possible. That meant not telling them I’m going anywhere. Will they worry when they get back and find out I’m gone? Yes. But I need to do this for me.
When a familiar truck rounds the kitchen window I snatch my sweatshirt draped over the back of the chair and tuck it under the crook of my arm, moving toward him. He pops the door open and leans over the top of the frame, his broad shoulders squeezing between the gaps.
“Hi!” He grins, his white teeth popping against the deep green of his fitted long-sleeve tee.
