“Yeah, like, at least with the fellowship I can focus on one thing I know I love to do. I wouldn’t have to decide what I want study for a whole four years and then what I want to do with the rest of my life.” I swallow down my anxiety. “And the commitment is short, so if it, like, doesn’t work out, and the work isn’t good or something, then I didn’t waste too much of anyone’s time.”
“Your art definitely isn’t a waste of anyone’s time, Sera.”
“Neither is yours, Luke.”
We fall quiet. The beginning of an argument sits between us, and neither of us wants to take it any further. Luke clears his throat and changes the subject.
“Remember the sleepover before seventh grade? When we stayed overnight?” Luke asks as we approach the theater building. The theater kids glance over at us through the open doorway and turn their music up louder.
I smile at the memory. We were thirteen and terrible.
“I still don’t think it was a bad idea to sleep on the beach,” I say.
“If only we had accounted for the tide.” Luke shakes his head. “Though in our defense, it doesn’t change as dramatically at the Beach at the End of the Universe, so we weren’t used to that.”
“Yeah, so at like four a.m., no moon, I woke up to you screaming that the kraken had you.” I can’t stop the bubble of laughter that escapes me.
“I was closer to the water than you! That’s one hundred percent what it felt like. Cold, slimy tentacles wrapping around one side of me.” He’s laughing now too, his green eyes shining.
“I think they canceled sleepovers after that.”
“Really? That sucks.”
“Well, we did wake up the whole camp and scared the pants off the littles. I don’t think they went swimming for weeks.”
Luke’s laugh settles, fades. “Good times,” he says, still smiling at me. The way he’s looking at me warms me up, like I’d been cold and not known it. Then he reaches for me, pulling me off the path, and my heart lurches at the contact. “Incoming,” he warns as a string of kids runs past us shouting “Sorry”and dodging water balloons. Of course—he’s just being kind. He’s not touching me for any other reason. He lets me go, and the back of his hand brushes mine as we step back onto the path. I breathe a little easier once we’re moving and there’s more space between us again.
At the bike racks, I free my bike and slip my helmet off the handlebar.
“Thanks for coming,” I say. “It was nice not to be working alone.”
He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for the invite.”
It’s a little awkward between us again. I want to say more, so much, but it doesn’t feel like the right time. I’m not sure it ever will.
“Do you want to go grab an early dinner at the diner? Maddy’s been mad I haven’t come by to try her newest pie.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised, and a part of me wants to say yes, to slip back into a familiar routine with him, but I can’t, of course. “I have something tonight.”
“A date?” he jokes.
“Yes, actually. Haven’t you heard of those?” I joke back. I think I see his smile fade briefly, but in a flash, it’s back again.
“Cool. Have fun, Watkins,” he says.
*
Abbi lets me borrow her car for the evening so I can drive myself out to Harwich Port. It’s only thirty minutes away, but I’m late because I couldn’t figure out what to wear. When I pullinto Jackson’s driveway, I’m glad I landed on a sundress and sandals and not the T-shirt and shorts that were in the running. The house is all white and massive with two columns framing the entryway and a balcony jutting out from the second floor.
As I make my way up the front steps, I quickly check my phone camera to make sure I look okay. I fix my hair a little and then press the doorbell. The sound echoes deep into the house. A woman in a maid’s uniform answers and welcomes me in. I try not to gape as I follow her down the long hallway to the right of the grand staircase. We pass a library, a room with a pool table, and a large sunken living room. I shiver in the AC, which Dad still won’t let us turn on yet at home. In the kitchen, Jackson is sitting at a long white marble island talking with a woman in a white chef’s jacket. The maid ducks out of the room, and I can only hope my eyes aren’t completely bugging out of my head.
“Hey, Sera,” Jackson says, his face breaking into a grin. He gets up out of his seat and gives me a quick hug. My cheek presses into his chest—he’s a full head taller than me. “You’re right on time. Do you like ravioli?”
I laugh, nervous. “Who doesn’t?”
“Great. My parents are going out, so it’ll just be us.” His smile widens, his eyes lighting up. His golden hair is swept off his face, like he just got a haircut.
“Cool.” I turn to the chef and say hi. She just gives me a wave and returns to breaking down the lobster she has on the counter.
