I shake my head glumly.
Freddie kicks off his flip-flops. “Come on. I haven’t been to the beach since I got here.”
I step out of my sandals and push the glass bottle into the sand so that hopefully the wind won’t carry it away, then follow Freddie past the shoreline. It’s curious to think how well he knows me, but then again not at all. Eight years feels like a long time, but I can so easily remember us chasing each other on this exact beach. In the time Freddie and I have spent apart, we’ve changed in ways that have defined us. And yet there’s something so familiar about this. About us.
“So you miss your swim team?” I ask.
He shoves a hand in each pocket. “I guess you could say that.”
The tide splashes against our ankles and then pulls back in a rhythm that is steady as a beating heart.
“Have you ever tried so hard to be good at something... so perfect, but it just wasn’t... enough?” Freddie asks.
I know what he means, but no matter how far back I try to think, I can’t find an example. How is that possible?
All I can do is I offer him a sad smile and a nod.
He lets out a long sigh before squatting down and using both of his hands to splash me.
I shriek and splash him back, thankful to him for lightening the mood.
We skip around in the water, never going much farther than the hem of our shorts. I leave thoughts of Grace and the future on the beach for a little while.
We walk back to Boucher’s, and I offer to give Freddie a ride on the back of my bike so he won’t have to walk home. After I put my hair up so it won’t slap him in the face, he stands on the seat stay and holds on to my shoulders. We both hoot as the wheels speed down his hill.
In front of his house, he hops off the back of my bike and pulls me to him for a hug. My chin fits snugly in the crook of his shoulder. Hugging at this height can be so awkward, but nothing about our embrace makes me feel like I’m bumbling.
In sophomore chemistry, Mr. Culver told us the most important thing to take away from his class was that the world isn’t made up of isolated incidents. Knowing the elements was important, but even more relevant was knowing how they changed when combined with others. And that’s what I’m most terrified of right now—how Freddie and I will change when combined with others.
I watch as he sneaks around the side of his house into the backyard.
I have some time to kill before my paper route, so I go home to change my clothes. Hattie is spread out in my bed with a limb touching each corner, and the bathroom smells like puke—from Tyler, I assume. Even though it might be nice to crash on the couch for a little bit, I can’t get out of here fast enough. The whole process of being in my house feels like I’m creeping against the wall of a narrow, smellyhallway. Nothing about it says home right now.
As I’m walking my bike out of the trailer park, my phone buzzes.
GRACE: How can I be this lonely when I’m surrounded by people? I miss you.
Normally this sentiment would feel all too familiar, but tonight I didn’t feel lonely. Not at all.
Some days are worse than others, I finally type.I miss you, too.
SEVEN
It’s been three days since Tyler’s birthday bash, and school starts tomorrow. I love this last day of summer almost more than the last day of school. Hattie and I have made a habit of clearing the day so that we can sleep in late and then get in one last sunburn at the beach before spending the rest of the day in a cool, dark movie theater.
Saul and Ruth have managed to get the day off too, which is some kind of miracle, since the four of us comprise a third of the waitstaff at Boucher’s.
After my paper route, I come home to sleep for a few hours more, and I’m so stupid excited for today that I decide to sleep in my swimsuit, a mint-colored tankini that fits more like bikini bottoms and a crop top.
My eyes are closed for what feels like no more than twenty minutes when I hear heavy feet clomping down the narrow hallway outside my door.
I try to ignore the noise for as long as I can, but eventually I crack my door open to find Tyler and one of his greaseball friends piling up boxes of records and old gamingconsoles and trash bags overflowing with clothes outside of Hattie’s room.
“What are you doing?” I spit.
Tyler’s friend shrugs and shoulders his way past me.
“Moving day,” Tyler says. “Home sweet home, right, sis?”
