Two happy teenagers on the beach. A cheerful, blondegirl has her head thrown back in a fit of laughter. Next to her is a lanky, brown-haired boy with bright eyes.
They stand next to their own yellow surfboards with a white stripe down the middle. It’s the same one I have stored away in a closet that I don’t go into anymore.
If I close my eyes, it feels like I’m there again. We must be fifteen and fourteen years old in this photo. I begged August to teach me to surf and bought my own board while on break at work. He helped me pick it out and then bought the same one.
I fell off it five times, splashing into the ocean while waves pushed me toward the shore. August and Ellie were cheering for me while I shouted, “I did it!”
“Oh, shit,” I whisper.
This is August’s room.I rub at my eyes and stare at the other photos hanging on the wall. The next frame is a group photo of Rowan, August, Beau, and James at high school graduation. The one after that is a family photo from their vacation.
Then I stare at the bed I slept in.Hisbed. His large, comfortable, eucalyptus-scented bed.
I didn’t sleep with August in his bed. There’s no possible way.
Turning back to the door, I peek my head out into the hallway. The one-story house is silent, and I’m not sure if he’s even here right now.
The closer I get to the living room, I hear a faint sound of someone typing on a keyboard, and I find August sitting on his couch. One ankle is crossed over his knee, and I feel like a pervert when I look at his thigh disappearing underneath his shorts.
He continues to type on his laptop that’s balanced onhis knee, his face scrunched in concentration, causing his glasses to push farther up his nose.
A small noise comes from my throat when I clear it to grab his attention.
"Good morning," he says before placing his laptop on the coffee table. Steam rises from a mug that sits next to an empty white bowl and a silver spoon. He gets up from the couch and wipes his hands on his shorts. "Did you sleep okay?"
I give him a stiff nod. If I move my head too much, I'm afraid it's going to roll off my body
"Do you need anything? Water? Tylenol? Gatorade?"
My shoulders slump, and I let out a heavy sigh. “A Gatorade would be great.”
“Lie on the couch, I’ll be right back.”
Heading over to the sectional portion of the couch, I peer around the living room. More framed photos and art pieces hang along the walls. Across from the couch, against the wall, is a TV stand with no TV, but a record player.
The walls are painted a light, charcoal gray, and large potted plants hang out in front of the window.
Is that my shoe?
"Here you go," August says, holding out a bottle for me. Our fingers brush when I take it from him.
"Thanks.”
This is something I thought would never happen. Me and August, in his house alone. I'm in his safe space. A place he goes to decompress and relax.
"Nice place," I say.
He looks around and shrugs. “It’s fine.”
The ice-cold drink sends a wave of refreshing coolness down my throat, while the taste of sugary fruit hits every taste bud on my tongue. I muster up the courage to ask himhow the hell I got here. Or, more importantly, why I stayed here.
“Hey, so, how did I end up here exactly?”
August huffs out a laugh and scratches the back of his neck before crossing his arms.
“What?”
Now I'm scared to know. What could have happened? Did I confess my feelings to him? Absolutely not. I’m not that kind of person where I vomit my feelings after I drink.
