It takes me six whole blocks to catch my breath, to understand what I saw, and to realize, with confusion, that for some reason, my cheeks are wet and my eyes sting. I blink, wipe my forearm across my face, and shake my head as if that will stop the tears.
I shouldn’t be crying. I shouldn’t evencare. Actually, I should be happy that Trevor has found someone to kiss in an alley, someone whose waist seems to fit perfectly in his grasp. But then again, I should also be concerned that whatever was going on between them seems to have an ugly side, something I was never meant to see.
And yet, the only question I want an answer to is this one: How, after seventeen years of friendship, did Trevor and I reach a placewhere he wouldn’t think to tell me about Erica? That he wouldlieto me about where he’s been, what he’s been doing, who he’s been thinking about?
But just as I begin to wonder, just as the fury begins to grow, I realize that’s exactly what I’ve been doing to him.
Lying. And perhaps my lie has bigger and worse consequences. Because there’s no way in the world I would ever tell him about my love for Ethan, so how can I expect him to be honest with me?
Lucy
The farther away I get from the Beach Club, the more notifications I receive on my phone. At first, they’re only from Ethan.
I thought you got here before us.
The mayor’s float is here, but I can’t find you.
Where are you?
Hello??!!
Then I see a text from Erica come in.
Are you here? Can you find me??
I stop on the side of the street, which is full of parade detritus—confetti and popped balloons and little bits of foam that fell off the floats as they glided down our main drag—and sit on the sidewalk, dropping my head down. I think about what Olivia told me: Ethan did what he could to break us up.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember what it was like tobe sixteen and heartbroken, what Ethan’s exact movements were like in the aftermath in those tender weeks. Olivia’s proclamation came swiftly and without much time to process, a text asking me to meet her behind the tennis courts after school. When I got there, she looked at me with a hard stare and said the words I never forgot.
“We’re moving to the city in June, and it’s easier to break up now.”
That was it. As swift and shocking as a beheading. It was Ethan who found me an hour later, sitting in the same place, long after Olivia had left.
He didn’t ask me questions or force me to talk about it. All he did was take my backpack and walk alongside me in silence, as if he knew that was what I wanted most.
When we got home, he hugged me long and hard, and said, “This is the worst part. I’m sure of it. Tomorrow will be better.”
And he was right. Every day did get easier. Mostly because I had Ethan by my side.
Toward the end of that summer, I remember we were sprawled out on the sand, baking in the sun. His eyes were closed, and the sun made the freckles on his nose more pronounced, gave his skin a deep tan. I had always known Ethan was objectively good-looking. Obviously so, with a symmetrical face and straight teeth and eyes that locked in:I’m listening, I’m here. But that day, I looked at him and noticed a stirring in my core, a pressure against my sternum.
“One day, you’ll tell me what you’re thinking,” he’d said. “What about today?”
“Maybe.” His eyes held mine, and a zippy sensation shot downmy spine. Ethan’s hand drifted over to my towel, and even though we didn’t make contact, I could feel the heat from his skin, wanted to lean toward him so that the tips of his fingers grazed my thighs.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
I could see our future about to unfold, and I wanted him to say it out loud, an exaltation. I had an acute understanding that whatever we did moving forward—however we chose to define our relationship—would change the course of our lives, create a ripple effect in our families, our friendships. Our worlds were so intertwined that if we chose to redefine whateverthiswas between us, it would have consequences and we had to be ready to face them.
Ethan didn’t hesitate. He propped himself up on his side, too, so our eyes were at the same level, so there were only millimeters of air separating us.
“You are my favorite person on the planet, Lucy Gold. And I think that you feel the same way about me.”
“Oh?” I asked, a smile forming on my lips.
“Yes,” he said with utter confidence. “I like you. So much. And I think there’s a chance you like me, too.”
“I do,” I said, immediately aware that my words sounded like an oath, a promise, and in that moment, I didn’t care.
