Then she dives under the surface and swims away, as elegant as a mermaid. And like plenty of suckers before me, I have no choice but to follow where the siren leads.
Even when it involves climbing up rocks of questionable stability.
“I thought your goal was to get us away from physical exertion,” I pant out as I use the exact same hand- and footholdsshe does to traverse the cluster of boulders jutting out from the larger formation.
“Did no one tell you when you got your six-pack certificate? There’s an international law forbidding you from complaining ever again. It’s called the You Owe This To The Rest Of The World Act.”
“Please don’t make me laugh when I’m perilously close to falling off a cliff.”
“Oh my god,” Cammie cackles as I watch her boost herself up onto a ledge and sit, then scoot over to make room for me. “This is to a cliff what I am to Serena Williams. We might have a lot of the same pieces, but hers have combined into a much more impressive whole.”
“You—What?” I shake my head as I settle in beside her, taking a moment to breathe before continuing. “Let’s circle back to that comparison later. First, let’s go—list my misdeeds.”
What starts as her humorless chuckle turns into a groan. “I don’t know, maybe I should throw myself off this non-cliff instead.”
“Camilla.”
“Okay! Okay.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, her eyes fixed on our legs dangling over the water below. Then she proceeds to recount one of the most painful conversations of my life, or as much as she remembers of it, three years on. It’s bizarre, reliving it from outside my own body and head and heart. Words and images her mind held on to that mine didn’t, and vice versa. I have to keep myself from interrupting a couple times, correcting the record about my expression, herparticular phrasing of some question, the way it changed my answer. But I just listen. Do my best to absorb, to understand.
“The kiss, the romantic feelings—I think it was easier to get over those things.” She leans back, supporting herself with her palms on the rock behind us, and her voice is more strained when she continues. “It’s the way you dropped me in an instant, like it wasn’t even difficult or I hadn’t meant to you what you meant to me—that’s what still hurts.”
I reach up to massage the bridge of my nose, trying to temper my response. There’s one glaring detail she seems to have forgotten entirely, while I let it brand itself on my brain and guide my actions ever since.
“Cam…you told me you never wanted to speak to me again,” I say as gently as I can, while my whole body vibrates with suppressed emotion.
Her questioning gaze darts to mine. “What are you talking about?”
An incredulous laugh escapes me, though I’m not sure enough time has passed for any of this to be funny. “The part you remember about me being some emotionless brick wall—I was a mess on the inside, so mixed up and confused and sad and scared—”
“You had a weird way of showing it,” she interjects, sitting back up and crossing her arms over her chest.
“I didn’t show it!” I say, voice rising. “I know that—that’s what I’m trying to say. The more upset you got, the more I shut down, just feeling worse and worse about everything.”
Cammie scoffs. “Oh, so if I’d justcalmed down, you would’veshowed an ounce of emotion? My mistake, Weston ‘I want to kiss you as a friend’ Jacobs.”
My groan comes out through gritted teeth. “Do you want me to explain myself or not?”
“I swear to—” she mutters under her breath, then, in an exaggeratedly patient tone, “The floor is yours, Mr. Jacobs. Consider me silenced until you grant me the privilege of speaking once more.”
There should not be a part of me that feels like smiling at her petulant tone, in the middle of this batshit attempt at civil conversation or conflict resolution or whatever we think we’re doing here. But here I am fighting for my life to keep a straight face.
“As I was trying to say, I had a lot going on inside that made me say and do the things I did that day. I wish I could take all of it back, that I never caused you that kind of pain. But as for why I seemed to drop you, never reached out in the years since, I—” I scratch my neck, any humor or lightness fading as I recall the painful words and have to swallow the lump that lodges in my throat. “I never stopped thinking about what you said. Stuff like ‘I thought I knew who you were, but I could never be friends with someone like you’ and ‘I never want to speak to you again.’ All the countless times I thought about reaching out, I’d replay those words and stop myself. I didn’t think you wanted me to—didn’t think I deserved to, either.”
When I chance a look at Cammie again, her jaw is practically at sea level, lashes fluttering over wide, disbelieving eyes. It’s a few moments of staring in silence before she says quietly,“Oh…my…god. Weston Jacobs. You…you’re telling me that three years of radio silence was just you…what, taking my dumbass, mid-fit-of-rage rantingseriously?”
“I…I mean, yes?” I shove a hand through my hair and feel it drying extra curly, the combined effects of saltwater and humidity. I also feel my face reddening, like a rapid-onset sunburn, but my recent application of SPF 70 says that can’t be the cause. “I don’t know if I’d phrase it that way, but—”
“I said a lot of shit that day, West!” she exclaims. “I didn’t mean half of it! You don’t let a pissed-off sixteen-year-old girl facing her first romantic rejection tell you how to live your life.”
“Weren’t you just the one explaining the concept of boundaries to me?” I match her rising pitch and volume, throwing my arms out wide.
“Those weren’t real boundaries,” Cammie says through a laugh that’s more exasperation than humor. Her hands go into her hair like she might tear it out. Or more likely, strangle me with it. “They were probably lines copied and pasted into my head from the script of a teen soap opera. TV boys never let stuff like that stop them from getting the girl back—you weren’t supposed to, either!”
“Ohhh, got it, that’s my bad—I’ll try to be more toxic next time,” I deadpan. “Send you love letters spelled out with magazine clippings, maybe, or show up in your bedroom uninvited to watch you sleep at night.”
She jabs a threatening finger my way. “Donotbring Edward into this.”
“Your fault for making me read those shitty books.”
