Think about the dock, I tell myself, my eyes still closed.Think about the dock.This always calms me. I don’t know why, but when I picture the dock, it always helps me to stop spiraling. I imagine rowing to it, over and over. I am safe on the dock, and I feel stability and safety there, although I have no idea why.
My eyes open and I feel my breathing slow.
“I think,” I say slowly, “that we’re out of stones.”
“There are always more. You want to keep skipping?”
“Yes.”
“Then we will.”
4
BREAKING THE RULES
MY SUNGLASSES DOlittle to block out the sun’s strength, so I shut my eyes. Part of me is scared to do this because I’m totally convinced that he’ll be gone when I open them. I test my theory and roll my head to the side for a quick peek. Chris is still there, lying next to me on the sand, both of us on our backs while we talk—or rather, while he talks. I make him do most of the talking since I’m so out of practice. Good thing that Sabin gave me a warm-up this morning.
It takes everything I have to look away from him again, but I don’t want to be caught staring. I love his imperfect nose, his full lips, and the way he runs his hands through his black hair every so often, tousling the soft waves. Every time he does this, the muscles in his arm flex slightly and I am further entranced.
More than my undeniable physical attraction to Chris is the fact that I feel something else for him that I can’t explain. It’s more than a little confusing. I’ve read countless literary works that detail the longing and ache that characters have for someone they love, and over time, I have developed a strong belief that it’s just dramatic bullshit meant to entice readers. Today, however, I understand that it’s not bullshit. It’s very strange the way my stomach and chest are tight and fluttery and how his presence is so entirely magnetic. While it’s a decidedly wonderful feeling, it’s also terrible because I know that I am alone in this; there is no way that Chris can possibly feel what I am feeling. I push aside that thought because I’m not exactly in a position to barrel into any serious romantic entanglement anyway, even if he was interested. Which he’s not. I can tell by the way he’s just lying next to me on the beach, chattering. So I will just enjoy this time with him.
Part of my old self has awoken, and I am going to let this day happen.
Chris has already told me that he’s lived “too many places to mention,” and that he’s majoring in economics and minoring in English lit. We also spent twenty minutes discussing our favorite coffee drinks, a conversation that only cemented how fucking cool he is. How many college students have a French press and a milk frother in their room? One. That’s how many.
“My sister has tried to steal the press on more than one occasion. I bought her one, but she claims the coffee mine makes tastes better.”
“You have a sister?”
“A sister and two brothers.”
“How old?” I ask.
“They’re all here at Matthews with me. Estelle and Eric, they’re twins, are sophomores, and my brother Sabin is a junior.”
“Wait. Sabin?” There couldn’t be that many Sabins on a campus this small. “Tall, dark hair, a little… wild?”
Chris laughs. “You know him?”
“Just met him this morning. He stole my coffee. Apparently coffee-related thievery runs in your family.”
“He’s a handful. Best brother you could ask for. Well, he and Eric.”
“Sort of funny that you are all at the same school,” I say. The air is much warmer now, and I’m about to take off my sweatshirt when I remember that I just have on a T-shirt underneath. One that would show my left arm. I settle for unzipping the sweatshirt and dealing with the heat.
Chris shrugs. “We’re pretty close, I guess. The thought of us all being spread across the country at different schools sucked, so here we are.”
“How did you end up at Matthews?”
“I saw it on a shirt once. Seemed like a good idea.”
I impulsively swat him on the arm, aware of how comfortable I feel doing this. I’m amazed that I don’t feel weirder about my freakish behavior earlier, but I don’t. It seems Chris can tolerate my eccentricities. “I’m serious!”
He tips his head to me. “So am I.”
“That’s a weird way to choose a college.”
He grins. “We’re a weird bunch.”
