Lila grips the safety bar until her knuckles blanch.
“Hey.” I cover both her hands with one of mine. “Look at me.”
She drags her gaze away from the open air beneath us.
“You need a distraction?”
“Desperately.”
I gently peel her fingers from the metal and wrap her hands around mine. “Hold on to me instead.”
Her grip tightens around my bicep.
“I jumped out of a plane once,” I tell her.
Her head whips toward me. “Why?”
“Military family. My dad knows people.” I shrug. “Plus, I was eighteen and not very smart.”
She studies me. “You don’t seem like an adrenaline-junkie type.”
“I think I’m the still-figuring-myself-out type.”
“I get that.” She settles her cheek against my shoulder, and I have to suppress the purr that starts to vibrate in my chest. “Was your dad transferred a lot? Is that why you’ve moved around so much?”
“Both my parents were in the military.” I rub my thumb over the back of her hand. “Every few months, there was another house. Another school. Another group of people whose namesI had to learn. My life became whatever I could fit in the least amount of boxes.”
The wheel inches its way to the top. The last orange light drains into the ocean, leaving a streak of brilliant pink burning across the horizon. It’s bright and joyful and reminds me of Lila. Hell, every good thing does.
She snuggles closer. “Is that why you haven’t unpacked? You’re waiting for the next move.”
There’s only understanding in her voice, which somehow makes the words squeeze around my heart.
Gran’s voice echoes through my head.
You aren’t your parents.
No one is transferring me anymore. There are no orders taped to the refrigerator or moving trucks waiting outside. Somewhere along the way, staying packed stopped being something forced upon me and became a habit. Its own kind of safety.
If I never settle in, leaving can’t hurt.
Except safety has become a trap. One I carry from town to town inside the same unopened boxes.
“You noticed the boxes,” I manage around the tightness in my throat.
“They clash with the couch.”
“Everything clashes with that couch.”
Our laughter mingles as the wheel pauses to let another gondola unload.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll stay,” I muse, taken aback by the fact I felt the need to share that information. Much to my Gran’s and my nosy cousin’s annoyance, I don’t talk about things like this. But floating in the sky with Lila warm against me… I could do anything.
“I’ve lived here my whole life,” she says. “I used to dream about leaving. I still do. I mean, I love Crescent Cove. I knowevery shortcut, every shop owner, every house that gives out full-sized candy bars at Halloween. I know which section of the beach has the best shells after a storm and where the dolphins swim in late summer.”
“Then why leave?”
She’s quiet for a moment.
