His hazel eyes were warm and trusting. His head was sideways, propped in his palm in a way that pushed his cheek up in a slightly squishy way that was completely adorable. So why did looking at him make my chest hurt?
The ON function timed out, and the screen of my phone went black. Bye-bye, Lars. Hello, darkness.
I closed my eyes. You have got to get over yourself, I commanded.
Right, then. I pushed the ON button—again. I unlocked the screen—again. This time, I went to the FAVORITES page and tapped his name. A message flashed on top of the screen: CALLING MOBILE.
I brought the phone to my ear. What if he wasn’t there? Would that be good or bad? Did I want him to answer, or would it maybe be better to get his voice mail? I could leave a nice message. I could be bright and chirpy and say—
“Winnie. Wow.”
I drew my crossed legs more closely in, because that wasn’t what I would say. That’s what Lars would say. That’s what Lars did say, his voice alive and real even though he was miles and miles away.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he said.
Was I making it up, or did he sound weird? And the way he first answered: Winnie. Wow. When used nonironically, “wow” was a great word. But when used any other way? Not so wow.
I didn’t know what to do—or say. It was as if I’d gone gluey inside, and the only part unaffected was my rapidly beating heart. Oh, and my sweat glands. I was stinky all of a sudden. Gross.
“Um ... hi,” I said. I winced. I already said that, didn’t I?
“What’s up,” he said. There was no question mark implied at the end; he was doing the guy-flatline thing of saying “what’s up,” but not actually meaning it.
He definitely sounded weird.
“I got to see some baby turtles today,” I said tentatively. “Tons of them. Hundreds of them.” I shifted my position. “They were hatching. Um, from their eggs.”
“Cool.”
“It’s really rare to get to see something like that. It was ... pretty amazing.”
“That’s great, Winnie,” Lars said, and I bowed my head. He did think it was great, I suspected, but what I heard in his voice was that even so, he was having to make an effort to be happy for me.
I was hurting him.
He was hurting me.
This sucked.
You could call it quits and walk away, a whisper said inside me. Could be the kindest thing to do....
But, no. To break up with Lars would be ... would be like dying inside. I gripped the phone.
“Lars—” I said.
At the same time, he said, “Winnie—”
I made a noise that someone might have called a laugh, I suppose. “Sorry. You go.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “You first.”
“No, you.”
“No, you.”
Oka-a-a-ay, this was going nowhere fast. Don’t be a shriveled violet, I coached myself. You only live once. Don’t waste it being stupid.
“Lars?”
He hesitated. I thought I heard him swallow. “Yes?”
“There’s something I need to tell you. It’s, um, stupid, but I need to say it.”
He waited.
“It’s kind of been on my mind for a while.”
He still didn’t say anything. It was freaky to be having this conversation without seeing him.
“It’s just ... like I said, it’s stupid, but ...”
“Just say it, Winnie,” he said gruffly.
I felt scolded. I also felt feverish, and I knew I had to say it, or I would throw up or faint, or both. “On my birthday—you gave me a Starbucks card.” My voice hitched, not on purpose. “And it made me feel bad. That’s all.”
There was silence on Lars’s end ... and then he laughed. He laughed! I’d opened my heart to him, I told him what I’d been holding in all this time, and he laughed?!
I hunched over, wrapping one arm around my ribs and pressing my phone to my ear. “Stop laughing,” I said.
“That’s what you needed to tell me?” he said. He sounded downright jolly, and it pissed me off.
“Yes, and stop laughing. I told you it was stupid ... but now you’re making me feel worse.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been mad this whole time over a Starbucks card,” he said.
“So you knew I was mad? Since when?”
“Mad, cold, whatever.” He laughed again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you ask?” I said. Flecks danced in front of my eyes. My breaths were shallow and fast. “Since apparently I’ve been such a drag to be around.”
“Win, you’re not here. You haven’t been a drag to be around, because you aren’t around.”
“You were the one who originally wasn’t going to be around! It’s not my fault your mom’s fellowship got canceled.”
“I never said it was. Listen, Win ... this is stupid.”
“Duh! I said it was stupid from the beginning!” And you don’tget to call me Win while things aren’t good between us, Larson!
“Calm down,” he said, which—big surprise—didn’t turn my hurt feelings into a cloud of butterflies that disappeared merrily into the sky. “What did you want for your birthday? ”
“I don’t want to tell you anymore,” I said.
“Come on, I won’t laugh.”
I tightened my jaw. This was a no-win situation. I couldn’t not tell him, not after making such a drama out of it. But if I did tell him, he’d think it was dumb. Which it was, and which I fully admitted! And maybe he wouldn’t laugh out loud, but secretly he would think I was “being a girl.” He might even think it was cute, and if he said anything—anything at all—that smacked of, “Oh, poor Winnie, let me pat you on the head,” I would fling my phone at him all the way from South Carolina and hope it struck him right between the eyes.
“I have to go,” I said. “They’re waiting on me for breakfast.” Not true, but he didn’t know better.
“Win,” he coaxed.
“Forget it. It doesn’t matter, okay?”
He sighed. And then, because he was an idiot, he took my words at face value. “I can’t wait to see you,” he said in his thinking-about-kissing voice. “I miss being able to hold you.”
And I miss being held, I thought. A lump formed in my throat because it was all so wrong. A kiss wouldn’t make everything better. Neither would a hug.
“I wanted a cupcake,” I said. “From Sugar Sweet Sunshine.”
“Sugar sweet ... huh?”
“And you knew I did, or you should have known, because I only dropped five thousand hints.” Tears welled in my eyes. “But, no. You thought, ‘Oh yeah, it’s my girlfriend’s birthday. Hey, I know—I’ll give her a stupid piece of plastic.’”
“A stupid piece of plastic,” he repeated.
“Pretty much,” I whispered. It was awful, the grayness pressing in on me on this beautiful, sky-blue day at the beach. My last beautiful, sky-blue day at the beach.
I lowered my phone and hit END CALL.
Figure Out Who I am ...?
BABY TURTLES AND THEIR UNCERTAIN FUTURES—that’s what I thought about on and off throughout the rest of the day. And Lars. Of course Lars. Except thinking about him made my stomach hurt, so I tried not to.
It was my last day at the beach. I didn’t want to waste it.
Last walk to the point, last search for sand dollars, last porpoise-sighting, last swim. So many “lasts”—and others, possibly, that I didn’t even notice as they happened. (Lars and I ... had we kissed for the last time? Life wasn’t supposed to happen like that. Big things, important things—a person should know when they happen.)
Don’t cry, I ordered myself as I showered off in the bathhouse. I didn’t know for sure that Lars and I had broken up; I didn’t even know for sure if I wanted us to. And maybe—I wasn’t sure—but maybe I’d been unfair to him? When we talked, and I got my feelings hurt, and kind of ... hung up on him?
&nb
sp; Oh, go ahead if you have to, I told myself as tears mixed with the water from the showerhead. And if I had to cry, the shower was a better place than most.
But up in my room, getting ready for the cookout with Dinah and Cinnamon, I held it together. I didn’t tell them about Lars. Why should I put a damper on their good time, or make them feel as if they had to take care of me? I could take care of myself. I’d be fine. So I smiled and said thanks when Dinah complimented my yellow sundress with the blackbirds on it.
“Ty packed it for me,” I said. I blinked a few times. “Isn’t that so cute and so Ty?”
Dinah tilted her head. “You miss him, huh? Oh, sweetie.”
She moved to hug me, but I stepped away. If she hugged me for missing Ty, when actually I was missing Lars (or something), then I would lose it.
No losing it. Cookout. Fun. That was the plan.
“You’ll see him tomorrow,” Dinah said, confused.
“I know. I’m fine.” I tried the whole smile thing again. “Want me to do your hair?”
The cookout was lovely. It really was. There was something about staring into a fire that smoothed my mood, and when the bonfire was on the beach, as this one was, it was magical. The ocean, the sand, the twilighting sky ... it was the perfect backdrop for the pop and crackle of the fire. The flames looked like they were dancing. They flickered and swayed, and each flame burned with so many colors. I would hate to fall into a fire, or be burned at the stake, but I could stare at one forever.
“You didn’t eat your hot dog,” someone said. Alphonse. He stood above me, and his bronze skin glowed. If there were such a thing as Greek gods anymore, he would be one, except he’d be Jamaican. A Jamaican Greek god. The day I’d first met him, he hadn’t been wearing a shirt, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt now. Only his long surfer trunks.
“Not hungry?” he said.
“Huh?” Oh, right. Hot dog. I lifted my paper plate from my lap, and together we regarded my charred hot dog with its bubbling black blisters.
Alphonse furrowed his brow. “Utter failure, huh?”
I laughed ruefully. “Epic.”
He indicated the empty spot beside me. “May I?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He sat down beside me, leaning back on his elbows and taking up space the way guys did. He smelled good, like salt.
The sun was almost down, and Virginia said it was time to douse the fire, so Mark and Ryan went at it with two-liter bottles of Mountain Dew. Swear to God, they had an endless supply—and judging by how hyper they were, they’d poured as much into their mouths as they were now pouring on the fire.
“You think maybe water would work better?” Virginia suggested.
“No way,” Ryan said, circling the fire like a deranged cannibal and spraying Mountain Dew in exuberant arcs. “Dis is da bahm!”
“Duffenetly,” Mark said. “Youse guys gotta try it!” He tried to get everyone up. Cinnamon and James were easy sells; so was Erika. Dinah and Milo glanced at each other, and then made the exact same Oh-why-not expressions.
Milo was wearing a T-shirt that said, HARVARD—BECAUSE NOT EVERYONE CAN GET INTO MIT. It was so dorky that it was beyond dorky. It was so dorky that it went around the bend and was somehow cool, at least on Milo. Or maybe I just liked him for making Dinah so happy.
“Winnie,” Mark coaxed, holding out a Mountain Dew bottle and waggling his eyebrows. “You know you want to.”
I crinkled my nose. “Nah, I’m okay.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe my lameness. He turned to Alphonse. “Alphonse. Buddy. It’s Mellow-Yellow-licious.”
Alphonse glanced at me, which I saw out of the corner of my eye. I’d returned to staring at the fire, drawing my legs to my chest, and resting my chin on my knees.
“I’ll pass,” he told Mark.
Mark started to give him a hard time, then changed his mind. He looked from Alphonse to me and chuckled. He held up his hands, palms out. “All right, man. All right.”
By the fire, Cinnamon shook a bottle of Mountain Dew as if her life depended on it.
“This one’s for the guppy!” she shouted, untwisting the cap to unleash a fizzing spray.
“I think she means the Gipper,” Alphonse commented.
“I don’t think she knows what she means,” I replied. “And I have never understood what ‘the Gipper’ is.” I looked at him from under my bangs, which were clumpier than normal in the moist ocean air. “What is the Gipper?”
“Football,” he said. “Notre Dame.”
Uh-huh. And I still didn’t understand what the Gipper was. I sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Alphonse asked.
I hesitated. Was there an answer to that question? An answer I could give to Alphonse, at any rate?
Before I could put any thoughts into words, the maniacs around the dying fire started belting out a mambo-cha-cha song I recognized from the radio station my mom listend to. Or rather, the guy maniacs sang the mambo-cha-cha song. The girl maniacs giggled.
“A little bit of Erika in my life,” they crooned. “A little bit of Cinnamon by my side. A little bit of Dinah in the sun. A little bit of Winnie all night long.”
Normally, I’d have been giggling, too. They were attempting a sideways sway that involved leaning at the waist and snapping to the beat. Not that they were on the beat, but they were trying.
But tonight ...
It wasn’t happening for me, that’s all. I felt like a buzzkill, sitting stony-faced while everyone else was enjoying themselves. Forget that—I was a buzzkill. Even in my pretty sundress, I was a buzzkill.
“Wanna get out of here?” Alphonse asked.
“And go where?” I asked.
“I don’t care. Down to the water?”
I didn’t know if I should. Alphonse wasn’t doing anything weird, or wrong. But a muscle in his jaw twitched, and I knew that his offer wasn’t as casual as he wanted it to seem. And being aware of that meant that I couldn’t respond casually back. That crazy electricity was jittering between us again.
Was it awful that one boy could make my heart pound, while another boy—who wasn’t even here—could take that same heart and squeeze it till it bruised?
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” Alphonse said. “Just if you want to go down to the water.”
My cheeks got hot. I was glad it was dark.
I rose to my feet and tugged at my sundress to make it hang right. Alphonse noticed; I could feel him notice. My heart beat faster.
I walked to the water’s edge. The waves washed over my feet, and I curled my toes in the wet sand. I wrapped my arms around my ribs.
Alphonse came up beside me, and I felt a little like saying, “Hey! Mister! Who gave you permission to stand so close?”
I hugged myself tighter and tried to breathe. But I felt dizzy, like there was all this pressure on me to ... well, I didn’t know, that was the problem. Or maybe I did know? Maybe that was the problem?
“Winnie, look at me,” Alphonse said.
I swallowed.
“Winnie.” He touched my shoulder and turned me to face him. “I want to kiss you.” He drew his eyebrows together as if he couldn’t figure me out—which, sheesh, made two of us. “Can I?”
My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might be sick. Different impulses competed inside me, and I had a surreal vision of myself with a tiny angel hovering at one ear and a tiny devil at the other.
No, the angel said.
Why not? the devil said. You only live once.
But it would be wrong.
So?
So it would be WRONG. I would be cheating. On Lars.
Yeah, but vvho’s going to tell? Tomorrow you leave. You’ll never see Alphonse again.
He touched my face, and the particles and electrons between us knocked into each other and hummed. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
You know you want to, the devil voice cajoled.
Except ... di
d I? Did I really?
Alphonse was gorgeous. Check.
He was a cool guy, despite his occasional bouts of arrogance. Check.
He was inches away, and he smelled of summer and the sea and bonfire smoke, and—miraculously? incomprehensibly?—he wanted to kiss me. The intoxication of knowing that, from seeing it in the intensity of his gaze ... it was a pretty powerful—a very powerful—drug.
And yet ...
Alphonse wanted to kiss me, but did I want to kiss him, this cool and gorgeous boy who wasn’t Lars???
No, I said to myself. Or possibly I said it out loud. Did I say it out loud?
Confusion passed like a shadow across Alphonse’s features. He shook it off. His hand moved to the back of my head, and he leaned in.
“No,” I said, stepping away.
Alphonse’s arm fell to his side. “No... I can’t kiss you?”
It was a weird moment, and I felt bad.
At the same time, I found myself able to stand a little taller. “No,” I said with conviction.
“I thought you wanted me to.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“But if you’re sorry...” He looked not at me, but just over my shoulder. His frustration was obvious. “I don’t get it.”
I didn’t blame him. Was there a way to explain that while my body did want to kiss him, my heart knew it would be wrong? Not wrong as in right and wrong, and now hold out your palm, young lady, so I can slap it with a ruler. That was part of it, but not the whole tamale.
The whole tamale resided in my soul, I think. Although what was a soul, anyway? I imagined my soul as residing in my heart—which complicated the argument of “my body says yes, my heart says no,” since my heart was part of my body. It was an organ. It beat inside my chest.
But sometimes my heart made bad choices just like my body did. Exhibit A: the way I handled my conversation with Lars this morning, which I was regretting more and more.
Still, if I had to listen to one over the other, my body or my heart, it was a no-brainer. I had to go with my heart, and my heart said, “This boy in front of you? He isn’t Lars.”
Alphonse exhaled, and I realized I’d been making him wait. And for what? Nothing, unless he could magically read my mind and divine for himself that really and truly, it wasn’t him. It was me.