“What would I tell him?”
“I don’t know. That I’m sorry. That I won’t be at school with him this year. That I’m sorry I told him I loved him and then just ditched him.”
“You told him you loved him? When was that? I thought you loved Brook?”
“I did. I do. I don’t know.”
“It’s been almost a week already. I’m sure he’s figured out you’re not calling.”
“I know you’re right. I just feel really bad.”
“You’d feel worse if he started posting on Facebook that he knew you were okay. If he told friends that he’d heard from you, and Vincent went after him. Keep him safe and in the dark. Also, Brook texted me and wanted to know if he could see you tonight. I ordered enough food for an army. Why don’t we have him come down?”
“Okay.” I get up, look around at the beach, and see the couple that lives a few houses down. I watch the guy take off his shirt and images of Vincent come flashing back. Of him taking off his shirt, of him grabbing my wrist with his strong hand. “I, um, I need to go back inside now. I kinda feel sick.”
“Keatyn, look at me. What’s wrong?”
My breathing gets heavy, my hands start to shake, and I feel like I’m going to cry, or puke. I can’t decide.
In between deep breaths, I say, “It’s just the first time I’ve been out here. I was fine when I was looking at the ocean, but then that guy took off his shirt. It reminded me.”
James grabs my arm. “Let’s get you back inside.”
Brooklyn showed up about the time the food did. The Chinese restaurant we ordered from is his favorite too and he ate a lot, his appetite obviously not hindered in any way. I pick at the sweet and spicy chicken, rice, and lettuce wraps that I put on my plate. I push the food around a little to make it look like I ate more than I did. What little appetite I had got ruined on the beach.
“You need to eat,” he says.
I pick up a couple grains of rice and put them in my mouth. “I am eating.”
Brooklyn grabs our plates and takes off toward my bedroom. “Come on.”
I follow him for lack of a better plan.
He sets our plates on my bed and motions for me to sit. We sit cross-legged on my bed like we’ve done so many times before. Brooklyn smiles at me, stabs a piece of chicken with his fork, and holds it up to my mouth, so I take a bite. Then he loads up the fork with rice and holds it up to my mouth. I try to eat it, but I bump the fork and the rice goes scattering back down on our plates.
We both start laughing.
“I should probably feed myself. So are you all packed and ready to go? Are you nervous?”
“Yeah, a little. At least we went there this summer, and I feel like I know my way around a little. That should help.” He stops talking and touches my face. “I had an amazing summer, Keats. I know things are really messed up with us, but I meant everything I said. I love you. I probably always will.”
“I meant it too.”
“I got excited when I learned I had sponsors. I thought you’d support me. That you’d be here, I’d be off competing, but that we’d still see each other, still be together. I really hadn’t thought it through. Like the logistics of it. I was thinking all about me and my dreams.”
“I know. It’s okay. With everything that’s happened, it’s probably best for you to be gone anyway.”
“I don’t want us to lose touch. You’re my best friend, Keats, and that part of our relationship means a lot to me. I’ve been trying to make sense of all this. What you said the other day about me liking part of you. You’re kind of right about that, and it’s not fair to you. You need a guy that appreciates everything about you. Not just the surfer girl that I love.”
“You know what’s funny? Mr. Moran suggested this school when I was trying to talk Mom and Tommy into letting me go to high school.”
“Really? Maybe fate intervened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe there’s someone there that you’re supposed to meet. Maybe you chose the wrong path back then, and fate is fixing it now.”
“Brooklyn, fate is when you miss your flight and end up on the next one sitting next to the guy you’re destined to be with. Fate is when your alarm doesn’t go off, and you avoid a pile up on the highway. Fate does not almost get you kidnapped.”
“Maybe it does. You didn’t get kidnapped, and now you’re going where you were supposed to go in the first place. Maybe the guy of your dreams is waiting there for you.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I’m pretty sure neither one of us knows what we want, Keats. That’s the problem.”
“As in, you don’t know what we are. You haven’t known all summer, have you?”
“I’m sorry. I really do care about you, and I do love you. I guess I’m just not ready for a relationship.”
He gives me a kiss. It’s a goodbye kiss, not a we’ll-be-together-again-someday kiss. Even though I broke up with him, the kiss makes me sad, so I change the subject. “So, there’s a table full of actors sitting around out there trying to write a script for my fake life.”
He laughs. “They come up with anything good?”
“Let’s get high, then I’ll tell you all about my fake lives.”
“Let’s not.” He moves our plates onto my desk, pulls me into his arms, and falls onto the bed with me. “Just tell me.”
“They wanted to make me poor, an orphan, or a scholarship student. Seriously? At a private school like that? They might as well have made me a leper. Then—let’s see—I just got out of rehab; I got kicked out of another boarding school; oh, I got pregnant, had a baby, and gave it up for adoption. Then Mr. Moran suggested my dad just died, and I got pissed off and walked out. I sounded like a little bitchy starlet throwing my script down and marching off the set going, I demand a rewrite. If it weren’t so horrifying, it would be almost comical.”
“So you still need a story?”
“Actually, no. James helped me figure it out. He said I should keep it as close to the truth as possible.”
“So, who are you, Keats Monroe?”
I hug him tightly. “I’m going to miss you terribly.”
“I’m going to miss you too, but I was thinking about what you said about wishing you could make real friends. In a weird way, you wished for this. Going away to a place where no one knows who you are. The experience might be good for you.”
“My grandma always says, Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it. I never understood her point until now.”
“So I get to surf, see if I’m as good as I think I am. And you get to make friends, where no one knows who you are. You get to figure out who you really are. So what’s your backstory?”
“I’ve traveled the world, been tutored. I love to surf, play soccer, and dance. And we lived in L.A. for the last couple of years.”
“Oh, that’s good. It’s all true. So why boarding school? Especially your junior year?”
“Mom and Stepdad decided to live in France. I didn’t want to go, but they wouldn’t let me stay in L.A. alone, so they shipped me off to boarding school, and I’m not happy about it.” I give him my pout face. Then I say, “Or I am happy about it,” and give him my biggest smile.
“You know you’re a natural when it comes to acting. I think that’s why sometimes you aren’t sure who you are. It’s so easy for you to play different roles.” He runs his hand slowly down my arm and looks longingly into my eyes. “Can we pretend that tonight you’re still you, and I’m waiting for you on the beach?”
Thursday, August 25th
Everyone will love you.
5am
Brooklyn left at three this morning.
Last night.
I don’t even know what last night was.
I guess it was just mostly saying goodbye.
He wanted to pretend I was still me, the old me. But I’m not the same me anymore.