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224 pages, Hardcover
First published June 19, 2012
"You might not remember me, but --"
"Travis Stephenson," she interrupts, her words like a roadblock. "Welcome home. Now leave me alone."
"I left everything the way it was," she says as I drop my bag on the floor. "So it would feel familiar. Like home." I don't tell her that it doesn't feel like home at all.
Harper comes up alongside me, all green eyes and tousled hair. I could probably look at her forever and not get tired of that face.
She's a good kisser. So good I want to beat the hell out of whoever taught her.
She beams at me and it's almost enough to make up for the fact that I'm harder than trigonometry right now.
"I still have my half of the necklace, and last night I wrote in my diary, 'Dear Diary, Kenneth is my BFF. I hope he gets laid, because it's a special night when a man loses his virginity and contracts a sexually transmitted disease at the same time.'"
I can't make that kind of promise when I'm only nineteen and owe the Marine Corps three more years of active duty. Anything could happen.
I don't know if my life will ever be completely normal again, but something like normal is a good start.
We rode the same bus in middle school and I remember her stop was beside a crummy trailer park next to the bridge to Fort Myers Beach. No one wanted to sit beside her because she smelled like pee and Michalski called her FBR--short for Free Breakfast kid-- because she was poor enough to be on the breakfast plan. Back then she used to charge five dollars to make out with her behind the portables. Now she's already starting to look rough and she's barely legal.
I didn't have a noble purpose in joining the Marines. I didn't do it to protect American freedom and I wasn't inspired to action by the 9/11 terrorist attacks. I was in grade school then, and the biggest priority in my life was any bell that signaled it was time to leave school. I enlisted mostly because I wanted to escape my dad, who'd made my life hell since I quit the football team at the end of sophomore season.This isn't about politics or patriotism -- it's about people. And those are the stories that I care about. I care about Travis and the friends. I laughed at their nicknames for each other, like Solo, Kevlar, and Fido.
“Do you need help?” a female voice from behind asks.
I’m about to throw an offended no over my shoulder when Harper comes up alongside me, all green eyes and tousled hair. I could probably look at her forever and not get tired of that face. “If I say yes will you think less of me?”
She shrugs, but I can see a smile at the corner of her mouth. “I already do think less of you.”
But what has been done can’t be undone. My best friend is dead and I’m never going to be the same Travis Stephenson.
As we head toward the beach I notice the differences in the landscape of the city. New businesses that weren’t there last year. Old businesses that are gone. It’s like a whole chunk of time has just … disappeared. The songs on the radio are different. The faces on the celebrity tabloids at the airport newsstand were people I didn’t recognize. There’s even a new American fucking Idol.
Our eyes meet for a moment and I look for something. Anything. But then her gaze falls to her flip-flops with a shyness that kills me in the best possible way.
"Solo, man, that was so not fair," Kevlar protests.
I snap the bill between my fingers. "I'd say it almost makes us even."
Moss laughs and fist-bumps me, and I feel the most normal I've felt since the day we got back from Afghanistan--except when I'm alone with Harper. These are my brothers. This is my family.
It's true. We say the most offensive stuff to each other.
Racist. Homophobic. Insulting each other's mom. Sometimes, every once in awhile, it leads to knock-down-roll-around-on-the-ground fistfights, but mostly we laugh because we don't mean it. Any one of us would take a bullet for the other.
Harper moves past me and I fight the urge to grab her arm and stop her, momentarily forgetting there are no bombs buried here. In Afghanistan, they could be anywhere. One time we were sweeping a road because we knew there was a bomb on it, but even with a metal detector we couldn't find it. We gave up, got in the truck, drove a little farther down the road, and hit the bomb we'd been looking for. None of us were hurt--just a little tossed around--but it messed up the truck. Even after my brain gets the memo that we are not going to blow up on Bonita Beach, I can't stop my eyes from scanning the sand for explosives.
"Is this a problem?" she asks.
For a moment I have to remember what we were talking about, but then I look up at her, the sea breeze lifting the stray hair around her face. "Nope, not a problem at all."
I don’t know what to say to this. My mom is seeing a therapist? I run my hand over my head. “Hey, um, Mom, I’ve gotta go because we’re having breakfast with Charlie’s mom, but I wanted to tell you—” I don’t remember the last time I said the words. “I, um—” The line is silent for a moment as my mom waits for the words, but then she finishes it for me. “I love you, too, Travis.”
“Maybe it’s time to find a new normal.”
“Travis?”
“Yeah?”
“Go away.” She gives me a shove. “I have a shark to catch.”
Kevlar cracks up. “Ooh, Solo. Denied.”
“Hey, Kenneth, aren’t you going to introduce me to your date?” I reach into the live well and pull out a pilchard for my own hook. “Oh, wait. You don’t have one.”
THIS IS ME PIMPING LONG WALK TO FOREVER NOT SO SUBTLY. IF YOU HAVEN'T, GO READ IT NOW.
I turn to leave and Paige is standing there, her mouth all smug. I hate how she does that.
“Rye’s looking for you,” she says. “He’s ready to go.”
“Okay.” My eyes wander down to her ass as I follow her out of the bar. Force of habit, I guess. Also, it’s nice. Kind of bubbly.
“Lots of fine, fine ladies here tonight, Kenneth,” I say. “Which one’s it going to be?”
“If I wanted a cougar, I’d do your mom.”
“Why? Getting tired of your own?”
"She has big boobs and -"
"There is no comparison," I interrupt. "Everything about you is better."
"You didn't think so in middle school."
"I was fourteen," I say. "I was thinking with the wrong head back then. As opposed to, you know, now. When I only think with the wrong head sometimes."
"You might not remember me, but -"
"Travis Stephenson," she interrupts, her words like a roadblock. "Welcome home. Now leave me alone."
Damn, she's hostile.
"It fucking sucks. I just want to be normal again."
"Maybe, it's time to find a new normal."