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I slept most of the way from Lisbon to San Francisco, thanks to my handy stash of Ambien,
I can’t imagine her any other way. Of all the people in the world, why does it have to be her? Why is it that the people who most deserve to live seem to be taken too soon, and the ones who deserve it least, like me, seem to flourish?
I used to think fame would solve everything. What I didn’t realize is that you’re still every bit as sad. You just have the whole fucking world there to watch and remind you you’ve got no right to be.
a place where some of my best moments occurred. And some of my worst.
I don’t know how I didn’t see him,
Luke has never done any of those things. He is unapologetically his unsmiling self, size and all.
“Luke will be there. And he’ll still feel like the tide, sucking you out to sea.”
Donna knows we never got along. But she’s dying, which means I’m not allowed to resent her for this tiny manipulation.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.” “Sorry to disappoint.”
We both reach for my bag at the same time, our hands brushing for a moment. I snatch mine back but it’s too late. Luke is already in my bloodstream, already poisoning me. Making me want all the wrong things, just like he always did.
“Don’t be sorry,” he replies, pitiless as ever, turning to remake the order I wrote down wrong. “Just stop fucking up.”
Luke Taylor, Danny’s teammate,
They wanted me to gush, to prostrate myself, to admit I’m trash and will always be trash who doesn’t deserve anything I’ve received. People only want to see charity going to those who know their place.
I thank Donna every single night. These bitches from church? I hope they’re not holding their breath.
dreamily handsome guy—blonde and square-jawed and smiling at me like I’m his favorite thing in the world—walks in.
I had an image of who Luke would be: cute, all-American, the boy you bring home to Mom. Just like Danny.
But Luke is not cute. He is not the boy you bring home. He isn’t even a boy—he’s six and a half feet of lean muscle, in need of a shave, taut and tan and…dangerous, somehow. As different from Danny as anyone I’ve ever known.
“Told you she was the prettiest girl alive, didn’t I?”
It’s funny, the way you get what you want and just start wanting something else.
When you’re someone’s guest, though, you don’t get to be tired. You don’t get to have a bad day.
He’s thrown off our equilibrium, and it feels dangerous somehow.
The Allens think I’m quiet, but I’m not sure that’s true. There’s just so much I can’t say that it’s easier not to talk.
I think I’ve never seen anyone quite so magnetic in my entire life.
I don’t even like him and I want to stare; I want to smile when he does.
“I see through you, Juliet, and you don’t fucking belong.”
Or something. Like dying is so similar to other outcomes it’s difficult to tease them apart.
If I were a better person, I’d let Danny go. I’d let him leave me to fall in love with some sweet, pure girl who feels guilty when she laughs at a catty remark, who feels close to God at any point, ever. But I’m not a better person, and I’m not letting him go.
“I like meals, not snacks.”
though the truth is that everything about this is my scene.
I wonder what Luke will do next. Will he kiss that girl as if she matters, or will he kiss her the way Justin kissed me, mostly to keep her quiet so she can’t refuse?
He’s been homeless since he was sixteen…I guess his stepfather was beating his mom and they kicked him out when he tried to stop it. Can you imagine…homeless at sixteen?”
“Well…yeah. I left home at fifteen.” “You left by choice,” he corrects, and my teeth grind. I wouldn’t say I had much of a fucking choice, given that I moved out after my stepbrother dislocated my shoulder.
I want to explain there’s something hard in Luke’s face when he looks at me, something that isn’t there when he looks at everyone else,
I can’t. I can’t spend the whole damn day with a guy who hates
“Believe me, it’s safer for everyone if she stays on the beach and looks pretty.”
“Maybe you should take her in the truck. If she’s already cold she’ll freeze once we’re on the road without the top on.” “You’ll be fine, right?” Danny urges, giving my hip a gentle squeeze. “We’re only going ten minutes down the road.”
It’s not a beginner wave—it’s the kind of wave that could fuck you up if you didn’t know what you were doing. And even though I don’t like him and don’t want him here, I hold my breath, braced for disaster.
He’s happy.
his joy replaced by something else, something better. Intensity. As if nothing matters in the world but doing it again.
“I never want to surf in San Diego again.”
“So, I guess that means I’ve convinced you to stay for the summer?” Danny asks. Luke glances at me before he looks away. “Yeah. I guess you did.”
Maybe that’s why I don’t object all that much when Cash is rough with me—because I’ve lived through worse. Or maybe it’s just that I know I deserve it.
“Oops.” He holds up the milk. “Looks like it’s empty.” There’s a challenge in his eyes. “Go ahead, Juliet. Be a good girl and hop up again. We’re all half done and you haven’t eaten a bite, but let’s watch you play your part.”
“You’ve got two legs,” I reply. A glint flickers in his eye. “Not very saintly of you, Juliet.” “Neither is the way you wandered off with that blonde last night.”
I want to know what it’s like to sit on someone’s lap with a beer in hand. I want to know what it’s like to be pulled into the darkness, willingly.
“Go fuck yourself,” I reply under my breath. His eyes lighten and his mouth twitches. “There she is,” he says, only for me to hear. “I knew she was in there somewhere.”
He was the loveliest thing I’d ever laid eyes on ten years ago, making my heart beat a million miles an hour if I allowed myself to look too long. He’s even lovelier now. And my heart—the one I assumed was no longer capable of much—is beating just the way it did.
“You’re eating like a savage,” I tell him. He raises a brow. “And you’re not eating, like someone with a disorder.”
She really is going to die.
“Luke’s hungry,” I tell her, my gaze focused hard on the potatoes I’m peeling as if what I’m saying doesn’t matter. “What’s that?” she asks, distractedly, peering into a cookbook. “Luke’s hungry. He’s a lot bigger than everyone else. He needs more food.” She glances up, blinking rapidly, slow to understand my meaning. “I’m sure he’d say something.” I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry. Of course he’s not going to fucking say anything, Donna. He’s your guest. What’s he going to say?
