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My whole life was measured in summers. Like I don’t really begin living until June, until I’m at that beach, in that house.
right. It was a summer I’d never, ever forget. It was the summer everything began. It was the summer I turned pretty. Because for the first time, I felt it. Pretty, I mean. Every summer up to this one, I believed it’d be different. Life would be different. And that summer, it finally was. I was.
“Fine, I might, but only Conrad’s. He’s so good at keeping everything locked inside, I never know what he’s thinking. But not you, Jeremiah. You, my baby boy, wear your heart right here.”
“Belly, you’ve got to pick one. You can’t have them both.”
This moment between us, fragile and tenuous, snapped in half. It was over. It would do no good to wonder what he was going to say. Moments, when lost, can’t be found again. They’re just gone.
For me there was—is—nothing better than walking on the beach late at night. It feels like you could walk forever, like the whole night is yours and so is the ocean. When you walk on the beach at night, you can say things you can’t say in real life. In the dark you can feel really close to a person. You can say whatever you want.
“Best friends are important. They’re the closest thing to a sister you’ll ever have,”
It’s hard to throw away history. It was like you were throwing away a part of yourself.
I wondered if this was the way old crushes died, with a whimper, slowly, and then, just like that—gone.
I blew out the candles before Steven could try to “help” me. I didn’t want him stealing my wish. I wished for Conrad, of course.
Because the truth was, when I looked at Conrad, all I felt was a yearning that never went away. It was the same as it had always been.
