“Oh yeah. Every time. Girls like a guy with a filthy mouth.”
“If you say so…then what?”
“Then I’d flash you a smile.” He flashes me a killer, stomach-twisting smile. “And ask your name and where you were from. All while checking you out.”
I remember the day we met at the camp ground. The way his eyes roamed over my soap and shampoo-covered body.
“Then,” he says. “I’d chat you up a bit and start to make my move.” Like a cat, Justin moves fluidly from his seat across the table and slides in next to me. His arm snakes over my shoulder and I find myself drawn to his smell and his warmth, instinctively moving into his side.
“And then, we’d spend the rest of the night making out in that corner over there.” He points to a darkened spot behind the video games.
I sit up and make a face. “Are you kidding?”
“Nope. I mean, you said if it was raining. Normally I’d take a girl to the beach or something and try my luck. But here? That’s the spot.”
“Gross,” I say, but I already know if he asked me to make out in that corner I’d probably go.
“You know, I’m not really that guy anymore.” His eyes are on my lips and I can feel his fingers touching the skin on the back of my neck. “None of us are.”
“No?” I swallow hard and then say, “Because I’m totally that girl who would let you make out with me pressed against the wall of a stinky arcade.”
He breaks into the most glorious smile and among the kitchen noises, video games and shouting kids, I lean in and kiss him.
It’s not quite a make-out and it’s definitely PG, but his lips are soft and salty from the fries and I lick them for the taste. It’s a moment I can’t describe, probably caught in time; the thunderstorm outside, the blinking lights from the game. I feel like a normal girl kissing a normal guy in the middle of summer vacation.
It’s the best feeling I’ve had in a long, long time.
The rain is long gonethe next day when I stand idly to the side while my mother signs a book. Mrs. Green, #172, invited us over for tea (the cold, sweetened kind) and homemade snickerdoodles. Just when I thought we could escape, she pulled out four of my mom’s recent books for her to autograph. This delighted Julia, of course, and sent her into a spiral of story after story about each one. I’m one second from slipping off to beg Justin to leave work early and come save me when she wraps it up with, “I’ll be sure to send you a copy of my new book, about Donald Gaskins, when it comes out.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of talking about it?” I ask on the way back to the camper. The rain from last night blew away and we’re back to the same sweltering heat.
“Talking about what?” she asks.
“Murders and murderers. It’s depressing.”
Mom steps over a hose lying in the pathway. “There are stories of triumph in there, too. Those who fought back. The people who put them in jail.”
“I guess,” I say.
“Who’s that?” Mom asks, nodding to our camper.
I stop short when I see who she’s talking about. To my shock, Mason stands under our canopy. Mason in his plaid short-sleeved shirt and jeans, despite the heat. I can’t help but notice his beard has grown in full and his square hipster glasses are new. And he’s here. He’s right here.
“Summer?” my mom asks, touching my arm. My hands start to tremble. “Do you know him?”
“That’s umm…” My teacher? Boyfriend? Ex? I have no idea where to start because I haven’t even told her he exists.
Tired of waiting for me to explain, she starts toward him, leaving me alone on the gravel path. “Looking for someone?”
Her question is enough to spring me to action. I rush forward, tripping over the rocky driveway, in the process.
“Summer!” Mason calls, rushing over to me, bypassing my mother entirely. “Are you okay?” He lifts me off the ground.
“I’m fine,” I say, pushing him off. My mother makes an impatient gesture implying she wants an introduction. I sigh and rub my forehead. “Mason this is my mother, Julia Barnes. Mom, this is Mason Lowery, someone I know from, uh, back home.”
“Nice to meet you, Mason,” she says, offering her hand. I can see the wheels turning as she takes in the scene. Nancy Drew, remember? I try to see it through her eyes and it doesn’t look good. Why is a twenty-four-year-old man driving to the coast of South Carolina to visit an eighteen-year-old? A man she has never heard of before.
“You too, ma’am. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
