Page 178 of Summer Love

Miles pulls a set of keys out of his pocket, tosses them to me. I catch them midair.

“Take the Jeep. She guzzles gas, but at least she won’t leave you stranded.”

I close my fist around the keys. The VW bus has to stay at the school. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.

Evan takes out his phone, opens the United app.

“I’ve got miles,” he says. “We’ll find you a flight.”

He starts tapping. Mom steps closer, looks over his shoulder.

“I’ll cover the rest.”

Sierra holds out her book—blue-and-pink cover, two guys kissing on it, big title in gold letters.

“Here. Something to read on the plane.”

“Seriously?”

I grimace, but I take the book and tuck it under my arm. She bursts out laughing.

“For Summer, idiot.”

“Don’t worry about the school, jefe,” Maya says. “And Kai and I will take good care of Flip.”

Kai nods, jaw tight.

My shoulders loosen. Everything here will hold without me for as long as it takes.

“There,” Evan says. “Flight’s at 9:30 a.m. out of SFO. You land at JFK at 5:40 p.m. I got you a window seat.”

“Thanks, man.”

He sends me the confirmation. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

It’s done.

Nobody makes a speech. Nobody tells me it’s going to be okay—because none of us knows, and that’s not the point.

Miles takes an arancino, bites into it. Maya grabs one too, then Sierra, then Avery. Luke slides the dish to the middle of the coffee table.

Mom puts her hand on my shoulder.

“Go get some sleep, love.”

I head back to the trailer, Flip on my heels. The sky’s black, heavy with clouds. The wind’s picked up. It carries the music from the lodge bar, conversations from the bungalows. For everyone else, it’s an ordinary night.

I push the door open. Flip jumps onto the bed, turns around twice, lies down. I set the Jeep keys on the counter, next to my phone and my passport.

I pull my backpack out of the closet. Three T-shirts, a sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, two extra pairs of boxers, a toiletry kit. I do it fast, without thinking. I tuck Sierra’s book into the front pocket. When the bag’s full, I leave it by the door.

I take a quick shower, just so I don’t smell like sweat on the plane. Then I crouch down and open the drawer under my bed.

The little cherry-red wooden board is right where I left it. Sun, palm tree, California stenciled in white. I turn it over.

Future Olympic Champion

My handwriting from six years ago.