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He is the quintessential California boy. Floppy brown hair bleached blond from the sun, blue eyes, and freckles speckled across his nose from too much time spent outside.
“Hi,” I mumble reluctantly.
“You look familiar,” he remarks. “Did we go to school together?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
The fact of the matter is, we might have, but if we never shared any of the same classes when I went to public school then I’m not likely to remember him.
“What’s your name?” he asks, smiling. I notice his teeth are straight, but his front tooth has a slight chip in it.
“I?
?m not in the habit of giving my name to strangers,” I blurt, and then immediately feel like an idiot. The guy is clearly my age, and I don’t get funny vibes from him, plus there’d be no harm in giving my first name.
“I’m Spencer,” he chuckles.
“Willa,” I reply.
“Willa,” he muses. “Willa … yeah, I remember you—”
I hold my breath and wait for him to finish with, “You’re the girl who needs a transplant.” But that’s not what he says.
“You had that cool birthday party at your house when we were in grade school, right? The bouncy house? And you live right on the ocean?”
My mouth pops open in surprise. “Y-Yeah,” I stutter. “That’s me.”
“Harlow is your sister too, yeah?”
I nod.
“I thought so. You guys look alike. I miss seeing you around.”
When he doesn’t ask me where I’ve been I know he knows the answer, but I’m thankful for him not saying it.
One of the guys from the group walks up.
“We need to go,” he says to Spencer. His eyes drift to me. He wears a baseball cap, shielding most of his face.
“I’ll be there in a sec, T.J.”
T.J. nods and glances at me. He gives a small wave and awkward smile before going back to the other guys.
“Well, it was good seeing you, Willa. Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”
“Maybe,” I reply, feeling doubtful.
He grins, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. His eyes sparkle like he’s excited at the prospect of proving me wrong.
He joins his friends and they skate away. I watch until they become a speck in the distance.
I finish my lunch and wad up the trash, getting rid of it.
Grabbing my phone, I glance at the time. It’s almost time for Harlow to get out of school. I text her that I’ll pick her up instead of her getting on the bus like usual. Her excitement is palpable when she texts back, and it makes me feel bad for not doing it more often.
Sometimes I feel like the shittiest person ever.
I walk back to my car and toss my stuff into the backseat.
