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Chapter Twenty
Everly
The summer I turned eight, I went through a phase of jumping into situations without thinking. Like literally. One afternoon in particular, my parents took Hailey and me to a park on the river. There were waterslides and sprinklers and a wave pool. But as soon as we got there and with no hesitation, because I’d been planning my move since I found out we were going, I ran for the river, ignoring my mother’s screams, and I dove in. With my shoes and everything.
At the time I was convinced that I was a mermaid, and everyone knew mermaids didn’t die in the water. Apparently everyone except my mom. She practically had a heart attack, waded in (yes, in her shoes), and hauled me out of the river. She caused a scene and didn’t seem to care that everyone and their mother was watching. Which totally isn’t my mother, but that’s how mad she was.
And I wasn’t allowed to play on the waterslides as my punishment for not listening and, as she said, “pulling a stunt like that.”
She didn’t get that it wasn’t a stunt. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. I told her I was a mermaid. She threw her hands up in the air and told my father I wasn’t allowed to watch Saturday cartoons anymore. I had to spend the entire afternoon watching Hailey make new friends as she went up and down the waterslides. I was mad and resentful and thought that my mom was the meanest lady on the planet.
Of course, my teenage self knew that she was only trying to protect me from getting hurt. That she’d been scared, and I know that it had been a reckless thing to do. And sure I could argue that most eight-year-old kids would have done the same thing, except I was pretty sure that they wouldn’t.
That summer, I’d been hit with “the crazy stick,” as my father called it. I was a little adrenaline junkie who jumped in with no thought of the consequence, because that feeling, the one that hits just before you’re about to do something out of this world, that feeling was worth the punishment.
That feeling meant that I was alive. Really alive. Not all that smart, just alive.
It took some doing, but after endless chats and groundings and threats of how sinning wasn’t a great way to stay on God’s good side (because not listening to your parents was a sin), I eventually calmed down. Or maybe I just got older and outgrew the crazy stick stage. Who knows?
And yet I couldn’t forget how standing on the edge of something unknown made me feel more alive than accepting things that just were. It seems as if that hasn’t changed. It was still scary and thrilling and probably ten more adjectives (at least).
We have all weekend.
Here I was again, about to dive into the river, and there was no Mom to rescue me or Dad to preach at me.
I splashed my face with cold water, scowling at my reflection in the mirror above the bathroom sink. Big eyes stared back at me, bluer than ever. My skin was pale, but my cheeks, seriously? Blushing sucked.
“Hey, you.”
I loosened my hair from its ponytail and let it fall down my back, grateful that Hailey had popped in because I needed her right now. I hugged her tightly, then let her go.
“I hate you. We’ve just spent most of the night on the beach, in the wind, and your hair looks freaking amazing.” She glanced at herself in the mirror and stuck out her tongue. Grabbing my tie off the sink, she secured her hair on top of her head and then leaned against the sink, eyes on me. “The guys are putting out the fire. Brent’s already passed out on the sofa.”
He’d been hitting it pretty heavy, so I wasn’t surprised. “I saw that.”
“Okay,” Hailey said, twirling a long piece of hair that hadn’t made it to the top of her head. “Spill.”
“What?” I asked.
“How did you convince your parents to let you go away for the weekend with Trevor Lewis?”
“What did you tell your mom?” I asked instead.
“The truth.”
“The truth.” I didn’t believe her.
“Well, yeah. I’m almost eighteen, and she knows Link and I are…well, that we’ve been having sex.” She giggled. “Lots of sex.”
“Hales. TMI. I don’t need to know the details.”
She squealed and hugged me again. “Lots of sex!”
I couldn’t help but laugh and told her she was a nympho.
“Just wait,” she replied. “You’ll understand.”
My laughter died at the same time my stomach decided to take a nervous dip.
