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“So, why haven’t you?”
“What’s the point?” I twist around to face her. “He’s halfway around the world. What are we going to do? Write to each other, and then what?” I pause, playing out the scenario I’ve been over time and time again. “It’s easier this way. I can mope about for the rest of the summer, go to college, and then move on.” My mind is set, even if my heart wavers.
“Where’s your romantic spirit?” She bumps shoulders with me as if she’s encouraging the long-distance relationship idea. I just look at her as if she’s mad because she is if she thinks that has any type of a chance.
“You’re still wearing the bracelet.” She nods down towards my wrist, and I rub the leather dotted with silver beads. Each has a little shape of a wave engraved into the silver. It’s beautiful, and I love it. I haven’t taken it off, nor have I any intention of ever taking it off.
“I like it. Besides, it’s from The Silver Tree. I’m not going to just toss it.” I dismiss her comment as if it’s a matter of worth rather than sentiment, but the bracelet around my wrist signifies so much more than just my first gift from a boy.
He was my first everything, and I want to remember every minute of our time together, even though it hurts.
And I thought it meant the same to Jayce.
Stupid girl.
Molly gives me a suspicious smile and gets back to work.
The summer washes away into the end of the season and with it, the busy trade at Molly’s and my numerous shifts. Tegan starts back at school, and college is just a few weeks away.
But there are a few things that haven’t changed.
The leather bracelet is still firmly around my wrist.
I’m still blue.
And I’m still in love with Jayce Roberts.
I’d hoped to get over him by the end of the summer, but the pain in my chest is as raw as ever. I miss him, and I hate that I feel this way over a boy, even if I do love him.
Even before Jayce, I was looking forward to starting college. Now, I was desperate for the distraction and for something to throw myself into.
On enrolment day, we’re all assigned an automatic email account, which brings a new level of temptation. Sending an email to Jayce is just a few keystrokes away. I could find excuses when I didn’t have easy access to a computer or my own email. Now, my fingers itch to try. But it’s been months since he left. Would he still remember me?
For all my bravado and hope to put him behind me, I now feel like an ultimate failure. I’m stuck wishing he’d come back and surf here rather than any other beach in the world, just so we can be together again. Of course, I regret the selfishness of that thought and re-imagine him coming back in a few more months—a year—once he’s had his adventure. Then we’d be in a better position to think of what could be next between us.
I open up and type his email address into the correct field and then pause… not sure what to write and too proud to pass over the way he upped and left.
Open up.
Shut down.
Open up.
Shut down.
Over the next few weeks of college, I fall into a predictable pattern. Visit the library, log onto a computer, and open a new email. Some days I even write a line or two. Some days, more—venting my frustration and anger at how he stole our last few hours together, as I type out how sad he’s made me and my fear that I’ll never be over him, but then I read it back through watery eyes and press the delete button.
I never hit send.
I start saving little lines as drafts, each one a speech of what I’d say to him if he ever came back to Tregethworth. But with each passing day, my fear of him not responding—of him forgetting me—increases. He will have moved on, right? He’s good looking, fit and surfs. He’ll have all the Elises of the world at his feet. He’ll have met another girl on another beach.
My inner demons only grow stronger. They swamp my hope and kill my courage.
Until one day, I grow tired of my indecision and doubt. I combine all of the little snippets into one email and click send.
Done.
Early autumn can be beautiful on the coast. The sunsets are so potent and vivid. The sky looks like it’s on fire at night, set ablaze by the angry sun, forced to sleep far earlier than it wants.
