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“Yes,” he finally says, but the word is angry. Frustrated. As if it’s the wrong answer for him as well.
And it is. It’s the wrong answer for both of us.
And yet the word slides down deeper and deeper inside me, where it settles in my core, heavy and meaningful.
Do you want to see me again?
Yes.
twelve
I wake with a horrible headache. My entire body is sore, and I feel as if I could sleep for the rest of the year, as if I combined all the rushes of the past twelve months into one single night. But I’m going to live, and I’m all too aware that it’s Wolfe and his dark magic that saved my life.
Just like he wanted.
The scent of Awaken blend tea drifts into my room, and I roll over and prop myself on my elbows.
“Good morning,” Ivy says from the sky-blue upholstered chair in the corner of my room.
I rub my eyes and groan. “Let me guess—my mother felt I could use a little help getting ready for my date today.” I collapse back on the mattress and stare up at the ceiling.
“She did. And it was either her or me, so I took it upon myself to make the choice for you.”
I reach for the tea, but Ivy holds it back and quirks her head to the side. “There’s sand in your hair.”
“There’s always sand in my hair.”
“There’s alotof sand in your hair.” She walks over to the bed and pulls down the quilt. “It’s everywhere, Tana. What did youdolast night?”
I want to tell her. I want to recount every single detail, explain the way it felt to be cradled by the wind and connected to the sea. I want to tell her about Wolfe and how he lay in the sand next to me, how the sharp edges of his face didn’t seem so sharp when he looked at me in the moonlight.
I want to tell her how scared I was, how I thought one night of dark magic would make me feel tainted in a way I’d never be rid of, a way that would stain me forever.
I want to tell her I was wrong.
Ivy always asks me how I feel about things, how I’m doing, how I’m meeting my own needs when my entire existence is meant to meet the needs of others. And I never know how to answer.
But I know exactly how I feel about last night, and what worries me more than anything is that I don’t feel traitorous or evil for using the dark magic we’ve been taught to fear. I feel thankful to be alive.
“I went swimming,” I say.
“Clearly. Did you also burrow into the ocean floor? Wrap yourself in kelp when you were done?”
“I met someone,” I say, the words so quiet Ivy leans toward me.
“What now?”
I grab the tea from her and take a long sip. I can’t tell her who he is or what he showed me, but Ivy is my best friend, and I haveto tell her something. “A boy. He was on the beach. He swam with me.”
Saying it out loud, telling Ivy about him, makes him real. It’s comforting to know that as I move on from the events of last night, he won’t exist solely in my memory. He will be a living, breathing secret between Ivy and me.
“You met a boy. On the beach. In the middle of the night. And he swam with you.” She repeats everything back to me in short, staccato sentences.
“Yes.”
Ivy looks bewildered. “Who is he?”
My palms begin to sweat and I drop my gaze to my quilt. I should have known this would be the first thing she asked, and while I hate the idea of lying to her, the alternative is worse. Far worse.
