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“Be careful, baby!” Mom calls out after me as if I’m still that teenage girl I used to be, but I’m already out the door and staring excitedly at her matte-black Jeep in the center of the massive, three-car garage.
* * *
I cruisethrough town in the awesome Jeep. The top is off and the salty breeze blows my blonde hair around my head. I mentally chastise myself for not throwing it into a ponytail, but whatever.
The town is small, quaint, and old, but it’s filled with charm and culture. Aside from the beach houses, the whole thing consists of just one simple street that spans the length of about a mile and a half long. Right now, the summer tourists mill around in groups, traveling between shops and taking photos in front of some of the quirkier of the buildings. This place is full of small art galleries, consignment shops, and little cafes. With the summer coming to an end, the shops will gradually start to empty and the locals will resume life as usual. I’ve only witnessed the emptiness once as a child because normally, we’d be long gone before the end of summer.
I park close to a cafe with a rooftop deck. Taking the time to smooth out my windblown hair, I slip on my sunglasses and lock the jeep, though I can’t imagine anyone here trying to mess with it. This town is too small and close knit for that, unlike New York where you couldn’t even trust your own neighbor.
As I walk down the street leisurely, my mind is flooded with memories. I’ve walked this street countless times and could easily find my way with a blindfold on. Ducking into the cafe, I take my place in a short line, breathing in deeply as the strong, vanilla scent of coffee fills me. Comfort spreads through my body and puts me at ease for the first time in a while.
“Next!” comes a sharp voice from the register and it’s only then that I realize I completely spaced out for a minute there and it’s my turn to order. A girl stands behind the register, her black hair is tied behind her head in a glossy ponytail and her thick bangs are cut bluntly across her pale forehead. She’s the exact opposite of me in every way with sparkling, green eyes, an un-freckled face and meticulously-painted red lips.
“Hey! I know you,” the girl says with a bright smile, showcasing perfect, white teeth made even brighter by the red of her lipstick.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Do you?” The familiarity of her sharp eyes nags at me.
“You used to come in here every morning, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around in a while.” The girl pulls a cup from the stack and writes on it with a sharpie. I notice she’s written the exact drink I was about to order. She sees my surprised stare and laughs. “You probably wouldn’t remember me, but my mom owns this shop and I remember you would order the same drink every time for like, years.”
A light bulb goes off in my head. “Oh yeah, I think I do remember you—you used to sit at the booth over there and sketch, right?” The strange memory hits me suddenly. The young girl always lost in her own thoughts in that small booth. She looks the same but different if that makes sense. More mature and kind of alternative with a pinup edge.
Her smile grows and her cheeks turn pink. “Sure did, the name’s Kennedy.”
“Nora.” I smile warmly. “You look so different than I remember,” I tell her, cocking my head to the side with a twist of my lips—studying her new look. I remember back in the day coming into the shop every morning and bypassing a skinny, young girl lounging in the corner booth. Back then her hair had been coffee brown with wild, frizzy curls that circled her head like a fuzzy halo.
Her bright eyes widen comically. “Oh god! Don’t even remind me. I went through a few phases since the…dark days.” She dramatically shudders as she turns to make my latte. “That hairdo will haunt my dreams for years.”
That makes me snort. “I feel you. I remember one year when I was seven, my mom decided I needed a haircut and chopped off it to my chin. I don’t think I left my house for weeks.”
Kennedy just laughs as she adds foam and a drizzle of caramel to my drink. “So, what brings you back here, summer vacay? It’s a little late in the season for that isn’t it?”
“Actually, no. My mom and I finally moved here permanently. She’s getting married in a couple weeks.” Just saying it out loud feels like a fever dream. Mom…getting married. So freaking weird.
Kennedy claps her hands excitedly. “Oh my god, that's awesome! We should hang out. You know...outside the coffee shop,” she suggests. “I mean, if you want to. No pressure.” She looks nervous for a second.
Warmth blooms inside me. I was worried when my mom told me we were moving to a new town, regardless of the fact that I’d practically grown up here, that I’d be all alone again like when we first got to New York. Making friends as adults is infinitely harder than it was as a child. The only friends I’d ever really had in California were River, Luca, and even Jax when I could convince him to join us. I spent so much of my free time with them that I never paid attention to anyone else. We’d been trapped in our own little bubble for so long and it feels pretty good to make a new friend.
“I’d love that, actually. I don’t know if I’ll be exciting company, but I’d love to hang out.” I mean it. Kennedy strikes me as an open and friendly person right off the bat, and I need a bit of that in my life.
Her eyes light up in excitement. “Wanna meet me back here around six? I can close up and we can head down to theCorner Street Cafeand get some burgers if you want.” She still sounds unsure, as if she's worried I'm just being polite.
I smile brightly at the idea. I was planning on heading there myself, anyway. “Sounds good, here—” I pull out my phone and slide it across the countertop along with my debit card. “Put your number in there and I’ll text you when I’m on my way later.”
She runs my card and then adds her number, but not before snapping a selfie and saving it to my phone under her contact. I just laugh at the quirky girl, knowing we’re probably going to get along. “I’ll see you in a few hours!” I wave goodbye as I leave the shop.
My mood lifts significantly after meeting Kennedy. Suddenly, I don’t feel as alone anymore and it almost lessens the pain of Lucas’s less than warm greeting. I walk further down the street, passing gift shops filled with beach-themed merch and little knickknacks. It all feels so laid back and casual here, so different from the hustle of NYC.
Reaching the end of the first block, I have to squint my eyes as I notice a building in the distance that I don’t recognize. It stands out like a sore thumb against the familiar town filled with older-style wooden buildings and surf shacks. This one is made of stucco and painted the brightest turquoise blue I’ve ever seen. It has glass doors in the front and a small parking lot around the side and just off of the street next to the town’s small library.
I circle around the front of the building and my heart leaps for joy as I read the nameLandy’s Danceon a grand opening sign. I waste no time and head inside the building, tossing my empty coffee cup in the trash as I do. Inside is a spacious lobby, once again painted in the same bright blue as the outside.
Pictures of beaches and surfers hang on the walls, intermixed with anatomy sketches of the human body in various dance style poses. I can hear music drifting through the building, echoing off of the polished cement flooring. There doesn’t seem to be anyone manning the front desk, so I decide to let the music guide me. The smell of wood polish brings me comfort the further in I walk.
Back in New York, I'd spend most of my free time in the dance studio where I took classes for the last seven years. Even on our off days, I’d sneak into one of the studios and practice for hours instead of going home to rest. You’d think all that dancing would have taken a toll on my body, but it’s actually the exact opposite. Dancing invigorates me. It allows me to escape the world and focus all of my energy on one thing I know how to do better than anything else.
I’ve always suffered from anxiety. It was a constant problem growing up and I found that whenever I danced, that anxious tightness in my chest would disappear only to be replaced by contentment and euphoria. I remember the first time I’d realized I could dance. My mom had signed me up for classes when I was six just to get me out of the house while my dad had hisfriendsover. She couldn't afford it, and I had no idea at the time, but she’d come up with some sort of payment arrangement with the owner of the studio in order to let me take classes.
Those classes saved my life. I can’t even count the hours I spent in that place, dancing my ass off and molding my body into a lithe, powerful machine that could soar into the air, flip with ease, and twirl like I was walking on air.
