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I lost it. For the first, and really, the only time in my life– I lost it. I hated him. I thought he was the exception to the rule that people aren’t born evil. I thought that he was pure evil. As the word left his mouth, I felt like I could see it float into her ears and down her throat, settling in her chest and her stomach. I expected her to cry or run away, but she just stared at him. As if nothing he said could penetrate her armor. I could see behind those walls. I knew that when she laid her head down on her pillow that night that she’d cry herself to sleep. That she would wonder if he was right. If all of them were right. If there was something wrong with her that made her unwanted. That someday the Mason’s would discover whatever that thing was and leave her too.
I punched Riley in the face. Well, not really. I didn’t close my fist. I drove my palm up into his nose. I held enough force to have him stumble back, to make his nose bleed. There wasn’t the satisfying crack of contact, or crunch of his cartilage that a closed-fist punch would’ve granted. I didn’t really know what I was doing. I think I meant to slap him at first, but then decided that wasn’t enough. In the moment between my decision to hit him, and my contact with his face, I forgot to close my fist. Before his eyes even opened, a teacher’s aide was on us, pulling us apart. I always wondered if she had been hovering close by the whole time but had only stepped in when it got physical. If she heard everything being said and made no motion to stop it.
Penelope and I were both sent to the principal’s office. Like Charlie, Penelope never thanked me for defending her. But I saw her mouth twitch into a little bit of a smirk when I made contact with Riley’s face. That was the first time I’d ever made her smile, the little smile that it was. That was enough reward for the consequences I’d face. I got an in-school suspension for hitting him. Riley had to write Penelope an apology letter, and he was transferred into a different classroom. He never bothered us again, even through high school.
The only discussion Penelope and I ever had about it was while we were waiting to see the principal. Penelope looked at me and said, “You’re kind of bad at punching people.” I didn’t know why, but I laughed. Then, after a moment, she laughed too. I thought maybe Riley had been a little bit right about one thing. Maybe I did have a crush on her.
Pulling myself from my thoughts, I looked over at her as we made our drive back home from the beach. Her seat was leaned back, her feet propped up on my dashboard and her shoes kicked off. Her toes were painted green, wiggling to Børns as his voice flowed through my stereo. Her head was leaned against the window, her eyes were closed, and her lips were curved upward. The sun was hitting directly on her face, her hair glowing like embers in the morning light, and her freckles dancing across her nose.
I couldn’t believe that she had agreed to come with me this morning. But she did.
I couldn’t believe that she’d put on a wetsuit. But she did.
I certainly couldn’t believe that she actually got into the water. That she got onto my board. That she’d leaned against my chest and trusted me to take her beyond the break. Or that she giggled when we rode a wave back to shore. But she did.
I couldn’t believe that she let me talk about my family– my heritage, my culture. That she hung onto my words, that she cared.
But. She. Did.
“After school we can go back to the bar and get your stuff, okay?”
She nodded.
After a moment, I asked, “Do you remember Riley DeSantis?”
Her eyes snapped open, searching my face.Emerald pools. “Yes. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
She was quiet for a beat. “You know, he messaged me on Instagram, like, a year ago.”
I arched a brow at her. “Did he?”
“Yeah. He asked how I was doing like we were old school pals.”
I scrunched up my nose. She caught my expression and laughed. “Did you respond?”
She shook her head. “No. I blocked him.” She giggled. “Remember when you karate-chopped his nose?”
“I was eight,” I argued.
“No, we were nine,” she countered.
“Actually,youwere nine.Iwas eight. It happened during that twenty-eight-day-span each year where we are not the same age.” Penelope was born on September fourteenth; I was born on October twelfth. I don’t remember which day the fight happened, but I know it was after her ninth birthday and before mine.
Her eyes narrowed at nothing in particular as she tried to remember. She shrugged. “Whatever. All I’m saying is you punch like a girl.”
“Isn’t that an insult to girls?”
She blinked at me. “You’re right. You punch like Riley DeSantis.”
I laughed, and she laughed. The sound of it filled the cab of my truck and it felt like the air was electrifying around us. Crackling with energy. A smile spread across her features.My smile.
I realized if I had ever crawled out of love with Penelope Mason, I’d just fallen back into it. Head first, right down the rabbit hole. I had no control over how fast or how far I fell, or if there would be anyway to stop myself.
Even though I was falling, it felt a little like flying.
Soaring. Swimming through clouds.
