that lingered from Andrew’s skin. The water circled around the drain and washed away.
“Wear these,” Scarlett said. “Your eyes are bloodshot.”
“It’s just because the skin is reacting to the excess moistu—” I tried to explain.
“I don’t care why, dork,” she said and held them in front of my face. I took the glasses, but hesitated before putting them on. I thought about that picture of Nancy and Gran in their bathing suits.
“Scarlett?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think we’ll be like Nancy and Gran? Living on other sides of the country, barely speaking to each other?”
She kept our gaze and shook her head. “No way,” she said. “We’ll figure it out.”
I believe we can.
It’s bright at the pier even with Scarlett’s sunglasses. I stand off to the side of the parking lot. Just ahead of me, dozens of tourists snap pictures of the fishermen in their yellow gear. Andrew’s boat is there too. He’s hammering something into a metal pole. The hammer makes a clanking sound that echoes over the fishing pier. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt, but he’s sweating through it. I try not to follow the line of the muscle of his forearm, but it’s pronounced because he’s straining so hard. I can’t help but think it—the line of the muscle looks like the tail of a conch shell. I want to run my fingers along the skin.
“Hi,” I call. Andrew’s head turns to me. The shadow of his baseball hat darkens his eyes.
He smiles a little and I know that smile, I’ve seen it hundreds of times this summer. He grabs a water bottle and jumps down from the boat, meeting me on the parking lot.
His arms envelop me and he pulls me to his chest in a tight embrace. I smell Andrew in one deep salty breath.
“I won’t be back until tonight,” he says. “But I can get you after, go to dinner if you want.”
“I just need a minute,” I say.
“Okay . . . ,” he says.
I move the sunglasses to the top of my head.
He takes a step toward me, water bottle in hand, and the concern passes over his eyes.
“Have you been crying?” he asks.
I take a deep breath, blinking away the spots of sun reflecting on the harbor behind Andrew.
“I . . .” I take a breath but stop.
I have to do this.
“I’m going home on Monday,” I say. “I have to get ready for school. Start packing up.”
“We have a few weeks until school.”
“I need to prepare.”
“But college bookstores have half the stuff you need. I want to help you move in. I don’t want you to assume—” He sighs. “Look, this isn’t just a summer thing for me.”
“Me either,” I reply, and it hurts deep in my gut.
“I love you,” he says. “I didn’t just say it. And—”
Whirlpools churn within me as he speaks.
“I really do have to prepare,” I interrupt.
Why am I continuing to lie?
“I have the truck. I’ll come talk to your parents.”
Bigger waves now. Stronger.
“Talk to my parents?” I say.
“About helping you move in. I’m strong,” he says and flashes his biceps like it’s some big joke.
“I know a lot of strong guys. . . .” He keeps talking. About all the people I will never meet and all the things we’ll never get to do. “I’m serious.”
The waves are huge inside me, hurricane huge. I’m drawing in breath, but it’s not breath, it’s salt, it’s brine. I have to say it.
“Like, three or four dudes,” he continues. “They will love you.”
Say it, Bean!
“I’m sixteen!” I cry.
My voice carries so I lower it. “I turned sixteen on the night of our first date. I’m going to be a junior. In high school.”
“What?” Andrew says with an edge of a laugh. He must think this is some big joke. In the back of his eyes is that beacon of light I love. I know that light; it called to me all summer. The black asphalt below me is cracked in thousands of tiny fractures. “What are you talking about?” He says with a chuckle.
“Not even seventeen,” I say. “I haven’t taken my SATs yet.”
He laughs yet again, but there’s something bitter on the edge of it this time.
“You’re going to MIT,” he says.
“No. No, I’m not.”
There’s a silence between us. Seagulls cry, there’s the background noise of the cars and the boats.
“I had to tell you. I couldn’t lie anymore.”
The shadow of the hat hides his eyes at first. When he lifts his chin, the hard stare makes something tighten