up the guy you see before you. I just know I’ve gone through some shit and it’s made me, well, me.”
As we walk, little crabs are scurrying everywhere. He says, “Listen.” We stand still and you can hear them scuttling around in the reeds—the faintest music. The island already seems like a relic frozen in some other era. And right now, in this moment, I feel time stop. Suddenly I can see every shadow, every color. I can hear every sound. I look around me, and for maybe the first time in my life, I’m in the here and now. Not the past or the future, but here.
I straighten, half sunk in the mud, palm filled with shark teeth and shells and sand, and watch Jeremiah Crew walking away from me, head down, scanning the beach. He bends over, scoops up a piece of sea glass, keeps walking. And in that moment I’m filled with something like love for this boy who knows so many of my secrets. Who is teaching me to find shark teeth. Who brought me mud boots. Who is showing me his island. This barefoot boy, made of sun and light, who’s one with the mud and sand and marsh. Collecting treasure. Finding beauty in the littlest things. Wounded like me, but not looking back. In the moment. Looking forward. Marveling at what’s in front of him. At home in his own skin. At home wherever he is.
I think, I could live here. I could be happy here. Right here with him. I could stay here forever.
* * *
—
The creek that was a pond is now a river. The air is hotter and wetter. The bugs are circling. Miah stands in front of me, scanning the horizon. Water as far as the eye can see.
I say, “Are there alligators in there?”
“Not small ones.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means come on, Captain.”
He helps me down off the bank, into the water, and I let out a scream because I’m slipping and sliding, and then we’re both laughing our heads off, and my arms are around his neck and he’s holding his camera above his head and he’s carrying me, and my dress is hiked up around my waist, and he pulls it down and smooths it over my knees.
Then he kisses me and I feel safe here, in his arms like this, as if nothing bad will happen in the world ever again. I want to stay right here for the rest of the summer, maybe the rest of my life. But then he’s setting me down on the opposite bank, and I’m soaking wet and muddy, and he slaps a mosquito on my arm and peels it off me.
I look up from the bite, which is already a bright red welt, and his eyes are on mine. “What?”
And then he takes my face in his hands, brushes the hair off my forehead, and kisses me again.
DAY 11
(PART TWO)
Mom and I walk arm in arm to the inn. I wear black because it makes me feel sophisticated. Red lips. Ballet flats. Enormous sunglasses perched on my head. I leave off the fisherman’s hat. We’ve gone fifteen steps and my skin and hair are already damp from the heat and I have two new mosquito bites on my arm because I wanted to smell like Miss Dior and not bug spray.
I look up at the inn, which looks fresh and clean in spite of its age, and for some reason I think of the Secret Drawer Society. I ask my mom if she’s heard of it.
“Addy and I used to dare each other to sneak in there and leave notes for the people we were crushing on. God, those notes are probably still in there, unless they’ve started cleaning them out.”
I’m thinking about what I would write as we reach the steps of the inn, and I look up and see Miah before he sees me. He’s waiting on the porch, straddling the railing, and when he turns his face toward us, I catch my breath. He’s wearing this suit jacket the color of the ocean, and a light blue shirt. He is so beautiful it hurts my heart, and I want to be close to him.
Mom looks at Miah, at me. “From now on, I’m chaperoning the two of you.”
“Mom.” I think, Oh my God, please don’t know we had sex.
“The three of us are going to have such a fun time