The Summer of Lost Letters

by Hannah Reynolds

  “Um. I don’t know? What if there was no inflection? What does no inflection mean?”

  “There must have been some inflection. Is he a robot?”

  “Honestly, who even knows.”

  “Friends!” Evan appeared out of the crowd, dressed in pink shorts showing off his extremely attractive thighs. He flung his arms around our shoulders. “What is up?”

  “Seriously, Chubbies?” Jane looked at his very short shorts.

  “Sexy, right?”

  “Hm. Is Pranav here?”

  Evan’s easygoingness fell away and he dealt Jane a severe look. “Pranav is here with his girlfriend.”

  Jane looked flustered. “Wow, okay. I wasn’t—look, there’s Lexi and Stella.” She grabbed my hand and towed me away. I sent Evan an apologetic look over my shoulder; he shook his head, and the crowd swallowed him.

  * * *

  It turned out I really liked rum and cokes.

  * * *

  An hour or two later, a boy slapped my shoulder and I spun around. “You’re it!” he shouted, and spun away into the night.

  I stared at my friends, appalled. “What just happened?”

  “You’re it!” Jane echoed, laughing. She waved her hands toward a half dozen teens running about by the water line. “Go get them!”

  For a moment I didn’t move. Then I grinned widely and handed Jane my cup. “Hold my drink.”

  * * *

  By the time I came back to where our group spread around one of the firepits, I was exhausted from running and almost deliriously happy. I plopped down on a log beside Jane and watched flames lick the night. Above us, the stars spun, streaking and darting, like we could see their light traveling the void in real time. The world smelled like bonfire and ocean, tasted like salt and rum, and it felt like our world, like we owned the whole thing, like we were young and powerful and the kings and queens of existence.

  I was so happy. Did this mean I was a happy drunk? Because I was happy. And drunk. And probably quite witty? Did everyone appreciate my wit?

  I turned to Jane. “Do you appreciate my wit?”

  “I do. You are the wittiest of wits. Your wit is like a wick, burning high and bright.” She over-enunciated each word, which made them sound like poetry. I was impressed.

  A nearby boy squinted at us. “You guys are weird.”

  I raised my Solo cup to him. “Weird is either the height of compliments or the most banal of insults. I shall accept it as the former.”

  “Me too.” Jane knocked her cup against mine. “Chime chime. It’s supposed to chime chime.”

  “Chime chime.”

  The guy shook his head and walked away.

  Jane leaned her head against my shoulder. “Chime chime.”

  I stroked her hair and inhaled the woodsmoke, watching as sparks vanished from the fire into the night.

  Suddenly, she sat upright. “Okay. Let’s find some cute boys.”

  “Okay. Yours can’t be Pranav.”

  She shook her head solemnly. “Not Pranav.” Then she made a face. “Did you hear Evan? He scolded me!”

  “Because he’s your friend and wants you to be happy!”

  “He’s a jerk. I hate him. I hate rich boys.”

  “Me too,” I said loyally. “Ugh.”

  She pointed at me. “You definitely need a fling. You said you were going to have one. You have to vanquish your stupid ex from your memory.”

  “Like an exorcism. Or like repelling a Dementor.”

  “Yes. Exactly. You need a ghostly animal.”

  “A Patronus. Yes. We must set a Patronus against my memory of Matt.” Though Matt wasn’t the person occupying my thoughts anymore.

  “Yes. And your pat thing will be . . .” She gestured widely at the group before us. “One of these bros.”

  I inspected said bros and wrinkled my nose. “I’m not sure bros are my thing.”

  “Look at their arms. Their arms are works of art. They have been sculpted by Michelangelo.”

  Noah’s arms were works of art.

  Jane pointed. “I’m taking him.”

  “How?” I did not necessarily want to take a bro, but I did want to know, operationally, how this worked.

  “I’m going to say hi, act like he’s brilliant for five minutes, ask if he wants to go for a walk, and then make out with him.”

  I drooped. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “It is.” She set her free hand on my shoulder. “I believe in you, Abby. Follow those steps and you, too, can have a bro of your own. Chime chime.” She stood and walked away.

  Chime chime.

  I leaned back. I was at a beach party under a full moon, with the waves crashing and people laughing. If you could bottle this night, it would be eternal youth.

  I did want a fling. I didn’t want the last guy I’d made out with to be Matt. I didn’t want to think about . . . I didn’t want to be focused on someone I couldn’t have.

  Okay. I was doing this.

  I refilled my Solo cup. Rum and coke, easy peasy. No wonder they called alcohol liquid courage.

  As I topped off my drink, a boy grabbing a beer nodded at me. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Oh no. What came after hey? How did words work?

  “What are you drinking?” He grinned, his teeth blazingly white. He wore a backward baseball hat, which was a choice.

  “A rum and coke.” I took a sip to give myself something to do, then repeated my thought from earlier. “Drink of pirates.”

  His laugh gave me a glow inside stronger than the alcohol’s. “Are you a pirate?”

  “Totally. I have a cutlass and a tricorn hat and everything.” I wanted to make some weird joke about tricorn hats and pirates and Haman from the Esther story and American patriots, but decided it would inevitably fall flat. “I’m Abby.”

  “Sean. You here for the summer?”

  It was surprisingly easy to talk to this boy, about our summer jobs and what we’d done on Nantucket so far, and our normal lives (he was a college freshman in Boston). Part of me knew the ease probably came from alcohol, but maybe part also came from my confidence in how good I looked, and from a cute boy’s attention.

  “Want another drink?” he said when we’d finished ours. “Or want to take a walk?”

  I could do this. I could make out with him, like a normal, well-adjusted human being. Admittedly, I had limited experience making out. But this was how you obtained experience, right? By mashing your lips against each other. Hopefully not quite as aggressively as Matt had done. (How could I have been so into someone who didn’t even make out properly?)

  Okay. I just had to say yes. Easy. So easy.

  “Oh, I’m—” I made an awkward, truncated noise, and waved my hand vaguely. “I’m waiting for friends.”

  “Cool.” He nodded, already scanning the area. “I’ve gotta find some of my friends, too. See you around.”

  I watched him go, my stomach sinking. What was wrong with me? So much for being bold and having fun. Why didn’t I know how to relax?

  Grimacing, I poured another drink, and downed it with more ease than I’d expected.

  “Are you okay?”

  I whipped my head up at the familiar voice. “Hi.”

  Noah Barbanel stood before me looking like he’d strolled off a magazine photo shoot in dark jeans and a gray shirt. Why were his clothes always so perfectly fitted? Was this what obscenely expensive clothes did for you?

  He frowned. “You look pale.”

  Here I was, thinking about his gorgeousness, and he thought I looked sickly. “I’m fine.”

  “I saw you talking . . .” He hesitated. “Did that guy say anything?”

  “What? No. Why?”

  He studied me a long moment. “You look unhappy.”
<
br />   I pushed out a puff of air. “I’m not unhappy. I’m just—not sure I’m great at parties. It’s fine, I’m just going to go home.” I opened my ride share app. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “What?”

  “These prices are ridiculous.” I shook my head. “Whatever. I’ll walk.”

  “Walk? You’re on the other side of the island!”

  “Right, which would be a bigger deal if it wasn’t such a tiny island. It’s only an hour.”

  “It’s two in the morning.”

  “So?”

  “Do you have a friend headed out with you?”

  Oh. I got it. “Just so you know, I don’t believe in chivalry. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not trying to be chivalrous.” He looked almost aggravated. “An hour walk. At two in the morning. After you’ve had a few drinks in a place you don’t know.”

  “I don’t need you to take care of me, Noah Barbanel.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I’ll walk you,” he said again, more determinedly.

  My temper flared. “Maybe I don’t want you to walk me! Maybe I’m sick of boys!”

  “Fine.” He pressed his lips together. “I’ll call my cousin. She can drive you.”

  “No!” This boy. “Fine! Walk me! See if I care.”

  “Good.”

  It took me a few minutes to find Jane, who potentially had had a more successful hookup than me, given her shirt was inside out and she was smiling widely.

  “Hey. I’m going to head out.”

  “You sure?” She looked reluctantly over her shoulder at a boy waiting several feet away. “Want me to come with?”

  “Nah, Noah’s going to walk me.”

  “What? Where?” Her eyes widened. “Did you hook up with Noah Barbanel?”

  “No! Jane! Shh!” I looked frantically behind me. Noah was politely pretending he couldn’t hear.

  “Do you want me to like, come home at a certain time, or not come home, or what?” Jane asked. “I can crash with Lexi.”

  My stomach tightened. “Come home! There’s nothing—we’re not—he’s just walking me home. Because it’s late. I swear, he’s just looking out for me.”

  “Abby.” She leveled a look, half pity and half disbelief. “No. He’s walking you home because he wants in your pants.”

  “Right, you’d think so, except I actually think he wants to, like, make sure I’m not murdered.”

  “Cute. No. Boys don’t walk girls home because they’re so goddamn nice.”

  I couldn’t help myself; I burst into giggles. “Thank you for the warning. Are you okay if I leave?”

  “Yeah, the boys and Sydney are still here. I lost Stella and Lexi, of course. God forbid my bestie wants to hang out with me.” She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “That was mean and bitter. I am happy for them, I’m happy for them. I’m happy for them.”

  I hugged her. “See you later.”

  Noah and I left the beach, heading down the long, dark road. On either side of us, hedges loomed like dark shadows. Diamond-like stars scattered against the inky sky. Despite myself, I was glad to have Noah by my side. “Sorry you’re missing the party.”

  “It’s always the same party.”

  “How very existential of you.” I slid him a look. “It’s not like any party I’ve ever been to.”

  “No?”

  “My friends and I aren’t exactly drink-on-the-beach people. Also, we don’t have a beach.”

  “What kind of people are you, then?”

  “Standard-issue honors kids. Vaguely artsy and aspirationally alternative.” My school was too small to have real cliques—the theater kids also played varsity sports, and the band geeks did Model UN. “What about you?”

  “I don’t know. Normal, I guess.”

  Suspicious. “People who think they’re ‘normal’ are usually popular.”

  “Bold claim.”

  I raised my brows at him. “Are you saying you aren’t popular? You’re rich, confident, and classically good-looking.”

  “Classically good-looking?” He sounded amused. “Thanks?”

  “I’m just stating facts.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to mistake it as a compliment.”

  “Apology accepted,” I said airily. “Also you’re tall, and everyone likes tall people. Tall people are more likely to be elected into public office. As are white men, obviously. Did you know, despite being less than one-third of the population, white men hold the majority of all elected positions?”

  “Not Jews, though.”

  “Sure, though being part of a minority doesn’t cancel out your other privileges.”

  “Are you always so political when you’re drunk?”

  “No idea. I’ve never been drunk before.”

  “You’ve never—”

  “I heard me the first time, thanks.”

  We walked a few moments in silence. Then Noah leaned over and almost absently ripped a plant out of the earth.

  “Um.” I glanced at the long stalks in his hand, tipped by bristly purple blooms. “Did those flowers do something to offend you?”

  “Oh.” He stared at them. “It’s spotted knapweed.”

  “And what? They hurt someone in your family?”

  He gave me his familiar wry grin. “They’re an invasive species. It’s one of the island initiatives, for volunteers to weed out the knapweed.”

  “So you just walk around pulling up bad seeds?”

  “It’s nice,” he said. “I like weeding. You feel very productive. And relaxed.”

  “Do you spend a lot of time weeding?”

  “With my grandma, yeah.”

  We walked a few more feet. “Thanks for walking me home. You didn’t have to.”

  He shrugged. “Basic human decency.”

  “Even so. I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be.” He half smiled. “Save your impressed-ness for more worthy things.”

  “Like what?”

  He considered me. “I can tie a cherry’s stem into a knot with my tongue.”

  “You cannot!” I let out a startled laugh. “People can’t actually do that.”

  He locked his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky, feigning innocence. “Impressed?”

  “Yeah, actually.”

  “Good.”

  Our eyes met, our gazes locking for a second too long. Warmth flushed through me. I looked away, overheated and strangely embarrassed. To distract from my discomfort, I stretched my arms high, fingers interlaced. “I guess I’ll have to find a different summer fling.”

  “What?” Noah almost stumbled.

  “Oh. You know.” The words tripped out too freely—because of the late hour, or the alcohol, or the stars scattered high, or because we were alone on this lane lined with flowers and sand. “I can’t spend all my time trying to uncover family secrets, can I?”

  “I thought . . . You can’t?”

  “Of course not! It’s summer! Look at this place! At what nights we have!” I flung an arm out to indicate our surroundings and spoke grandly, because if you’re saying something over-the-top, you might as well be grandiose. “We’re on a romantic, windswept isle. Perfect place for a whirlwind romance.” I glanced over at him, my heart beating so loudly I imagined he could hear it. I was poking him, and I wasn’t sure how he’d react.

  “And you thought a drunk beach party was the place to find it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Maybe not the best prospects hanging out there.”

  “I was there,” I pointed out. I stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop walking. What was I doing? I should not be doing this. My skin tingled, and I felt cool and nervous and fluttery. “You
were there.”

  He met my gaze. “I wasn’t looking for a summer fling.”

  “Why not? Isn’t this your last summer before college? You don’t want a last hurrah?”

  “Not really.”

  “No?” My stomach dropped, but I lifted my chin and prodded further. Why was I doing this? Why couldn’t I stop myself? “If someone was flung your way, you wouldn’t be interested?”

  He didn’t look away. “Depends on the person.”

  Oh my god.

  What did he mean? In terms of me, where did I land in this “person” scenario? Where did I even want to land?

  I didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare do anything for fear of ruining the moment.

  He closed his eyes and stepped back. “You’re drunk.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “Well, so what?” I said, because it turned out I did know what I wanted, and it wasn’t a bro. “Just because I’ve had a few drinks doesn’t mean my brain doesn’t work.”

  “You said you’ve never been drunk before.”

  “I was drunk an hour ago! I’m not still drunk.”

  “We should get you home.”

  I wanted to stomp my foot, but I didn’t want to respond to his condescendingly protective behavior by acting like a child. “You don’t have to take care of me, Noah Barbanel.”

  “Well, you don’t seem to be doing a great job taking care of yourself,” he snapped, and we walked the next few minutes in tense silence. We entered town and walked over slate sidewalks buckled by tree roots, Main Street quiet and still. When we turned down Mrs. Henderson’s lane, almost all the windows were dark.

  “Thanks,” I said stiffly when we reached her door. “I think I can manage from here. Unless you want to make sure I don’t trip up the stairs? That I can untie my shoes?” I baited him one last time. “That I’m all tucked in?”

  “Good night, Abigail,” he finally said, firm and implacable. “Let me know what you want to do next about your grandmother.”

  Disappointment cut through me. Of course he only cared about our grandparents, our agreement. “Fine. Good night.”

  Eleven