“Daddy.” I give him a look. “Did you seriously not worry at all about college? About where you were going to go?”
He shifts in his seat, drumming his fingers along with frame of the open window. “A little bit. But you’re smarter than I was. You’ll have plenty of options.”
We keep talking, but my mind wanders, drawn away by unresolved questions and decisions to be made. I wish I was the kind of girl who didn’t let other people...like boys...factor into her decisions, but I’m not. And really, it’s only one boy: if I’m going to have the college experience, I want to have it with Rigel.
On Sunday, my father’s last night on St. Croix, we go out to dinner. Having only met Rigel once, Daddy suggests he come along. We choose a popular restaurant on the North Shore, resplendent with outdoor seating and an awe-inspiring view of the ocean.
Afterwards, I ride back with Rigel. Stuffed from the brownie sundae I polished off after dinner, I rub my stomach. “I need to swim laps after this weekend. It’s been an eat-a-thon since Thanksgiving.”
“Yeah, me too. Come train with me in the morning.”
“No way.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not getting up at the butt-crack of dawn.”
“Come on.” He reaches over, squeezing my thigh. He knows I’m ticklish there.
“Stop!” I squeal, cringing away as I grab his hand. “I’ll go with you another time.”
“Lies,” he says, raising his eyebrow.
“I’m going to be late for school tomorrow, anyway. We’re dropping my daddy at the airport.”
“What time’s his flight?”
“Nine.”
“Quick trip.” Rigel adjust our hands, sliding his fingers through mine. “He coming back for Christmas?”
“I don’t know yet.” I shrug, a wave of sadness undulating through me. The holidays minus Daddy are a grim prospect, but quite possible. “Hopefully.”
We’re quiet for awhile, navigating the gentle slopes and curves of the North Shore. To our right the ocean ripples and glimmers darkly, whitecaps fluttering like mermaid’s tails in the moonlight. I peek at Rigel, studying him as he drives. “Have you sent any more of your applications out yet?”
“A couple of colleges in South Carolina and two in Florida—UCF, USF.”
“The University of Georgia has a really good swim team,” I blurt out. “It’s in Athens.” Like he knows where that is.
Rigel brings his eyes back to the road, but his smile grows. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think maybe he likes the idea. “I’ll have to check it out.”
“You should.”
“That where you’re going?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe.”
I come home from school one day to find the house transformed into Santa’s workshop. Between the decorations Mama had shipped down and Grandpa Harry’s dusty relics, the spirit of Christmas is alive and well, right down to the Crucian carols blaring from the kitchen.
“Hi, Mama,” I call out, attempting to get her attention as she fastens sprigs of fake holly to the corners of the windows. “Who is this?”
“Stanley and the Ten Sleepless Nights.” Climbing back down the ladder, she gives me a quick hug. “I grew up listening to these guys!”
“Where’s Al?” I ask, surprised he’s not at her feet in a tangle of tinsel.
“Napping. He’s got a little fever, so we skipped preschool today.”
“Oh, no.” Putting down my backpack, I go quietly to my brother’s room, peeking in. He’s fast asleep, thin blanket pulled to his chin. His cheeks are flushed, and I touch them, hoping he’s not too hot. Camille, who dropped me home, tiptoes in behind me. She pouts down at Alex.
“Poor guy,” she says, following me back down the hall.
“I know. It’s weird when he’s out of commission. The house is all quiet.”
Camille snorts. “Or would be, if it wasn’t for Auntie Charlene’s jam session in the kitchen.”
“For real.” I laugh, pulling her into my room. We collapse onto my bed, sandals falling to the floor. It feels good to have nowhere to be for once, to relax with Cam. Most weekdays I stay after school to work in yearbook, while she tutors lower school kids in math.
“Did you paint?” she asks, pointing her toe at the far wall.
“I can’t believe you can even see that,” I murmur, squinting at the pale, pale sea green I was experimenting with last night. I’ve been itching to add color to these walls since we got here.
“I’ve got eagle eyes,” she says, sitting up. “And it smells like paint in here.”
“Yeah, it does,” I admit, cranking my louvers wider for a better breeze. “So, what’s going on with Kyle?” The last we’d talked, she’d been determined to break it off with him.
“I cut him loose. Tuesday night.”
“For real?”
“We were on the phone.”
“Does Nando know?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Why?” I ask, but I suspect I already know why. Feelings are complicated, and Cam and Nando have been dancing around theirs even longer than Benny and I did. Things haven’t been the same since their fight at Jump Up a month ago, and while they play it off at school, everyone feels the tension.
“Because I have feelings for Nando that go beyond good chemistry,” she finally admits, pushing her hair back.
“But he has feelings for you, too.”
She nods, tracing her finger along the pattern on my comforter. “I think, at this point, that Nando doesn’t really trust me.”
“Because of Kyle?”
“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes, twisting her hair into a bun. “Even though I never lied to anybody.”
“Not verbally,” I say. “But you were being a little covert.”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
“What if the situation was reversed, and Nando was seeing you and another girl?” I prod. “Even if he was honest about it, it would feel shady.”
She pouts. “I guess.”
I found out recently that Camille and Nando’s “random” hookups have actually been going on for years. She made it sound before like things were platonic between them after their stint in middle school, but that’s bull. Keeping this in mind, I say, “I think it’s really hard to have repeated hookups without catching feelings, Camille. Kyle might be cool with it, but Nando’s not like that. And neither are you.”
She puts her face in her hands. “Jasmine said the same thing.”
“Just my opinion. I’m here no matter what.”
Sighing, she rolls onto her side. “I’ve never gone this long without talking to Nando. Kyle may have been the last straw.”
I doubt that, but I can’t speak for Nando so I keep quiet. Allowing the conversation to fizzle out, we lie side by side a while, scrolling through Cam’s Instagram feed until it’s time for dinner.
The holidays, normally my favorite time of year, come with an emotional wallop I’m not expecting. One day I’m Christmas shopping in Christiansted with Camille and Jasmine, the next I’m bawling into my pillow, devastated with memories and nostalgia and the reality that I won’t be home for any of my favorite things.
To make it worse, Rigel’s mother decides the week before winter break to take him on a college tour, visiting campuses in Vermont—she’s still holding out hope—South Carolina and Florida. He leaves the last day of school, missing the Palm’s yearly school-wide sing-along in the Pavilion. It’s a shame, because caroling with five hundred other kids of various ages is hilarious, and by the end I’m laughing so hard I’m crying.
I do, however, text Rigel halfway through Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, jokingly telling him to drive through Athens, Georgia if he gets the chance.
Tired of my unexpectedly blue mood, Mama finds reasons for me to come out of my room. Instead of the cookies we always made back home, I help her make tamarind stew and real ginger beer. We drive through town, looking at the Christmas lights st
rung along the streets. Mama, Alex and I go to Christmas Spoken Here, a festival held every year at the Botanical Gardens. We load up on homemade peppermints and guavaberry rum, and Alex gets his picture taken with Santa Claus. That reminds me of old times at the Mall of Georgia. It’s bittersweet. How wonderful this moment is, and how wonderful it was when I was small.
I spend days at the beach with friends: always at the very core, me, the girls and Nando. He and Camille went from not talking to being attached at the hip. It’s a relief they’ve gotten over themselves, but the frequent touching and flirting just reminds me what I’m missing.
I’m sitting outside at Jasmine’s when Rigel messages me with an update.
flight is still delayed, so we’re landing even later.
It’s late in the day now, a hazy, languid afternoon fading into the soft blue-purples of dusk. I wish he was here to see it with me, although the sunset in Miami is probably gorgeous right now too. Snapping a shot of the sky, I send it to him with a message of my own:
:(
His response is immediate.
Wish I was back already. A photo of an overcast sky comes through seconds later, ominous grey clouds hovering above a row of planes ready to take off.
So much for the lovely sunset I envisioned for him.
You’ll be here soon. say hi to your mom for me.
I will.
“Is he still stuck in Miami?” Jasmine lies back, stretching her legs and wiggling her freshly painted toes. Maybe I’ll do mine—I won’t be doing anything else tonight.
“Just boarding now because they were delayed. They’re getting in late, so that sucks.”
“Yeah, I hate that.” She caps her nail polish, straightening up. “You wanna just stay the night?”
“Your mom won’t mind?” I ask, curling up beneath the quilt. The apartment Jasmine and her mom share has air conditioning, so her room is always deliciously cold.
“Nope, Cam stays all the time. I’ll ask her.” Jasmine snatches her phone up and sends a quick message to her mom. Natalie’s a full time nurse down at the hospital, so she’s usually out when I come over. She’s cool though, more like Jasmine’s sister than her mother. “She’s fine with it,” Jasmine announces a moment later.
Camille comes in, suppressing a smile.
“You just spoke to Nando, didn’t you?” I ask. She’s been like this since she and Nando made things for-real-official, like life is one big giddy secret.
She nods, sitting beside me. “He wants to come by later.”
“Stay over,” Jasmine offers. “Isla’s going to.”
“Okay.” Camille nods. “Your mom’s working late, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re fine with Nando coming over?”
“Of course,” Jasmine says, rolling her eyes. “It’s Nando. Just make sure he parks at the end of the lot.”
Her apartment is on the ground floor, a corner unit. Both bedrooms have sliding glass doors leading to little patios, making Jasmine’s place the easiest to sneak in and out of. I’d be surprised if Natalie didn’t know this, frankly. Jasmine doesn’t even have a curfew anymore.
“I’ll have to borrow clothes, Jasmine,” I say, calling my mom to ask if I can stay.
“That’s fine…” Her voice fades as I leave the room, phone pressed to my ear. Mama’s phone goes to voicemail, but she calls back right away. “Hello, Isla?”
“Hey, Mama. Just wanted to see if I could sleep at Jasmine’s tonight. Cam’s staying.”
“Did she ask her mother?”
“Yes, and Natalie said it was fine.”
“And she’s okay with it?”
“Totally fine.”
She hesitates, and I know it’s because she hasn’t met Natalie yet. “Well, I guess so. Call me in the morning, though, okay?”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too, honey.”
Camille and Nando are sequestered in the living room, play fighting and making out. They’re more than a little liquored up, thanks to the rum and cokes Nando’s been mixing since he got here. Jasmine and I aren’t too far behind, but we’re watching a movie in her room, pigging out on pizza and popcorn.
“Drinking gives me the munchies,” she complains, rubbing her stomach. “It’s like I can’t stop eating.”
“I know. I’m putting this away.” Standing, I scoop up what’s left of our pizza and transport it to the safety of the kitchen. My phone vibrates on my way back to the bedroom, and I pause, checking it.
Are you home?
My heart leaps, because there is only one person I want to hear from and that’s who this is.
at jasmine’s. are you back?
Just got in, driving home w/ mom.
are you tired?
Yes
But not too tired
Those two texts come back to back. Grinning like a goofball, I respond.
you should come over. nando’s here
Give me half an hour.
ok
Pocketing my phone, I join Jasmine, who’s got the movie paused as she scrolls through pictures on her phone. “Hey...Rigel’s back. Is it okay if he stops by?”
She smirks, glancing up at me. “Of course it’s okay. Just don’t defile my mother’s room or anything.”
“We won’t be defiling anything.” I laugh, embarrassment adding to the flush the rum’s given me.
“Yet,” she says.
Hoping I don’t look as tipsy as I feel, I pull a hoodie over the pj’s Jasmine lent me and duck into her bathroom. I wash my face and dry it, staring at my pinked cheeks and bright eyes. By this time of night my hair is hopeless, so I loosen it from its messy bun only to tuck it into another. I just want to see Rigel, and I’m glad that, despite being travel-weary, he wants to see me.
In the living room Camille and Nando are still going at it. I detour to the kitchen, wondering how wise it was for Jasmine and I to encourage them to finally get together. I mean, it’s great but—
The doorbell rings, follow by three sharp knocks. I’m at the door before the lovebirds can even disengage, squinting through the peephole and throwing it open.
“Hey.” I can’t even temper my smile; I’m so glad he’s here. Rigel lets me pull him inside, wrapping me in his arms as he kicks the door shut. Even after a day on planes and in airports, he smells so good.
“Hey,” he says, brushing a kiss to my temple before letting go.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” chortles Nando, who finally gets off the couch. Camille lounges behind him, fluttering her fingers in a wave. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you tonight.”
“You and me both,” says Rigel, shaking his head. “One delay after the next. Anyway, what’s good?”
“Not a thing. You drinkin’?” Nando asks, sweeping an arm toward the kitchen. “We have rum, coke and rum-and-coke.”
Cam tosses a throw pillow at Nando to shush him. “Was it cold up there?”
“Pretty cold.” Rigel nods, glancing at me. “Your kind of weather.”
We flop down onto the couch not disheveled from Cam and Nando’s cavorting. Rigel looks at me, his eyes soft. “So what’s up?”
“Nothing, really.” I twist so I’m facing him. “I think I went to the beach every day this week.”
“I’ll miss that when I’m in the states.”
“I’ll miss it, too.” I frown, realizing how true this is, and how different that is to how I felt a year ago.
“Ey, for real; you drinking, Ri?” Nando calls. Judging by the sounds of clinking ice and carbonation, he’s back to bartending.
“Yeah, just a little bit though,” Rigel says. “I’m tired.”
“Hey, you.” Jasmine strides in, giving him a quick hug before sitting. “How was it? Anything look promising?”
“Maybe,” he says. “University of South Carolina has a nice campus...and a pretty good swimming program. But I liked Charleston better.”
“The city or the school?” I ask.
“Charleston’s beautiful.”
We talk college for a while. I’ll be in Georgia of course, but all of the schools Camille’s applied to have been liberal arts colleges on the east coast. Jasmine’s top five are in Florida. “I have to be near the beach.”
“You could just stay here,” Nando jokes.
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to get off St. Croix.”
Nando isn’t sure he wants to go right away. “I mean damn. Thirteen years of school, if you count kindergarten—and I do—just to go for another four years? Or five, if you frig around. Naw, man. I need at least a year to recover.”
“A lot of people who take gap years never go,” Camille says, crunching on the ice from her cup.
Nando starts to answer, but Rigel turns to me, asking very quietly, “Want to go somewhere?”
The breadth of freedom we have hits me all at once, almost overwhelming with possibilities: I don’t have a curfew tonight. I can go anywhere with Rigel, for as long as I want, without consequence.
And the way he’s looking at me right now?
I smile, nodding. “Sure.”
Patting his pocket for his keys, he stands and pulls me to my feet. “We’ll be back.”
Outside, the wind picks up, making the trees rustle in the darkness. “You okay to drive?” My pinky hooks his, and we swing our arms as we walk.
“We’re not going far,” he promises. “And yeah, I’m okay. I didn’t even finish my drink.”
“They were good,” I say. “But not as good as passion fruit juice.”
“Nothing’s as good as that.” He opens my door, and I climb clumsily into the cab of his truck, nearly missing my footing.
“How much did you have?” Rigel chuckles, watching me.
“Way more than you.” I grin goofily over my shoulder.
“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” he says, shutting the door.
“I’m not really drunk,” I say the second he slides into the driver’s seat. “Just a little buzzed.”
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