by Vivi Greene
“What about you?” I ask, hoping for a convincing mix of casual and concerned. “Are you having an okay time? I know things have been a little . . . slow here.”
Sammy shrugs and bites her lower lip, a dead giveaway that something is up. “No, it’s great,” she tries. “I mean, yeah, I’m a little . . . I don’t know . . . I guess I’m just feeling antsy with all of this downtime. But I think it’s good for me, you know? The quiet. It really makes you figure things out.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, and we laugh, the easy sparkle back in her emerald eyes.
Just then, Noel shouts something in the water and we turn to see a perfect wave taking shape in the distance. Noel is miming furiously at Tess, who stares wide-eyed in our direction, her strong arms slicing into the ocean again and again. The wave grows behind her, a lip of white breaking on one side and slowly spreading, like whipped cream on a warm pie just before it melts.
“Now!” Noel yells, and in one expert motion Tess pops up to her feet. The wave chases her from behind, pushing her down the line for a breathtaking few seconds. Her back is hunched and her knees are bent, but just before she topples over, she pumps one fist in the air, whooping proudly at the sky.
In the afternoon, after we’ve all had our turns in the water, our arms sore from paddling, our hair damp and threaded with sand, Noel sneaks me off to a tucked-away swimming hole connected to the beach by an overgrown trail.
It’s much smaller than the one he showed me on the main island but twice as deep. Noel dives in first and I follow, swimming out to meet him. The sunlight is broken by branches into dappled patches and the air is cool and crisp, but Noel’s arms are warm as he pulls me in close.
“Think they’re having fun?” he asks, nodding his head back to the beach. His blue eyes are genuine and concerned. It’s the first time we’ve all been together since I told Sammy and Tess about us, and I realize he’s feeling a new sense of pressure, a need to prove himself as worthy, even though he’s known Tess longer than I have.
“It’s the perfect day,” I assure him. “Thank you.”
Noel kisses my nose and tenderly pushes my wet hair out of my face, before picking me up by the waist and tossing me brusquely into the water. I shriek and splash up to the surface, determined to get him back. We laugh and wrestle, attempting to climb whatever body parts we can get ahold of, pushing each other down and calling false truces again and again.
Eventually, we flop back onto the sun-warmed ledge and lie on our backs, my head resting on Noel’s chest. I trace lines on his tanned forearm with my finger.
“Why ‘Bird’?” he asks suddenly, tucking my damp hair behind one ear.
“What do you mean?” I prop myself up on one elbow. “My nickname?”
Noel nods, stretching his arms overhead and resting his head on his open palms. “Who gets to use it?” he asks. “Is there some kind of initiation? A secret handshake?”
I laugh and snuggle back in, my forehead pressed against the stubbly side of his jaw. “Tess started it,” I explain. “It’s mostly just for family and close friends. But I could make an exception . . .” I tilt my head to smile up at him.
“Nah.” He shrugs. “I like Lily. Lily Ross,” he says, landing on each syllable with warm precision. There’s something about the way he says my name, my real name, that makes it sound new again, somehow unattached to the Lily Ross I’ve been trying to separate myself from all summer. It doesn’t sound like a business. It sounds like a real person.
Like me.
“Do you ever think about what happens after?” he asks, shifting slightly against the hard rocks. His voice is light but his heart pounds behind his ribs, drumming against my outstretched fingers.
“After what?” I ask, looking over the feathery tops of the trees, at a wispy trail of clouds that snakes across the sky.
“When you’re done with all of this,” Noel says, locking his fingers into mine. “Touring. Traveling. You can’t do it forever, can you?”
I look at the web of our fingers, mine long and slender, his thick and calloused. “I don’t know,” I say softly. “To be honest, I’ve always thought I would.”
He laughs, nervously. “But now?”
I smile. “Now I’m not so sure,” I say. “It’s hard to see when you’re in the middle of it, and most of the time I just feel so lucky, you know? But it does seem like there’s a lot you miss out on, living that way.”
“Oh yeah?” He sits up slowly, and I lift my head. A slight smile is spreading hesitantly across his face. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I tease, shifting to sit beside him. “Lots of things.”
Noel scrambles to his feet and starts to climb back up the trail, disappearing around a tree. “Where are you going?” I call after him. He doesn’t answer, and I follow the rustling sound of his feet in the bushes until he reappears high on another clearing.
At the top of the cliff, he peers through a cluster of trees, struggling to untangle something. When he returns, he’s dragging a long, sturdy rope, tied to a thick branch overhead.
“What are you doing?” I yell, laughing. “That thing looks like it’s been there since the Middle Ages.”
Noel gives it a good tug. “Yup,” he agrees. “Entertaining bored island youth for centuries.”
He beckons me to join him but I shake my head. “No way.”
Noel shrugs dramatically. “Suit yourself!” He steps out to the ledge, and jumps up and down a few times while holding the rope, as if to prove that it’s up to the task. Finally he backs up, then careens in a careful arc over the water, dropping the rope from his grasp. He pulls his knees tidily into his chest and spins backward in an impressive double flip, before slicing into the water in a flawless dive.
I wait until he splashes through the surface and cheer loudly from the lower ledge. Noel runs a hand through his hair, pressing short, choppy blond strands back from his face, and gives me a mischievous smile. “Come on,” he goads. “You’re not scared, are you?”
I glance up at the steep rock face and the fraying length of rope. It’s the kind of thing I’d normally shy away from, not because I don’t want to do it, but for fear of being photographed in an awkward position, or ending up with some kind of stupid injury that would be a nightmare to explain. But there are no cameras here. For once, I don’t have to think beyond this moment. I don’t have to worry that whatever happens will get twisted, revised, rewritten, until it no longer belongs to me.
I push myself onto the lower ledge and climb up. At the top, I unravel the rope and give it a steady tug.
My stomach drops as I peer over the edge, considering the distance. Noel cups his hands around his mouth and yells something up to me, but it’s swallowed in echoes and I can’t quite make it out.
“What?” I yell back.
“Jump and I’ll tell you!”
I roll my eyes and take a deep breath, the rough fibers of the rope digging into my palms. Before I can change my mind, I back up, then run to the ledge and swing out over the water. Just as I let the rope slip from my fingers, falling weightless and free, the trees a blanket of green around me, I hear Noel’s voice:
“I’m falling for you, Lily Ross!”
The water races to meet me, a breath-snatching barrier of cold, but I’m smiling as I sink down beneath the surface. I squint my eyes open, kicking toward the milky light. When I break the surface, Noel is a few feet away, beaming. I paddle closer and wrap my arms around his neck.
“You’re crazy,” I whisper into the warm side of his rough cheek. “And I’m falling for you, too.”
20
48 Days Until Tour
July 26th
NOEL’S HOUSE IS actually three houses. Four, if you count the chicken coop. After a few days of hanging out at our place—more surf sessions with Noel on our beach, yoga with Maya on the deck, long, festive dinners, and lots and lots of board games—I decide to surprise Noel at home. It’s the first night we haven’t spe
nt together all week, and I consider calling or texting first, but I’m feeling adventurous, and proud that—with a little help from Tess—I’ve managed to find him on my own. She gave me general directions, whatever she remembered from when she used to play there as a kid, and K2 and I drive slowly around the neighborhood until I spy a red mailbox in the shape of a boat, with BRADLEY painted in black on both sides.
K2 leaves me at the end of a long, shell-covered driveway, and I crunch uncertainly toward a cluster of small houses. One of them is clearly the main house, with a covered porch and a pile of rubber boots angled near the door. Another is a smaller shack, with a clothesline hanging from one window and rigged to the top of an outdoor shower. A third looks like a toolshed and is packed with gear; rusted beach chairs, old surfboards, and an ancient-looking lawn mower spill out onto the patchy lawn.
The chickens are loose, and a few of them scurry over, trailing me to the front door.
As I get closer I hear the clank and sizzle of cooking sounds, water running, the chatter of televised sports. The front door is wedged open and I rap on it lightly, peering across a tiled floor to the living room, where a pair of bare feet is elevated at one end of a worn, leather couch.
“Hello?” I call out.
There’s a patter of footsteps and the door opens wider, revealing a girl of about fourteen. Her blond hair is pulled back into a thick ponytail, and she wears cutoff jean shorts and a gray sweatshirt with a pink robot on it. When she sees me, she whispers, her lips barely moving:
“Oh my God.”
I smile and hold up my hand in a wave. “Hi. You must be Sidney. I’m Lily. Is Noel around?”
She stands frozen in the doorway, her mouth hanging slightly open. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” she says again, this time a bit louder. “Wait. Don’t move. I think . . .” She closes her eyes for a second, then snaps them open again, holding one hand to her stomach. “I thought I might puke. You know that feeling you get when you think you’re going to puke but then you don’t puke? That happened. But I think it’s passing.” She takes a deep breath. “Yup. I’m good.”
I laugh. “That’s good.”
“Yeah. Good.” Sidney nods seriously. “Come in. Do you want to come in? Or not. Whatever. NOEL!” She erupts suddenly, screaming Noel’s name without taking her eyes off of me, as if she’s afraid I might vanish. “NOEL!”
“What in the hell?” I hear Noel from the kitchen. The faucet turns off and he rushes toward the door. “What is wrong with you— Oh,” he says, clearly taken aback. His eyes flit quickly from my face to the house around him, and his cheeks redden. “Did we . . . did we have plans?”
I feel my smile slipping and clear my throat. He looks shocked, and not in a totally comfortable way. Maybe this was a mistake. “No,” I say. “I thought I’d surprise you. But I can go, I mean, if it’s not a good time . . .”
“No!” Sidney yells. “It’s a fine time! The finest of times! I don’t know why I’m yelling. Am I yelling?”
“Sid.” Noel puts a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you want to go tell Dad we have company?” He nods toward the living room.
“Sure,” Sidney says, but doesn’t make a move.
“Now?” Noel presses, physically shifting her out of the doorway and ushering me inside. “Sorry about her,” he says softly as I pass. “I’d say she’s not usually like this, but . . . she is.”
I smile and pretend not to listen to the conversation happening in frantic whispers over my shoulder. The TV switches off and there are more shuffling footsteps. “Here we go . . .” Noel says under his breath, almost to himself.
Sidney reappears, dragging a man in flannel pajama pants and a black T-shirt behind her. His face is an older, more rugged version of Noel’s: the same clear blue eyes and strong jaw. He holds out a hand and smiles warmly. “Hello,” he says. “My daughter says I’m not allowed to talk to you. I’m Lew.”
“Lewis,” Sidney interrupts. “His real name is Lewis. It’s a family name.”
“Hi, Lew,” I say as he shakes my hand firmly. “I’m Lily. It’s not a family name. My mom just liked the flower.”
“It’s a beautiful flower.” Lew smiles. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful girl!”
“Dad!” Sidney clutches the sides of her head like her brain might leak out. “That’s disgusting! I told you not to say anything. Does he have to be here?” Sid turns pleadingly to Noel.
“Yes, he has to be here,” Noel says. “Sid, Dad, why don’t you guys finish watching the game, and Lily and I will make dinner. Sound good?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Lew smiles pleasantly and shuffles back into the living room. “Let’s go, Sid. I’ll give you the big chair so you can eavesdrop.”
“I wasn’t going to eavesdrop,” Sidney whines, following her father reluctantly.
Noel puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me into the kitchen. The sink is stacked with dirty dishes and the countertops are covered in mixing bowls. A thick slab of white fish is on a plate near the stove, next to a box of Ritz crackers.
“Sorry about the mess,” Noel says. “I’m kind of a disaster in the kitchen.”
“What’s for dinner?” I ask, before whispering: “Are you sure this is all right?”
Noel holds my chin in one hand and plants a quick kiss on my lips. “I’m sure,” he says. “If you’d told me you were coming I could have prepared them a little. And you.”
“Prepare me? For what?” I watch as Noel takes out a roll of crackers and begins to pound it against the countertop.
“My dad’s lame jokes,” he says, crunching the crackers into a fine dust. “Sid being . . . Sid.”
“I wanted to meet your family.” There’s an unopened globe of Brussels sprouts on the table and I start to peel back the plastic. “Not your prepared family. What are you doing?”
Noel pours the cracker crumbs into a bowl. “Making bread crumbs,” he says, eyeing the big box of crackers. “What, they don’t do it like this in New York?”
I laugh, holding out my hand as he passes me a knife. We work together in the kitchen, settling into an easy rhythm as we chop, peel, mix, and clean. It’s funny to think that this would’ve been hard for me just a few months ago, but my cooking goals have really paid off. It feels effortless and fun, but maybe some of that is Noel, and the way he makes everything feel so easy.
Sid spends dinner either peppering me with questions (everything from “If you could only listen to one song on repeat for the rest of your life, what would it be?” to “Do you believe in aliens?”) or watching me chew in a stunned silence. There’s something so earnest and familiar about her that I like her right away, but it’s not until we’re in the kitchen alone together, cleaning up the dishes, that I realize why. She is exactly the way I was at her age: passionate and awkward, confident and shy, all at the same time.
“Wanna see my room?” Sid asks when we’re done with the dishes.
“I thought you’d never ask.” I follow her up the stairs. Noel gives me a questioning look from the dining room table and I wave and mouth silently, I’m fine.
Sid takes the steps three at a time and leads me down a long hall. There’s a gallery of photos on the hallway walls: Sid and Noel on the beach as kids, Noel and his dad on the boat, a black-and-white photo of a much younger Lew with a beautiful pregnant woman, a tiny, towheaded Noel grabbing on to her leg.
At the end of the hall is Sid’s room, a small, low-ceilinged space. “This is it,” Sid says, holding out her arm as I pass through the door. “Bed. Table. Lamp.” She points to the furniture in the room, pausing at a collection of stuffed animals spilling out of a box on the floor. “Miscellany. Sorry it’s a mess. I’m usually fairly organized, but I’ve been busy working on this project for class . . .”
She sits at the makeshift desk in the corner.
“What’s the class?” I ask, scanning her bookshelves and noting all the familiar titles: Anne of Green Gables, Harry Potter, Alice’s Adventur
es in Wonderland. Long after Sammy and everyone at school had made the shift to “cooler” books and TV, I was still stuck on the classics.
“It’s a computer programming class at the community college,” she says. “I do it online. We’re building websites, front to back. I’m making one for my dad.”
Her voice gets higher and faster as she starts explaining something about writing code, and my eyes wander to a bulletin board on the wall over her head. It’s plastered in postcards from all over the world—Sri Lanka, Budapest, New Zealand, Rome. Beside it is a giant map with red thumbtacks stuck in various places.
“They’re from my mom. She travels a lot. She’s in Goa now. That’s in India. It’s in the southern part,” she says, moving to the map. “Really beachy and beautiful. She says it’s her favorite place to paint so far. The colors are so rich you can taste them.”
I smile, watching as Sid checks the thumbtacks, making sure each one is secure. “Do you talk to her a lot?”
Sid shakes her head. “Just the postcards,” she says. “Dad says it’s expensive to call.”
“You must miss her.” I can’t imagine not being able to call my mom—or to have been without her at Sid’s age.
Sid shrugs. “Yeah,” she says. “It was worse before Noel came home. Now we’re okay. We take turns cooking, doing the laundry. Dad’s really bad at that stuff. He can barely use the microwave without setting something on fire.”
“I heard that,” Lew yells from downstairs.
Sid rolls her eyes. “He built this house himself in the seventies. It’s insulated with newspaper,” she whispers. “No privacy.”
“The house I grew up in was just like this,” I say. “Well, sort of. It was smaller, actually. I shared a room with my parents until I was eight.”
“You did?” Sid asks, her eyes wide with disbelief.
I nod. “Then I moved down to the basement, which I loved. It was like my own apartment,” I say. “Except I had to share it with my mom’s exercise bike.”