I sink my toes deeper into the sand and smile. I think I’m going to like it here.
CHAPTER 3
Mom wakes me from a deep sleep. I know it’s her by the way she rubs little circles on my back. My mind is fuzzy, but I manage a groan and roll over in an attempt to get away from her. She lets out a soft sigh. “Oakley, wake up. I need to talk to you,” she says.
“Leave me alone,” I whisper.
It’s been two days since we got here. Two days, and all I’ve done is lie in my room staring at the wall. The reality of losing Lucas has settled around me like a dark, suffocating cloud and won’t let me go. I know I’m suffering from some kind of depression but the thought of doing something about it makes me tired. I can’t handle a shrink right now.
Mom keeps rubbing my back but I ignore her. Last night was the first time I slept all night. I haven’t slept well since Lucas was admitted to the hospital. It feels like forever ago. I close my eyes again, trying to remember the dream I was having. It was a good dream. I remember feeling happy.
“Please, Oakley. Just look at me for a second.”
I let out an annoyed breath and roll to face her. Her dark eyes are worried, like she’s afraid if she looks away, I’ll disappear or something. “I told you last night, I’m fine. I’m just catching up on some sleep.”
“No, it’s not about that. I have something for you.”
“What?”
She bites her lip. “Honey,” she says. Her voice shakes and I sit up, wondering why she sounds so nervous. “I . . . um . . .” There’s a small notebook in her hand and she hands it to me. “Lucas asked me to give this to you. Before he died.” Her voice shakes on the last word.
I freeze. “What is it?”
She shrugs. “It’s for you. He wanted you to read it.”
I take it. It’s one of those black-and-white composition notebooks that I used in a few classes at school. My name is written on the front in his handwriting. I run my fingertips over it, not sure if I want to open it and read the contents. I’m still feeling so many emotions and if this is his journal about the last days of his life or something . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.
“Have you—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I haven’t looked at it.”
“Oh.” I believe her, but for some reason it makes me more nervous. Why would he leave something like this just for me? Did he have some deep, dark secrets he was keeping and wanted to tell me them after he died? And why did Mom give it to me now? “How long have you had this?”
“I’ve had it since the funeral. Or . . . a few days before, I guess. He told me to give it to you after you had some time to . . .” She swallows and looks away. “Anyway. I’ll leave you alone.” Mom steps away from me, her eyes on the notebook. She looks sad. Her fingers drum on the door-frame a second before she grabs the doorknob. “Jo and I are going to run to the store. We won’t be gone long.”
“Okay,” I say.
“You sure you’ll be okay without me?” Her voice sounds far away as I stare at the notebook I’m clutching.
I tear my gaze away from my name and look at her. “I’ll be fine, Mom.” I smile to make her believe me and she nods and closes the door. I look back at the notebook. I’m intrigued and scared at the same time.
My hands are shaking. I’m still not sure I can handle what’s written inside. I have to know, though, so I take a deep breath and flip it open. The letter on the first page is in his handwriting as well. I always made fun of him for writing in all capital letters. I think it’s a guy thing because Dad does it too.
DEAR OAKLEY,
THAT SOUNDS SO FORMAL, DOESN'T IT?
I laugh. Lucas wasn’t formal at all.
TODAY WE FOUND OUT MY CANCER IS TERMINAL. YOU TOOK IT WAY HARDER THAN ME. I KNEW IT WAS COMING, BUT I THINK YOU STILL HAD HOPE THAT I’D BEAT THIS. I’M SORRY YOU WERE SO UPSET. YOU KNOW I WOULD CHANGE THINGS IF I COULD. WHICH IS IMPOSSIBLE, BUT YOU KNOW I’D TRY.
ANYWAY. I’VE DECIDED TO DO SOMETHING FOR YOU. IF YOU’RE READING THIS, I’M ALREADY GONE. I KNEW YOU’D HAVE A HARD TIME WITH ME DYING. PROBABLY MORE THAN ANYONE. DON’T LIE AND SAY YOU’RE FINE. I KNOW YOU BETTER THAN THAT.
THE REASON I’M WRITING THIS NOTEBOOK IS SO YOU CAN HAVE A PIECE OF ME WITH YOU ALL THE TIME. IT’S LAME, BUT IT’S SOMETHING, RIGHT? YOU CAN READ IT ALL RIGHT NOW, OR YOU CAN READ ONE ENTRY EVERY DAY. IT’S SORT OF LIKE A JOURNAL, BUT MOSTLY MY STUPID RANDOM THOUGHTS. I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER THE GOOD THINGS. THE IMPORTANT THINGS. ME. HOPEFULLY SOME OF MY THOUGHTS WILL MAKE SENSE. ACTUALLY, OF COURSE THEY WILL. YOU KNOW HOW AWESOME I AM.
ANYWAY. I LOVE YOU, OAKLEY. IF THERE IS ONE THING I WANT YOU TO KNOW, THAT’S IT. YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND AND I’LL MISS YOU MORE THAN WORDS CAN SAY.
STAY STRONG.
LOVE, LUCAS
My eyes burn but I manage to hold back my emotions. Lucas always knows what to say. Always. Even when he isn’t here anymore.
I look around my temporary room with a sense of longing. I don’t have anyone to talk to. No one to call. It’s the first time I realize I’m totally alone. My parents don’t seem to want to talk to me about anything, my friends abandoned me back home—or I guess I abandoned them—and Lucas is gone. I have no one to turn to. No one. And it hurts so much it takes my breath away. I close my eyes and try to get hold of myself. It’s hard, but I manage.
My fingers tremble as I close the notebook. I’ll read one entry every day. I don’t want to waste the whole thing in one sitting because I want to savor each word and phrase. I put it under my pillow for later.
My stomach growls but I ignore it and go sit on my porch swing outside. I take a deep breath. I can’t get over how good the salty air smells. It calms me.
It’s early Thursday morning but as I walk around to the front yard there are a lot of people already on the boardwalk. I sit on the porch and watch them riding bikes, Rollerblading, and running. I didn’t know people still went Rollerblading. It seems so long ago since I tried. I still remember Rollerblading with Lucas at the neighbor’s house when we were little. They had a big driveway and we would pretend we were professional ice-skaters. I’m sure we looked ridiculous but we didn’t care.
I look past the people on the boardwalk and I’m surprised I can see a bunch of surfers in the water, even from where I sit.
Intrigued, and admittedly tired of lying around, I decide to go take some pictures and grab my camera bag and a beach blanket before heading across the street.
The sand is warm between my toes as I stroll toward the waves. I stop a few yards from the water and spread my blanket out, stretch my legs in front of me, and sit back and watch the show.
As soon as I get comfortable, a girl to the left of me laughs and I look over to see a group of teenagers in wet suits headed into the water with surfboards in hand. The girl has a ring through her nose and long blonde hair hanging down her back. She lets out a laugh and nudges the guy next to her with her shoulder before pulling her hair into a ponytail. I can’t help but stare. They look so carefree. So . . . normal.
A guy in the group, tan with dark hair, catches my eye and grins at me before turning to his friends again. I feel my cheeks heat and shake my head. I’m such a dork.
In seconds, the group is paddling out into the ocean. I watch them spread out and suck in a breath as the girl with the nose ring gets up on a wave like it’s nothing. I’m mesmerized. She knows exactly what she’s doing in the water. Her whole body is relaxed, and I swear she skims the inside of the wave with her fingers. I can’t help myself; I pull my camera out and snap a few photos of her before she disappears into the water.
My skin’s burning from the sun but I don’t care. I could use some color. If only I had gotten Dad’s skin, then I’d be a true tan California girl. Instead I’m a pasty white ghost from Utah.
I take a few more pictures before getting distracted by an outcrop of rocks a little way down the beach. There are people wandering around them, a few
kneeling and pointing into the water. Curious, I head their way, leaving my blanket on the sand, but taking my camera bag with me.
The rocks are bigger than I thought they would be and they’re brown and slick. My bare feet make it hard to climb, but I sling my bag over my shoulder and figure it out. Once I pull my body up onto the rock, I smile. There are tide pools all around me, full of different sea creatures left by the tide.
I peek into the nearest tide pool and see a few starfish stuck to the nearest rock—a yellow one and a red one missing a limb. They’re strange creatures, starfish. When I was a kid, Jo came to visit and took us to an aquarium. I remember she flipped one over and made me touch its little feet. It had grossed me out and I’m pretty sure I ran away screaming. For some reason, the memory makes me want to pick one up.
I glance in the water again and notice a third starfish. This one’s orange and flipped upside down in the sand at the bottom of the tide pool. I set my camera bag down, slide onto my belly, and reach into the cool water to rescue it. As I pull it out, I scoot back and study my new friend.
It’s just like I remember: hard and bumpy on one side and slimy and suctiony on the other. The little feet wiggle around as I poke and prod—nicely, of course. After I’ve finished examining, I scoot back to the edge of the pool and put the little guy back in the water. I smile as it floats to the bottom like a snowflake. I grab my camera bag and pull out my camera to take a few pictures. I’m leaning forward, snapping a few of the two starfish still attached to the wall, when someone speaks.
“Something must be pretty interesting in there.”
I stand up so fast I lose my balance and almost drop my camera. My foot slips off the edge and splashes into the water. I would have fallen all the way in, but a strong hand grabs my arm and pulls me out.
I brush my hair out of my face and look up into a pair of chocolate eyes. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I can’t help but stare. He’s cute—light brown hair, probably six feet tall I’d guess, since I have to look up at him. He’s alone, which is weird. I’ve noticed that usually people walk around the beach as couples or in groups. But I’m alone, so I guess I’m weird too.
“Are you okay?” he asks. A mix of humor and concern cross his features as his dark eyes take me in.
“I’m . . . uh . . . I’m fine.” I cringe at my choice of words. Yay for me. I just sounded like an idiot. And why do I always say everything is fine? I need to think of some other phrase to use. “Thanks.”
He’s still holding onto my wrist. I yank my arm away—harder than I mean to—since I have no idea who he is. He gives me a strange look and my cheeks warm. I have the sudden urge to throw myself into the ocean and sink to the bottom. I’ve never been very good around guys. Awkward would be the right word for it. I didn’t date at all back home since I spent every spare moment at the hospital with Lucas. I’ve never kissed anyone either. How could I think of myself when Lucas was so sick for so long? It didn’t make sense to date and be happy when Lucas was fighting for his life.
He’s watching me. I hope he’s not waiting for me to say something, because I really have no idea what to say.
“You like photography?” He gestures to the camera dangling in my hand.
I let out the breath I’m holding and nod, taking in his tanned skin. His light shirt clings to his body and I can see muscles peeking out from beneath his sleeves. A surfer maybe? I wonder if he’s a local.
He laughs. “That was a stupid question, wasn’t it? Of course you like photography. You’re out here taking pictures with a camera that’s probably worth more than my car.”
I smile and fiddle with the lens cover. The camera’s not that expensive, but it wasn’t cheap either. I worked all summer last year at a local restaurant to save up for it.
He’s still watching me. And I still have no idea what to say to him, which is stupid. He seems nice. It’s times like these I wish I were more like Lucas. I swear every time we went to the grocery store, he made a best friend in the checkout line.
“Are you on vacation? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
So he is a local. Not sure if that’s a good thing or not. After clearing my throat, I finally get the courage to speak. “I’m staying with my aunt for a few months. Jocelyn Reynolds?” I point in the direction of her house.
His face seems to light up. “Jo’s your aunt? She’s awesome!”
“You know her?”
He shrugs. “Everyone around here knows her. I live next door to her, though, so I know her a little better than most. She’s great. She takes me and my friends on her boat a lot. We help her out at work sometimes. I’m trying to get an internship with her for the summer.” He looks out into the water. “She took us out to see some sharks last week. It was pretty sweet.”
I have no clue what he’s talking about, since I don’t know exactly what Jo does for her job, but I nod anyway. “Cool. I’m going to have to ask her about taking me out on her boat sometime. I don’t think I’d like seeing sharks though. They freak me out.”
“They aren’t that bad. They’re just as scared of us as we are of them.”
“I doubt that,” I say, smiling. “Everyone always says that about wasps and hornets, yet they still find a reason to sting people.” I feel my uneasiness slipping away, which makes me feel a little better.
He laughs, louder this time. He has a nice laugh. “You’re funny. I’m Carson, by the way.” He extends his hand and I take it. It’s callused and his handshake is strong compared to my wimpy grip.
“Oakley,” I say. “Oakley Nelson.”
He raises an eyebrow and lets his hand fall to his side. “That’s an interesting name. I can honestly say I’ve never met an Oakley before.”
I’m not sure if he means that in a good way or bad.
“I like it,” he says, smiling. I notice a dimple in his left cheek. He’s still staring and I look away, feeling a smile creep in. It feels good to smile.
“Carson! Where’ve you been, man? The waves are killer out there. Did you see that sick set?”
The surfer I saw earlier is coming out of the water. He shakes his dark hair, sending droplets flying in every direction. He notices me and I swear he stands up straighter. He flexes his toned chest and I try really hard not to stare. I fail, like any other girl would. Embarrassed, I lean down and grab my camera case. I should put my camera away before I drop it or something. And to avoid staring.
“Dillon, this is Oakley. Oakley, Dillon,” Carson says.
I look up. “Hi,” I manage. He’s cute, with strong features, complete with a cleft in his chin. The kind of guy all the girls would be after in my high school.
He brushes his wet hair out of his eyes. “I saw you this morning at Jo’s place. You livin’ there?”
“Yeah. For a little bit,” I say.
“Cool.” He glances at Carson but his body stays turned toward me. “So, what’s up with you, Carson? Your foot still bothering ya?”
Carson chuckles. “I’m fine. Just thought I’d skip out for today.” He shifts his weight and winces.
I peer down and notice he’s wearing flip-flops, but his left foot is wrapped in a bandage. Like it’s sprained or something.
“Dude. You’re lame.” Dillon looks me over again and runs a hand through his hair. “If you want to get to know some of our crowd, we’re having a bonfire on the beach tonight. Hot dogs, s’mores, a couple kegs. Wanna come?”
“You should. It’ll be fun,” Carson says.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I don’t even know these people and they’re already inviting me to a party? Where the heck am I?
I hear Carson shift on the rock next to me. “We don’t bite,” he says. “And if you’re going to be here for a few months, you should get to know some of us locals. There’ll be a bunch of girls there too. Not just us. If that makes you feel any better.”
They both stare at me, waiting for my answer, and I start to
panic. “Um . . . probably not tonight. I have . . . uh . . . stuff to do. Thanks, though.” I put my camera bag over my shoulder and climb back down to the sand.
“It was awesome to meet you,” Dillon says. He winks at me and starts back toward the water.
Really? Who winks?
“It’s at seven if you change your mind,” Carson yells at my back.
I don’t respond or look at them again; I’m too busy trying to figure out what the heck is wrong with me.
CHAPTER 4
We sit at the kitchen table in silence. Mom watches me as I push my mashed potatoes around my plate. I know that look. It’s her worried-but-too-afraid-to-say-anything look. “So, he asked you to go to a party and you said no?”
I sigh. I’ve already told her the story. Three times. “Yes, Mom. I said no.”
“Why?”
“Why do you care?” I snap. Why does she care?
Her eyes grow wide but she doesn’t yell. Instead, she shrugs. “I think it’s nice. It would be good for you to meet some new friends.”
“I’m fine, Mom. I have my own friends at home. I don’t need new ones.” We both know it’s a lie. I haven’t talked to my friends back home in months. I feel a pang in my chest as I think of my best friends Emmy and Kelsie. I should have at least said goodbye.
Jo comes in the room then glances at both of us. “What’s going on?”
“Some guy asked Oakley on a date and she said no.”
“Mom,” I groan. “It wasn’t a date!”
“Who?” Jo asks, smiling. “You haven’t even been here a week and guys are already hitting on you?”
I try not to smile but fail. “No. He wasn’t hitting on me. He was just being nice.”
I’m quiet as I mix my corn and potatoes together. They’re better that way, Lucas always said. Not that I’ll eat them, since I haven’t had an appetite in I don’t know how long, but I can’t break the habit.
Love, Lucas Page 2