Looking over her shoulder, Mara points out a large fountain in the center and some picnic tables and I nod absently—my eyes bouncing off the unfamiliar buildings and the smooth planes of nameless faces.
Classes don’t start for three days but today there is some kind of informational event on campus and people are everywhere—looking into clubs and fraternities and sororities before Greek Rush next week. The recruitment tables are set up in tiers that spiral outward from the fountain in three large loops. Lindsey is trying to explain to me the dynamic of each of the student groups, but I’m not really paying attention. I’m focused on keeping up with my sister as she weaves determinedly through the crowd trailing me behind her like a limp flag.
We stop in front of a waist-high booth decorated in a blitz of pink and green glitter. Mara, Lindsey, and Jenn are instantly swarmed with squealing, laughing girls. I let go of Mara’s hand and hang back awkwardly—like a strange growth that no one knows what to do about. When I catch a redhead regarding the scar on my neck, I instinctively take a step back from the group and turn away. Deep breath. One. Two. Three.
“So you’re Mara’s little sister?” A lone girl walks up behind me. She’s petite with chunky cobalt blue streaks running through her brown curls and a silver stud in one of her nostrils. Her black cutoff jeans are full of at least a dozen purposefully placed holes and her deep purple shirt is cropped so that her tiny midsection is exposed.
I glance at the sorority table and back to the girl standing next to me. It’s the ultimate juxtaposition, kind of like looking at one of those which-one-is-unlike-the-others brainteasers. She seems to understand the perplexed expression on my face. “Don’t ask.”
Okay.
“So, you’re a freshman, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I answer.
Despite her emo hair and go-screw-yourself outfit, the girl is a ten on the friendly scale and starts to ask me questions. I try to engage, wanting to ease the anxiety coiled in my belly, but every time I attempt to open my mouth, it’s like I’m pulled further into myself.
I lift my hair, now damp and heavy with sweat, from the back of my neck and stand on my tiptoes to search the courtyard for a sliver of shade. Beyond the fountain, I can barely make out the outline of a white tent lined with coolers and students selling waters. Turning back to the girl, I say, “Will you let my sister know that I went to grab a water and I’ll be back?”
A strange look flickers across her face and I think that she’s going to ask me what’s wrong, but instead she nods her head and waves me off. “Sure. I’ll catch you around campus.”
Leaving Mara and her sorority sisters, I push around the east corner of the courtyard by an improv group and a guy handing out flyers advertising the student radio station. That’s when I see the sign. It’s flat and rectangular—propped up on an easel. Across the top, thick blue letters declare: SWIM FOR LIFE.
“Would you like to sign up to support the women’s swim team for our annual Swim For Life Relay? We’re raising money for Muscular Dystrophy.”
I whirl toward the sound of the voice, nearly toppling over a girl. God. What is with me today? My hands go out to steady her. “Oh—I’m so sorry. No, I’m—oh, uh…”
My stomach does a backflip and I have to press my fingers to my eyelids to hold on to my precarious balance. The girl standing in front me is tall with long, muscular legs, deep caramel skin, unruly black hair, and familiar brown eyes.
Noelle Melker is a year older than me. We swam together back in high school and had one of those competitive relationships that morphed into a muted friendship after too many hours cramped on the team bus together.
I watch as shock loosens her lower jaw. “Oh my God. Aimee?”
“Hi Noelle.” My gaze darts around nervously. Please don’t let anyone else be nearby. “What are you doing here?”
Noelle is looking at me like ten noses have sprouted up on my face. “What am I doing here? The swim team is putting on a fundraiser and I drew the short straw so I’m stuck at the sign-up table today.”
“Oh,” I say stupidly. “Well, it’s great to see you. It’s been a long time, huh?”
“I think that’s the understatement of the century.” She snorts and shakes her head. “It was like you fell off the face of the earth. You disconnected your cell phone number and your Facebook account right after Ji—after school let out, and none of us heard a word from you again. I mean, what happened to you?”
A stream of air leaks out of my lungs and I realize that I’ve been holding my breath. My eyes drop to the ground. “You know what happened, Noelle.”
Noelle makes a strange sound from deep in her throat. “Of course I know what happened, but…” She pinches her forehead and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as she tries not to stare at the scar on my neck. “Where have you been all this time? Sorry… I just can’t believe that you’re here.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Honestly? If it makes you feel better, I sort of can’t believe that I’m here either.”
“I did try to get in touch with you. Your parents and your sister wouldn’t tell anybody anything. By January, a few of us were convinced that you’d been recruited by the CIA to be the youngest operative or something.”
Despite my anxiety, I chuckle. “Uh, not quite.”
“The point,” she says, flicking her wrist and widening her milk chocolate eyes at me, “is that no one knew where you went so we were forced to invent ridiculous fantasies about your life.”
“I hate to be a complete letdown, but I’m sure that the reality is less exciting than whatever your imagination came up with.” I shrug my shoulders. “My grandparents live in Portland and I went to live with them for my senior year.”
“Okay.” She blinks. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you decide to come back?”
I think about telling Noelle the truth—all the complicated things about myself that take up space and fill the dark corners of my brain. I could try to describe how lonely and sad I was in Portland. I might even try to explain how, despite everything it took from me, I missed the blue-green Florida water. Or how I dreamed about the way that the powdery white sand felt squishing up between my toes. If I were stronger, I’d tell Noelle about the night back in June when I hit rock bottom, and how I woke up in the morning feeling lucky to be alive.
What would she say to that? Would she understand?
Sighing and catching the ends of my hair between my fingers, I decide to stick with the well-rehearsed lie that my mother came up with. Just tell anyone that asks how you hated the awful Oregon weather. This is Florida, the Sunshine State. Everyone will understand. “I guess that I just got sick of the cloudy weather and the cold.”
Noelle chuckles in disbelief. “That’s it?”
“Well, no… That’s not all of it, but it’s the shortened version and the rest can wait while you tell me how you’ve been. You look great by the way.”
“Girl, you’re too sweet,” she says, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly.
Just then, I feel a presence at my back. I turn and my eyes collide with tarnished green irises so intense and electrifying that the air around me seems to quiver and reshape itself. Recognition only takes another heartbeat, and when it arrives, it buzzes through me with such force that my eyes go in and out of focus and I have to lock my legs so that I don’t tip over.
Cole
Fuck. She’s blushing and I’m hooked. Just like that.
I’ve got to admit something. I love a girl who blushes and if I know girls—and I do—this is one of those chicks that blushes all of the time.
My eyes move over the thin scar on her neck and drop to the dark shorts and the loose fitting blue top that does not even come close to doing those eyes of hers justice. I’m used to girls parading around in tight shirts with their tits pushed up in my face, so her laid-back outfit is a nice change of pace. And she doesn’t have to prove a point with her clothes because I know that underneath
all that fabric she’s got a tight body. I felt it when she fell onto my lap an hour ago.
I take a step closer, drawn in to the gentle lines of her face. She twists a coil of her long, wavy dark hair over her shoulder and breathes in through her nose. Her clear blue eyes widen and she does it again.
Wait. Is this chick smelling me?
“Ivory,” I say in amusement.
She looks confused so I clarify: “My soap. I use Ivory in case you were wondering.”
Jesus. If you had asked me five seconds ago, I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for her skin to go even redder, but I would be wrong. Now, she’s stammering and her breathing is all funny and I sort of regret the joke. My intention wasn’t to make her uncomfortable. I’ve just been wondering what it would be like to see this girl smile—to be the one to make her smile.
Afraid that if I look at her too much longer, she’ll bolt or something, I tear my eyes from her face. “Noelle, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Oh no, you don’t!” Noelle puts a hand on her hip. “I am very familiar with this little game and I’m advising you to go flash that devilish smile elsewhere. If you think I’ve forgotten about Rachel and Deena then you’re mistaken.”
I cringe. Clearly I’ve forgotten about Rachel and Deena because I have no idea what she’s talking about. I like to think of Noelle as a friend, but judging from the nasty glare that she’s giving me, our relationship status is more ambiguous than I previously thought.
“Noelle, you’ve got this all wrong. I’m just being friendly.”
Noelle’s not buying it, which, let’s face it, is probably smart of her. “Friendly my ass. Aimee is one of my girls, not a member of the panty-dropping bimbo squad.”
Aimee. I let the name roll around my head, making room for the idea of her. “Well, if she’s your friend, you should be happy that I’m being so charming.”
Noelle shakes her head. “Nuh-uh. I already warned you not to play this shit around me. I declare this one an official safe zone.”
I feel my pasted on smile start to slip. Damn. Noelle’s not exactly giving me the glowing recommendation that I had hoped for. I rub the heel of my hand over my face and feel my shoulders rising toward my ears.
“What’s a safe zone?” A small voice asks.
I look over. Aimee has finally worked up the courage to interject herself into the conversation. Her mouth is puckered up and her light eyes are rounded. She’s got this one freckle on her cheek that’s fucking killing me.
Noelle gives Aimee a significant look. “That means that you are off-limits and that Cole has to keep his hands and his slut-boy tendencies to himself.” I think that she deliberately exaggerates the word slut for my benefit.
“Ouch!” I throw my hand over my heart and toss my head back in a show of mock-hurt. “What if I’m trying to turn over a new leaf and by automatically making the assumption that I’m hitting on your hot friend, you’re pigeonholing me and effectively halting my growth as a human being?”
“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” Noelle replies, rolling her eyes at me.
The thing is that I’m not joking. I’ve felt it before—that unexpected zing that happens when you check out a particular chick—but this is different. Something about Aimee has my interest piqued. It’s true that she’s hot. Damn. With all that dark hair and those blue eyes, she’s fucking on fire. But I’m not making a play to get her into bed—I just want to know a little more about her. Call it curiosity.
Shit. Even in my own head that sounds like some overused pick-up line. I don’t know why I’m pushing this. Zing or no zing, I’m usually not the type to pursue a random. I’m a smile-and-let-them-come-to-me kind of guy.
And maybe that’s what’s happening here. I can sense the challenge in front of me and I’m craving it—a typical caveman reaction. Aimee doesn’t seem completely immune to me, but she’s definitely not looking at me like she wants to eat me either. It’s been a while since I’ve come across a chick that made me try, and I’m a guy that’s naturally drawn to a fight—on and off the track.
Noelle comes closer and places one of her hands on my chest. She gives me a light shove but my feet are squarely planted so I don’t budge even a centimeter.
She sighs. “Look, Aimee and I don’t have time to debate your man-whore status right now. We haven’t seen each other in a long time and we’re trying to catch up, so why don’t you scoot along and go annoy someone else?”
Ignoring Noelle’s hand on my chest, I turn to Aimee and ask, “So you and Noelle are old friends?”
Noelle doesn’t seem to care that the question wasn’t directed at her, and she’s answering before Aimee can even open her mouth. “Yes. She’s a year younger than me and we swam together back in high school. Are you satisfied, Cole?” She makes a shooing gesture. “Now be gone, pretty boy.”
I blink, my eyes narrowing in on Aimee’s blue irises. “You swam?”
“Yeah… I did, but not anymore.” Aimee nods slowly and crosses her arms protectively in front of her chest. I think she looks too small and fragile to be a swimmer. Maybe she got sick and that’s why she had to quit.
“She was All-State for the 200 yard medley and the 100 yard Butterfly her junior year,” Noelle tells me with a satisfied smile.
This surprises me and has my mind all over the place. All-State? That means that she was good. Very good. “If you were All-State, why did you quit?”
The two girls share a look and I notice the way that Aimee’s forehead compresses and how she unconsciously touches the scar on her neck. “Other things came up and it was a lot of pressure.”
“Huh.” I pause. “If you went to high school with Noelle then you must know Daniel Kearns because he went to the same school.”
She lifts her chin a fraction and her blue eyes boggle. “Daniel? You know Daniel Kearns?”
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, of course I know Daniel. He’s one of my roommates and we run track together.” My gaze swings over Noelle to the sidewalk behind me where Daniel stopped to check out one of the tables. “He was right behind me. Should I get—”
Aimee cuts me off abruptly, her now panicked eyes darting to Noelle’s face. “I—I don’t understand. I thought he was on scholarship at Michigan.” She clenches her fingers and sucks in a ragged breath.
She seems ready to crawl out of her own skin and this awful sensation slithers over my shoulders. Does this girl have some sort of history with Daniel? Did they go out?
Noelle’s features contort into a grimace. “I don’t know what to say, Aimee. I would have warned you but I just assumed that you already knew. Daniel transferred here last fall after... well, you know. His mom was having an especially hard time and he wanted to be closer to home.”
I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I can tell that something is very wrong. Aimee’s face looks pained and her eyes are getting shiny like she might start to cry. I touch her arm gently and her warm skin spasms beneath my fingertips. “Aimee—”
She doesn’t wait for me to finish. In one fluid movement, she drops her hand, pushes away from us and takes off across the courtyard. Noelle and I are left staring and stuttering in her wake.
CHAPTER TWO
Aimee
Luckily, I haven’t had any more unfortunate run-ins with people from my past. Mara reminds me every morning that the university is huge. Chances are slim, she says and I’m starting to think that she’s right.
It’s the second day of classes. So far I like all of my professors and the course material seems mildly interesting. I’m even considering applying for a position as an office assistant in the English Department. This, I realize with vague surprise, is what it feels like to settle in—to begin believing that life can be okay again.
With an hour to waste before my next class starts, I turn left in front of the Liberal Arts building and find a patch of summer-green grass to sit down on. Above me, the spindly palm trees buffer me from the p
ounding rays of the sun. Their fronds whistle in the light morning breeze and fan out across the sky like a web of papery green veins.
The professor for my Media Literacy class emailed the course syllabus out yesterday, so I take my book out of my bag and start to read ahead, taking notes in between bites of the donut I brought on campus with me.
I wasn’t always the diligent student that I am now. The first three years of high school I was too busy looking for a good time to be bothered with essays and reading assignments. Admittedly, my best friend was usually the catalyst for those good times. I can almost hear her voice, giddily pushing me toward her open bedroom window while I groggily complained that it was one in the morning.
We’ll sleep when we’re dead, Aimee.
Shuddering, I remind myself that I’ve spent the last year cultivating a new persona, and this version of Aimee Spencer doesn’t attract attention. She never misses class, she makes the Dean’s List, and she reads ahead.
What would she make of me now? The thought is so confounding that I very nearly laugh out loud.
After a solid thirty minutes of reading, I swallow the last of the donut and search the front pocket of my bag until my fingers find the wound-up cord of my earbuds. I jam them into my ears and scroll through my library until I’ve found what I’m looking for—a mellow indie band that I discovered in Portland. I lean back until the musky smell of earth fills my nostrils and tiny blades of brittle grass tickle the skin of my shoulders.
With the music in my head and my hair pressed out all around me, I follow the twisting pattern of sunbursts darting between the lacey palm fronds. I look until the spanning brightness turns the world hazy white and stings the back of my eyes and I’m forced to close them.
I’ll be the bottles on the beaches
You’ll be the waves that wash them all ashore
Is it strange that my brain conjures up the image of Cole Everly’s face? I only talked to him for five minutes almost a week ago, but like some swoony thirteen year old, I can’t stop thinking about him. Cataloguing his physical assets has become a regular distraction when I want to zone out.
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