The Season of You & Me

by Robin Constantine

  Miss your face.

  I called Ems. She picked up. “Come home.”

  “Gavin just texted me.”

  “Get out!”

  “What do I do?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have called.”

  “Cass, you know what you wanted to do, otherwise you wouldn’t have called me to delay doing it.”

  I sat on the bed. “You’re right. I was going to text him. I don’t want to, Ems, I really don’t want to.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Don’t what? I heard Drew in the background.

  “Oh, God, you’re with Drew. I’m sorry, I’ll let you go.”

  “Please,” she said to me.

  Your boy texted Cass, she told Drew.

  And, so?

  Tell him to stop.

  “Ems? Hello?”

  “Yes, I’m here, what did he say?”

  “He misses my face. I mean, why can’t he just say ‘Hey’ or ‘What’s up’?”

  “Because he’s a selfish prick who knows you eat that up.”

  I sighed.

  “Listen, I think you’ve been going about this all wrong. Disappearing without a trace. Are you still on . . . what did you call it . . . a StalkMe fast?”

  After torturing myself with Gavin’s feed, I’d deleted the app from my phone. Good riddance. It had made a difference. Out of sight . . . mostly out of mind.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Well, it ends tonight. You need to start documenting yourself doing all sorts of incredible things.”

  “But I’m not doing incredible things.”

  “Half the people on StalkMe are not doing incredible things, it just looks like it. Take some selfies during sunset. Put yourself in that bikini, the blue one that makes your boobs look huge. Find some surfer boys, take a pic, and mention how you love your new view. Show Gavin what he’s missing, what he screwed up, that you are fine without him.”

  “How do I know Gavin would even see it?”

  “He’s totally stalking your feed.”

  “He is?”

  “Drew told me.”

  Pathetic as it was, it felt good to hear.

  “I don’t know. It sounds like a lotta work,” I said.

  “Are you even having fun? You should be hooking up left and right, screw the celibate thing,” she said.

  Cass is celibate? I heard Drew say.

  No, she’s screwing half of Crest Haven, make sure you tell Gavin that.

  “Ems! Don’t tell Gavin that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because I’m not!”

  “This is war, Cass. You may as well start acting like it.”

  “Okay, I will. Tomorrow. I promise.”

  The next morning I woke up, showered, changed, and put a quick side braid in my wet hair. My father and Leslie were already awake; I could hear them puttering around the kitchen getting ready for the breakfast service. It was six forty-five, earlier than I needed to be at work, but I couldn’t sleep. Gavin’s texts and Emma’s this is war proclamation all swirled around in my head as I tossed and turned. I had to put my phone on the other side of my room to charge, so I’d be too tired to get up and obsessively check it. Gavin hadn’t texted again. Thankfully. I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs.

  Smells of something sweet and appley got stronger as I descended the stairs. Leslie was busy piling huge crumb-topped muffins on a glass platter as I walked into the kitchen.

  “Mornin’, Cass,” Dad said, pouring coffee from a glass carafe into a fancy silver urn.

  “Cass, could you take this out to the dining room and put it on the sideboard?” Leslie held out the glass platter to me.

  “Wow, that smells good,” I said, resting my backpack on a chair and grabbing the platter.

  “I have a few set aside if you’d like one.”

  I pushed through the swinging door to the inn part of the house. The dining room was empty, but everything was set and ready for that morning’s guests. It was a pretty room, with floral wallpaper and dark wood and a gilded mirror on the far wall that helped make the room look larger than it really was. The table was covered with lace and a few small silver bowls that held jam and what looked like whipped cream. Two floor-to-ceiling windows let in natural light. I placed the platter on the sideboard and nearly ran into my father as I turned to leave.

  “Whoa,” he said, sidestepping me and holding out the urn at arm’s length. I helped him place it down next to the platter of muffins.

  “Thanks, Cass. That would have been a disaster.”

  We stood facing each other. I said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Nan said she never understood why anyone would want to stay in a place where you had to eat breakfast with a bunch of strangers.”

  To my surprise, he laughed. “That sounds like Shirl. It’s not for everyone, but it’s really not that bad. People like to relax on vacation. It’s okay to let your guard down with a bunch of strangers. No pressure.”

  “Oh. I never looked at it that way before,” I said. He followed me out to the kitchen.

  “You’re up extra early.”

  “This is my new start time,” I said. “I have to help out at the pool in the morning.”

  “Owen’s not overworking you, is he?” Dad kidded. I didn’t want to tell him the busier I was, the less I thought about things.

  “Nope, I volunteered,” I said. There was a muffin on a napkin waiting by my backpack. I shouldered my bag and took a bite of the muffin, crumbs falling down my chin. Totally as good as it looked.

  “Would you like something to wash that down with?” Leslie asked.

  I shook my head as I made my way toward the back door. “No, I think I have an extra water in my backpack. I better get going.”

  Hunter suddenly rounded the corner of the stairwell, his hair sticking up every which way. Shark pj’s slightly askew.

  “You’re leaving without me?”

  “Cass has to go in early, buddy.”

  “And I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now. See you at camp, Hunter.”

  The screen door slammed behind me as I heard Hunter say, “No fair, she gets to take her bike to camp. Why can’t I go with her?”

  The hero-worship thing was kind of adorable. I’d have to take him to the arcade one of these days.

  My bike was propped up against the side of the house. I took out my phone and snapped a picture. The way it was parked made it look like it was waiting for me to take it on all sorts of adventures. I uploaded the image to my reinstalled StalkMe account with the caption “My beach bum ride. Going where the day takes me.” Maybe not as sexy as a bikini-top picture, but I’d work on that later. For now, boom . . . the war had begun.

  By the time I reached the rec center, my thighs burned and my mouth was so dry it wouldn’t have surprised me if I spit sand. I regretted not taking Leslie up on her offer of something to wash down my breakfast with. I locked my bike on the rack and found Mr. Beckett in his office.

  “Cass, wow, you didn’t have to come in this early,” he said.

  “It’s cool, I just wanted to, um, get started,” I said, which sounded better than “I need something to do so I don’t obsess about my ex-asshat-of-a-boyfriend’s texts that he sent me last night.” Miss your face.

  Just. No.

  Mr. Beckett walked me down to the pool and introduced me to Jena, then directed us to the ladies’ locker room.

  “You just need to fold and roll, like this.” Jena demonstrated. As I suspected, no special skills needed. I looked at the mountain of white.

  “So . . . all of them?”

  Jena nodded. “Sorry, I know, but it goes fast. When they’re folded you can leave about a third in here, some out by the pool, then just park the bin by the men’s locker room door. Someone else will put them in there. They don’t have to be perfect, just look neat. Gotta get back out there. Thanks, Cass.”
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br />   I reached in and began the task at hand, fanning out each towel, joining the ends, and rolling them up. Half an hour later, I had a pyramid of towels ready to go. I stacked some in the ladies’ locker room, then rolled the bin out to the pool deck. I didn’t see the rack at first and walked up to Jena in her lifeguard chair.

  “Where do I put the towels . . . Bryan?”

  At least I thought it was him. He looked blissed out, eyes closed, face relaxed like he was sleeping. He had one of those long pool noodles under his knees, and held another one across his chest and under his arms.

  “I think he’s meditating or something,” Jena said. “He does that after he swims laps.”

  “He swims laps?” I asked. I didn’t mean to sound surprised, it just wasn’t something I realized he could do. He also looked pretty damn good without his shirt on. I got an eyeful of his broad-shouldered, muscled upper bod before he opened his eyes and completely snagged me looking.

  “Yes, he does, and his hearing is fine.” He grinned.

  Jena and I laughed. I kept my eyes on his, not sure where I was supposed to be looking. He pulled the pool noodle out from under his knees and pushed it over to the side. Jena hopped off her stand to get it.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “About ten to eight,” I said.

  “Oh shit,” he said, letting go of the other noodle. He turned in the water. His legs were strapped together—another flotation device was between his thighs. His calves were noticeably thinner, less developed than his upper body. I looked away.

  “Where do these towels go?” I asked.

  Jena pointed down to the end of the pool where Bryan was headed. I rolled the bin, catching up to him next to the swim lane. I walked slower, mesmerized by his arms slicing through the water. Had he always been able to swim like this? It must have been hard for him after his injury, but he made it look effortless. When he reached the end of the lane, he pulled himself up with one swift move and spun, landing on his butt and leaning forward slightly. He unhooked the strap that had been around his legs.

  “Towel? Freshly folded by yours truly?” I held it out to him. He smiled and took it, putting the flotation device to the side.

  “Is it cold?” I asked, kicking off my flip-flops and dunking a toe in.

  “Nah, not really,” he said.

  I sat down on the side of the pool and let my legs dangle in the water.

  “What are you doing here this early?” he asked, running the towel across his face, then wrapping it around his shoulders like a cape.

  “Oh, towel duty, part of my job now.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Do you swim laps every day?”

  “Uh, yeah, mostly I guess. I try to anyway, but sometimes I’ll have a bad morning and have to skip.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure what he meant by “bad morning” but was afraid to ask. I didn’t want to embarrass him or anything. I could hardly imagine getting out of bed, taking a shower, going to the bathroom . . . all those things I took for granted must have required so much more effort for him. Did he have help? He seemed to be doing fine on his own for the swim.

  “I get leg spasms sometimes, not so much anymore though. I just never know what my body’s going to do. It was worse in the beginning. Still kind of learning.”

  “Well, it looks like you’ve got the swimming thing down pretty good.”

  “Yeah, took a while to get strong enough to be here on my own, but I love it. I got Jena and the other lifeguards to look out for me. Sometimes I just want to pretend to drown to see if she’s paying attention, she’s so chill.”

  I laughed. He pulled his legs up, one at a time, and hugged them in closer to his chest.

  “Do you need help?”

  “Ah . . . yeah, could you put a towel down on the seat of my chair? I forgot to do that this morning.”

  I grabbed a towel, went over to his wheelchair, and fanned it out to cover the cushion, then held the chair steady while he gripped one of the wheels. He propelled his body up and into the seat with his other hand. Then he placed his feet, pulling one, then the other, onto the footplate.

  “Thanks. Hey, could you hand me my pull buoy?”

  “Huh?”

  “That,” he said, pointing to the strappy flotation thing he’d been using. I picked it up and handed it to him.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you in the morning then, if, you know, we’re here at the same time,” I said.

  He rubbed his hair with the towel that had been around his shoulders, making it stick up every which way, like Hunter’s had been this morning. It was endearing. He smiled.

  “Sure hope so.”

  I laughed, at a loss for what to say all of a sudden. Was he flirting?

  “I’ll just, um, get back to the towels. Later, Bryan.”

  “Later, Cassidy.”

  EIGHT

  BRYAN

  I WAS SUCH A LIAR.

  A white lie maybe—it had been too sweet to pass up—no, actually, I didn’t swim every morning. I shot for three to four times a week; it was necessary to keep myself toned and to help with my eventual goal of getting back into the ocean. There were days I slacked off, though, took the extra time at home, then went in the afternoon. And sometimes I did have bad mornings, but not lately. The fifteen minutes I spent with Cass each morning had become my incentive. I hadn’t missed a day all week.

  On Friday, Cass was at the rec center before me, already stacking the towels on the pool deck when I came in to do laps. It bummed me out because I thought maybe she would leave without sitting with me during my cooldown, but maybe Tori needed her for something. I put in a good workout, even though between stroke, breathe, stroke, breathe I thought—What should we talk about today? Maybe I can ask her to time me, pretend I’m trying to train harder. Or maybe I should look extra pathetic and ask her to help me with drying my hair? Looking pathetic occasionally got me extra fries in school. The lunch ladies were suckers for the wheelchair. #wheelchairperk

  I’d lost track of where she was when I turned for my last lap, and then what I saw nearly made me go under.

  Cass.

  At the end of the swim lane.

  Wearing a blue bikini.

  And smiling.

  At me.

  Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Breathe.

  I stopped midlane to watch her, as she first dipped a toe, then sat on the side and shimmied in, shivering when she hit the water. She held her arms up as she shuffled toward me. When she saw my face she flinched.

  God, I hoped I wasn’t staring.

  “It’s okay that I’m swimming, I mean, I just assumed . . . the pool’s open to everyone, right?”

  It was wicked to leave her hanging, but she was too cute. I tried to keep a straight face as I held on to the ledge and reached for my swim noodles, which Jena kept for me at the base of the lifeguard stand now.

  “No, it’s only open this early to seventy-year-olds and people who don’t have use of their legs. You have to get out.”

  She raised her eyebrows as she looked to the other side of the pool and saw the senior citizens in water aerobics class hoisting weights over their heads, then back at me—working it through—until she narrowed her eyes. She flicked her fingertips across the top of the water and splashed me.

  “Ha, you almost had me. Oh, man, I thought you said it wasn’t cold.”

  “This is cold? You must not go in the ocean much.”

  She shook her head, took a breath, and plunged under the water, popping up with a splash.

  “What made you come in?” I asked, maneuvering the one noodle behind me to slide under my knees. Cass grabbed the other noodle off the ledge and handed it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She sank down into the water until it was up to her shoulders. “It’s your fault, you make it look so fun. That, and I thought it might be good to burn off all the junk I’ve been eating at the inn. There were cinnamon rolls this morning.”

>   “And you didn’t bring me one?” I teased.

  “If I’d known you liked them, I totally would have snagged you one. Maybe next week.”

  Next week was way too far away. I’d never been so disappointed about it being the weekend.

  “I’m kidding, but you know, I’d never say no to cinnamon rolls.”

  “Noted,” she said. “Hey, so when are we going to start the scavenger hunt thing?”

  “So you didn’t just ask me to partner up as a way to say no to Wade? Don’t want my wheels to slow you down, you know.”

  She laughed. “I’ve seen you, I doubt you’d slow me down. Besides, you were the first person I met, why wouldn’t I ask you?”

  “Oh, right . . . Mr. Beckett’s office.”

  “Actually, at the beach that first night. I met you before I even knew you. Not sure if that makes sense.”

  “Right,” I said. I remembered how she seemed to just appear off the beach. She was hard not to notice, the way she put on her flip-flops like she was pissed with them . . . and crying. Why were you crying? The question was on the tip of my tongue, and maybe she sensed it too because she dunked herself under the water. She smoothed her hair back when she broke the surface again. Just say it.

  “Why were you crying?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “That night, at Crescent Beach—you were upset. It wasn’t just because you thought the sunset was that beautiful, was it?”

  She laughed. “No. I was . . . um, homesick. I mean, I want to be here, but I miss my mom and Nana, and my friend Emma. She might come down to visit soon. At least I’m hoping she will. Maybe we can hang out.”

  “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

  “Hey, guys, it’s almost eight o’clock,” Jena said.

  “Wow, already?” I asked.

  “I better hit the shower,” she said. “This was fun.”

  “Yeah, we should definitely do it again,” I said.

  “Definitely.”

  As I sat in the shower, I replayed our conversation. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the beach thing. Maybe she was homesick, but then why go to the beach by yourself? And that beach in particular? Was she forced to be here for the summer? Why did I even care? I had no business wanting anything from Cassidy Emmerich . . . but I did. At that moment she was just a wall away. Naked.