Cross Me Off Your List

by Nikki Godwin

  Big Tony doesn’t look very thrilled to have had to wait so long for us. Normally, I’d feel guilty for making him stand around in the spring sunshine playing babysitter, but this is my last full day in Crescent Cove and with Noah Winters. The drama has subsided, and I’m taking full advantage of crossing off the rest of my list.

  “Get wings,” Noah says, looking across the street at nothing. “How the hell are you going to get wings?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, still hating that item. “We’ll come back to it.”

  Noah searches on Google for a store nearby where we can purchase bottles to send messages in. Big Tony says something about environment-friendly, but Noah ignores him and says he’ll figure it out on his own. Maybe they need to pawn Big Tony off on another member of the band. He just doesn’t seem like the best fit for Noah.

  Noah finds a shop on the outskirts of Crescent Cove, in the opposite direction of Horn Island, that specializes in ocean-safe bottles that are used for sending messages.

  “They actually have events where people go out on boats and toss their bottles,” he says, reading from their website.

  He rambles off the address to Big Tony, who puts it in the GPS. Twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of a white marble building that reminds me of a little American piece of the Taj Mahal. The words “Letters at Sea” are scrawled in curvy gold letters above the door. The ocean rests behind the building, sloshing forward and drifting back out to take letters into the sea. I need to get a job here. This place is incredibly beautiful.

  A crowd of people sit on the beach, eating picnic lunches and building sandcastles. I guess this is one of the more family-friendly places in the cove. It’s definitely not on the tourist sites like some of the night clubs or The Strip.

  “I’m coming with you. No arguments,” Big Tony insists. “There are too many people here, and I’m not having that on me.”

  Noah groans, mumbles a ‘fine,’ and then tells Big Tony to walk behind us. It comes in glimpses, but moments like these make it so obvious that Noah and Nat are from the same gene pool. I sort of wonder if Nat learned his sassiness from his big brother.

  When we walk into the building, a few people gasp, and young girls giggle with their friends. It’s a matter of moments before Noah is slammed with autograph and selfie requests, all of which he takes in stride. I wait around for about fifteen minutes before Noah tells them that he only has another minute because his friend is waiting on him and he wants to spend time with her – ‘her’ being me.

  One of the girls, who can’t be older than twelve, happily skips over to me and asks if I’m Noah’s girlfriend. When I say we’re just good friends, she giggles and runs off. She tells her friend that I’m pretty and that she hopes I’m his girlfriend. I don’t need a twelve-year-old’s approval, but after the twenty-four hours I had with Saturn fans, this little girl’s approval means more than she’ll ever know.

  Big Tony intervenes and brings Noah back to planet Earth. I’m glad he’s here or Noah would’ve been wrapped up in fan-land for the entire day. He doesn’t know how to stop and just say that he can’t continue. This could be why he’s a fan favorite with so many of the Saturnites.

  He purchases two bottles, actually asks if Big Tony wants one as well (he doesn’t), and we step over to a private table with colored stationary.

  I grab a pink piece of paper. Noah picks up a basic white sheet but exchanges it for mint green.

  He doesn’t waste any time scribbling his message across the paper. I didn’t really give this any thought. I doubt anyone will ever find it. It’ll just sink to the bottom of the ocean and end up inside of a whale. What do you even say to a whale? Or a sunken ship? Or a mermaid?

  So I write the first thing that comes to mind, just in case it’s magically found. I write what I’d want someone to secretly send to me.

  Everything you need to know about life, you can learn from Katy Perry. ROAR. And I mean really freaking roar. Roar so loudly that no one can shut you down. No one can tune you out. No one can tell you that you’re not worth it or that you can’t do whatever it is you’re destined to do. And if somehow, someone’s voice slips through the cracks and tells you to stop, ROAR LOUDER. Don’t listen to them. I didn’t – and that’s why you have this letter. Katy’s right, my friend – you *are* a firework.

  A group of tween girls huddle around another table across the room. They steal glances and whispers, but I try not to stare and make them uncomfortable. They dig through small baskets and begin a lengthy conversation about which stickers best represent them.

  I lean closer to Noah. “I think we’re outside of the age-range for this place,” I whisper.

  He nods. “I caught onto that when a girl offered me a kitten sticker earlier,” he says. “Now I kind of wish I had it so I could put it on this awesome message.”

  A lady comes inside and takes all of the girls except two back outside with her. The girls linger while decorating their letters. One of them is the girl who asked if I was Noah’s girlfriend.

  “Let’s go decorate with them,” I say, nodding toward the girls. “There are only two of them, and we won’t be long.”

  To my surprise, and against Big Tony’s warning, Noah agrees and we venture across the room. Noah takes a seat and begins sticking glittery sea turtles and seahorse stickers around his green paper. I settle on an owl sticker in honor of the bucket list, an anchor sticker in honor of my bracelet and the choice I made to anchor in Crescent Cove, and then I fill in the gaps with angelfish.

  The girl from earlier leans over and studies my paper. “Why do you put all the fish in pairs?” she asks.

  “French angelfish mate for life,” I say. “Sort of like finding a soul mate, in a way. They connect forever and always stay together.”

  “That is so cool,” she says. “Can I put some of them on mine too?”

  I hand her the rest of the fish, roll my letter up, tie a purple ribbon around it, and slip it into my bottle. After Noah takes a picture with the girls, he asks if I want to take the bottles down on the pier behind the store.

  But I have a better idea.

  On the way back into Crescent Cove, Noah asks to stop at Strings and Starlight to pick up drumsticks. He makes a beeline for Jace, who special ordered some just for him, and I check out the shelf of new album releases.

  The album that jumps out to me is none other than Sebastian’s Shadow’s album, which I didn’t bother to pick up at their release party. I actually didn’t bother looking at the album at all the other night. I grab a copy from the rack and study the image of a girl holding dead flowers in the rain. She looks like a sad little wolf. Her face is a bit animalistic.

  I flip it over to see the track list, since Benji made such a huge deal about track number eight – The Coast of New Hampshire – being the work of a lyrical genius. The song titles are printed in white letters, on top of a gray background with…black butterfly wings.

  I hug the CD to my chest and smile the goofiest, happiest smile I think I could ever manage. I wish I could play it cool, but this is absolutely fate.

  While Noah pays for his drumsticks, I slide the CD across the counter to Jace. Noah says to add that to his purchase. Then he looks at me.

  “You could’ve gotten that CD free the other night,” he says. “And autographed, at that.”

  “I know,” I say. “I didn’t care then.”

  “And you care now? After everything that went down, you want a Sebastian’s Shadow album?” he asks, almost humored.

  I grab the CD case and hold it up so he can see the artwork on the back. “For your information, I’m getting wings,” I say.

  I really don’t care what kind of wings my former friends managed to find in LA. These were meant for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A pink cloud stretches across the morning sky, swimming in between the blue clouds. The colors mingle together in purple streaks, like strings that have come loose from frayed edges of a dress. The
sand is a hazy orange-yellow shade, and the ocean reflects the sky’s canvas.

  “We always had a thing for sunrises,” Aralie says, leaning her head onto Jules’s shoulder.

  It wasn’t part of the plan for Aralie and Jules to join us this morning, but Noah couldn’t get out of the hotel without Aralie wanting to tag along. She’s not one for sitting still, so I can’t blame her. I’m glad my other favorite couple – also known as Emily and Miles – were up for joining me down here this morning.

  Noah sits on the beach towel with me, the six of us facing the ocean and the collapsed pier that lives in it.

  “Of all places, you want to throw your message in a bottle into the waters of Horn Island,” Emily says, shaking her head. “I mean, I get it. This place isn’t the same. It gets in your blood. But of all the tropical beaches Noah could take you to, you choose this dump.”

  Aralie makes a reference to a Sebastian’s Shadow song that Chloe loves, something about bleeding butterflies and how they create the sunrise each morning. I haven’t heard the song, but I may have to look it up.

  Once the sun has risen and an orange glow hugs the morning sky, we walk down to the collapsed pier where Noah and I hurl our bottles out into the ocean. I secretly hope it floats around on a grand journey and then washes up right back here in Horn Island. Maybe a Hooligan or half-breed Hispanic kid like A.J. and me will find it.

  I watch until the bottle leaves my sight. Then I say reluctant goodbyes to Aralie, Jules, Emily, and Miles. Aralie eases the sadness when she announces that she has to swing by the thrift shop before leaving town to return the little black dress from Dr. Richardson’s yacht party.

  Noah and I head back to Emily’s house to pack my things back into a vehicle. Emily waves goodbye from the porch when we leave, and I pray that it’s not the last time I see her. I think I kind of like this sleepy little beach town.

  Paparazzi are still staked outside of Crescent Inn when we get back. Noah grabs my hand, pulls his Oakley sunglasses over his face, and walks quickly through the crowd, refusing to speak to anyone. We beeline for the elevator, and he pushes his sunglasses up once we’re safely inside it.

  “You know, we actually met in here,” he says. “I met the coolest chick I know in the Crescent Inn elevator.”

  “In the middle of the night, while holding strawberry milk,” I add.

  “And then we went on a wild bucket list adventure,” he says. “Did we cross off all twenty? Wasn’t there something left?”

  “Visit a far, far away place,” I reply. The elevator dings and the door opens on the fourth floor. We step out and I turn to Noah. “I think Saturn is about the furthest place I could possibly visit. It counts.”

  We walk down to room 413, passing Saturn staff along the way as they carry the band’s belongings outside to private cars.

  “Holy fucking mermaid!” Nat shouts when we step into the room. “I love your hair, and I’ve missed you, and you were such a bitch for ignoring me, but I blame my brother, so we’re good.”

  He says it all in one breath while squeezing the breath out of me in an anaconda-grip hug. He informs me that he, Benji, and Tank will be riding with Noah and me to take me home.

  “Noah said I couldn’t, but I told him that he owed me because you sent me the video, not him,” Nat says. “So obviously I’m the better brother and I win at life, and I need the number of your brilliant stylist because your hair is perfect and he’s hot and obviously gay, right?”

  While Noah grabs the last of his things that he didn’t want their staff hauling for him, Nat takes about thirty selfies with me and picks out the perfect one for me to post on Instagram.

  “Tag your stylist,” Nat says. “Say something about how I admire his amazing work. No, don’t. Say that I’m your favorite diva and you’re going to miss hanging out with me daily and that–”

  Benji clears his throat in the doorway. “Nat, seriously? Let her caption her own pictures,” he says. “If she thinks you’re that amazing, she’ll say it herself.”

  “You’re just jealous,” Nat says. “You can’t stand the thought of me ending up with some hot, brilliant stylist because then I wouldn’t have time to obsess over you.”

  With that, Nat gets up and, with all the priss in the world, struts across the room. He stops, looks Benji up and down, and says, “You know you want me,” before walking out the door.

  Nat can’t end up with Alston, if he’s even gay. I’m still holding on to hope for Winterini to be a real thing. The ‘WTF’ look on Benji’s face doesn’t really encourage my Winterini desires, but damn it, I’m going to dream. Forget Saturn bromances. Jenji and TiTo can die. I’m shipping Winterini forever, and that doesn’t include Noah. He shall forever be bromance-less.

  A little while later, I join Tank, Benji, and the Winters brothers downstairs behind the hotel. We settle into a black limo and head north to take me home. Benji and Nat argue about music for most of the ride while I text Noah all of the pictures I have from this week that I agreed not to post until their vacation week was over. I’m excited that I can document my bucket list on Instagram once I get home.

  Camera crews and paparazzi line the sides of my street when we get back to my house. They snap pictures from a distance with their zoom lenses as the guys help me carry everything into the house.

  Tank and Benji are the first ones back into the limo after a quick goodbye.

  “I know you want to kiss my brother and have one of those sweet, mushy goodbyes,” Nat says, reaching for both of my hands. “But I will always love you, even if he’s a jerk and never talks to you again. Don’t forget that. And when you’re a famous designer with all of your awesome clothes, remember me for your hair and makeup team because I will be perfect for that job. And I’ll bring Benji with me and make him be a model for you because we both know this Saturn thing isn’t going to last forever.”

  “Nat,” Noah snaps.

  Nat glances back at his brother. “Okay, fine. See you soon. Promise,” he says. Then he kisses each of my cheeks and struts back over to the limo. He props his hand on his hip and blows a kiss to the cameras before getting into the car.

  “I guess this is it,” Noah says, scanning the neighborhood and the paparazzi.

  “You want to step inside?” I ask.

  “Please,” he says.

  We walk down the hallway to my dad’s office because it doesn’t have windows.

  “So, um, I’m not good with goodbyes,” he says. “And I don’t really want it to be a goodbye. I don’t know what you want from me or if you even want anything, but I was kind of hoping we could keep this thing going. You know, whatever this thing is.”

  “Well, you can’t really take French angelfish apart, right?” I ask.

  “Exactly,” he says. He leans forward, pressing me back into my dad’s desk, and tangles his fingers through my hair as his lips engage with mine.

  I could stand right here forever kissing this beautiful boy, but he pulls away and stares at the floor.

  “So what does this mean for us?” he asks my flip flops.

  I hesitate, but I tell him the truth. “I don’t like the whole Saturn girlfriend thing,” I admit. “There’s so much pressure and chaos, and it just feels like once that label is on it, everything is tainted.”

  “No label,” Noah says. He finally looks at me. “We can be unofficially official. We’ll make our own rules, do things how we want, and I won’t be a jackass this time.”

  As I walk him back to the door, I make the decision to walk with him to the vehicle instead of slipping back inside. Screw the paparazzi.

  “What do you want me to tell people in interviews?” Noah asks. “I know I’m going to get slammed with questions about this week.”

  “Say whatever you want,” I tell him, leaning into him and trapping him between the limo and me.

  “I think we should just keep them guessing,” Noah says. “Starting now.”

  And in the midst of a thousand camera flash
es, Noah Winters kisses me, and I feel like I could seriously roar.

  Thank you!

  Thank you so much for reading Cross Me Off Your List! As an indie author, I depend heavily on my readers for word of mouth, so if you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. It doesn’t have to be a book report. Short and simple is just fine and greatly appreciated!

  Acknowledgments

  I owe thanks to the people who helped me find an anchor while battling a hurricane. You guys helped me find my voice.

  *Rachel Schmermund, for your everlasting friendship no matter the distance, for going to see Katy Perry with me in 2009, and for always telling me that I have to keep writing in moments of hopelessness. I'm blessed to have you, BFF. <3 <3 <3

  *Kristalyn Thornock, for putting up with the insanity of text messages I sent you while writing this book, for listening to all the stupid drama (because really, some of it was unnecessarily stupid!), for having my back, and for reminding me that I had to finish this book because you have to read it. Sometimes I really needed that extra push.

  *Isabella, for being my real life Saturnite queen, for reading random snippets and reassuring me that I'm going in the right direction with this series, for letting me bounce ideas off of you, for being the keeper of all the Saturn secrets, and for coming up with the ship name of Winterini because Marisol and I were so terribly stuck!

  *The many bloggers, authors, promoters, and readers who constantly share my links, pimp my books, and share their excitement for my next release. You guys are amazing. Thank you a million times over. All of you!

  *Katy Perry, for "Roar." I heard this song for the first time right before I published American Girl on Saturn, and I didn't know how much I needed that song in that moment.