The Art of Falling in Love

by Haleigh Wenger

  I frown. “What are you doing here?” I’ve barely seen her all summer, between both of us having boyfriends and both of us having something to hide from Mom and Dad. I haven’t felt close to my sister lately, but the realization that we both had something in common this summer makes me soften when I look at her.

  She shrugs and runs her hand through the damp sand I’ve just dug up. “I wanted to see how your thing was going.” She points at the pile of sand and tools I’ve accumulated.

  Last night at dinner, she announced she had news. She and Mom and Dad sat on the couch in the living room talking soft and low for almost an hour. I only caught a little bit here and there from my bedroom down the hall, but from what I heard she's in a lot of trouble. Still, some of Mom's most recent wrinkles seem to have vanished overnight. So, there's that.

  “It’s going okay,” I say. I know it's not the real reason she’s here, but I’ll find it out soon enough. “Did Mom and Dad come with you?” She shakes her head, and I exhale. I've been avoiding them since Foster left. Neither of them seemed concerned about me when they let Foster leave and my heart shattered into thousands of irreparable shards. No matter what they say, this makes things worse, not better.

  “They dropped me off and told me to check on you. Mom's waiting in the car.”

  She points to my sketchbook and wrinkles her nose at my drawing of an alligator, its jaws locked around a chicken head.

  “That’s what you’re doing for the contest?”

  Livvy has never cared very much about hurting anyone’s feelings. I’m too tender right now to care. I need to win this contest to prove to myself, and my parents, that I’m the artist I aspire to be. I'll take any help I can get at this point.

  I sigh. “Well, I can't do the same thing I was going to do when Foster was still helping.”

  Livvy rolls her eyes and groans loudly. “Why not, though?”

  I blink at her. “Because he left, Liv. He’s not part of my team anymore. He won’t even talk to me.”

  Livvy shakes her head and eyes me with disdain. “Your original idea was way better than this. Don’t change it because of some jerk.”

  I throw down my things and massage my temples with my thumbs. There's no point getting upset at her for calling Foster a jerk. I focus on the tide, moving steadily across the shore, and then I turn my gaze back to my sister. Across the beach, I make out Carolina’s form as she shovels sand.

  “Want to take a day off?”

  An hour later, Livvy, Carolina, and I drive down the highway with so many snacks and assorted flavors of drinks you’d think we were escaping for the rest of the month. “So where are we going?” Livvy watches me from the passenger seat while I fiddle with my phone at a red light. A spontaneous day trip sounded fun, but now I’m not so sure.

  I shrug. “Maybe just out for ice cream?”

  Carolina leans forward from the back seat and tilts her head at me. “No, seriously, Claire. Where are we going?”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, I was thinking we should hunt down Foster. I need closure or an explanation or something from him.”

  Livvy grins and shakes her head. “Let’s do it.”

  Carolina wrinkles her nose.

  Livvy reaches for the radio and turns the volume up so loud that I can’t hear anything else. I roll down the windows and let the wind stream past our faces to blow our hair. We’re so wrapped up in our mission that we don’t need to hear any more—we just need to go. Our first stop is the beach under the pier. It’s a stupid place to look, but I figure starting small is ideal. Of course, he isn’t there. Someone else’s belongings are stored under the corner of the pier. My stomach turns at the sight of a different backpack and a faded blue, one-man tent where Foster’s things used to be. What used to feel like a safe place now makes the hairs on my arm rise.

  Halfway through the day and at hour three of scouring Saint Augustine, our excitement runs low. “He’s gotta be somewhere else,” I say. I roll my window up and turn down the music. I’m starting to get a headache from too much white noise. Livvy's pretending to sleep in the seat next to me, but I see her eye twitch.

  She rolls her head toward me and groans. “This was a bad idea,” she says, her eyes still closed. “Sorry I pushed you into it.”

  Carolina leans forward again. “Are you sure this is worth it? Isn’t he kind of a jerk?”

  I bite my lip. “I know he can seem that way sometimes, but it’s because he’s had a bad last few years. And he makes me happy.” My cheeks burn as I admit how I feel.

  She claps a palm against the seat, leaning back. “Good enough for me.”

  I’m not ready to give up yet, after all my talk about needing closure. But we’ve checked literally every place I’ve heard Foster mention, plus some that just seemed like good hiding spots.

  I only have one place left to check, but it’s a stretch. I decide to drop Livvy and Carolina off at the beach first and then play my last card. That way neither of them are responsible for me if I’m bummed after not finding him. Livvy wishes me good luck, and I drive to the north side of town, since we’ve covered virtually everywhere else in Saint Augustine. I pull into the parking lot of the gardening store, but I don’t get out of the car. Instead, I wait. I scan the faces of those who wander the parking lot, but none of them are the one I’m hoping to see. There was a pretty slim chance of me finding him here. I knew that going in. But I couldn't have guessed I’d be as crushed as I am to end my search with even less certainty than I came in with. I wish there was some way to turn off the memory of how I felt when we came here together, back when I was falling for him so quickly but still afraid to admit it to myself. And he was playing up the whole beach-guy-surfer thing way too much, but it worked anyway.

  It was one day during the first week we’d decided to work together on the sculpting project.

  Foster and I pulled into the parking lot of the small gardening store. There were several types of potted plants in the front, along with statues of cherubs and hand-painted signs with sayings like “Home is Where the Heart is” and “Happy People Live Here.” We made our way past all of the vegetation to the back where the tools were kept. I knew next to nothing about that part of the process, but Foster seemed to know exactly what we needed. He grabbed an armful of items and then looked at my empty hands.

  I shrugged. “This is my first competition, remember? I’m new to sand sculpting. And sand...”

  He smiled and held up his collection smugly. “Well, then, let me educate you.”

  Great, I thought: He thinks he’s educating me, and all he’s got is the same shovel I had as a six-year-old.

  “See, it doesn’t actually matter what we use. That’s the secret.”

  I wrinkled my nose. Some great secret trick of the trade. “I kind of picked up on that when I watched a video of someone’s grandma sculpting with a teaspoon,” I said. I didn’t try to exclusively speak to him in sarcasm, it just happened that way. He laughed because he didn’t seem to mind though. It was nice.

  “Exactly,” he said. “The secret, though, is that the more obscure your tools are, the better your sculpture will turn out.” He picked up a spiky-looking thing and pretended to thrust it at me. “This thing will really impress the judges.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how it works,” I said. But the idea of using random objects to create an already obscure style of art appealed to me. It’s the exact brand of quirkiness I’m into. Kind of like Foster. But out loud, I only mentioned my affinity for quirky art, not my affinity for quirky boys.

  That day, I never would have guessed that a few weeks later, I’d spend my free day scouring the town for him, hoping he was sleeping behind an old building or staying with a random friend. But I also never thought we’d happen in the first place, so I’ve surprised myself doubly.

  I suck back impending tears and pull away from the store, driving as slowly as I can without cars rear-ending me when I stop. What I definitely don’t need is a trip to the au
to shop with a totaled car. I drive around the back of the garden store once more, just to torture myself a little longer, and then I see it. Foster’s stupid backpack. And a few feet away, Foster sitting on the ground and leaning against the back of the building with his eyes closed. I almost slam on my brakes, but I catch myself just in time. I whip the car around and park in an empty space next to the back lot. As I march toward Foster, blood pounds in my head, matching the angry music playing in the back of my mind. I stomp in front of Foster, and he opens his hazy blue eyes to look up at me.

  His eyes flash as he scrambles to his feet. What I'm feeling now is an overwhelming urge to rear back my fist and propel it into his stomach, just for the pleasure of seeing him double over in pain. It'd only be a fraction of the hurt he gave me. This is the opposite of what falling in love is supposed to feel like. This is a slow-boiling overflow of emotions I want to hold back, but once I admit how furious I am at him, everything comes tumbling out and there’s no use trying to put the words back in. My hands are trembling, but I don’t care anymore.

  “You just gave up on me."

  He opens his mouth like he wants to correct me, but I shoot eye-daggers at him and he shuts up. “You gave up on us, just because things got a little messy. And you didn’t just give up—you cut me off because you’re a coward.”

  He flinches at the word “coward,” but I can’t stop now. I’m an avalanche of emotion, and I’ve just gotten started. I’m crying, but I don’t even know why, because I’m not sad anymore. The entire day I’ve spent chasing him down feels like a waste. I can’t even remember why I’m here, yelling at him.

  “That’s not fair. I was trying to do the right thing.”

  I stomp my foot as he reaches for me. Backing away, I shake my head again.

  “You don’t get to decide what the right thing is if it means abandoning me. That’s something we’re supposed to decide together.”

  I throw my head back and wipe my tears on the back of my hand. He abandoned me like Opa did, like Livvy did, like everyone else I thought I could count on this summer. Foster’s a few inches away, and he reaches for me again, but I hold my hands up, so he backs away.

  “You made me fall for you. And the second you saw I was falling, you dropped me.”

  There’s nothing he can say, and he knows it. And now that I’ve got everything out in the open, I don’t what else to say either. We stand in awkward silence until Foster takes a tentative step in my direction. I don’t try to shake him off when he slips his arms around my waist and brings his face next to mine, his breath tickling my cheek.

  “You’re falling for me?” He looks down at me and grins.

  After everything I’ve said, and after I just called him a coward, that’s all he says.

  It should infuriate me. But I hold my breath and wait. Something warm springs from my chest.

  “I’m sorry, Claire. I’m so sorry you thought I dropped you. I thought I was protecting you from all of this.” He points at the trash littering the ground behind the building, his torn-up backpack, and the homeless man sleeping a few feet away from us. "But you're right. It's not my place to say what you can or can't handle."

  My teeth find my lip as I pull his face to mine. It’s only been a week, but the way his lips melt into mine feels like it’s been years since the last time we’ve kissed. My hands wrap around his back and he squeezes me closer to him. We get lost in the rhythm of our kissing until a car full of college-aged kids honks at us. One of them leans out of the back window and cheers. Foster waves and smiles back at them. Ducking my head, I turn so they can’t see my red, tear-stained face.

  “I’m going to fix this." He cups a palm to my chin. “I’m an idiot, and I can’t ever go that long again without holding you.”

  I sling his backpack across my shoulders. “Agreed.”

  We climb into my car and drive back toward the beach house. I'm going to make sure Foster knows he belongs there now just as much as the rest of us.

  Twenty-Seven

  Mom’s pretending to read a book, but her eyes wander in our direction too frequently for her to be actually absorbing any words off the pages.

  This is just ridiculous. “Mom,” I say, “we’re just sketching. You don’t really need to chaperone.”

  She tries to feign surprise, but her frown fools no one. "We're glad you're back with us, Foster." She dog-ears her page and sets her book down on its face. She touches a hand to his hair, and he smiles up at her.

  As soon as the sound of her footsteps disappears and her door clicks shut, Foster’s hand is on mine. He rubs his thumb in a circle on my skin until I feel like the spot might melt off my body entirely. It’s almost impossible for me to make my eyes meet his, but when I finally do look at him, everything else fades. The beach house, the table we’re sitting at—all gone. All that’s left is the two of us and the heat spreading through my face.

  Before I can register what I’m doing, I’ve left my chair and I’m standing in front of him. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close. I kiss him so hard we both almost fall over, but Foster grabs onto the table. He holds my face in his other hand and kisses me back. There is no too much when it comes to kissing him. The only thing that can stop us is an outside force. And one comes in the form of the front door swinging open.

  I stumble backward and quickly turn to the door, fully expecting to see Dad standing there. Miraculously, Livvy stares back at Foster and me. She’s red-faced and laughing into her hand as she hurries past us. “Seriously, you guys.” She shakes her head and leaves us.

  It was enough to bring us back down, though. We’ve cooled off enough to think clearly, and we both look at each other, thinking the same thing. If it were anyone else at the door, we'd have been caught.

  “Want to go get something to eat?” I’m not exactly starving, but I need a distraction, and more than that, I need a crowd of people to help me hold back from Foster. Before we leave, I stop at Mom's room to let her know where we’re going. When my knock goes unanswered, I slip the door open slowly to see her sitting on her bed, staring at the quilt.

  “We’re going to Guava Guava,” I say.

  She nods before looking up. Tears bead in the corners of her eyes, and I don’t know what to do. I’ve never walked in on her crying before. Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her look this sad, even at Opa’s funeral.

  I sit next to her, my arm around her back. “What’s wrong?” I stroke the back of her head like she used to do for me when I was younger. It’s been years since she’s touched my hair like this. Probably years since I’ve let her near my hair. “Mom, please tell me.” Seeing her like this, so small, so fragile-looking, scares me.

  “I’m losing you girls,” she finally says. The words come out as a whimper, and she closes her eyes as she speaks.

  “Mom, you aren’t losing us. We’re together the entire summer.” I know what she means, but I don’t want to accept it either. I always saw Livvy as the one who was destined to disappoint our parents, but that wasn’t fair of me. Maybe all of us—every teenager ever—is destined to disappoint our parents. We have to grow away from them and become someone they feel like they don’t know. Maybe that’s the essence of growing up.

  She hangs her head and grabs my hand in hers. I give it a squeeze. “You and your sister are growing up. It’s just so fast. All in one summer.”

  “Livvy’s trying to grow up too fast. I’m acting like a normal seventeen-year-old.” I can’t ignore the opportunity to bring my sister into this.

  Mom eyes me, probably deciding whether or not to let my comment go unanswered. She sighs. “Livvy’s stuff has been hard for me. Especially considering how young I was when I got pregnant with you. I don’t regret anything, but I had your dad.” She pauses and exhales again. “She dodged a bullet, but I’m not sure she appreciates the fact.”

  I don’t know what to say, though so I squeeze her hand tighter. “I’m sorry.”

  Her shoulders s
hake in a light laugh. “You don’t have to be sorry, sweetie. You girls growing up isn’t the real problem. It’s just me. It’s such a big change from when you were my little girls.” Her smile wobbles.

  I return her smile, but I know it does nothing to help. “I can stay home.”

  She shakes her head. “No, go. But bring me back some fries. The crispy ones, please.”

  I hug her from the side and walk toward the door. “Just give me a second.” I run down the hallway to where Foster’s still waiting at the table. He eyes me questioningly. “Um, change of plans. My mom needs me tonight."

  Foster nods. "I'll go get something and bring it back for everyone."

  I hug him goodbye and turn back to Mom’s room.

  I stand in the doorway. “Want to watch a movie?” I wait for her to turn me down, say she's too tired or busy, but her face spreads into a grin.

  “I have caramel corn I’ve been hiding from you guys." She holds up a bag from her nightstand. For one more night, we can pretend things aren’t changing.

  Twenty-Eight

  When I get to the pier, Foster’s leaning against one of its pillars. His eyes are closed, his face kissing the sun already bearing down on the crystalline white sand. He snuck out early this morning, according to Mom. I woke up to a note in his handwriting slipped under my bedroom door asking me to meet him here. He’s wearing just his swim trunks and standing next to his surfboard. No shovel, no buckets. I get as close to him as I can without alerting him to my presence; it’s easy to cover the sound of my footsteps when I’m barefoot and my toes dig into the slippery sand. I wait until I’m close enough to smell the saltwater on his skin before I reach out and poke him.