42
Before
By May, the Platonic Ideal had begun doing shows under one of the pavilions by the beach—Iceman’s uncle worked for parks and rec and had gotten them the gig, Tuesday and Thursday nights just after sundown. I went whenever I wasn’t working, either luring Shelby along with promises of onion rings and milkshakes, or otherwise flying solo, snagging Soledad’s car for the night and making the drive to the water with all the windows rolled down, humming softly out of tune. Truth was, I liked being by myself, free to sit way in the back on the low wall that separated the sand from the sidewalk behind it and stare without interruption, to listen while my boyfriend sang his songs.
Tonight I perched in my usual spot, chewing thoughtfully on my bottom lip as the band launched into a rocky version of “Come Rain or Come Shine” that I knew Sawyer had arranged. I glanced around at the crowd, recognizing several faces from other beach shows or the parties I’d been to before I stopped going: The Wiggles were there, and I tried my best not to stare at them in their shorts and bikini tops. Sawyer was trying his best not to stare at them, too. He caught my eye and grinned, fingers moving swiftly over the neck of the bass.
He was so good, and it made me so happy to watch him. His whole body relaxed when he played his music, knots pulled from shoelaces, like he was finally free. He was wearing navy blue cutoffs and a beat-up pair of Chuck Taylors, and I had never been gladder to be his girlfriend. I’m gonna love you like nobody’s loved you…
“So were we freaking awesome?” he asked later, sidling up to me after they were finished, the crowd breaking up and drifting away in clusters of threes and fours. I always tried to let him have his space at these things, always waited until he sought me out. I lifted my damp, heavy hair off the back of my neck.
“As usual.”
“Dude, we’re gonna head over to the Meridian for a bit,” Animal called. He was standing with one of the bikini-clad girls, whom I had silently dubbed Giggles Wiggle. “You guys wanna come?”
I held my breath, but Sawyer shook his head. “Nah,” he shouted back over the rhythmic drone of the ocean. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
We got a couple of Sprites at the sandwich shop across the street, then wandered back toward the water, plopped down where the sand had begun to cool. “We don’t go to the beach enough,” I observed, looking out at the dark horizon. The tide was coming in, licking at my toes. “I like the beach.”
“Real Floridians don’t go to the beach,” he replied. “It’s too hot.”
“What about them?” I asked, tilting my head to the right. In the distance, a group of kids a little older than us were grouped on a blanket. It was after ten, and besides them, the sand was nearly empty. “They’re here.”
“They’re probably from Michigan.”
I finished my Sprite and reached my hand out for his, which Sawyer delivered with a sigh. “Don’t chew my straw.”
“I don’t chew straws.”
“Yes you do.” He planted a kiss on the back of my neck.
The skin all over my body prickled pleasantly, but I leaned forward, away from his mouth. “I’m sweaty.”
“Salty,” he corrected. “You taste good. Like pretzels.”
“You really know how to sweet-talk a girl.”
“A regular Casanova,” he affirmed.
“Heathcliff,” I said. “On the moors and everything.”
“Don Juan.”
“Juan Valdez.” I giggled.
“Uh-huh. Ever had sex on the beach?”
“Real Floridians don’t have sex on the beach,” I informed him. “Too hot.”
He poked his tongue into his cheek. “Smart-ass.”
“You could try your luck with one of those girls from Michigan, though.”
“Right.” He grimaced when I handed his cup back to him. “Look at this,” he said, holding up the straw and smirking. “You’re like a woodchuck.” He flopped backward, head in the sand. For a long minute, neither of us talked. “So what am I going to do when you leave, Reena?”
I blinked. I was not expecting that from him. I wasn’t expecting to ever talk about it, much less for him to be the one to bring it up. I am not long for this world, I’d told him that day outside the restaurant, although lately graduation felt like it would be here any minute now. I checked the mailbox every day for an envelope from Northwestern. “Girls from Michigan, clearly.”
“I’m serious.”
Well.
“I don’t know,” I said carefully, choosing my words with all the caution of seventeen years spent listening for clues. “It’s not like I’d ever expect you to be, like … It’s not like I’m asking you for anything.”
Sawyer’s face flickered, unreadable. He wasn’t looking at me. “Ouch.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean it that way,” I said, backpedaling. “I mean, I know you could be, like… faithful, I mean. If you wanted to. I just … wouldn’t think you’d want to, is the thing. Besides,” I ventured finally, when he still refused to answer, “this is all completely theoretical. If I get in. The magical if.”
He shrugged, looked out at the ocean. The waves were coming quicker now: Soon we were going to need to move. “You’ll get in.”