“That’s gre – Ah … I mean, I am sooo sorry.” I could hear the smile in her voice. It was no secret she thought Eric was a jerk.
“Way to empathize.” But for some reason I could breathe again. How did she do that? Maybe we did share a brain, like her dad always claimed.
“At least now you have no excuse for not coming to Scotland.”
“Except being broke.”
Or was I? I patted the dashboard in front of me and saw dollar signs. I didn’t want to sell my Bug, but getting away from Bainbridge for the summer—and my cheating ex—sounded better than ever now. “I have an idea. No promises though.”
“Hey, I’ve got news too. I decided what I want from my dad for graduation.”
“Okaayy … that’s good, I guess.” Kenna was the queen of random segues, so I waited for her to connect the dots.
“In case you didn’t realize, that was your cue.”
My voice oozed mock contrition as I asked, “Oh, I’m sorry. Whatever could you be getting for graduation?”
“A plane ticket to Scotland for my bestie.”
A baseball-sized lump stuck in my throat, making it impossible to speak.
“Vee? You still there?”
I swallowed, but my voice was still a strangled rasp. “I can’t accept that.”
Instantly serious, she demanded, “How long have you known me?”
“Since kindergarten.”
“Have I ever taken no for an answer?”
“No …” She was right. Memories of her goading me into jumping from a moving swing despite my fear of heights, her forcing me out of the bathroom when I’d been too nervous to perform in our fifth-grade talent show, and the time she’d coaxed me from a two-week pity party using brownies and the latest Harry Potter movie as incentive after my mom started dating Bob the Slob, all proved it was true.
“Happy graduation, Vee. Next week, we’re off on an epic summer adventure.”
We both squealed until the bell cut us off. As if someone would hear her, Kenna hastily whispered, “Call me after school, ‘kay? Bye.”
Despite the warning bell, I sat staring out my windshield. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend. I should’ve been devastated, but I felt … good. I was about to spend the entire summer in Scotland with my best friend, and maybe if I was lucky I’d find a hot kilt-wearing boy like the one from my deliciously detailed imagination.
I hauled myself out of the car and headed back toward the school, glancing over my shoulder to the spot where the golden-haired boy had stood. A flash of white caught my eye, a scrap of cloth fluttering in the breeze. As it began to swirl across the blacktop, I pushed dark strands of hair out of my face and turned to intercept it.
Capturing the piece of fabric, I spread the delicate square flat in my hand. A handkerchief, like the one my grandpa used to use to wipe tears from my cheeks when I was little.
A small picture embroidered in blue and green thread displayed two lions back to back, one with an arrow clamped in its teeth, the other holding a sword, a tilted crown on his head. Beneath the picture were four letters in italicized script:
The mystery boy’s initials?
As I guessed at what the letters could stand for, the script began to blur. I blinked and looked again; not only were the initials gone, but the fabric seemed to grow thinner, until I could see my fingers through it. Frantically, I stretched the cloth between my hands and brought it closer to my face. But before I could get a good look, the material pulled apart and evaporated into thin air.
I stared at my empty hands, disappointment hitting me like a sharp, quick punch to the chest. The memento was gone as if it’d never been—as if he had never been.