“A few friends, huh? If I remember correctly, the last time you had a few friends over, your kitchen caught fire.”
“Technicalities,” he says, grinning again. “So what do you say? There’s not much to do around here anyway.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” Conner says, turning to go. “See you around, Harper.”
As I watch Conner go back to his group of friends, I spot someone new coming out of the woods, and the way he moves makes me pause only long enough for me to realize it’s true.
It’s Kale.
Even when time has changed us both, I know it’s him. Even twenty years from now, I could still pick him out of the crowd. There are some things that stick with you forever, even if that something is a person. He definitely looks different—the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shoulders curve, even the way he stands. Older.
Despite the differences, it’s so familiar—how it feels like he’s here but he isn’t. It’s the same way I felt all those years ago. Seeing him is something special, because you don’t know the next time you’ll get to. Even though Kale’s habit of disappearing for days at a time probably ended years ago, the presence of it is still here. It makes me wonder.
Kale stands there looking at Miles as he talks with his friends, the expression on his face unreadable. He’s wearing an unzipped sweatshirt, exposing a black T-shirt underneath, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his jeans. His dark hair lays across his forehead the same way it used to—something that hasn’t changed.
His eyes shift to me.
And for a split second—before Miles yells his name, dragging his attention away—the smallest of smiles touches his lips. It disappears as quick as it came—leaving only a memory in its wake.
Then when Kale talks, I feel like something is wrong, and it hits me. He’s not smiling. The Kale I used to know smiled almost constantly—it came as naturally to him as breathing. Everyone smiles when they talk, even in the slightest way, at the beginning or end. But Kale stands there and listens, saying a few words in response without changing his expression, even when his friends laugh.
I start toward them, trying not to look at Kale and trying to ignore the fact I’m trying not to. Get ahold of yourself, Harper.
I catch his eye as I come closer, wondering what I’m going to say to someone I haven’t seen in six years.
“Kale,” Grace says, “can you please tell Miles that he owes me ten bucks? We had a deal.”
“A deal we never shook on,” Miles argues. “Doesn’t count.”
“You’re full of shit,” Grace says, but she’s smiling.
Miles looks over at me when I get close, then glances down at my feet. “Your shoes are untied.”
I don’t look, knowing he’s right. But when I open my mouth, Kale says for me, “They’re always untied.”
I finally look at him, silently cursing the sun for making the day turn to night so I can’t see the color of his eyes. But even without them, I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me smile, even if it’s small and barely noticeable. It’s only the edge of what I cannot contain.
I don’t know what to say to him, so I say, “Hey.”
“Hey,” he says back.
I want to hug him like old friends do, but he doesn’t make a move toward me.
“How’s Libby?” I finally ask, grateful that Miles and Grace are talking to each other again and not paying us any attention. “Uncle Jasper said she’s staying at your mom’s for the summer.”
“She’s good,” he says, “but she hates that she won’t see you until school starts.” Still no smile, something that would normally follow that sentence and tone. “She tried to back out of going, but Mom wouldn’t let her.”
“It’ll be good to see her again. I texted her earlier but it’s not the same.”
He nods.
This isn’t the reunion I’d imagined. I hate the space between us and the forced talk. But it’s impossible to pick up where we left off. Too much time has passed. That’s becoming clearer and clearer.
Miles is talking again. I don’t hear what he says, but Kale pulls his eyes from mine and says, “You said that last year, and I don’t have to remind you what happened,” not missing a beat.
“But this year I’m serious,” he says.
Grace rolls her eyes and leans over to say, “Miles wants to get into the Demolition Derby. He tries every year, and every year—”
“—I get really close,” he says, looking at me like I’m the one he needs to convince. “No matter how many crashes this car is in, it’ll just keep going. I really feel like this is my year.”
“And notice,” Kale adds, “that ‘crashes’ is plural.”
“You’re just jealous because your piece of sh—”
“Careful,” Kale warns. His mouth curves up in the slightest way.
Stop staring, Harper.
But Miles smiles, knowing how to push Kale in ways only a close friend would. It makes me miss what we had with each other. It makes me miss him and wonder if we’ll ever have that again. Even when we’re standing mere feet away from each other, there’s still this wall between us that only time and distance could’ve made.
The first firework goes off over the river, and everyone moves toward the water, finding a place to sit or stand to watch the show. The boom echoes, followed by another a second later. Miles and Grace sit down in the grass together, looking up at the blackening sky that’s now full of color.
Kale isn’t next to Miles anymore, and I look around, trying to spot him. Every face is lifted to the sky, the fireworks lighting up the features of the strangers around me. Except one.
He’s walking away toward the woods, his shoulders stiff. I step around the people on the ground and go after him. He’s about to disappear into the woods when I call his name. The fireworks keep going off, but he hears me and turns around.
“You’re leaving?”
“I have to get home.”
I’m stupid for following him, especially since I don’t have anything else to say. “I guess I’ll see you later then.” I want to kick myself.
Kale nods and turns to go, but then something changes his mind and he turns back to me. “I remember what you promised me,” he says, flinching when another firework goes off. “But is it still true?”
That day by the river. He still remembers. But that would mean nothing has changed.
“Of course it is,” I say, not hesitating.
Kale nods, glances up at the sky with hunched shoulders, and then he’s gone.
I stand there and think back on that day. It suddenly doesn’t seem that long ago.
We went swimming in the river and Libby had to leave early, so it was only me and Kale. We were lying in the grass, letting the sun dry us.
We’d been quiet for a long time when he looked over, his eyes stormier than an angry spring rain. “You never ask me where I go,” he said. “Everyone else does, but not you. Why?”
“I don’t care where you go,” I said, “as long as you come back.”