“And if you repeat that, Hailey, I will throw your favorite shoes into the river,” Max said.
“Violent threats really aren’t necessary,” she said. “I’m already trusting you with my life right now. This car does not feel like the safest means of transportation, no offense to Caleb.”
The demarcations in the pavement sounded like a steady beat as we drove along the highway in silence for the next half hour, passing exits and town signs and strip malls.
Caleb called while we were still on the way. “Hey,” he said, “bus just arrived. How’s Max doing with my baby?”
“His hands are currently at ten and two, no worries.”
He laughed, dropping his voice. “I wasn’t talking about my car, Jessa.”
I warmed, picturing him tipping his head, speaking lower. All unease currently gone. I tucked myself into the corner of my seat, lowered my voice. “We’ll be there soon. Really soon.”
“Tell Max to drive faster.”
“Max,” I said. “Drive faster.”
“I need to see you before the game,” Caleb said.
“We’ll be there.”
I had felt so essential to his existence then. So important, as his teammates parted to let me through before the game. So needed as we snuck into the locker room to fool around in the ten minutes before their pregame warm-ups.
Until his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he groaned. He frowned at the display and said, “I’m so sorry, I have to take this.”
Then he walked away, leaving me in the corner of the guys’ locker room, to plan my own escape.
His voice echoed in the empty space. “Yeah. I’m here. Are you?” I assumed it was Eve, who was set to arrive later with Mia. He hooked around a corner, and I heard a door swinging open and shut.
And then I thought: Oh, crap. And then: What the hell?
I saw too many shadows passing the front door, and didn’t want to be caught exiting on my own. I looked for other escape routes, then heard a stampede of cleats as a group of guys entered the locker room. I hid in the closest stall, and texted Hailey: SOS. Stuck in boys locker room. Hiding in stall. Ideas??
Two minutes later, I heard the door fling open, and Hailey’s voice booming through the room.
“Turn around, boys!” Hailey declared. “I need to use the bathroom, but the line’s too long next door.”
The shock must’ve gotten to them, because nobody said anything, and nobody stopped her. I opened the stall door when I heard her footsteps approach, and she raised an eyebrow. “Ready?” she asked. She held up her fingers, counting down from three, grabbed onto my arm, and then we bolted.
And because it was the opposing team, they didn’t know us by name. Could only guess as Hailey and I darted by in a blur.
Max was laughing from the bleachers when we returned, apparently in on the plan. “Never a dull moment with you two,” he said.
I saw Eve arriving, and Mia abandoned her mother to scramble up the bleachers toward us instead.
Max got up to make room for Mia to squeeze between us, and I leaned toward Hailey and asked, “Do you like Max?”
She grinned noncommittally, leaning over to check him out as he was engaged in conversation with a guy on the other side. “What’s not to like about Max?” Just then, his eyes shifted to mine—a wide smile that reached his brown eyes.
Tall, with dark hair and a lean, athletic build, and a way about him that felt effortlessly comfortable, that put others at ease. It was true: there wasn’t much to dislike about him. Not the way he looked, or smiled, or acted. He treated his friends well. He treated everyone well. I remembered the way he came back for me in the subway station, the way he gripped my hand and got me through.
“So?” I said, prompting her.
“So he just broke up with Sophie, who happens to be a friend of mine. That kind of makes him off-limits. It’s in the code. Like, if I were to hook up with Caleb one day.”
“Oh my God, don’t you dare,” I said.
She smiled, her eyes squinting. “See?” She leaned around me once more, to look. “Damn shame, though. Seriously.”
Behind the trophies, stuck against the wall, I see a white and brown seashell, spiral shaped, long and narrow. My heart plummets into my stomach. I can’t believe he kept this. I never knew he had it, tucked behind a stack of gold trophies, a row of achievements throughout his life.
—
Valentine’s Day. Caleb wanted to take me to the beach. He said restaurants were overrated, and besides, everyone else would be doing that. Everything, according to Caleb, would be crowded and expensive and lame. And anyway, we could trace our beginning to the beach. That first picture on his wall. The moment he knew.
It counted for more, he said. It had meaning.
It fell on a weekend, and he picked me up at three, and we drove out to the beach, which was vast and abandoned—a cold beige, a deep blue. For as far as we could see, it was empty, and it was ours.
The wind whipped up off the water, and he took my hand, wrapped an arm around me on second thought.
But here’s the thing about the beach in winter: the sand scratches at your ankles in the wind, and it’s somehow more intimidating. It roars, cold saltwater spray stinging my eyes so tears formed at the corners.
“This is the least romantic thing ever. I was so wrong,” he said, laughing. He pulled me closer, and I buried my face in his chest.
“It’s terrible.”
“The worst.” I heard the words through his chest, alongside the howling wind.
I bent down, my fingers digging into the sand. “Here, have a shell. There was once a living creature inside it, but now it’s probably dead.”
“You shouldn’t have. Truly.” He held it to his face. “I will treasure this always. Just as soon as I get the stench of dead marine life out of it.”
He tipped my head up, and I wrinkled my nose. “I think there’s sand in my shoes.”
He smiled, his eyes shifting to the violent ocean behind us. “I thought candlelit dinners were cliché and lame, but I’m beginning to see the error of my ways.”
“All I want is heat,” I said, clinging to the front of his jacket dramatically.
“That can be arranged.”
“Not at your house.”
“Not at my house,” he agreed.
“And not at my house,” I said.
He seemed to think for a moment, two, and then said, “Okay.”
Ten minutes later we pulled up in front of the county library. “Um,” I said.
“Just trust me,” he said. He took my hand in the nearly empty parking lot, and made a big show of pressing the automatic door button, gesturing for me to enter.
The hallway outside the library entrance was quiet and lined with posters made by children. There was a display of flowers, and hearts from the children’s craft hour in alternating bursts of pink and red. Through the double doors of the library itself, a woman briefly looked up and smiled, then went back to her book.
“It’s empty,” I whispered.