“Do you remember me?”
I look up at him, totally and completely stumped for words.
“It took me a few days to place where I knew you from. But then, when I did, it all came back to me.” He smiles. “That was a really good kiss.”
My phone lights up.
“Viviana, didn’t you hear me?”
I look up. “What? Sorry. Text from Sammie.” I stand up and throw my phone in my bag. “Turns out she’s not going to make it. The storm has flooded the roads and they’re stuck on Western Avenue or something.”
Evan looks confused, but he doesn’t say it again; he doesn’t ask again. Instead, he gets up, too.
“And I didn’t realize how late it is. I’ve really got to get downstairs, or my mom’s going to kill me.” I look out the window. The storm is rolling away, but the sky is turning dark with the setting sun.
“Okay. Sure. Yeah.” Evan grabs his backpack and throws it over his shoulder.
After all that sharing and avoidance, the silence in the elevator isn’t just awkward; it’s painful.
I get off at my floor and say a quick good-bye.
Thankfully, Evan doesn’t say anything else. The doors close, and it’s over.
For now.
College Admissions Tip #6
Applying to college can be stressful! While going through the process, be sure to find a creative outlet, some kind of distraction, that will help you deal with the worries about your future.
I decide not to say anything to Sammie about what happened on the roof. After giving it some thought, I figure that because I didn’t respond to him, Evan got the message loud and clear that I’m not into him.
Or rather, the lie that I’m not into him.
Every time I think about our conversation, how nice it was to talk to him about my parents, to hear about his dad, to talk to someone who understands how hard it can be, I’m shaken. And then I think about what he said to me, about how pretty he thinks I am, about that stupidly amazing fifteen-second kiss that happened more than four years ago, and I know it’s a lie.
I’m lying to Sammie and I’m lying to myself.
I’m totally into him.
But denying it is my only choice. I mean, it’s the kind thing, right? I refuse to be the one to break Sammie’s heart. And there’s no point in getting in her way.
My mind is distracted by this new, stupid complication, and I have to do everything to breathe my way through the week, not to let any more Episodes happen. I get through finals, somehow. Grades won’t be posted until next week, but I get a real day off today, the kind that my mom has wanted for me since that day I fell off my bike. I do have to hang out with Mila, though. It’s Sunday, but my mom has a meeting with her lawyer about the separation stuff. Since I don’t have to work, Sammie and I decide to take Mila down to the pool. Except for my one panic-driven immersion, I haven’t really been in the water yet, not for, like, a relaxing, fun summer swim.
We arrive at noon, and the pool is swarming with families and their kids.
“It’s crazy busy again,” I say. “Don’t tell me it’s going to be like this the rest of the summer.”
“Not really,” Sammie says. “We’ll try to get mostly weekday shifts, when the kids are all at camp.”
We leave our stuff in the office locker and head to the water. Sammie’s wearing her very small bikini—so small, in fact, that even Mila is pointing and mouthing at me: I can see her butt. I ignore her.
Before we get in, Sammie asks me to take some photos of her for Instagram. She has me do this by the deep end, so that she’s in direct view of Evan, who’s on duty on the lifeguard chair.
“I want to look like this.” Before she hands me her phone, she flashes it in my face to show me a black-and-white photo of Marilyn Monroe sitting on the edge of an empty pool; her feet dangle in the water, and her arms stretch behind her, so that her breasts are perky and high.
“Well, don’t we all?”
“I mean, I’m going to sit like this, and I’m not going to look at the camera. I’m going to look up above your head, so that it looks like I’m flirting with someone, like she is. Just see if you can get the angle right.”
“Okay.” I take the phone from her and switch it to the camera mode. “I’ll try.” Sammie takes her pose, legs stretched, back arched, chin angled up. I crouch down and take a few shots. Mila’s leaning against my back, looking over my shoulder—right at Evan, of course—as I take the pics. He’s wearing mirrored sunglasses, though, so it’s hard to tell if he’s actually even looking at her.
“You look pretty, Sammie,” Mila says.
Sammie does look pretty—I mean she always looks pretty—and I know that whatever photo I take of her will be beautiful. A few kids, maybe middle schoolers, decide to have a cannonball contest right next to our photo shoot. It’s completely on purpose, and I can’t help but laugh. They’re about to jump in, when Sammie yells at them. “Hey, can you move your contest to the other side of the deck?”