The lacrosse game ends up being just as dull and uncomfortable as I imagined. Sara’s a reasonably nice person, but we have nothing in common, so we sit through the entire game
with nothing but the most basic, necessary words exchanged
between us.
Dinner at Reed’s offers the first ray of sunshine in the form of a delightful cheeseburger and strawberry milk shake. My
enjoyment is tainted, however, by two things. First, the entire
conversation at dinner revolves around a heroic and detailed
play-by-play of the game I just sat through. Needless to say, I
have little to offer. The second problem is Brandon’s uncomfortable closeness. He’s practically glued to my side. I chalk it up to the tiny booths in the diner but fear that after we part
ways with Jake and Sara, the behavior will only get worse.
Further proof of this comes when Brandon drives me back
the “long way.” It’s a dark coastal road, barren of civilization.
I’m on to his scheme.
“I should get back,” I say, checking my cell phone for the time.
“It’s only eleven,” Brandon says. “Besides, I want to show you this really pretty spot. It’s just up the road.”
After winding around a few more curves, we arrive at a
sprawling pullout overlooking the ocean. The dotted lights of
mansions sprinkle across an otherwise black landscape. To the
right is the shimmer of the ocean. Fragments of the moon lie
across the water like broken glass. Brandon puts his car in park.
I turn to him, one eyebrow raised. “Really?”
“What?” He asks, a twinge of nervousness in his voice.
“Taking me to Make-Out Point, huh?”
“No! It’s a great view, that’s all.”
I roll my eyes.
“I swear!” he insists.
“Okay, well, if you took me here to enjoy the view, let’s get
out of the car. You can see better outside anyway.”
Brandon hesitates, but when I angrily fold my arms across
my chest, he throws up his hands in surrender. “Fine. We’ll get
out of the car.”
Slamming the door behind me, I march over to the stone
wall. The sight of the ocean in the distance fills me with a
flash of sharp joy, followed by familiar despair. I bet it’s a
beautiful night on the beach. What would Lawrence and I
do tonight if we were together? A walk out to the point? A
swim? Maybe a kiss? Even if we just sat together talking, it
would be perfection.
My eyes slide closed. I think of Lawrence’s lips on mine.
Why? Why does it have to be this way? Why can’t Lawrence be
the one taking me up to the make-out point?
“Nice night.” Brandon’s voice interrupts my sad thoughts.
He comes up beside me, leaning against the wall.
“Yep.”
He taps his finger on the rough stone. “Are you pissed at me,
Cass?”
It’s a flicker of the insecure, nervous Brandon from the Travis
reality. I soften. “No,” I say. “I’m not. I’ve just had a crappy
couple of days.”
“Is everything all right? You look…really sad.”
He doesn’t know the half of it. I shrug. “I’ll be okay.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Is it about your stepdad and your mom? It was really hard
for me when my parents got divorced. I know how it goes.”
I nod. He might as well think that’s my problem, since I can’t
very well say I’m mourning the loss of a boy I met from the
1920s who’s destined to die in a week.
Brandon puts his arm around my shoulders. “I’m here for
you if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t move his arm. I give him a sidelong look. It seems
rude to tell him to keep his paws off me when he’s being really
nice. Besides, as lonely and down as I’ve been feeling the last
few days, it’s kind of nice to be hugged.
Noticing my lack of resistance, Brandon goes in for a bit
more. He brings his other arm around me and pulls me to him.
The strong, sharp smell of his cologne reminds me of Lawrence,
and a tendril of guilt tugs at me. I shouldn’t even be here with
Brandon, let alone allow him to hold me.