by Emery Lord
“Yeah, I know,” Kayleigh said. She must have felt me looking at her, must have heard my unasked question. “I’m … weirdly fine with it. Kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Kinda does,” I admitted.
Eventually, TJ’s wife came out in her pajamas, baby monitor in hand, and TJ swept her into a spin.
“That first wakeup isn’t gonna feel good,” she warned, smiling.
“We’re done out here,” he promised. “Last dance.”
Upstairs, we climbed out Kayleigh’s window onto the flat stretch of roof outside her room. Her dad had always strictly forbidden this, but I figured he knew deep-down that we’d been coming out here for years. Kayleigh passed us the drinks she mixed downstairs. “Cheers. To Dad and Lisa.”
We touched the cups together before leaning back, watching the moon creep over a neighboring rooftop.
God, I’d hated living here sometimes—Oakhurst and its superstores, so few things distinguishing us from the next suburb. The way I could never really outrun what people knew of me. And yet, all year, I’d wondered at my heels-dug-in reluctance to leave. Tonight, the reason seemed obvious. The world was full of spectacular girls, but these? These ones were mine.
“This was a good night,” Tessa said, arms resting on her knees.
“I’m gonna miss it up here,” I said, wistful. Glancing at Morgan, I said, “Sitting right there, you told us you kissed Isaiah Jacobs.”
“Oh my gosh.” She covered her face with one hand. “He’s still really cute. Maybe it’s not too late for our love to blossom.”
I looked to Kayleigh, who’d become conspicuously quiet. It was dark, but that almost made it easier to catch the glint of water in her eyes. “Hey! What is it?”
“Sorry!” Kayleigh said, drying her cheeks with one palm. “God. Sorry. I’m going to miss this so much next year. Like, I know it’ll be fine and we’ll make it work! But it won’t be the same.”
Tessa reached across to put a hand on Kayleigh’s knee. “I’m right there with you.”
In this alternate universe moment, where Kayleigh was the one faltering, I naturally shifted to balance her. “And there’s so much more to come! Our trip on Monday! Prom, senior tag, graduation parties. Like, half the List. All summer. Maybe you’ll hate us by the end.”
“Maybe,” Kayleigh said. “After ten years of friendship, this is probably it for us. Ugh, I’m a disaster. Who made this drink so strong?”
Tessa gave her a look. “You did.”
“Why, I never,” Kayleigh said. Then, cheerfully, to me, “So! Are we going to address that little moment with Max on the dance floor or …?”
I shrugged, coy. Max and I had been in the emotional equivalent of an awkward slow dance for months. Stepping on each other’s toes and boundaries. Frustrated with ourselves, with each other. Feeling watched. But now that we’d found a rhythm, I wasn’t going to perform a damn thing. Not until we got our confidence up.
“You still love him?” Morgan asked eagerly.
“Oh, c’mon.” I flicked an annoyed glance at her. My friends looked away, chastened and accepting this as my final word on the subject. So I got an even bigger reaction when I scoffed, “Of course I do.”
Morgan gave a kind of triumphant laugh, and Tessa bit both her lips, like she could hide the smile.
“You two better not be disgusting on my spring break,” Kayleigh said, pointing a finger.
“Disgusting? We just started talking in person again.”
Morgan craned toward me, like she’d caught that strange detail. “What does that mean? Have you been texting a lot or something?”
I hadn’t decided yet if I’d tell my friends that I wrote my way back to Max. “Let’s save some of this for the drive on Monday.”
“Okay,” Kayleigh said, standing up carefully. “Off the roof before the buzz sets in. Chop-chop.”
“Oh, wait,” Tessa said. “Stay there.”
She climbed into Kayleigh’s room and returned with her camera. “Yearbook goes to print soon and I need a picture of us. Okay. Timer’s set!”
“You don’t want to take a cuter one on spring break?” Morgan asked. Tessa slid in beside me and put an arm around my waist.
“This is more true-to-life,” Tessa insisted through her teeth as she smiled.
“You’ll barely be able to see us!” Morgan said.
“Yeah,” Kayleigh said, “but we’ll know.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said, and I smiled against the flash.
I may not have known much about my future—my college choice or degree, my someday job and city, boys I’d love and lose. But I knew who’d be beside me. Chalk it up to too many movies, too many TV finales that flashed forward, but I saw these girls as clearly as I saw the moon overhead. Beyond college, beyond even our twenties. I’d drive across state lines to get to them, to soothe small disappointments and big heartbreaks. I’d come crawling home to them when I got lost, to guide off their stars. I’d be their witness to diplomas received, vows spoken to partners, oaths taken for office. And when the rest of the decisions felt like a tightrope, precarious with no back-stepping allowed—well, I had a net.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
We left Oakhurst in the dark-sky hours, that thin edge between night and morning. Beating Monday morning rush hour seemed like a good idea when I’d agreed to the departure time.
I did not remember what five a.m. felt like when I agreed to it.
My parents wanted to drop me off at Kayleigh’s, which I agreed to warily. Part of me believed that my mom—once confronted with the visual of eight teenagers piling into cars for a cross-country trip—would decide to take me right home. During the short drive to Kayleigh’s house, my mother rattled off every last-minute thought and worry. Car safety: blown tires, gridlock, the importance of keeping music and distraction at a minimum for the driver. She hadn’t even reached house or beach safety admonitions by the time we pulled into the driveway.
The three caravan cars sat waiting, all doors and trunks open and already near full with suitcases, beach towels, coolers.
“And we need text updates,” my mom was saying, finishing a thought I’d tuned out. “That’s part of this agreement.”
“Katie,” my dad said softly, one hand reaching to her leg.
“You can text me anytime,” I said, in my most even-toned, mature voice. “But sometimes I’ll be in the ocean or pool, so don’t get worried if I don’t respond immediately. I promise I will.”
That sounded very reasonable to me, but my mom sighed for longer than seemed physically possible, given the limited amount of air in human lungs. Still, she got out of the car and put on her friendly parent face.
“You’re a saint to do this,” I heard her tell Lisa.
“Everyone feeling awake enough?” Mr. Hutchins asked us. “Don’t be a hero. Tap out when you need to. Plenty of drivers to go around.”
Ryan patted his cheeks, psyching up. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”
“Then you can drive first,” Tessa said, dangling her keys out to him. Her eyes were puffy, her mouth a grumpy little line.
“No problem. It’s on. I’ve got this.”
Max leaned down to me and whispered, “He had espresso.”
I smiled a little, clutching my own coffee like it was a life force. “Can I ride with you first?”
“Of course. My backseat’s got luggage in it, though. So it’ll just be us.”
“That’s why I asked,” I said, and he smiled. This early, everyone else’s energy sounded too loud, like particles humming through the air. For a little while, my own thoughts were the only ones I could handle.
We formed a circle as Ryan spoke to us like a sports movie coach at halftime. “People are going to have to pee after morning coffee—I get that. But we’re gonna try to get to past Louisville. No weak links, all right? Minimum drive time means maximum beach time.”
“Caravan like we agreed,” Mr. Hutchins said. “Passenger stays awake to n
avigate and texts the group if anyone falls behind. No crazy speeding or—”
“I will turn this car around,” Kayleigh said, voice low in an impersonation of her dad. Lisa pretended she was itching her nose to hide a laugh.
Mr. H pointed at Kayleigh, smiling. “You joke, little girl, but I mean it.”
“I know, I know.” Kayleigh gestured to all of us. “Follow the rules so we can just get there with no drama, okay?”
“No weak links!” Ryan repeated, clapping. “Now let’s get out there and road-trip.”
Malcolm looked at Max. “He’s going to calm down, right?”
“Eventually, yeah.”
I cozied into the passenger’s seat and breathed deep: the steamy hazelnut coffee, the wet, dewy morning, the just-warm April air. Somehow, I knew the sense-memory would stick around. Next year, grabbing cafeteria coffee before an early class, I’d be transported to this moment, a new day and the empty highway. Not dancing-around happy, not lip-gnawing anxious. Content, the good things wrapped around me like a favorite blanket.
Max followed Tessa’s SUV, maneuvering between other cars. The scenery changed from billboards and low-rise office buildings to heartland grass, tilled fields waiting for seeds. Tiny towns along the road like knots on a rope. I watched it all through the windshield, inside our shared quiet. Max held out his hand, palm up, and I laced my fingers through.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be looking at the ocean by tonight,” I said. Even if we didn’t hit traffic or dawdle at rest stops, the drive would take a good twelve hours. “I’m gonna go right down to the water, even if it’s dark when we get there.”
“Yeah, me too.” Max smiled over at me.
With each stop for bathrooms or gas, we changed drivers and seating arrangements. Morgan drove Tessa’s car through Tennessee, the four of us talking and laughing through field after field. I read a retrospective on a classic sitcom while Ryan and Malcolm talked over sports radio.
We stopped one last time in Montgomery, Alabama, for a fast-food dinner. As we trooped back out to the cars, Max nudged me. “Finish the drive together?”
He offered me the keys, dangling from one finger. I hadn’t driven on the highway in a while now, but I certainly could. My hand closed around the keys.
The medication, a few weeks in now, took me down a few notches. I could keep my body calm for long enough to practice what I was learning in therapy. I speed-walked around the block outside my house, I poured a glass of water, I scrawled my stream-of-consciousness worries in longhand. The change wasn’t quick or perfect, but it was a littlest bit better, and I would take it.
I adjusted the seat and mirrors, and we were on our way. I’d downloaded a few podcasts—one about déjà vu and another about Agent 355, a female Revolution-era spy whose identity still remained unknown. Throughout both, Max kept reaching for the pause button, wanting to ask me what I thought, if I agreed with the interviewee. And once just because he wanted to talk excitedly about Hedy Lamarr.
As I steered, I imagined the car from above, gliding down the map. That mental image came straight from my grandmother’s old guest room, where a vintage map of the US used to hang. The states were pastel—lavender and pistachio and butter yellow—all framed by the pale blue Atlantic and Pacific, by the Gulf of Mexico. I’d spent a lot of time studying the state shapes. Wyoming and Colorado, as perfectly rectangular as birthday card envelopes. Minnesota looked like an anvil, squishing Iowa a bit. My own Indiana, curved like a stocking.
The sun was sinking in the rearview mirror as we pulled off the highway. We made a few turns onto a long lane of beach homes. We’d fallen behind our friends by a minute or two, thanks to a semitruck that nosed its way in front of me.
“Should be the next right,” Max said. I slowed the car to a crawl, and peered until I spotted the house. Dark teal with white trim, a bright yellow door. Adirondack chairs on the porch, begging for a cup of coffee and a book. The other cars were already in the driveway, Tessa’s back door left open in the hurry to get down to the water.
We probably had a half hour of light but still, we bailed out of the car fast. Max reached one hand back, almost absentmindedly. I took it, and let him tug me around the side of the house, down the dunes toward the beach. Our friends were just ahead, stripes of movement on the horizon.
As far as sunset skies went, they weren’t the most impressive I’d ever seen. No swabs of lavender, no spun-sugar pink. Just soft blue becoming palest orange, clouds fluffed like pillows across the horizon.
Kayleigh was running toward the ocean with arms wide, her shriek of joy carrying over the distance and call of the waves. Ryan, right behind her, hit the water so hard that it kicked up all around him. Morgan and Josiah lingered near the tide line, while Malcolm and Tessa waded slowly.
I hung back, a little stunned, and Max stopped beside me.
I hadn’t seen the beach in years, but it’s not the kind of thing that leaves you. The shush of the waves, the particular smell of sand—salt and something marine, organic. Dried-up seaweed or rotting driftwood, nothing you’d expect to smell good. But I inhaled, again and again.
“I was worried that I’d built it up in my mind,” I admitted.
“As good as expected?” Max asked.
“Better.”
“You wanna sit?” Max asked, and I nodded. I slipped off my shoes and dug my toes into the sand.
We stared at the Gulf, this beast with a belly full of wild kingdoms, secrets, tragedies. The vastness made me feel small in a good way. I couldn’t believe that this world, which felt so far away from my everyday life, was only ever a day on the road away.
“Last year, I couldn’t have been even this close to the water,” I told Max. “Now, I like it so much that I’m feeling sad about those LA college rejections!”
“Same,” Max said, raising one fist. “Damn you, Caltech.”
We both laughed a little, and I curled my arms around my knees, smiling over at my pal, my love, my whatever-he-was. It was nice to see him so relaxed, leaned back like he was letting something—the breeze or a feeling—wash over him.
“Hey,” he said, eyes finding mine.
“Hey.”
Just for a camera flash of a moment, I felt a small kind of mourning. Missing Max even though he was right next to me. He must have noticed my mood change because he slung one arm around my shoulders, in the easy way of an old friend. I wanted to memorize him: the exact quirk of his eyebrows, the May-morning green of his eyes.
“They’re going to be annoying this week,” I said, nodding at our friends. “About us.”
“Yep,” he said, cheerfully enough. “I give it less than an hour. What do you want to tell them?”
Maybe I’d tell them that the first time I fell for Max Watson, it was because of his obvious goodness. His smarts and self-assuredness, the way he showed up for the people he loved. The second time, it was with full knowledge of his faults: the sarcasm born of frustration, his propensity for shutting down. “Um, probably that we’ve been making out and hanging out and pointedly not talking about the future?”
“We’re a mess,” he said, then laughed. By now, our mess was simply a fact we’d both accepted. But beneath the scuff marks and scars, I could still see us in bright, glossy color—as blue green as seawater.
“We are. But you know what?” I peered at him, pointing between our faces. “This has good bones.”
I watched his expression, waiting for him to understand what I meant. I believed in this enough to do the detail work, to return after I’d thrown my hands up in frustration.
“Yeah, it does,” Max said, and I tucked myself into him, smushing my cheek against his shoulder. The breeze pushed at us, like the Gulf’s heaving sigh. Cooler than I’d expected. But I still craved the water on my bare feet, the push and pull of the low tide. Proof that I’d made it here. Maybe I’d wade all the way in, drenching my clothes heavy.
“You two getting in or what?” Kayleigh yelled from the w
ater.
Max looked my way, a question. He was learning to wait—learning that I wouldn’t always keep perfect pace with him and he couldn’t assume. But I’d learned a few things, too.
I stood up, brushed the grit from my legs, and said, “Yes.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Bethany Robison, Taylor Martindale Kean, and Mary Kate Castellani for trekking half-built worlds with me. Your insights, belief, and good humor are lifelines every time.
Team Bloomsbury, you are unparalleled: Erica Barmash, Anna Bernard, Phoebe Dyer, Beth Eller, Courtney Griffin, Melissa Kavonic, Jeanette Levy, Cindy Loh, Donna Mark, Brittany Mitchell, Oona Patrick, Claire Stetzer, and Nick Sweeney. (Thank you also to Cristina Gilbert, Linette Kim, Lizzy Mason, and Emily Ritter, whose work helped find a readership for Paige & Co.) Sending my gratitude across the pond to the team at Bloomsbury UK as well!
Additionally, thank you to: Ali Mac for the gorgeous illustration work, Taryn Fagerness for her work in foreign rights, and the Full Circle team for being the best in the biz. Thank you to my early readers for your keen and thoughtful feedback.
Special thanks to Shymaa Salih and to the family and many friends who help me navigate making art and motherhood—a river that always flows both ways. Thank you to my partner and daughter for being my sunny day.
And, as always, thank you to the book community. Thank you for caring and being willing to connect with characters and with me, for posting pictures and taking the time to write reviews. Thank you to the librarians and library workers, the educators, the publishing pros, the writers, and the booksellers who champion lifelong readership.
EMERY LORD is the author of Open Road Summer; The Start of Me and You; When We Collided; The Names They Gave Us and The Map from Here to There. She lives in Ohio with her family and several shelves of books that she considers friends.
emerylord.com
@emerylord
It’s never too late to rewrite
