“Peyton?” It was a male voice I didn’t recognize.
“This is Peyton,” I said, preparing myself for a telemarketer. I had put my number on that no-call list, but I heard it took a few weeks for it to kick in. I didn’t even have the ability to switch my cable provider or anything like that, but did these telemarketers care? No. They kept calling and pushing, and of course I was way too nice to just hang up because I figured their job must really suck, sitting in a hot call center all day and probably earning about eight dollars an—
“Hey, it’s Jace.”
“Who?” I asked. Not because I didn’t know who it was, but because I was sure I’d misheard. The bottom of the tankini fell to the floor, leaving me standing there in just my underwear and the top of the bathing suit.
“Jace Renault? We met last night at the party.”
“Oh,” I said. “Right.” There was an awkward pause, and I tried to come up with something brilliant to say. I couldn’t, so he forged on.
“I hope you don’t mind that I called you—I called Courtney’s house and your uncle gave me your cell number.”
“No, I don’t mind.” Mind? Now that the shock had worn off, my heart was beating in my chest, and all I could think about was that Jace was on the phone. He called Courtney’s dad to get my number! I sat down on the little bench in the dressing room, trying not to think about whatever kind of germs were lurking on there.
“So what’s up?” he asked. “Are you busy?”
“Busy? No, I’m not busy.” There was a pause. God, he must have thought I was some kind of idiot, incapable of making conversation. “Are you?”
“Am I busy?”
“No. Yes. I mean, what are you doing? What are you up to?” God, this was going from bad to worse.
“Not much,” he said, and I heard what sounded like the squeak of springs, like maybe he was lying down on his bed or something. I tried not to think about his body, stretched out on his bed, his shirt slipping up just a little bit, showing his rock-hard stomach. I wasn’t sure his stomach was rock hard, but I had an idea it would be. I blushed.
“So why are you calling?”
He laughed. “Getting right to the point, are you?”
“No, I just meant . . . I mean, if you went to the trouble of getting my number from my uncle, you must be calling for a reason.”
“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to grab lunch in a little while.”
My heart caught in my chest. Before I could answer, there was a knock on the dressing room door. Courtney. “Hey,” she said. “Are you in there? How does it look?”
“Is that Courtney?” Jace asked.
“Um, yeah.” I was about to add that we were at the mall trying on bathing suits, but I was afraid if he knew I was out, he would take his invitation back. I knew that wanting to go to lunch with him so bad was pathetic. But what was even more pathetic was letting him think that I didn’t have a life, so I said, “We’re out shopping for bathing suits.”
“Really?” he said, sounding interested. “That’s kind of hot.”
“We’re not in the same dressing room,” I said, rolling my eyes. Why did guys always get so turned on by the thought of two girls being naked together? Couldn’t they be satisfied with just one?
“I wasn’t thinking about Courtney.”
“Oh.” I was breathless. I couldn’t help it. He had a hot voice.
“Peyton?” Another knock on the door. “Are you on the phone?”
“Yeah,” I called. “Just a second.”
“I should probably let you go,” Jace said. “It seems like you’re busy.”
“Yeah,” I said, holding my breath and hoping that he’d bring up having lunch again.
“So what time are you going to be done shopping? Do you want to meet for a late lunch or something? Like maybe around three?”
“That sounds great.”
“Okay.” I could hear him smiling through the phone, and that made me smile. “I’ll pick you up at Courtney’s?”
“Sounds good,” I said, trying to act like it was no big deal, that I always got asked out by super-hot guys a day after meeting them.
We hung up, and I opened the door to the dressing room, forgetting that I was wearing only the top of a bathing suit and my underwear.
“Oh,” Courtney said, frowning. “You’re not dressed.”
I grabbed her arm and pulled her into the dressing room. “Jace Renault just called me.”
She smiled. “I knew it!”
“Shhh!” My grip on her arm tightened. “Do you swear you didn’t tell him to?”
She shook her head. “I would never!”
I knew it was true. Courtney would never do something like that, ever.
“Okay.” I bit my lip. “We’re going to have a late lunch.”
“Well,” Courtney said, tossing my clothes at me. “That settles it. Forget bathing suits. We need to get you something for your date.”
So we did. I bought a pair of skinny jeans and this shimmery off-the-shoulder top with a matching spaghetti-strap tank top that was sexy and casual and perfect.
I bought new lip gloss and a sparkly mascara and I spent two hours getting ready. And by the time Jace came to pick me up, I felt beautiful.
• • •
He took me to this really cool Hawaiian fusion restaurant, and I had fish tacos that were so good I could hardly stand it. When we were done eating, we walked around Siesta Key Village, poking into souvenir shops until we got bored, and then headed down toward the beach. We talked about everything and anything, and it was pretty much perfect.
As the sun went down, we sat on the beach, letting the warm water lap at our feet. Honestly, it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me.
As the sun dipped down, Jace turned toward me.
“Make a wish,” he said.
“Why?”
“You always make a wish when the sun goes down,” he said, inching toward me on the sand.
He smelled like the ocean, and when he pulled me close, electricity zinged through my body, setting my nerve endings on fire.
“Did you just make that up?” I asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s, like, a thing.”
“Okay.” I shut my eyes tight as the sun disappeared, looking like it was dipping right into the water. When I opened them, I turned and looked at him. His eyes were shut tight, his hair ruffling in the breeze. After a moment, he opened them.
“What did you wish for?” I asked.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.” The sides of his mouth pulled up into a grin.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
He looked at me seriously, pretending like he was thinking about it. Then he shook his head. “Nope.”
“Fine.” I shrugged. “Then I’m not telling you mine.”
“I don’t want to know yours.” His face was moving closer to mine, and now his lips were right there, teasing me.
“Yes, you do.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it was a really good wish.”
“Really?” He was even closer to me now, so close that I could feel the warmth of his skin against my cheek, the whisper of his breath against my forehead. He reached down and took my chin, tilted it up toward him gently.
“Yes,” I said, almost unable to speak. “Really.”
“So you’re not going to tell me?”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
He smiled. “Deal.” And then, before I knew what was happening, his mouth was on mine. The kiss was delicious, soft and perfect and amazing, the kind of kiss you read about in books but don’t think could ever happen to you, especially not from an amazingly hot guy you’ve only known for a day.
We kissed for what felt like forever, falling back onto the sand as the last slip of light dipped below the horizon.
When we finally stopped, my lips wanted his to come back, wanted to feel them forever. I know it
sounds ridiculous, but it was true. He held my hand all the way back to the car.
I was going to be in Florida for the next few days, but he was leaving the next morning to spend Christmas skiing in Colorado with his family.
He told me he’d text me, but I didn’t believe him.
But as I was climbing into bed that night, my phone was already ringing.
“Hello?” I said as I slid under the sheets in the spare bedroom of Courtney’s house.
“It’s me,” he said, and I smiled.
We talked all night, until he had to get off the phone and head to the airport. When I got home to Connecticut, we picked up right where we left off. Talking all the time. Emailing. Texting. We even talked about visiting each other over spring break.
I felt like maybe I was falling in love with him. Brooklyn thought I was crazy—she didn’t understand how I could be so caught up in a guy I’d only spent a few hours with, a guy who was thousands of miles away, a guy who I had no idea when I would see again.
I understood her point, but I couldn’t stop it. It was a force bigger than me. And whenever a voice in the back of my head would whisper that it wasn’t real, I would ignore it. I wanted so badly to believe that it was.
In January, when my parents’ fighting started getting worse, I’d bundle up in sweatpants and cozy socks, then take my cell out onto the deck and talk to Jace, the cold night air nipping at my lips.
We talked about everything. And yet, for some reason, I never told him that my parents were getting divorced. I don’t know why. It wasn’t that I thought he would judge me—we’d told each other plenty of personal things. Looking back now, I would have to say that it was because I was in some kind of denial. I didn’t want to admit to myself that my parents were getting divorced, so why would I tell Jace that they were?
We went on like this for two months.
Until one day.
He just stopped.
Stopped returning my calls.
Stopped emailing me.
Stopped texting me.
It was like he just disappeared.
Finally, I broke down and told Courtney, asked her if she had any idea what might have happened. She called and asked him. It made me feel pathetic, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was desperate.
All she could offer was that he said it was complicated, and that he wouldn’t tell her any more than that.
So I did my best to forget him. And failed miserably.
• • •
The waitress brings the check over, snapping me out of my reverie.
“Here you go, hon,” she says as she sets it down and picks up my empty plate. “Can I get you anything else tonight?”
“No.” I shake my head. I’m not ready to go back to the hotel, but what choice do I really have? I can’t just stay here all night drinking sodas. So I pay my bill and head out of the comfort of the cozy restaurant and back onto the street.
I’m sure it’s just my mood, but the streets of Savannah somehow seem dark and dirty now, the people not as happy. The few that are out this late move past me, their hands in their pockets, not making eye contact. It’s a little cooler now than it was before, and the wind kicks up a little, forcing me to keep my head down as I walk.
As I approach the hotel, I know I should go in the side entrance—the door that’s the closest to my room, the door that will take me right back to where I need to go. It doesn’t make sense to go around to the front—it’s a longer walk.
But I want to see if Jace’s car is still in the parking lot across the street—if he’s still at the hotel or if he took off, leaving me here alone. Not that I would blame him.
But still. He said he wasn’t going to.
And I can’t help it. I want him to be here. I need to find out if he is.
So I circle back around to the front of the hotel, keeping my eyes down on the cobblestone pavement until the very last moment. And then, right when I’m almost at the door, I look up, over to the parking lot.
The lot is full, and I scan the cars for his. But it’s not there. I know it, even though I keep looking. There’s an empty spot—the same spot where he parked earlier. It’s the only empty spot in the lot, which means that it must have just recently been vacated.
He left. Even though he said he wasn’t going to, Jace left.
Saturday, June 26, 10:27 p.m.
Savannah, Georgia
I left. Yup. I took Hector right back to my room, packed up the little stuff I had, headed out to my car, jumped in, and left. I didn’t even care that I didn’t check out. Let them charge me or whatever they fuck they want to do.
In fact, I hope they do charge me. I hope they give me some kind of bullshit no-checkout fee, or an expensive room-cleaning fee since I ended up leaving the room a big mess from Hector’s bath. I don’t care. I’ll sue them. I’ll get a lawyer and I’ll sue them for whatever dumb charges they want to try to stick me with. There has to be some law against that, some kind of FCC regulations or some shit.
I reach over and turn the radio on angrily. I have no idea where I’m going. I just know that I have to get away from here, that I have to get away from Peyton.
Hector’s sitting next to me on the front seat, looking at me quietly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
He whines a little and then inches over until his nose is on my lap. I swear this dog can sense people’s emotions. It’s crazy.
I reach down and give him a rub on his muzzle. “I’m sorry, boy,” I say. “I shouldn’t be taking my bad mood out on you. You didn’t do anything.”
In fact, when I think about it, Hector’s the only one who’s actually been supportive of me. He’s just been happy to be by my side, not asking for anything except some attention and some food once in a while. He’s very low maintenance, and he doesn’t put any expectations on me. He doesn’t keep secrets from me. He doesn’t expect me to go to some stupid graduation and give some big speech. He doesn’t expect me to just accept it when he doesn’t tell me his parents are getting divorced. He just loves me no matter what. Even though I’ve been treating him like I don’t care.
“I’m sorry, boy,” I say again, and scratch his ears some more. He sighs in happiness, snuggles up closer to me, and then closes his eyes and immediately falls asleep. I shake my head, wishing my life were as easy as his.
I don’t bother turning the GPS on. I just follow the signs and head south, figuring that at some point I’ll end up back in Florida. I’m not in any rush to get back there, anyway. My mom will be ripshit and I’ll have to figure out what I’m going to do about graduation.
But I keep driving. Even though going home is going to suck, and even though I don’t know exactly where I’m going, I need the miles to keep adding up, to keep putting distance between Peyton and me.
Friday, June 25, 8:18 p.m.
Siesta Key, Florida
I wanted to play it cool. I wanted to sit here at this stupid wedding reception, next to Peyton, and just pretend that she didn’t mean anything to me.
But it’s that fucking dress she’s wearing. It’s low-cut and tight and just . . . Jesus. Why would she wear a dress like that? Is she doing it just to torture me? I like the idea that maybe she had me in mind when she picked it out. Of course, she might be wearing it because she wants to get attention from other guys.
I look around the wedding suspiciously, trying to see if anyone is looking at her. I don’t want to have to punch someone out, but I’ll do it if I have to.
“So what’s up?” I ask her. “How have you been?”
I see the indecision flick through her eyes—she’s trying to decide whether or not to tell me to fuck off, to turn her back and keep talking to Jordan and Courtney. But instead, she just shrugs. “Fine. How have you been?”
“I’m good.” I take another sip of her water, still wishing I had some kind of alcohol. I never did get a chance to get the bartender’s attention.
“Getting ready for graduation?�
��
I nod. “Yup.”
“That’s nice.” Her eyes slide past me, scanning the room, almost like she’s looking for someone to get up and go talk to. I’m desperate to keep her near me, and so I say, “I’m giving a speech.”
“You got valedictorian?”
I nod.
“That’s amazing, Jace, congratulations.” She smiles, and I can tell she’s really happy for me. And even though I don’t care about the stupid speech, even though I don’t care about being valedictorian, I smile too.
Because the way she’s looking at me makes me realize something—it is definitely not over between Peyton Miller and me.
• • •
Talking about my speech seems to somehow break the ice between us, and all through dinner, we’re talking and laughing and kind of flirting.
I can’t take my eyes off her. I think about why I stopped talking to her, about why I stopped replying to her emails and her texts. And suddenly, I’m so, so sorry. It’s like my biggest regret in my whole entire life. I want to tell her that I’m sorry, I want to tell her that I didn’t mean it, I want to tell her that I take it back, that we need to talk, that we need to be together, that now that she’s here I never want her to leave me again. But I can’t do that in front of all of these people.
Shit like that only happens in movies.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask Peyton as the plates get cleared.
“With you?” She looks at me skeptically.
“Yeah.” I push my shoulders back in a false show of bravado. “I’m an excellent dancer.”
“Oh, really?” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I wouldn’t peg you for an excellent dancer.”
I puff my lip out, pretending to be hurt. “Why not? You don’t think I have moves like Jagger?”
“They weren’t talking about Jagger’s dance moves,” she says, grinning.
I stand up and hold my hand out to her. “Come on,” I say. “I’ll show you.”
She hesitates, and for a second I think she’s going to say no. But then she takes my hand, and I pull her out onto the dance floor.
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