Page 22 of Plotting Summer

He grins. “You don’t seem to be putting up much of a fight.”

“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”

His smile is now bright enough to burn a permanent imprint on my retinas. “Is that so?”

I lift one shoulder in a casual half shrug, pretending that my heart isn’t accelerating with every passing comment. “I guess you’ll have to see.”

“I guess I will. But, so we’re clear, I really want that dedication, so don’t think I’m going to go easy on you.” He slows the boat as we near our dock, turns the steering wheel, and cuts the engine.

Like the creature of habit that I am from our boatpooling days, I toss the attached fenders nearest me over the side while Tristan does the same with the ones in back. The boat glides sideways, and Tristan catches hold of the dock, bringing us in slowly before tying it off. When the boat’s secured, Tristan walks toward me. “What do you want your prize to be on the off chance you do win?”

I laugh and shake my head, surprised at how well I'm holding up my end of the conversation despite my nerves and the constant stream of unhelpful thoughts—like the off-handed comment that surfaces about how I’ll settle for his first-born child (as long as I’m the mother). Or perhaps that kiss I never got. “I’m still thinking, but I’ll let you know.”

“Make sure it’s something worth competing for.”

I swallow at the intensity of his gaze. “I will.”

He draws closer, and my whole body starts to tingle with his nearness when he steps past me and onto the bench seat. “Here, let me help you,” he says, offering his hand and officially ending our conversation. I step up next to him, ignoring the way my skin hums at his touch, but before I turn to climb out, he tightens his grip on my hand to pause me. “Actually”—he pulls his phone from his pocket with his other hand, unlocks it, and hands it to me. “We should probably exchange numbers first. That’ll make scheduling easier.” He grins. “If you’re not opposed.”

I’ve envisioned this scenario countless times—the moment when Tristan finally asks me for my number—but in all my imaginings, the reason behind his request wasn’t quite so … platonic. It’s as if my heart and my brain are in a tug-of-war while the rest of my organs aren’t sure which side to take. Not trusting my voice with the pulling and pushing happening inside me, I take hold of his phone, enter my number, and hand it back to him.

He types in something (I assume a text so I can have his number as well), and my phone buzzes in my back pocket as confirmation.

“Ready?” he asks, extending his hand again.

With his assistance, I carefully step over the side of the boat and wait as he hands me my bags one at a time. “Got ‘em?”

I nod. “Thanks again for the ride.”

He smiles. “What are friends for?”

And there it is again. The blatant expectation-setting that crushes my heart into a million little pieces. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

“I guess so.” He lifts a hand and steps back down onto the floor of the boat to get his own groceries.

“Capri!” Jane is running toward me from Tala’s with a huge smile on her face. She’s wearing a yellow sundress that makes her look like some sort of beach goddess with her tanned skin and long brown locks with golden highlights. She grabs one of my bags and wraps her other arm around my neck. “Oh, I missed you.”

“I missed you,” I say, letting her welcome warm me all the way through. In our friendship, she’s always been the sun to my moon. The bright day to my dim night. Not only in looks but in personality—she’s the life of the party, while I enjoy observing the party from the sidelines.

“Hey, Tristan,” she calls, waving in his direction before sliding her arm through mine and leading me to the house.

“So … ?” Her voice is near a whisper. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, I was born at St. Andrew’s Hospital not thirty miles⁠—”

“Hilarious.” She nudges her hip into me. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“I ran into him at the store,” I whisper back.

“And … ?”

My brother steps into the doorway, forestalling my explanation. I didn’t think he’d show. His blue eyes slide from Jane and me to Tristan behind us. He doesn’t wave or smile at him but just stands there. I don’t know what their deal is, being that Walker and Tristan were in the same grade with similar social standings (i.e. the popular kids), but the two never really got along. Though Walker didn’t make a point of getting to know anyone he didn’t want to. Including me.

He wasn’t always that way. We went through a lot when Dad died and we moved to Sunset Harbor away from our friends and everything we knew. But unlike me, Walker didn’t find a good friend like Jane to work through his emotions with. He bottled it all inside and started to push us all away. I miss the old Walker. The one that didn’t think he was too cool for his dorky, book-loving sister. The one that laughed and teased and didn’t care so much what people thought of him. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that Walker.

“Later,” I whisper to Jane now that Walker’s within ear shot.

She releases my arm. “Fine, but I’d better get every detail.”