“I was out for a run,” I explained again, taking several steps back.
“Oh. I thought maybe . . .” His words trailed away, but the implication was clear. He thought I had come to see him or Gina. They’d both texted me about this party earlier in the week.
On a whim, I tested a theory. More to remind myself I was right than because I believed he’d changed.
I looked Gray straight in the eyes.
He looked away.
That didn’t make him a monster, but it sure made me feel like one. Friendship, much less a relationship, was impossible when he couldn’t stand the sight of me. So I was the one who had officially broken it off.
“Still can’t do it,” I said.
He knew what it meant, and sighed his regret. Gina reined us in, placing her hands on our shoulders. Always the peacemaker.
“I need to go,” I said.
Before I sprinted away, Gina stopped me with a question. “Is Max coming back for the . . . anniversary?”
I nodded. If some people are knotted in friendship, we were all one big tangle. Gray and me. Gina and Trent. Max, Trent’s tagalong little brother. Our foursome, occasionally fivesome, used to be inseparable. Neighbors, couples, and the second generation of friends in our families.
Our parents had stuck together over the past year.
We hadn’t followed in their footsteps.
The wreck happened June 29. We were twenty-two days away from the one-year anniversary of Trent’s death.
“I need to go,” I said, more urgently than before.
“What about school?” she asked. “Are you coming back in the fall?”
I didn’t want to talk about school or the anniversary. I wanted to run.
“Sorry. I gotta go,” I said, in full retreat mode.
“I’ll check in later,” she said.
Gray just stood there sighing with his fingers laced behind his head. I’d heard him sigh more in the past year than in all the time we were a couple.
As I took off, my eyes drifted in the direction of the party. My old classmates were probably sighing too. Everyone out there knew about Trent, knew I’d gone through the window of his Yaris, knew why Gray and I broke up. They probably assumed I blamed Gina and Gray for more than cheating. (Fair assumption, as she was driving the car that caused my face to have a scar named Idaho. And he was right beside her.)
Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Blame was crazy complicated. Some days, everything—Trent’s death, my face, all the breakups, Max leaving the country—was Gina and Gray’s fault. Some days, God was the fall guy. Some days, blame never entered my mind. I liked those days best. I didn’t want to be an angry jerk who sat around reminiscing about old grievances and pointing fingers, but I couldn’t seem to control the emotion with any accuracy.
All I knew was that the farther I got from the party, the more I wished Gina or Gray would come after me. Neither of them did, so I cranked up my music and ran. I wasn’t a sprinter, and after a mile, my lungs reminded me of that.
I slowed to a stop, put my hands on my knees, and took a deep breath. In front of me, five concrete pylons rose out of the water like a broken-down gate. “The Wall,” as we all called it, was once a military building on the shore. Now, thanks to a hurricane, it was a gull stoop at the one-mile mark. This was where I wrote my list in the sand.
Because it was damaged.
Because what it once was didn’t matter to the birds.
Because I understood the Wall and the Wall understood me.
It was nice to have friendship with a place.
In the company of moonlight and Coldplay, I wrote the things I wanted from life this year.
1. Wear a tank top in public
2. Walk the line at graduation
3. Forgive Gina and Gray
4. Stop following. Start leading.
5. Drive a car again
6. Kiss someone without flinching
7. Visit the Fountain of Youth