She won’t reply until sometime tomorrow. If at all. She’s certainly not bored. She’s too busy in Paris, “sucking the marrow out of life.” Relishing the challenge and excitement of the art
museum internship that I clearly would have applied for if
I’d known about it. Probably. I push my fingers into the cool
sand, grimacing.
I don’t know why it annoys me that Jade seems to have her five-year plan all worked out. I mean, can’t an artist just love
to create art? Why do we suddenly have to make a job out of
it? Part of me wishes things were simple. Like they were three
years ago, when Jade and I were stoked to be going to high
school. Then Jade wouldn’t have gone to Paris, and I wouldn’t
have come here with Mom and Frank. We would have stayed
with my dad, had slumber parties, and talked about boys, and
we wouldn’t care about anything.
Light catches my gaze. There, at the black-on-black line of the ocean’s horizon, is a wide, glowing band. It takes a moment
for me to realize what it is. The beginning of the moon’s rise.
I pull up the Farmers’ Almanac on my phone. Apparently the
moon will be full tonight.
I look back to the shimmering light. It’s magical and eerie at the same time. Hugging my knees, I nestle to watch. The first
golden line of the moon emerges, huge and trembling in the
residual summer heat, out of the dark water. And then, something inexplicable happens.
A flash of light. A brilliant pulse of white emanates from the rising moon and soars across the ocean, touching the shore like
a kiss.
I sit up with a start, eyes wide. It was so fast. Faster than a blink. So fast that I’m almost not sure if I saw it. Maybe it’s
my eyes. Flashes of light are early indications of retinal tearing. Or was it glaucoma? Jade’s dad is an optometrist, and she’s always worrying about some intense eye problem that
could happen to her. But before I can grab my phone to call
her, I notice a shape.
There’s a figure on the beach. Standing over near the shoreline. How did I not see him come out onto the beach? Was I too busy staring at the moon?
I squint against the darkness. The figure is definitely male.
And young. Even from this distance, I can tell that. I watch
him, not moving. I probably should be nervous, alone on a
beach with a stranger, especially a stranger who is possibly a
ninja. Mom gave me a handy travel-size canister of pepper
spray to carry on my key chain for just such an occasion. I
always thought she was a touch paranoid. She’d probably be
furious with me for not running at the first sight of this guy.
But I think I’m safe. Studying him, I deduce that he’s a party guest. The slacks and dress shirt give that away. He’s even wearing a tailored jacket. A little overdressed. Trying too hard. I can’t tell for sure from this far away, but I’d peg this guy at
about my age. Seventeen. Maybe a year or two older. I don’t
remember seeing anyone my age at the party, other than Travis
and Brandon. More compelling evidence that he’s a ninja.
Not noticing me, the stranger steps down to the shoreline.
Tucking his jacket behind him, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and gazes out at the ocean. I feel the impulse to make him aware of my presence, but something stops me.
Maybe it’s his oddly fancy clothes. Or something about the way he’s standing there. Maybe it’s because he looks as lonely
as I feel.
He walks a few steps to the water, kicking a rock. He’s tall and lean, and even his walk is pensive. What’s he thinking about so
intently? Maybe tragic, impossible, first love? I hope so.
He bends to pick up the rock and throws it into the ocean. I should stop staring. When he notices me, it’s going to be pretty
awkward to explain why I didn’t make my presence known. I
should sneak out while his back is turned.
Or maybe I could watch him a little longer…
It’s almost as if I’m waiting for him to pull out a notebook
and start to write exquisitely sad poetry. Is it pathetic how
quickly I assign a persona to a complete stranger and then start