“Yeah . . . here I am, back for the summer,” I say, awkward as hell.
He steps into the moonlight. A square jaw; strong, thick brows; the faintest stubble. Those are new. But the dimples, the messy black hair, the olive-toned skin—that’s West. He’s always looked different from his pale, blond-haired siblings. All they have in common are those eyes: deep, sea blue with feathers of green and yellow.
“It’s been a minute, Mermaid Girl.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say and try to keep my cool, but seeing him again—hearing how the years have made his voice masculine and gravelly—creates a static charge in my veins. His eyelashes are long and sooty, like they were when we were kids, when I thought of him as my friend. I wonder if he thinks I grew up to be pretty—then curse myself for being so dumb.
“Why not?” he asks. “You used to love it. All those mermaid necklaces, keychains . . .”
“That was before the ocean tried to kill me.”
“Tried to. But it failed, right? You were stronger than it.”
“I don’t know about that. Roger was stronger, that’s for sure.”
When I shut my eyes, the waves whoosh around me, rain sticks in my ears. For a moment, it’s nostalgic—but then I’m sinking into the depths of blackness until I can’t breathe. I snap the elastic on my wrist and I’m back on the cliff with West, not dead. My life didn’t end that night. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am stronger than it.
“I never saw you after you fell.” West slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Part of me wants to say, “You’re five years late, West,” but I don’t. “What were you doing in the lighthouse?”
“I do some work for the town sometimes. Just some extra cash in my pocket to go up there and make sure the light’s working okay. It always is.”
“Your family is loaded, I never thought you’d have to do odd jobs.” Right, Miles said he was disowned . . . why did I say that?
“Things are different now.”
Of course they are. A million questions rush through my mind, but mostly I wonder why he and Miles aren’t on good terms anymore. Sure, they fought and all, but they’re family. The longest I’ve ever shunned either of my parents is like, three hours. Maybe I don’t get it because I don’t have siblings.
But I can’t blurt all that out, so instead I say, “You never accepted my follow request on Instagram.”
“What?”
“I tried to follow you. Like, years ago. And you never accepted.”
“Oh . . . yeah. Sorry about that. I didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Why wouldn’t I notice?”
“I don’t know.”
“That kind of hurt my feelings, West.”
He laughs. “You haven’t changed. Still not afraid to tell me how you feel, huh? Look, sorry. This probably sounds dumb, but my Instagram’s kind of private. I didn’t accept the request because I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I didn’t think there was a point.”
Old feelings of rejection resurface, and it’s hard to look at West now and not think of him as that same jerk who didn’t even say goodbye to me. But he’s being nice. The years have changed us both, given us height and experience. He must be at least six foot one now. A loose-fitting black shirt hangs off his defined arms, and the V of his hips pushes through it. Heat touches my cheeks, and I tear my eyes from his torso.
“Hey,” West says. “It really didn’t mean anything. Me ignoring you on Instagram, I mean. It doesn’t mean I didn’t . . .”
This is all too heavy to drop on him within five minutes of meeting again. “It’s okay. Sorry, I’m not trying to be dramatic.”
“Don’t worry.”
The ocean stretches beyond the cliff’s edge, the smell of sulfur strong in the air. Normally I’d be terrified, but I’m so far back from the edge. I’m safe. That’s the thing about PTSD: it’s in control. It decides when and where it flares up. Sometimes a shower will trigger me. Other times, apparently, I can stand in the exact spot it happened and be totally fine. It’s a strange sensation, to be at peace with the one thing I fear the most.
“You see my brother yet?” West asks.
“We were at some boat party down the shore earlier. Keely too.”
“Yeah?” West kicks up grass with his boot. “What took you so long to come back to Caldwell?”
“I was scared. But . . . I’m seventeen now. I’m seventeen and I’m scared of water. You know, I bet I don’t even know how to swim anymore.”
“You came back to what, get over it?”
“I guess.”
“You haven’t been in a pool or anything?”
“I tried to go to a pool party last semester at school and it did not go well . . . but nope, I haven’t even had a bath.”
He laughs. “Oh.”
“Which means I shower instead.”
“I know, I know. Maybe you’re just loaded, but you’ve gotten kind of defensive, Olive.”
Olive. West is the only one who’s ever called me that. To everyone else, it’s either Olivia, Liv, or Livvie. But to West, it was always Olive.
“I’m not drunk,” I squeak out.
“Could’ve fooled me.” He pauses. “Hey, I’m just teasing you. Anyway, you probably want to get back to your party. I’ll let you go.”
I do want to leave, but I feel like if I let him out of my sight, he’ll slip away forever, and I’ll be thrown back into that reality where I’ll never know what West Hendricks thinks of me.
“Okay,” I say.
“Bye, Olive.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” I say to his back. God, I hate the pathetic hopefulness in my voice.
He lightly waves. “Maybe.”
And then he’s gone. West gets into an old chromatic sports car that reminds me of a model on Dad’s bookshelf. It revs as it starts, and the lights momentarily blind me before the car rumbles away. The pungent scent of gasoline carries on the wind as his taillights disappear, and strange clouds of emotions rain over me. I feel weird, I guess—a little hollow, a little sad. But I feel alive too.
With a knot in my chest, I go back to the party.
“Oh my God, Liv!” Keely stumbles off the dock, and I catch her so she doesn’t fall face-first into the sand on the shoreline. Her bloodshot eyes find mine. “Holy shit, I was looking for you everywhere! Are you okay?”