“Will someone please explain what’s going on?” Ellen looks around the lavender fields in confusion. “And where you guys came from?”
Daren says, “It’s a long story.”
“It’s a stupid story,” the girl corrects.
Daren glares at her. “Are you incapable of shutting up for even a second?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snaps back, raising their cuffed wrists. “You’ll have to excuse my bad mood. I have a douche bag attached to me.” She turns to us and holds out her free hand. “I’m Kayla, by the way.”
“Ellen.” Ellen slowly shakes her hand, glancing between the two of them.
Kayla cuts her eyes back to Daren. “See how I used my non-cuffed hand to do that? It’s not rocket science.”
“Yes, well.” Daren smirks. “We’ve already established that you’re an expert on handcuffs.”
Kayla glowers at him. “I hate you.”
“Ditto.” He narrows his eyes at her before turning back to Ellen. “Is Angelo here?”
Ellen hesitates. “Uh, yeah…”
“Excellent. If anyone can get us out of these things, it’ll be him. Come on.” He pulls Kayla by the cuffs to the back door and inside the inn, while she mutters death threats and curse words at him.
For a moment, Ellen and I just stare at the closed back door.
“I don’t like that guy,” I say.
Still looking at the door, Ellen slowly nods. “But I think someone does.” She sounds amused.
I curl my lip. “What, the prisoner girl?”
Ellen gives me an oh please look. “That girl is hardly a prisoner.”
“Whatever.” I shake my head and go back to fixing the shutter.
Ellen watches me.
“So Pixie’s leaving in just a few minutes,” she says, after an awkward amount of time has passed. “She’s driving up to Copper Springs to pick up some stuff from her mom’s before heading back down to Phoenix.”
Where she’ll get on a plane and leave me forever.
“Yeah,” I say. I pull the damaged shutter down and set it against the wall before picking up its replacement. “I know.”
A gust of wind sweeps past, carrying the scent of rain and the promise of another storm. I don’t know why I feel so hollow inside today. I haven’t lost Pixie. We’re still friends.
Positioning the new shutter, I grasp my hammer and begin to nail it into place.
We’re friends.
Ellen eyes me. “Are you going to say good-bye?”
I grab another nail and hammer it in. “Probably not.”
She slowly nods and studies the discarded shutter for a moment. “You know, one of these days I’m going to run out of things that need to be fixed around here and you’re going to be out of a job.”
I stop hammering and look at her. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” she says, something unrecognizable in her eyes. “Just the honest truth.”
With a brief smile, she turns and walks away.
59 Pixie
I’m packing. I’m crying. I’m hoping Levi will knock on my door and say something, anything. I’m packing.
I know he won’t do it, just like I know I won’t do it.
And I don’t even really know why I’m crying, other than I feel like I’m never going to see Levi again. Which is ridiculous. I’ll see him again.
I press a hand to my chest, where a sharp ache throbs with each of my heartbeats. Loving someone and not being with them hurts.
Thunder grumbles in the distance.
I look at the wall that separates my bedroom from Levi’s. Did I make the right decision?
The throbbing in my chest continues and I have to take a deep breath to keep more tears from falling.
I blink. I swallow. I’m fine.
I look around my room. Boxes everywhere. Paint stains on my headboard. Canvases of Charity in the window. More boxes.
Something green peeks out from beneath one of the dusty boxes and I bend to retrieve it. It’s the flag from our capture the flag game last summer. I run the old faded material through my hands and bite my lip.
Time.
It just goes.
And now I have to go with it.
This is the beginning of my future. Another tear rolls down my face and I swipe at it angrily as I shove the flag into my suitcase.
It’s better this way. It really is. It’s safer.
I yank off the painting shirt I have on and start to change into a clean tank top, but when I catch my reflection in my bedroom mirror, I pause.
I run a finger along my scar, tracing its jagged pattern with my eyes as the damaged-yet-healed skin meets my fingertips.
It’s a best friend and a place to call home. It’s a lesson learned and a reminder that life is fragile. It’s my first taste of death and a second chance at life.
It’s everything I never want to forget. And it’s beautiful.
I’m glad I shared it with Levi.
I’ve made my decision and sure, my heart is broken, but it’s the good kind of broken. The kind that leaves you branded, so you never forget, and heals over time, so you can see just how far you’ve come.
It’s the best kind of broken.
I touch my scar again.
Like me.
60 Levi
I stare at my computer screen as the sky outside darkens with the encroaching storm.
Pixie left twenty minutes ago. I know this only because I heard the wheels of her suitcase squeaking past my door. I didn’t say good-bye.
A friend would have said good-bye.
She’s off to New York, where she’ll have a new life and new opportunities, and I’m sitting here in front of a blank computer screen with nothing to say.
This isn’t how I thought things would go. This isn’t how I wanted things to go. Even though I haven’t technically lost anything, I feel incredibly defeated.
But the game isn’t over yet.
I straighten my shoulders and crack my knuckles. One essay on winning. I can do this. I start to type.
As a football player, I know all about the principles of winning and the strategies—
I delete and start over.
The great football coach, Vince Lombardi, once said, “We didn’t lose the game; we just ran out of time.” I’ve always appreciated this attitude because—
Delete.
I bite the inside of my cheek for a moment, staring at the wall as I think through what I want to write.