15
The summer had come full circle.
Once again, I was all alone. I had no friends, and nobody to hang out with, but this time, it was all my fault. Once again, I was having trouble grasping how I’d gone from having people to talk to, plans, some semblance of a life—to nothing, all in a moment.
I was going to work and avoiding Captain Pizza, though I had once passed Dawn while she was talking on her phone as I headed into Paradise and she sat outside the pizza parlor. We’d made brief eye contact before we both looked away and she went back to her conversation. I only caught the occasional word, but I could hear how happy she sounded—her voice was suffused with it, and she kept calling the person on the other end “Matty”—which seemed to indicate that the movie date had gone well. I hated that I didn’t know more, that I hadn’t heard the recap, moment by moment. And while I was happy for both of them, it made me feel all that much more alone.
I’d started taking long runs by myself, in neighborhoods I’d never run with Frank, going out of my way to avoid bumping into him. I hadn’t heard from him since the morning I ran away from him. And while I didn’t regret what I’d done, there were still moments when I wondered what would have happened if I’d just let him finish, heard him out. But then I would tell myself, firmly, that I’d done the right thing—Frank, as junior class president, had once convinced me that school really shouldstart fifteen minutes earlier. He was that talented a speaker. And I hadn’t wanted to hear him talk his way out of our friendship, talk his way around the fact he’d kissed me back, talk me into agreeing with him that it had just been a huge, terrible mistake.
Because while it had been a mistake—all the proof I needed was in my current total lack of friends—I wasn’t willing to deny that it had happened, or the fact that it had meant something. I found myself thinking, more than I really should have, of Frank’s hands on my bare back, of his fingers tangled in my hair, of his mouth on mine, of the way he’d run his thumb over my cheek, of the fact that it had been, without question, the best kiss I’d ever gotten.
But none of this changed the fact that I missed him in my life. I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to rely on him, how often I’d text him throughout the day, how much I needed his perspective on things, how boring my iPod seemed without his music.
With all the time I had on my suddenly friendless hands, I tried to be productive. I had dropped off both of the disposable cameras to be developed. I’d organized my closet, taken Beckett for a haircut, and finally read the first book in the series Doug was always going on about.
And every so often, I would go to my dresser and pull out the list. I had done it—every single one.
All these things that had shaped my summer. I’d finished her list. I was done.
So where the hell was Sloane?
I’d started this believing that, somehow, when I finished, I would have the answers I needed. I would know what had happened to her. But now that I looked at it, I wondered if this had just been a distraction. I’d been avoiding questions like whymy best friend had just left me without a word. I’d been thinking, hoping, that this would lead to something. But maybe it was like all her other lists, full of things she must have known, deep down, I would be too scared to attempt.
As I looked down at it, at her careful handwriting, at all my flaws that were exposed on the page, I found myself getting furious. I crumpled the list into a tiny ball, and for good measure, picked up the envelope and crumpled that too. Then I grabbed my keys and took the stairs two at a time, throwing the list and the envelope into the kitchen trash, yelling to my parents in the TV room—my dad scratching his new beard, my mom working on her macramé project—that I was going out.
I drove around town for hours, until the sun went down and the first stars began to shine. I wasn’t going anywhere in particular; I just felt the need to be in motion. I was driving past places I’d gone with Sloane, places I’d gone with Frank, and feeling the loss of both of them so sharply. How was I supposed to keep living in this town when everything I saw reminded me of someone I’d lost?
There was a party going on at the Orchard—I could tell from the cars lining the road. I pulled in, but left my car running, looking at all the people there with their friends—and remembering that, not so long ago, I’d been among them. I turned the car around and left, realizing I should probably stop in for gas, since in my aimless driving I’d lost sense of where my car was with fuel. There was also the fact that I no longer knew who I could call to help me if it died again.
I stopped by Route 1 Fuel, and when I walked into the mini-mart, saw that James was behind the register once again. He was leaning against the back counter, reading a thick book entitled Mastering Sudoku—For the Advanced Player. I hadn’t seen him since I’d hugged him, and hoped this wouldn’t be awkward as I handed over twenty dollars. But he just smiled at me as he put my bill in the register, then nodded out at the Volvo. “Check your oil?”
“Oh,” I said. I wasn’t sure he would have offered if I hadn’t hugged him, but I wasn’t going to turn this down—especially since I had no recollection of the last time it had been checked. “Sure,” I said. I walked outside and he followed, then waited while I tried to figure out how to pop my hood.
“So when were you in South Carolina?” he asked, wiping off the end of the dipstick with a rag and then dipping it into my oil gauge.
I looked over at him and realized he had been reading the bumper stickers along the side of the car. I scanned them, trying to see what he’d seen. “Why do you ask?”
He tapped one I’d hardly noticed, a dark-red sticker, half peeling off and mostly faded. Save the SC Sea Turtles!it read. Next to this was an image that looked familiar—a palm tree and a crescent moon.
“I wasn’t,” I said, turning my attention back to him. “The stickers came with the car. I’ve never been.”
He nodded. “Too bad. It’s really pretty down there.” He closed the hood and patted it once. “You should be okay for another few hundred miles.”
“Great,” I said. “Thanks a lot.” He nodded, gave me a quick smile, and headed back into the store.
I looked at the bumper sticker until a car pulled up behind me, engine idling, clearly desperate to get this specific pump. I pulled out of the gas station and headed for home, trying to sort through why I was sure I’d seen it before. It was in my mind, but just out of reach, until I paused at a stop sign and remembered.
The envelope.
I sped home, barely pausing at stoplights, screeching into the driveway and parking at an angle, not even locking my car as I ran inside and straight to the kitchen. I went directly to the trash, and started digging through it.