The Summer I Drowned (SEA GLASS)

chapter two

HE JOGS DOWN the hill as a gust of wind whispers through the blades of grass. A certain musk engulfs me—like earth and cologne—and catches me off-guard.

"No shit," West says, "is that really you? I heard you were back, but..."

My heart pounds. I might be drunk, but that doesn't detract from the borderline terror that boils through me. I wasn't prepared to run into West. Shit, I don't even recognize him.

"Well, here I am," I say, awkward as fuck.

"Apparently."

He steps toward me until I can see his face clearly under 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 aquamarine eyes—deep, sea blue with feathers of green and yellow.

I feel him looking at me, observing, judging what I've grown up to become. I can't help but wonder if he thinks I'm pretty—then I curse myself for being so dumb.

"It's been a minute, Mermaid Girl," he finally says.

My face flushes. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?"

"I'm not into that stuff anymore."

"You used to love it. All mermaid necklaces, keychains..."

"Yeah, that was before the sea tried to kill me."

He's quiet for a moment. "Tried to. But it failed, right? You were stronger than it."

"I don't know about that."

My body sways, and when I shut my eyes, the waves whoosh all around me. It's like I have rain sticks in my ears. I'm buzzed, lifted. Then I'm sinking into the depths of blackness until I can't breathe.

I open my eyes 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 it happened." He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm glad you're okay."

Part of me wants to say, "You're eight years late, West," but I hold it in. His eyelashes are long and sooty, just like they were when we were kids. When we were friends.

"What were you doing in the lighthouse?" I ask.

He looks over his shoulder at the massive red tower. It seems to disappear completely into the overcast sky, but its light beams through the hazy night.

"I do some work for the city sometimes." His voice is coarse, gravelly. "Just some extra cash in my pocket to get up there and make sure the light's working okay. It always is."

"Oh." West's family is loaded, why does he need a job? Oh right—the disowned thing...

"What're you doing over here?" he asks. His eyes find the boat at the bottom of the hill, where kids stand on the deck, smoking and drinking. "Ah. A party."

"Yep."

"Is my brother there?"

"Yeah, he is."

A million questions rush through my mind, like why the hell aren't West and Miles on good terms anymore? And what had Miles meant when he'd said West was disowned? It's such an intense word to use...

"You never accepted my friend request on Facebook," I say instead.

"What?"

"I added 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?"

"Dunno."

Only Drunk Me would have the balls to get annoyed with him over this. "That kind of hurt my feelings, West."

"It did?" He threads his fingers through his obsidian hair. "Sorry. This probably sounds dumb, but my Facebook's kind of private. I only have like, forty friends. I didn't add you 'cause I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I didn't think there was a point."

Oh man, that stings. I guess West doesn't know how much I looked up to him when we were kids. I guess he doesn't care. He probably thought I was just some annoying brat—maybe that's the real reason he stopped hanging out with me the year before my accident.

"Hey," he says.

I don't look at him.

"It really didn't mean anything. Me ignoring you, I mean. It doesn't mean I didn't..." He doesn't finish his sentence.

"It's okay," is all I say. I need to stop being so dramatic—I should be happy to see him. I am happy to see him. A loose-fitting shirt hangs off his defined arms, and the V of his hips pushes through it. Heat touches my cheeks. Whoa, okay. What just happened?

Tearing my eyes away from his torso, I look out at the endless sea stretching beyond the cliff's edge.

I'd nearly died on a night just like this. The smell of brine in the air, the wind heavy, the rapids high. Normally I'd be scared shitless, but I'm drunk, and I'm safe. It's a strange sensation, to be at peace with the one thing I fear the most. I know that when I wake up sober, I'll have an anxiety attack about this very moment.

But in this moment, I'm free. There's nothing to be scared of. I'm far away from the edge, and I won't fall in again—not now, not ever.

"So," West says, "what brings you back?"

"Hm? Oh, I missed it here, I guess." I comb my fingers through my hair. "I was always too scared to come back. But I mean, I'm sixteen now. I'm sixteen and I'm scared of water. You know, I bet I don't even know how to swim anymore." I can't believe I just told him that. Sober Me is going to have a fit.

"So you came back to what, get over it?"

"I guess."

"You haven't been in a pool or anything?"

"Nope. I haven't even had a bath."

He laughs. "Oh."

I glare at him. "Which means I shower instead."

"I know, I know. You 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 swallow hard, my throat closing up, my palms sweaty. What is this tingling, fluttering feeling in my chest? My drunkenness fizzles away as reality washes in. No, I can't deal with it. I need another drink. I need to get back to the party. What the hell am I doing so close to the cliff?

"Anyway, I'll let you go," West says.

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."

He walks away. I tug at my index finger and accidentally crack a knuckle, before I whip around and face his retreating figure.

"Maybe I'll see you around?" God, I hate the pathetic hopefulness in my voice.

Over his shoulder, West shoots me a quick half-smirk. "Maybe."

And then he's gone. West gets into this car parked on the street—it's an old chromatic sports car, like something I'd find a model of in Dad's workshop. It revs as it starts, and the lights momentarily blind me before West rumbles away. The pungent scent of gasoline carries on the wind as his headlights 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. I hang out with Miles all night—but West doesn't leave my mind once.