Page 35

I’m not embarrassed that I have ADHD or shitty parentsbut I am surprised that I told him, considering I’ve never actually said the words out loud before.

When I was officially diagnosed in the seventh grade, I was made to feel ashamed about it by my parents. I sat with the backs of my thighs sticking to the vinyl chair in my doctor’s office while my mother spoke in hushed whispers with the doctor. I overheard her talking with my dad about the appointment when we got home, and that was that. We never talked about it again, so I never brought it up, not even with Camila. I snuck off to the school nurse at lunchtime every day for three years to take my medication until one time my mom had been gone so long that she forgot to re-order my prescription and I never said anything. I don’t remember feeling any different while taking my medication, but it's not like I remember much anyway. It’s not something that I actively think about every day. I just know that certain things can be more challenging for me because of it. I know that I have thirty unused notebooks because I think I need them. I would rather die than listen to someone talk slowly. I can’t comprehend verbal instructions, and my object permanence is to the point where if I can’t see it, it no longer exists to me. Those things are all attributed to my ADHD. But in my day-to-day life, this is just me. It’s how I’m wired, and there isn’t anything wrong with that, but I’ve also just never thought it was important enough to bring up with anyone.

We stop in a dirt lot and despite feeling like rolling out of the truck, down the hill, over the cliffs, and right into the ocean—I steady my breath, jump out, and watch Knox pull the picnic basket I made for us out of the trunk with bated breath.

I can’t take it anymore.

“Knox, wait.” I grab onto his bicep, both hands pullinghim back toward me. He turns to face me. “I’m sorry, I feel like an asshole. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I felt weird because we were talking about so many things that I’m not used to talking about and I?—”

“Hey.” He sets the basket down and reaches up, brushing a windblown strand of hair from my face. He keeps it away from my face, and I finally bring myself to look at him. “I didn’t think you snapped at me.”

I almost wish he would just say ‘Yeah you are an arsehole.’ But of course, he doesn’t. “I just thought you were done with the conversation and that was your way of saying it.”

My shoulders drop and the tightness in my chest eases. As much as I want him to reprimand me for being a shitty friend, that’s just not who he is.

“Let’s go, Nova. We’ve got a picnic to have.” He smiles, picking up the basket and waving it in my face.

“This. Is.”My jaw drops as words fail me.

“Pretty cool.”

“Fucking incredible,” we say at the same time. The path up to the southern section was endless miles of cliffs towering seven hundred feet above the ocean. The contrast between the deep lush greens and the azure water below was something out of a painting. The only thing that could make it any better is if the wind would chill out.

I pull my phone from my back pocket and snap a few pictures. I attempt a panoramic photo but the wind blows my hair in front of the camera, running the shot. I snap one of Knox with his back to me, overlooking the stone wall. Even with his back to me, he’s handsome. When I’m done takingpictures, I move to stand beside him crossing my arms. My legs shake beneath me because despite it being a rather sunny day, the wind really takes the warmth away.

We head up another small trail and halfway up, Knox lifts his chin toward an area off of the path that leads to a grassy piece of land.

“Shall we?” he asks, through squinted eyes, waving the basket around.

I attempt to hide my smile because he was right. It’s windy as fuck up here. I don’t know how we’re going to have a picnic, but he’s determined to do this for me, so I follow him to where he lays a blanket down on the grass. The blanket is probably big enough for two, but since Knox is the size of a person and a half, it’s a snug fit.

“What’d you bring us?”

His fingers untwist the small leather rope from the button on the basket, and he lifts the lid.

“Cheese, crackers, bread.” He pulls out the loaf that I had to get up in the middle of the night to finish baking. “Mmm, feels fresh.”

I can’t contain my smile and as I watch Knox unload our basket. All of these smiles I’ve been giving him, the laughs and shared words, they have all been real.

Genuine.

I haven’t only been giving him my usual flirtatious smile, or my phony, surface-level conversations, which are usually things I’ve made up based on what I think people want to hear.

“Let’s take a picture.” I hold my phone out, scooting closer to Knox’s side. The reflection of his smile in the camera, grinning ear to ear, makes my heart trip over itself. Strands of my hair go every which way and I try my best tohold it down against the wind. I don't want anything ruining this picture with him. Not that I need photo evidence. I’m sure that even with my piss poor memory, I’ll never forget today.

I tap the circle once and drop my hand to my lap, looking over my shoulder. My breath whooshes out of me, heavier and scarier than the wind when I realize we’re face-to-face. My eyes drop to his lips. His presence is so overpowering, especially when he’s this close. I can’t think, I can’t speak, I can’t do anything but stare at him. My hand itches to reach up to his jaw and feel the scrape of his beard against my fingers. I’m dying to pull his face to mine, to feel his skin under my hands, the weight of his body pressed to mine, and his lips against my own.

A woman squeals in the distance. From the corner of my eye, I see her chasing her hat at record speed, and that image is enough to bring me back to reality. I have to stop looking at that face. I clear my throat and sit back on my bum. I open the photos on my phone and gasp.

“What?”

“The wind blew my hair.”

“Hate to break it to you, but that hair hasbeenblowing.” He waves his arms around his head, making awhooshingsound.

“Yeah, butlook.” I zoom in on the strand blowing above my top lip. “It looks like I have a mustache.”

“No, you just…” I look at him through narrowed eyes. “You look like you’re undercover.”