Page 11 of Seashells and Other Souvenirs

Why is it that the things we could never live without

Are the things we could never hope to have full control over:

The sun

The sea

The ones we love

Our own hearts?

I cried on and off the whole day of my fourteenth birthday.

It was the first year I really felt the weight of leaving childhood behind and realized that some things would never be as they once were.

Bekah had started regularly wearing makeup, and Elle had stopped putting her hair in pigtails.

And it didn’t help that Sutton had been shamelessly flirting with Gavin all day.

After dinner and a trip to get ice cream, we were in the backyard throwing bean bags into holes on wooden boards. Several of our other cousins had joined in, and everyone was acting extra competitive. No one even noticed when I slipped away.

I had intended to walk the beach to clear my head, but by the time I reached the ocean, I was too tired to do anything but sit cross-legged in the sand and listen to the waves throw themselves against the shore again and again.

Jude joined me as the sky grew darker. He didn’t say a word, just settled in a couple feet away and methodically moved the squares of the Rubik’s Cube he’d carried in his hands all evening.

I stared at a piece of washed-up seaweed and let the salt water carve paths down my face.

The breaking of the waves and the steady clicking of the puzzle in Jude’s palms held a soothing sort of rhythm.

I dabbed at my runny nose with the shoulder of my T-shirt. The clicking stopped.

In the blurry periphery of my vision, I registered his hand extending the nearly perfectly aligned colorful cube toward me.

I took it, thankful for a new object to focus on.

I spun the rows this way and that, watching the colors scramble, making a mess of any progress he’d managed. If he minded, he didn’t let on.

Had I been on my own, I may have been tempted to break the thing. Or chuck it into the sea. Instead, I kept clicking and turning and spinning my frustration out. It was oddly therapeutic.

At some point, I realized I’d stopped crying.

I let out a breath and passed the cube back to Jude, watching as he strategically rearranged each row in what first seemed like random patterns.

I don’t think even five minutes passed before he smiled, rolled it around to show each solid-colored side, and laid it down in the sand between us.

I was equally impressed and envious of his ability to take something so jumbled and make sense of it. I looked away.

“If you want to be alone, I can leave.” His changing voice still held the same timid kindness.

I had nothing to say but knew that I didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want his steady presence to disappear.

“No.”

He waited a minute and then asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He picked up the Rubik’s Cube, mixed it up, and began to solve it again. I closed my eyes and listened, trying to tune out everything else.

“I peed my pants at band camp last summer.”

My eyes snapped open and I turned to find his face painted with shock, like he was as baffled by this spontaneous admission as I was.

He averted his gaze and let the story tumble out.

“It was blazing hot, and everyone kept drilling us with the importance of staying hydrated. I drank so much water. So much. But we had this one instructor who refused to let us take a break until we’d gotten this certain piece perfect.

The clarinets were coming in late. We must have done it twenty times; I was in agony.

I wasn’t the only one, and we were so drenched in sweat at that point that it was hard to tell.

But still. I was mortified.” I was sure his face was maroon under the dusk that had just descended.

“Thankfully, we have this pact: what happens at camp, stays there. But I had a nightmare once that Gavin found out.” He shivered and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

I studied his profile and fought down the urge to giggle, because I didn’t want him to think I was laughing at his expense. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if you ever do want to talk about . . . anything, I want you to know that I’m safe. Now you know my secret, so you have something on me. And if I ever betray your trust in any way, you have my full permission to ruin my high school career with this information. Deal?”

His palm was sweaty as we shook, but I knew for a fact that I could tell him absolutely everything I was feeling in that moment. And I very nearly did.

“Alex?” Elle jogged toward us, Rebekah and Sutton close on her heels. “We were looking everywhere. Are you okay?”

She slid down beside me and slipped her arm around my shoulders.

Jude nodded wordlessly and stood, taking the Rubik’s Cube and leaving me in my cousin’s capable hands.

I started to cry again. Rebekah and Sutton caught up, and I was soon in the middle of a huddle of familiar hearts.

They didn’t demand an explanation either, just held me until I recovered. Like we always did for one another.

Elle’s voice crackles through the phone, and I feel every single mile between us. “I just wanted to give you a heads up before I got there, so you’d have time to process it. I know how you hate change.”

“I’m excited for you, Elle. Like you said, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” The way my words quaver gives me away.

“It’s just two years. And I’ll do everything I can to make the beach trip again next summer.

And you guys can fly over here too. Can you imagine the four of us running around Madrid?

Though there’s a chance they’ll revoke my visa if Sutton doesn’t behave.

” She laughs, but I don’t trust myself to pretend to join in.

“Hey Alex, I need to go; it’s late, and my roommate just turned off her light. She’s not very subtle,” she whispers.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I’m proud of how steady I sound now. “I can’t wait to hug you soon.”

“Love you, Ally.”

“Love you too, Elly.”

I wait for her to end the call and stand there, numb. I know it isn’t normal the way things like this shake me. This is a good thing for Elle, the right thing even. But I feel unmoored.

I sit on the couch for hours, staring at a blank page, willing myself to channel my feelings into something productive but coming up empty.

When Jude’s keys rattle in the front door, I spring to my feet and rush straight for him without thinking.

“What’s wrong?” He steps inside and toward me, radiating concern, and I keep walking until my face is buried in the shoulder of his black T-shirt, and the words are rapidly spilling over between shaky sobs.

“Elle is moving back to Spain for two years but we all know it will be longer and I’m torn between wanting to see my cousins and being terrified of what this trip will be like and Gavin is coming and I feel gross and for some reason I can’t write anymore and every single poem I’ve written so far feels stupid. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

In the span of two steady heartbeats thudding in my ear—mine or his, I’m unsure—I almost have time to feel sorry for spewing all this on poor, unsuspecting Jude. But a second later, his arms close around my back and he whispers the two words I need to hear more than anything. “It’s okay.”

I stay until the tears stop and my breathing slows, then pull back and survey him. His shirt is wet and has snot smeared across the sleeve. I’m sure I look as much of a mess as I feel. “Sorry,” I croak, gesturing to his shirt.

“This shirt smells like pyrotechnics and fried chicken anyway.” He smiles reassuringly. “No pirate’s afraid of a little snot.”

He looks as relieved to hear my weak laugh as I am. It’s okay. I’m okay. Everything is going to be okay.

All the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me this afternoon seem much less daunting now that I’m not alone with them. “Sorry,” I stammer again.

“You don’t need to apologize for being sad.” He picks up the remote control and places it in my hands. “I’m going to get cleaned up. You want to find us a good movie or something? I don’t think I have energy for schoolwork tonight.”

I nod wordlessly as he leaves the room. A movie sounds nice. I grab the blanket from the back of the couch and spin myself a cocoon before pulling up a list of movies on the TV.

When Jude comes back, he’s wearing his pajamas and carrying a heating pad and a bottle of Tylenol. He hands them to me.

“What’s this for?”

“I just thought,” he hedges. “I didn’t know if you maybe weren’t feeling a hundred percent.” His cheeks flush and he looks away before slowly explaining, “I have a sister.”

I gasp. “Oh my gosh, Jude. Are you implying you think it’s my time of the month?!”

It is, of course.

“No.” He backs away. “I thought . . .” He looks both horrified and confused. “I’m sorry. I was honestly just trying to help.” I stare at him, unable to find words, until he offers, “I can go. I’ll work in my room.”

I shouldn’t be mad at him. And I don’t want him to go. His friendship is pretty much the only redeeming thing about this whole day. “No, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You were being thoughtful.” I scoot over. “Let’s watch the movie. Please?”

His eyes flicker to the screen. “ Little Women ? I thought Austen was your comfort story.”

“ Pride and Prejudice is my comfort book ; this is my comfort movie .”

“I’ll be right back,” he promises.

I listen to him rattle around in the kitchen while I plug in the heating pad and wait for it to warm, trying not to dwell on how ridiculous I feel. Minutes later, he re-enters the room and sets a plate on the coffee table in front of me. Two pieces of cheese toast. He starts the movie.

I burst into tears again.