Page 23 of Seashells and Other Souvenirs

Tiny ghost thoughts

Scurry sideways

Through my mind

In the dark

The idea of catching them

Shining a light

Examining them up close

Thrills me

But I hesitate

Jumpy

Because I know

I can’t hold them for long

I’ll have to let them go again

And I’m not sure where

They will run next

I lower the sun visor on the passenger side and flip open the mirror.

“It makes me sad that I missed out on six whole years of knowing you,” I comment.

“Elle tried to look you guys up on social media a few times, but Sutton said that made us seem like stalkers.” I leave out the part about them finding Gavin and my refusal to look at his photos.

Sutton may have been right about my need to preserve a version of him I wrote.

“Gavin found all your pages but wouldn’t contact you guys for the same reason.

Besides, I figured maybe you liked keeping your beach week life separate from everything else.

I know how you were about keeping things special and all.

” I wonder if he knows how close to home his comment hits.

“I don’t really do social media anyway, aside from Ty’s business pages.

And, if I’m being honest, it’s probably for the best that you missed the last six years of knowing me; I was kind of a mess for a while while I sorted through some stuff. ”

I close the mirror and shift in my seat. “Friends should be there for the hard parts too. I’m sorry these past years have been so tough. For what it’s worth, I really like the version of you that’s come out the other side.”

“Thanks.” He smirks. “Is it really that different from the version you grew up with?”

“Well.” I gather my thoughts as he stops at a traffic light. “You’re a lot taller now.”

He laughs. “That’s generally how it works.”

“Hold on; I’m not finished.” I make a face, and he steps on the gas when the light turns green. “You’re more confident now. Less shy. Even more competitive.”

“Competitive?”

“Jude. How many video games have I played with you this summer? And when I beat you . . .”

“Which doesn’t happen often,” he interjects.

“See?” I laugh. “Competitive. But also, you’re like . . . still quiet and humble but certain of yourself in a way that I envy. You know who you are.”

“You envy me?”

“Admire might be a better word.” I try to lighten the mood. “But you don’t spout off as many interesting facts about animals. Or go skinny dipping in the ocean anymore.”

He cuts his eyes at me. “That you know of.”

I rein in a giggle. “You’re funnier than you used to be too. I can’t remember the last time I laughed as much as I have these past few weeks.” I pose the question before I can lose my nerve. “Do you think I’ve changed at all?”

He pulls into a crowded parking lot, and I know he’s turning my inquiry over in his mind, holding his thoughts close until he’s sure of them. “I think that, in most ways, you’re very much who you’ve always been.”

My heart sinks, my deepest fears confirmed. He slides the gear between us into park and keeps talking. “I wonder, though. Do you think it’s possible that maybe I haven’t changed as much as you think I have? That maybe I just knew you better than you knew me all those summers?”

My hand freezes halfway to my seatbelt, and I search Jude’s expression.

He shrugs, a habit I’ve learned means that he’s about to share something personal with me.

“What I mean is that I’ve not always been the easiest person to get to know well.

Intentionally. My counselor says I hold people at arm’s length.

” He looks away. “But this summer’s been different.

And I like that you know me better now.”

“Me too.” I want to reach for his hand, to somehow try to convey the feelings I can’t find words for, but I don’t want him to think those feelings are romantic in any way. They aren’t. At least, I don’t think so.

He clears his throat and reaches for the keys in the ignition. “You ready for this?”

The bar is loud and packed with people.

“Whoa.” I scan the room. “Lincoln Shark must be pretty popular.”

Jude waves across the crowd to a group of guys and leads me to the merch table along the back wall. “There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

We’ve just come into view of a middle-aged couple when the woman squeals and drops the shirt she’s folding onto the table.

“Jude! Oh, it’s so good to see you.” She wraps Jude in a hug though she’s only about half his size, then releases him and focuses her attention on me.

“And you must be Alex. Tyler’s told us so much about you. ”

I nod and look to Jude. “This is Ty’s mom, Mrs. Becky,” he explains, then gestures to the man who’s just walked around to join us. “And his dad, Mr. Bruce.”

“Nice to meet you.” I smile. “I’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about your family.”

Mr. Bruce shakes my hand. “Glad you could make it out to a show. You’re in for a treat. I mean, I may be biased, but I’ve been at every single performance and have yet to resist the urge to rock out.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Becky rolls her eyes. “Which is why it may be a good thing that we’re always manning the merchandise table.”

The affection Jude feels for this couple is clear. “I don’t know, Mr. Bruce,” he says. “I think maybe you need to make your way into the mosh pit one of these days. It’s a whole different experience.” Mr. Bruce nudges his wife, and his hopeful expression makes my heart swell.

“Why not tonight?” I hear myself ask. “Jude and I can cover the table.”

“I knew I liked this girl.” Mr. Bruce winks at Jude.

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Becky asks. I defer to Jude, realizing I volunteered on his behalf without checking.

“Absolutely. Might be better to ease Alex into the craziness in stages anyway.”

A microphone whines, and the chatter around us dies down as a man’s voice rings out. “I’m supposed to introduce the band. But let’s be real. These guys need no introduction. Ladies and gentlemen, here’s your . . . Lincolnnnnn Shark!” The whole place erupts.

Four guys walk onto the stage and take their places, brandishing their instruments.

“You kids have fun.” Jude nudges Mr. Bruce and Mrs. Becky forward into the crowd. I follow him behind the table, lean against the wall, and watch Tyler raise his drumsticks above his head, counting off the first song.

Whatever my expectations were coming in, the scene unfolding before me exceeds them all. The band plays a mix of cover songs and originals the audience seems to know just as well. The crowd—Ty’s parents included—moves as one unit to the beat, not unlike the ocean itself.

After the fifth or sixth number, Jude leans over. “You having fun?”

“So much fun.” I beam. “This might be my new favorite band.”

“Don’t tell Tyler that. It’ll go to his head.”

When the next song starts, I have to yell to be heard. “Do his parents really come to all their shows?”

“Every single one. They’re really great.”

“I can tell.” I straighten the row of stickers in front of me. “They seem pretty fond of you too.”

He tucks both hands into his pockets. “Mr. Bruce used to take me fishing with Tyler and his brothers all the time. And Mrs. Becky,” he raises his voice above the music, “found out when I moved in with them that I’d never taken my own lunch to school.

She told me school lunches were fine, but everybody should have someone pack them a lunch at least once.

After that, she packed my lunch every day.

Remembered all my favorites, put little notes in there and everything.

Ty kept apologizing for how embarrassing it was. But I loved it.”

As if summoned by this recollection, Mrs. Becky and Mr. Bruce step out of the mosh pit, cheeks flushed and out of breath.

“Well,” Mr. Bruce pants, “that’ll remind you of your age in a hurry.”

Mrs. Becky steps around the table. “We’ll take over. You two get in there.” But before we make our way into the chaos, Jude pulls his wallet from his back pocket and hands Mrs. Becky a twenty.

“Which one do you want, Al?”

“What?”

“Everyone needs a T-shirt of their favorite band. Pick one.”

I pick up the ocean-blue one I’ve been eyeing and sling it over my shoulder. “Thanks, Jude.”

“I just hope you’re prepared for this.” I keep a hand on his arm as we’re swallowed by the mob.

When we emerge an hour later, my ears are ringing and I’m sticky with sweat. But I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.

“Jude! Alex!” Tyler catches up to us at the merch table. “You made it! What did you think?”

“You guys are really good.”

“Try not to sound so surprised,” he jokes, then turns and slings an arm around his mom’s shoulders. “You met my parents?”

“Yes. They’re every bit as wonderful as Jude described.”

Mrs. Becky beams. “Bring her over for dinner soon, Jude?”

“That sounds great.”

“Hey, you want to meet the rest of the band?” Ty offers.

I’m so exhausted, I don’t even open the drawer for my notebook. “Just wanted to say goodnight,” I whisper.

Jude looks up from his laptop. “I’m glad we went tonight and that you had a good time.”

I sit down, too tired to think straight but not ready to leave just yet, and watch him work for a few minutes. “Is Tyler your best friend?”

He stops typing. “One of them, yeah. Why?”

“Because I think you might be mine.”

Something flickers in his eyes, and I hope my admission hasn’t freaked him out. “Really?”

“Is that okay?” Maybe I should have just gone to bed.

“That actually makes me really happy.”

I fold my arms on the cool countertop and rest my chin on top.

“Sutton always said you can have a lot of close friends, but your best friend is the one you always want to share things with first, the one you’d think to call first if you ever got into trouble or needed help. And,” I admit, “that’s you now.”

“In that case, I think you qualify as my best friend too.” He scratches his head, considering. “But to be fair, Ty and your cousins are at a clear disadvantage. Because if either of us ever got into serious trouble, chances are calling them wouldn’t be an option, since they’d be with us.”

“You aren’t wrong.”

He closes his computer. “Hey, I know it’s late, but are you up for some cheese toast?”

Suddenly, I’m not sleepy anymore. “Always.”