Funny Story(54)

“It’s been spotless,” he says. “Not a single hint as to who you are.”

“Pretty boring of me,” I say.

“Mysterious,” he counters. “Like a puzzle.”

“Or a highly organized silverware tray,” I say.

Under the water, our calves brush against one another. A thrum travels straight up my thigh into my abdomen. “The same way you dress.”

“Like a silverware tray?” I say.

He shakes his head. Another graze of our legs, a little higher this time. “Like a secret.”

A heady rush of tension. To defuse it, I say, “Like I’m hiding an extra set of arms.”

“Think I would’ve noticed that,” he says.

Our hands brush under the water. The second time, our fingers slip together, knuckles briefly sliding against each other before we pull away.

I backstroke away from him, turning my face up toward the sun. When my pulse has settled, I ask, “Should we paddle a little longer?”

“If you want to,” he says.

I stare across the glistening turquoise water toward the shore of the island. It’s not as far as I thought. It feels possible now, that we could make it.

“I want to,” I tell him.





15





“I love it,” I say.

“Told you!” Ashleigh bustles past me toward the light-strewn patio of BARn, which I now know is stylized as BARn. My hair is still damp from my post-kayak shower, my shoulders hurt where the straps of my dress rub into my sunburn, and my arm muscles feel like Jell-O. Mixed with wet concrete.

Miles and I didn’t even make it to the island, let alone around it, before I accepted I couldn’t go any further.

That was also when I realized my biggest mistake of the day. I’d saved absolutely no energy for the paddle back to shore. We’d had to stop every few strokes so I could gather my strength, while Miles paddled back and forth in a wide zigzag.

It would be a while before I kayaked again, before sunrise or not.

So far, BARn is much more my speed.

Julia and Miles pile out of the backseat of Ashleigh’s hatchback into the grassy field–cum–parking lot. “Oh my god, a taco truck,” Julia says, hurrying to catch up with Ashleigh as she strides toward the patio.

To the right of the parked taco truck, there’s a dance floor and a stage, a cover band blaring out “The Boys of Summer.” To the right sits a big red barn, its doors propped open, people filing in and out with booze-filled Mason jars and beer bottles clutched in hand. There’s also a partially covered bar jutting out from the side of the barn, every inch packed.

“I’ve loved boyfriends less than I love this place!” Julia calls back to us as Miles is shutting the car door.

“That’s just our attachment issues,” he tells me.

“Oh?” I look over at him. “You share them? That’s nice.”

“She once dumped a guy because he thought Mamma Mia 2 was better than the original,” he tells me.

“Wow, a die-hard fan,” I say.

“She hasn’t seen either movie,” he says. “She just thought having such a staunch opinion about it was a red flag.”

The infamous low chortle sneaks out of me, and his smile is so affectionate I wish I could roll myself up in it like a blanket.

“Well, if nothing else,” I say, “she and Ashleigh-the-Phish-Hater should have something to bond over.”

“Yeah, they’ll probably ditch us by the end of the night,” he agrees.

Our eyes catch. My blood hums. My body warms with phantom sensations, memories from two nights ago.

He brushes his fingertips over my bright-red shoulder. “This hurt?” he murmurs.

“A little,” I admit. “But that’s what I get for trying to be the cool, laid-back girl who doesn’t need to slather every inch of her body in sunblock every half hour.”

We’ve stopped moving, just barely out of reach of BARn’s twinkling lights, Julia and Ashleigh lost somewhere ahead in the crowd. “She might be cool and laid-back right now,” he says, “but she’ll feel less fancy-free when she’s taking monthly trips to a dermatologist.”

“Nah, cool, laid-back girls never face consequences for their spontaneity. It’s how they’re able to keep being cool and laid-back. They’re genetically predisposed to health. They’re not allergic to poison ivy or shellfish, and they never get migraines, even if they only sleep for three hours in a cold tent, and they never burn in the sun.”

“Huh,” he says.

“What?” I ask, right as I spot Julia in line at the food truck, waving us over.

“I just realized I’m a cool, laid-back girl,” Miles says.

I start toward Julia and Ashleigh, toward the safety of a buffer, calling over my shoulder, “I could’ve told you that.”



* * *





?The four of us eat fried fish tacos on one of the wooden picnic tables set up in front of the food truck. We order bourbon and sweet tea from the outdoor bar, briefly poke our heads inside before deciding it’s way too packed. We wander around the back of the barn to the goat enclosure, where one is rubbing its face against the fence while the others are tucked away in a covered area inaccessible to bar patrons. We scratch the lone goat’s head for a while, then pump our hands generously with the provided sanitizer before making our way back to the snap-lock dance floor.