Page 65 of The Summers of Us

Everett pulls me to the dance floor, our smiles a secret language. Haven squeals and feeds me the final cherry from hertres leches.Holden and Jorge show me the moves to the line dance. Mason fixes my dress strap when it falls off my shoulder. We’ve made this backyard our own imaginary universe, but there’s nothing imaginary about it. The world has long been ours, even beyond the days of playground hide and seek, routine bike routes, and picnics by the marsh.

It’s never been the warm, sunny ocean that’s kept me here summer after summer. It’s always been my friends who have churned like the tides into family. It’s true what Haven once whispered in the faint porch light:Family comes and goes, but friends always stay. They’re forever tied with the taste of cherries, forever tied with the vision of falling but the faith that you won’t.

The vision of people leaving but the faith that they won’t.

The six of us dance like we’re wearing headphones and we don’t care that the world can’t hear the music. But everyonedoeshear it and moves with it beneath the string lights. I turn my smile to the lights, greet them like constellations I simply haven’t met yet. I dance next to people I’ve never met, but they cheer for me in the middle of a dance circle even though all I offer is something like a car dealership inflatable in a windstorm.

I’m a part of the magic and whirlwind of joy. I’m a part of the family, vast and playful.

The desire to check my phone is a distant mirage. When I remember, I stare at my phone on the table and the dark trees behind it with guilt that loves to chew me up. It’s an old friend that usually demands too much from me, but finally it gives me a break. Guilt leaves me weightless on the dance floor. Guilt sits in the white chair at the edge of the tent and watches me laugh at myself for skipping a few moves, watches Everett bring me right back like he’s a professional now.

Guilt keeps its distance even when the song ends. I’m so high on the moment that I grab Everett’s bicep before he leaves for the table. “One more song!” I scream over the music, close enough to his ear that I know he feels my warmth. I wonder if it makes him shiver despite both of us having worked up a sweat.

He nods and moves us near the center of the makeshift dance floor.

As if the DJ were in cahoots with him or me or both of us, a slow song teases from the speakers.

Haven gasps and grabs Jorge for a slow dance. More people join in: Saray and Santiago, Jorge’s parents, other couples who I don’t know. Holden and Mason sit down a few chairs apart. The empty chairs put a spotlight on them. Holden crosses his arms, a vacant expression on his face, a complete shift from the Holden next to me moments ago. When he locks eyes with me, he raises his eyebrows: proud, knowing, and slightly teasing.

I stick my tongue out at him. His smile almost convinces me that he’s okay. Maybe it is real, but he’s good at smiling his pain away. He wears a shield of bravado. The real Holden is soft, kind, but still strong. He kisses worms before sending them to their death. He’ll squash anyone who crosses his sister. He’s the first to cross hisownsister, but then make up for it with a cold can of soda and a sloppy hug. He’ll pick you up off the floor even when he’s in pieces himself.

We’re the same in that way, linked forever by the swapping of a tequila bottle and sound secrets.

A part of me wants to run down the street into the calm, safe darkness. I want to run away fromthe slow song and its implications, but I push those feelings away. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to let people in and trust that they won’t hurt me. Ineedto slow dance for Holden and Mason, even if it means leaving my body for a song or two.

I grab Everett by the shoulders and guide his arms around my waist. He takes over after that, pulling me closer into the spicy smell of him when he knows it’s okay. His hands were made for the crook of my waist. My eyes were made for looking into his. We were made to sway in tune with the cicadas, katydids, and locusts. There doesn’t have to be guilt when there’sthis. Hearts thrumming against each other. String lights carving the smiles on our faces. Limbs going where they’ve never been before.

With my head on his chest, our lungs breathing as one, I feel it.Safety. Tethered, but with Everett as my anchor. Heavy, but just because this feels permanent. If I were weightless, floating in the middle of the Atlantic, Everett would be my buoy.

I find a spot for my lips beneath his ear and whisper, “I’m not drunk. Just so you know.”

He does the same to my neck. “Wouldn’t it be wild iftres lechesmade you drunk?”

In the middle of this dance floor, Everett makes himself a carousel and twirls me. My sky blue babydoll dress goes with me, but Everett brings us back. I careen into his firm chest, erupting into laughter in the arms of Everett Bishop.

It’s okay to be happy.

Age 16, June 16

I hadn’t seen Everett since last July.

It was two days since sophomore year ended, one since I made the drive down. Being here made his absence tug at me even harder. The last time I talked to him was at Kelsie’s last summer.

“I’m sure Everett is coming.” Haven stepped in line with me on the road, her wedges clicking along the asphalt. When we got there, her gold eyeshadow caught in the front porch lights.

Of course he was. The bonfire tonight would look a lot like Kelsie’s party, with most of the local high school in attendance. It was at a senior’s house whose parents were in Spain for two weeks.

I was ready to do everything opposite of last summer, rewrite a new itinerary in the purpling sky.

I’d grown a lot between last summer and now; had a lot of time to think about who I used to be and what Holden said when he was too drunk to stop himself. Tonight, I was wearing a crop top. I curled my hair while Haven straightened hers. My eyelids were golden sparkles.

I looked hot.

Tonight, I was going to erase “almost” from the phrase “almost kiss.”

As we got closer to the house on the sound, it got more congested with parked cars and bodies and bikes. I was still an amateur when it came to alcohol, parties, kissing. Love.

In the backyard, teens danced to blaring music, threw cornhole beanbags across the yard, sipped from red cups. Everything glowed yellow from the back porch light and the fairy lights strung about. Beyond the yard, the water neared black in the dying day.

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