A Tale of Two Centuries

three years ago—a time when he clearly had a much different approach to school. And fashion.

But as I stand before the wall of photographs, gaping at the transformation and wondering what could have caused it—along with why the timeline appears to stop three years ago—I notice another difference.

It’s in Austin’s eyes.

Their usual lightness, their playfulness, the sarcasm they naturally exude…it’s all gone. The hints of vulnerability I have seen mere glimpses of are there, only magnified, as well as a palpable anxiety. When the family of four is posed together, Austin is seldom by his father’s side. And when he is—like the one of them in front of a Michaels for State Senate 2008 sign—the tension in his shoulders and jaw is unmistakable.

“Alessandra?”

I jump at the sound of Austin’s voice echoing off the wood surrounding me. Twisting around, feeling guilty for being caught poring over something so personal, I breathe a sigh of relief when I discover I am alone.

“Are you coming or what?”

This time I realize his voice is carrying from down the hall. Leaving the surprising peek into Austin’s past behind me, I dash around the corner and find the boy in question standing in the center of a room filled with luxurious white fabrics and a wall of windows highlighting a spectacular, deep blue ocean view.

It’s all so beautiful…

So open…

I look back at Austin.

So…secluded.

A nervous giggle escapes.

“Th-this is enchanting, Austin,” I say, taking a step toward him. My feet sink into the soft white carpet beneath me, and my toes practically sigh in response. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“This isn’t a date, Alessandra,” he tells me rather sharply, squelching any benevolent thoughts I may’ve had for him after seeing the family photos. “I don’t do dates. This is a challenge.”

“Of that I am well aware,” I say, forcing a smile. If I were Cat, I would toss back a witty retort, but instead I ask, “And for my first unsheltered test, what am I to do? Ride a bike? Rollerblade?”

Both of these are activities we passed on our drive through the neighborhood and Austin had to explain, adding to his opinion of my sheltered life. Although I’m unsure how I will manage riding a bike in a skirt, I am eager to try.

The corners of Austin’s mouth twitch—my first sign of fore-boding—and then he tilts his chin at the open water beyond. My eyes widen in horror.

Not possible.

He would not dare to take me into the ocean…would he?

My cousin has assured me, repeatedly, that water is safe now, and though I’ve been taught entering a public pool of any kind is equivalent to asking fate to bestow the plague upon you, I accept that things have changed.

But they haven’t changed that much.

As scandalous as this century has proven to be, this is not Sodom and Gomorrah. Surely bathing with a boy who is not your husband is still considered highly inappropriate?

Then a photo flashes in my mind from Jenna’s sweet sixteen albums. It’s the one Lucas found so amusing, a party with a “beach” theme where the guests arrived in bathing suits. Realizing that must be what Austin intends for us to wear in the water—not going in nude—only slightly eases my stress.

The vivid image of the guests displaying so much flesh burns brighter in my memory.

And I’m scandalized at the thought of showing my elbows!

Staring through the window at the endless water, I know I cannot simply back down from this task. The challenges will stop, and this is what I want. Adventure and excitement. But since bathing suits appear to be a modern social convention, I cling to the possible out with everything that exists within me.

“Sadly, Austin, I am without a swimsuit.” I sigh dramatically. Acting really does become easier with practice. “I thank you for the idea, however, as it does look refreshing. Perhaps another time?”

I offer a sweet smile, knowing that another time will never occur but not sharing that aloud. Austin smiles back. “Not a problem.” He opens a door and steps back, folding his arms. “Dad’s assistant stocks this place with guest suits, in every color and size you can imagine, all complete with the overpriced tags still on.”

He pauses, and even from my distance away, I can see the muscle throbbing in his jaw. Then he blinks, and the look from outside the theater is back in his eyes, daring me to give him another excuse. “So I repeat, not a problem.”

My head begins to throb. Fine, I think, even as ice shoots down my back. I can do this. Inhaling deeply, I briefly close my eyes. Forgive me, Mama.

With a nod and walking tall, I push past him into the room. The door closes behind me. Not even the thick wood can hide the rich tones of Austin’s laugh.

Gritting my teeth, I stand before the small open closet and survey my options. Austin is right—every color of the rainbow is represented, all in various styles, and all of them incredibly tiny. I remember noticing in Jenna’s book that a handful of girls wore one long suit (in lieu of the itty bitty scraps of cloth the others did) and thinking if I were ever forced, at the consequence of death, to clothe myself in such a costume, that would be the style I’d choose. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, that is not an option today.

I cautiously take down a pink bikini and hold it against me.

Fear and an intense loathing for the man who created this form of clothing churn in my stomach. I cannot wear this in front of Austin. But just when I feel tempted to give up—before even embarking on my first challenge—or give in to a dead faint, Reyna’s words from the tent ring in my ear: You clearly crave adventure, Alessandra. But I have to wonder if you are brave enough to grasp it.

When I emerge from the changing room, cold and drafty, I cannot feel my feet, yet somehow they carry me onto the plush carpet. Austin is leaned against the counter, fingers flying on his phone. I must make a noise because he abruptly lifts his head, instantly causing my suit to feel as though it is shrinking on my body. My nails pierce the flesh of my palms, fighting the urge to cover myself…but then I notice Austin’s slow appraisal.

His eyes skim over my exposed skin, heating it where a moment before it felt numb, and the muscles of his neck work as he swallows. Although he is careful to keep any emotion from his face, his approval radiates from his tense shoulders all the way to the fingers twitching at his sides. The realization emboldens me.

I wanted adventure. I wanted a taste of more, of what confident women like Cat experience every day. And here it is.

I straighten my shoulders and sashay forward, even venturing to add a sway to my hips as I do so. When Austin’s eyes finally widen, I want to do a dance of triumph. Instead, I grin and let myself perform my own assessment. I’ve been so caught up in worry about my clothing that I did not pause to consider what Austin would wear. Now I know…a pair of long shorts molded to the thick muscles of his thighs, and that is all.

His strong, contoured chest is utterly and altogether bare.

I pause midstride.

Austin shirtless is a glorious sight.

My mouth goes dry, and an irrepressible grin springs upon my lips. I force my gaze to meet his, now back to aloof and unbothered, and begin to chide myself for my wanton behavior. But then I remember this is a challenge. And although I am certain the main test lies in the water itself, I am equally sure my behavior now is just as vital.

Recalling the impudent wink and saucy grin he tossed his admirer Friday, I give him the same and repeat the words he asked me. “Like what you see?”

Perhaps my voice shook during the delivery, but I give myself an internal hug at the evident shock my audacious words create. Austin’s mouth opens slightly, and his gaze sharpens as if seeing me for the first time.