Not only was it the first time we’d all be back together in one place, but the Huckabee Lake trip definitely had a bit of mythos around it. It was more than a little famous for people coupling up over the course of the weekend.
Including my parents.
“We can fix everything then, and it will all be back to normal by the time senior year starts.”
Normal.
That’s what I want… isn’t it?
I think of Matt standing by my locker between classes, and eating breakfast sandwiches in his car on the way to school, and scrolling through the new movies at the historic theater in town on Friday afternoons. But I also think about the countdown clock in my head every time we kiss, and all our little fights, and him talking about taking things to the next level when I’m barely comfortable on the level we’re on.
My stomach flip-flops though because normal also means more than just us. It means Kiera, and Olivia, and Jake, and Ryan, all of us hanging out in Olivia’s enormous basement, and hot chocolate and cookies in the winter at Kiera’s house, and going to Hank’s for milkshakes when it’s someone’s birthday.
I miss all of that. I want all of that. I don’t want it to be ruined.
And, I remind myself, this time will be better. This time I’ll say yes to weekends away, the small adventures, the pranks. I’ll give it a real chance and won’t hold back. Like Mom.
I nod, determined, and give Kiera a reassuring smile. “Yeah,” I say. “Normal.”
We talk about Misty Oasis for the rest of the call. She tells me about how a camper got stuck in a tree, detailing the rescue mission that required Todd, a queen-size mattress, and a climbing rope.
I laugh along and try my best to listen. But deep in my stomach, a tiny whisper of queasiness lingers, familiar and unwelcome. At the thought of Kiera not wanting to come back until I said I could fix things.
When we hang up, I lie down on my floor, watching the sunlight trickle through my bedroom window. I hold up a tiny jar of sand from my mom’s box and stretch out my arm, my gaze following the tiny granules running along the side as I flip it upside down, over and over again. The feeling slowly grows with every turn of the jar as I begin to think about Blake, and the list, and the eight days left to complete it.
And a way to figure all of this out so maybe Kiera will actually want to come back.
An idea begins to take shape. With time running out, I was thinking I’d just count the lake trip as my “get out of Huckabee” escape, but… maybe now is the perfect time to do it. Maybe I need to get out of Huckabee too.
I roll over and grab my phone, hitting the call button. It rings a few times before she picks up.
“Hey, Em,” Blake says, her voice crackling noisily through the microphone. The middle-of-the-woods Huckabee phone service is almost as bad as whatever Misty Oasis is working with. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” I say, sitting up. “I know I said I was going to pack today, but… I changed my mind. You want to get out of here?”
Blake laughs, and I can picture her mischievous grin on the other end of the phone, her fingers reaching up to tuck a strand of her sun-streaked hair behind her ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”
An hour later on the dot, Blake’s faded blue pickup truck slides to a stop outside my house, two surfboards sticking out of the truck bed, that grin I’d pictured on the phone plastered on her face. She was more than game for a four-hour drive to the beach, just like I was equally game for spending the night when she mentioned her aunt had a beach house nearby so we didn’t have to run right back.
If we’re getting out of Huckabee, I want to do it right.
I glance behind me to see my dad leaning on the doorframe, his phone still pressed to his ear as the real estate agent drones on. I can’t help but hesitate at the top of the porch steps.
What if they convince him to take a bad offer? Where are we going to move to? I feel like he’s keeping me in the dark with all of this.
He puts his hand over the mouthpiece. “Text me when you get there, okay?”
He was so happy to hear that I had somewhere to go and something to do. His eyes have lit up every time I’ve asked for his permission these past couple of weeks. Probably because my absence means he can throw out even more stuff.
I watch him give Blake a big wave.
“Will do,” I say curtly as I jog down the steps, my feet slowing and then stopping completely as I land on the bottom one.
This is the farthest trip I’ll have gone on since my mom died, and I can’t help but have all the worst-case scenarios circling around and around in my head.
What if he gets hurt at work, or doesn’t put his seat belt on, or forgets to turn off the stove after making dinner?
What if I get back and something terrible has happened?
I spin around to face him, but I fight back the nervousness. Everything I’ve done so far has turned out fine. I have to trust this will too. “Love you.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Love you too,” he mouths.
I jog the rest of the way to Blake’s truck, yanking open the passenger door to chuck my backpack on the floor, already talking. “Surfboards, Blake? Two of them?” I say as I climb inside, moving to buckle my seat belt.
“It’ll be fun! Not much harder than riding a bike,” she says, which is like someone saying that a middle school play is the same as a
