After the final bell, Buddy stepped in front of me. Students hurried to the parking lot that was filled with catcalls, horns honking, and engines starting. The sun was so bright, I couldn’t see at first. The heat was a blanket. It felt more-than-normal humid out here after the air-conditioned school. Like stepping into a damp rag and using it as a cloak.
“Evie,” Buddy said, walking over. He held his hand out. “Evie.”
Oh, I wanted to storm past Buddy. And I sort of did. I mean I slowed some. Made it off the sidewalk. Didn’t look at him. Tried not to remember that kiss.
Oh, that kiss.
A salty breeze blew past.
The beach.
I would go to the beach.
There was time before I had to work with Aunt Odie and see Momma and Baby Lucy and JimDaddy and do homework.
I’d call Momma and tell her. Use my birthday phone (that had calls and messages only from Momma and JimDaddy and Aunt Odie on it. And Buddy. Plenty from Buddy. And lots of Pearl. Pearl! I’d almost let my best friend get lost in this weirdo life I was stuck in the middle of). I could figure things out listening to the waves crash on the shore. Hearing the cry of the seagulls. Standing in the surf.
“Evie,” Buddy said. “Talk to me. Please. I don’t know what I did.” He was beside me now. “Again. I keep messing up and I’m not sure what I’m doing. Or what you’re doing.”
I looked up into his eyes.
He didn’t know. How could he? But wasn’t there a law, somewhere, that said if you had a girlfriend who died, she shouldn’t be allowed to haunt your next almost-girlfriend?
If not, there should be.
Not that I was Buddy’s almost-girlfriend. Not yet. Would I ever be?
“I’m going to the beach,” I said.
Someone flew past in a red Camaro, radio blasting. They beeped and Buddy raised a hand at them.
“I’ll take you,” he said.
So I let him.