52

I went over to Jake’s house that afternoon. My heart was pulling itself in two different directions, like a rubber band that had been stretched to its breaking point. I was waiting for it to snap. I was excited to have been accepted into the most prestigious art school in the world, but I was also totally, undeniably, unequivocally in love with Jake Jones-Evans, and was feeling the loss of him, although he wasn’t even gone yet. He was my first kiss, my first love, the first guy who’d seen past all my insecurities and imperfections—who’d seen me as no one had ever seen me before.

“Are you okay?” he asked as we sat on his veranda looking at the sea below.

I shook my head.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was accepted into an art school in Paris. It’s the best art school in the world.”

“What? That’s amazing. You’re amazing, so I’m not surprised, obviously.” He sat forward in his chair and looked at me with those cerulean eyes that I’d come to love so much. Can you believe gold used to be my favorite color?

“But it’s in Paris,” I said softly.

He got up from his chair, walked over to my lounger, and sat down. He took my hands in his. “I always knew you were going somewhere at the end of the year.”

I looked into his eyes. More than the color, I loved the way he looked at me. The wind picked up and took some red tendrils of my hair with it. He reached up and pushed the strands out of my face. “You were always going to Knysna, and I was always going to Stellenbosch. So, Paris is a bit farther than Knysna.”

I forced a laugh. “A bit? It’s an eleven-hour flight!”

“You’ll come home on holidays?” he asked.

“Yes, I want to see Zac . . . and you.”

“Of course you want to see me, I mean, why wouldn’t you want to see me. Obviously.”

I smiled at him. He reached up and wiped away a stray tear that had escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek. “Let’s just have the best time together until we both have to go.” He reached over and kissed me. I still didn’t think I would ever get used to this—the fact that I got to kiss Jake whenever and wherever I wanted to.

“Okay,” I said against his lips. Salty and soft. “Let’s have the best few months ever.”

And so we did.

They were filled with so much laughter and love, and believe it or not—completely cheesy but amazing—long walks on the beach. Playdates with Zac and Lisa, melting ice creams, making sandcastles sticky, the smell of coconut sunscreen and watermelon juice running down smiling faces. Evenings spent watching Netflix with him and Thembi, and other evenings spent kissing for so long that my lips were red and raw the next day. I also brought Jake into my world—we went to art shows and galleries, and found strange and curious shops that we scratched through for hours on end. Hot summer bonfires on the beach, a string of end-of-year parties, my birthday party—a surprise party that Thembi had organized and invited half of BWH to. And believe it or not, I’d enjoyed every moment of it. I felt a part of something bigger than me, and dare I say it, but I think a little BWH spirit might have seeped into my soul.

And there were quiet moments too. These were the moments I think I treasured the most. The ones where we didn’t say a word to each other. The ones where we didn’t need to. Where staring into each other’s eyes was enough to communicate everything we both thought and felt until we both felt we needed to communicate it in a different way.

JAKE: My parents are going away with Lisa this weekend, I told them I have to stay for a water polo thing so . . .

JAKE: Want to come over?

JAKE: Pack a toothbrush