CHAPTER

20

Over the next few days, I write about ten more poems and stash them all over the island. I tuck them away in that little blue birdhouse in the park and in the tip jar at the coffee shop where Kate buys her sachets of lavender green tea.

They’re all about… stuff.

Wondering kind of stuff.

Handholding, kissing kind of stuff.

I try not to write about it—I’m done wondering, after all—but it’s like my hand or my brain or maybe even my heart takes over. Every time I lie on my bed or sit on the front porch with a piece of paper and a pen, I mean to write about, I don’t know, the mind-blowing double chocolate cake doughnut from Yeast Juniper Island Bakery that Kate has finally started letting me eat, but that’s not the stuff I end up thinking about.

But think, I do. And I write and write and write until my head feels nice and empty, until my heart feels slicked clean like all the gunk got washed out. Then I start thinking about Quinn again and I have to start the whole process over.

Let’s just say I’ve written a lot of poems.

Today, it’s rainy out, the sky a puffy gray. I’m sitting on the front porch and waiting for Lena to pick me up to take me clothes shopping when my phone buzzes in my bag. I choke down a sip of Ensure and set the can down next to me, then dig out my phone.

Hey, Quinn texts. Want to go to the beach today?

My Ensure threatens to come right back up. I haven’t seen Quinn in a week. Not since the pool. She’s texted a bunch, always asking me to hang out, and I take forever to answer her. I want to say yes. Every time, I want to say yes, but then I remember holding hands with her under the waterfall and the way my stomach felt all funny. Then I remember that all the wondering about kissing and handholding I’ve been doing lately isn’t about boys. It’s not even about girls, really.

All my wondering is about Quinn.

I shake my head, trying to knock all those wonderings right out. They’re too scary, too risky.

I can’t, I text back. I’m going shopping with Lena.

Not a lie.

Okay, she says. Text me later?

For sure.

Maybe a lie.

I mean, I want to text her. I want to see her. She’s my BFF and I don’t want to mess that up, but what if I feel… and what if she doesn’t feel… and what does all that mean…

I groan and rest my forehead on my knees.

“You okay, sweetie?” Kate says, coming out the front door.

I snap my head back up and grab my Ensure, sipping dutifully. “Yeah, fine. I just… don’t want to finish this gross drink.”

Kate sits down and nudges me with her shoulder. “I wish I could go shopping with you,” she says. She’s dressed in her raincoat with a ratty Nirvana T-shirt and tattered jeans, because today is inventory day at Cherry Picked Books. She and Dave and the staff go through every single book in the whole store and make sure they’re all in the computer and figure out which books aren’t selling and need to be sent back to the publisher. It takes all day and a lot of the night and sounds so boring, I almost fall asleep every time Kate tells me about it.

“Yeah, me too,” I say, and then, because I’m thinking about the kind of clothes I want to get, Quinn pops back into my head. I pretty much love everything Quinn wears. I want the same kind of cute and snug printed tees. Also a bikini, preferably bright blue with suns all over it. And a pair of black shorts. Also some dark skinny jeans. All mine are too loose.

“Just don’t get any tattoos while you’re out,” Kate says.

“I don’t know. I kind of want a big old sun on my bicep.”

She laughs and puts her arm around my shoulders, running her hand down my hair. I lean into her and smell her familiar smell—books and clean wax from the candles she loves to burn at night.

“You like her,” she says.

My heart jumps into my throat. “Who?”

“Lena.”

I relax a little but pull away so I can frown at her. “Am I not supposed to?”

“No, sweetie, of course you are. It’s just…”

But she trails off, her eyes all distant and glazy-looking as she holds me tighter.

Lena and I have been surfing three times this past week. I can stand now and everything. But whenever Lena comes to the house to pick me up, Kate gets all weird. She always lets me go, but she grills Lena for at least ten minutes, asking a bunch of questions about how deep in the ocean we go and how far Lena lets me get from her and when we take breaks and how much water I’m drinking. I’m amazed she doesn’t ask Lena to write down every time I take a deep breath.

Now, I can see all the wheels turning in Kate’s brain, all the worries. Before I can beg her to chill out, Lena’s truck bounces up the driveway, the horn honking happily.

“Hey, you two!” Lena says as she slides out of the driver’s seat. “Ready for some serious shopping?”

Kate’s arm drops from my side as I leap to my feet. “So ready.” And I so am. I’m so, so tired of all the drab stuff in my closet. Old Life Sunny stuff.

“First, I have a surprise for you,” Lena says, grinning.

“What is it?”

She waves me to the back of her truck and I bound off the porch.

“Sunny, it’s raining,” Kate calls behind me.

“I won’t melt!” I singsong, and keep running. Kate makes an annoyed noise, but she follows me, and we meet Lena at the truck bed just as she’s pulling down the tailgate. The rain is barely anything, the kind of drizzle that Dave likes to call spit-rain.

“Ta-da!” Lena sings, flourishing her hands.

And, um, yes, ta-da indeed. Because there, lying on the worn bed of her truck, is a gorgeous, shiny, sparkling, bright blue surfboard.

With a gorgeous, shiny, sparkling, bright yellow sun right in the middle.

My mouth drops open. “Is… is that for me?”

“Wait, there’s more,” Lena says. She disappears for a second and opens the back passenger door. I hear the rustle of a bag and when she reappears, she’s holding a short-sleeved black rash guard, just like hers. Except this one has a yellow sun on the chest. It matches the one on the surfboard.

“I love it,” I whisper, reaching out to touch the smooth fabric, rain already beading up on the surface. “Is all this really mine?”

“Completely and totally yours.”

Kate clears her throat. She’s got her arms folded and she’s staring at the board like she expects it to sprout wings and fly away.

“I mean, if it’s okay with Kate,” Lena says.

Kate doesn’t say anything. She reaches out a finger and runs it over the edge of the shiny board. “What was wrong with the board she was using?”

Lena’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Well, it wasn’t hers. I rented it and Sunny seemed to like surfing so much. A surfer needs a board all her own.”

Kate nods, real quick and tight and over and over again, just like she did when Dr. Ahmed first told us I was sick. Nod-nod-nod-nod-nod-nod.

“I can keep it, right?” I ask Kate, because wow, this board is so pretty. Kate seems upset, but I have no idea why. It’s just a surfboard and I want it so, so bad. I can already feel the waxy surface under my bare feet, see the ocean water moving over that bright sun as I rise up to ride my first wave.

“Kate?” Lena asks when Kate just keeps staring at the board. Kate startles and smiles at me.

“Of course you can keep it, honey,” she says. Nod-nod-nod-nod-nod-nod.

I squeal and throw my arms around Lena’s neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Lena laughs and squeezes me tight. “You’re so welcome.”

“When can I try it out? Right now? Please say right now. I’m ready to catch a real wave, you know I am.”

Last time we were out, we were in the shallows, where the waves are running toward the shore, and Lena started showing me how to catch smaller waves. I had to stay on my stomach until I got the hang of it, but I still had to get the board positioned and learn to read when a wave was starting to break.

Lena starts to answer, but Kate cuts her off. “No way. It’s wet and stormy.”

“It’s wet, not stormy,” I say. “And the ocean is already wet.”

“The water is choppy. You can see it from here.” Kate waves her hand toward the gray sea to our left. There are some definite whitecaps out there, ribbons of water turned inside out by the wind, but so what?

“Surfers need to learn to surf in all conditions,” Lena says. “It’s a safety issue. Weather can change quickly on the sea.”

“Safety?” Kate says. “Safe would be not going out at all.”

“You can’t swaddle her in bubble wrap forever, Katie.”

Kate’s jaw clenches. “Lena.”

“She’ll be fine. She’ll be with me and I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Surfers die all the time.”

“Yes. Inexperienced surfers.”

“That’s not true. Professionals get hurt just the same.”

“What, did you Google it?” Lena asks.

“Maybe I did. I’m Sunny’s guardian. I’m legally responsible for her.”

Lena stares at her and Kate stares back and my chest starts to hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Lena finally says, real soft and low. “I don’t mean to overstep, I just—”

“You promised Sunny shopping. We can talk about this later,” Kate says. Then she pulls me into a hug, her T-shirt good and damp now, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Bye, sweetie. Be sure to get some winter shirts today, okay?”

“Um. Yeah. Okay,” I squeeze out through a tight throat.

Kate doesn’t say bye to Lena. Lena doesn’t say bye to her either, but watches Kate flip the hood of her raincoat up and get on her sunshine-yellow beach bike, the one she always rides into town, and pedal away. Even after Kate’s long gone, Lena just keeps staring off down the road, her fists balling up and releasing, balling up and releasing.

“Lena?”

She doesn’t answer at first, but finally she nods once, takes a deep breath, and looks at me. “Ready to try out your new board, Sunshine?”