16
Wyatt
Wyatt told his mother he would quit surfing early so he could clean out the treehouse, which still hadn’t been done three weeks after they’d arrived at the beach, the floor still covered with leaves that had blown in over the past nine months, wet and decayed. But he’d gotten a tune in his head when he was sitting with Sam on the beach earlier, and it repeated like tunes often did when they were trying to get out into the world. He sat down with his guitar just to see if he could capture it. He started slowly and corrected himself a few times before it sounded right. He could see the notes as he heard them, over and over again.
A song was starting to take shape when Sam showed up at the bottom of the rope ladder. He smiled because it was as if she’d walked into his song. She wore jeans, rolled up at the bottom, and a white T-shirt that was the tiniest bit too short, a negligible amount of stomach showing, so little that it could have been a mistake. Her hair was down and still wet from the shower, leaving the shoulders of her T-shirt slightly see-through. It was all too much for Wyatt. He put his guitar down and stood up.
“Not much of a cleaner, are you?” she said at the top of the ladder. She walked past him and grabbed the broom off the floor.
“I got distracted,” he said, trying to take it from her.
She lowered her hand on the broom so that their hands were touching. He liked the feel of her hand over his, just that spot where the bottom of her fist touched the top of his.
“What are you doing here?” he said, and it came out too small. They stood there, holding hands around the broom, for what seemed like forever. They were too close to be just talking, but not close enough.
Sam said, “I wanted to see you.”
“Yeah,” he said. The moon lit up the space and the air between them felt thick. It was a risk to kiss her, but maybe a bigger risk not to. It ached to want something this much. He barely had to move to brush his lips against hers, and he lingered there, just to make sure. Sam kissed him back and wrapped her arms around his neck. After that, something between them took over. It was as if, after taking this step, there was only one path forward. He’d practiced this kiss in his mind a thousand times. But he was not prepared for the salty-sweet taste of Sam’s lips and the urgent way she pressed her body against his. His hands were everywhere—her hair, her neck, her hips—as if this were his one chance to touch every part of her.
“We need to slow down,” she said by the time they were lying on the damp leaves.
“Do we?” He was not slowing down.
“We have all summer.”
I want forever, he thought.