Page 4 of The Storm

I can’t bring myself to apologize. Instead, I back away from the table, whirl around, and stalk away. With no idea where to go, I head toward the shore, and then I keep walking.

I walk until I’m out of sight, and only then do I stop. I lean forward and clutch my sides.

It takes a while before I feel like I can breathe again.

Slowly, bit by bit, my heart rate goes back to normal, and the buzzing subsides.

I should go back. Be with Mom. Be there for Mom. But I can’t seem to make myself.

Instead, I look around. I’m standing in the middle of a dirt path with trees to my left and the bay to my right, surrounded by towering oaks and damp earth. The shade of the trees makes the ground smell like fallen leaves and moss and rain. No roads. No voices. Just the slight breeze threading through branches and the distant cry of birds. Everything is slightly overgrown and a little wild, like nature has been inching its way back slowly.

My shoulders relax just a bit.

There’s a dark shape a little farther away between the trees. Something big. I move forward, fueled by curiosity, willing to take any distraction.

Right there, on the edge of the shore, between the trees, the path comes to an end. A wooden shed has been built right at the start of a dock. Its doors have been pushed open, a red and white lifebuoy hanging next to the door.

I stand in front of the open doors.

It’s a boat shed. Wooden racks line the walls. There’s a kayak attached to the lower one on my right. The upper spot is empty. To my left, there’s another kayak, this one with two seats. A double? I don’t know what the right word is.

On the back wall there are life vests and oars and a shelf with trophies and medals.

Even more curious now, I start to take a step inside.

“Private property.”

I whirl around at the voice from behind me and lift my hand in front of my eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.

There’s a boy.

A boy with curious eyes and a smile on his face.

I take him in.

All of him.

His long limbs and his board shorts. The white T-shirt.

Bare feet.

Tanned skin.

Unruly black hair.

Green eyes.

He’s…

My fingers buzz.

My face goes warm. Even myearsare burning. Heat creeps up my neck.

My heart has decided it doesn’t remember how to beat properly. It slams against the inside of my rib cage and transforms into a tight flutter, skips a beat and goes into overdrive.

He’s… pretty.

He’s stupidly pretty.