THE PAST （AGED 16） #2
We slip out the back door, no shoes, no coats. The sand is cold on my ankles but I keep moving.Brody just follows me, like he always does.
The air is different at night. The water glows white-blue in the dark, and there’s this strange sense that nothing could ever touch us here.
Not Marcus, not the voices in our heads, not the fact that we’re too fucked up to ever be normal.
Lucas picks a spot behind an old dune. There’s a log here, half-buried.
We drop the blanket and sprawl over it like seals.
He pulls out a bag of green stuff and something that looks like paper.
It hits me: weed. The smell is overwhelming.
Sophie giggles. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”
Lucas winks at her. “Not if we don’t get caught.”
That’s the kind of logic that gets kids killed in movies, but we’re not in a movie. We’re four idiots on a beach and nothing bad ever happens to us. Not yet.
Lucas fiddles with his lighter. It takes three tries, but finally the tip glows. He takes the first hit and looks so stupidly proud he might burst. He holds it out to Brody next who doesn’t hesitate. He breathes in, holds, then hands it to me.
I almost drop it, my fingers tingling already. I puff a little, not much. The smoke is harsh and burns behind my nose, but the taste isn’t bad. I cough once, but play it cool.
Sophie is last. She makes a face but still does it.
The circle goes around. More and more. Lucas tells some dumb story about a haunted football field at his old school.
He keeps losing the thread, then looping back.
Sophie keeps laughing, high and light, head against my shoulder as she constantly tugs at her sleeve cuffs.
Brody barely talks. He sits next to me, closer than usual, thigh pressed to mine. Every time I shift, he shifts too, mirroring me like a weird magnet.
I let it happen. I let it burn.
He finally says, “You’re really quiet, Bambi.”
“Trying not to inhale,” I say, and Brody almost grins.
His arm brushes mine. Goosebumps pop up everywhere.
Lucas and Sophie start arguing about ghosts and whether aliens are real. She teases him about being scared of the dark. He gets all red and sputters, “I’m not scared,” which makes her laugh harder.
I take another puff. This time, it hits me right in the skull. Like a pillow, but heavier. My limbs go floaty and I relax into the log, into the blanket, into Brody at my side.
He’s so close I can hear the grit in his voice as he says, “Bet you couldn’t handle a real haunted house.”
“You don’t think I’m tough?” I lean over so our faces are almost touching.
He shrugs. “You’re cute. But not scary.”
I snort. “I could take you.”
He looks at me, really looks. His eyes are silver in the moon, scary and empty and perfect.
“I doubt that,” he says.
It’s so quiet I forget anyone else is here.
Sophie sings a little jingle under her breath. Lucas throws sand at her; it gets in her hair and she whines, flicking it back at him. They keep escalating, throwing handfuls, rolling around, yelling. Kids.
I’m not a kid. Not when I’m sitting this close to Brody.
He passes the smoke to me. I take a longer drag than before and cough so bad I almost die, and my mouth tastes like ash. He pats my back, not gentle, but not cruel.
He leans in. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t let go; his hand staying on my shoulder. Heat radiates through my tank. It’s the most contact we’ve had, probably ever. I freeze, afraid he’ll move away, but he doesn’t. He just stays like that. Watching.
The moon makes my skin look blue and strange. His knees are spread wide, tough, and unashamed. He watches the ocean, but I know he’s staring at me out of the corner of his eyes.
“You always this quiet?”
“I talk if it matters,” he answers.
“What matters?”
He looks at my mouth first. “You could figure that out.”
I laugh, but it breaks. “You’re weird.”
“So are you, Bambi.”
The word makes my insides clench.
Lucas calls out, “You guys making out over there?”
Sophie throws a grape at him which nails him right in the eye socket.
Brody huffs a low noise, almost a laugh. “They’re children.”
“‘Scuse you,” Sophie starts, then stops. “Never mind.”
We pass the smoke until it’s gone. My head feels like it’s floating, everything is loud. Waves, breathing, even the sound of Brody scratching the side of his thumb against his knee.
Eventually, Lucas falls flat on his back. “I think I’m dead.”
“Good,” Brody says.
I laugh. My knee slides against his and he doesn’t flinch.
Sophie grins at us, making a face. “Lovebirds.”
It’s meant as a joke but it’s true. I want to rest my head on Brody’s shoulder, but I’m afraid he’ll push me away.
He wouldn’t, though. Maybe that’s the scariest part.
The conversation spins out. Dumb would-you-rathers.
Weird childhood stories. All the secrets you say when you don’t think anyone will remember tomorrow.
The weed makes it easy to not care. I let myself laugh, even when it hurts my stomach.
I let my fingers pick at the edge of the blanket until I’m sure they’ll bleed.
It’s easy. That’s what’s so fucked about it.
Nothing has gone wrong yet.
After a while, everyone gets tired. Lucas says he can’t feel his feet. Sophie is half asleep, tangled in the edge of the blanket, hair sticky with sand. I finish the warm soda and throw the can behind me, because who cares?
We stand, but nobody moves fast. Brody hauls me to my feet, not letting go of my hand for too long, and I wonder if he notices.
I do.
We stagger up the sand, wind cutting at our faces, cold seeping through our shirts. I can’t stop giggling. Brody walks slowly so he’s behind everyone else. I lag too.
“What’s so funny?” he says.
I shrug. “You. Us. Everything.”
He turns. For a second, his eyes are pure dark. All the joking is gone.
“Means you’ll remember it,” he says.
I hope so.
Sophie calls from ahead. “Keep up, lovebirds!”
Lucas yells too, but he’s already at the door, pawing at the handle like a raccoon. We duck inside. The house is silent, only the hum of the fridge and the tick of the clock. Everyone else is asleep.
I grab Brody’s wrist before he goes to his room. He stops. Waits. I want to look at him. No point, but I do it anyway.
“Night, Bambi,” he says, his voice softer than it’s ever been.
I could die from it. I think I want to.
I let go. “Night.”
He disappears down the hall and I slip back to my room, collapsing next to Sophie, who’s already out. I lie there, staring at the beams in the ceiling, heart jackhammering.
It could have happened. I could have kissed him, or let him kiss me, or something. But I didn’t.
Next time. Next time, next time, next time.
Long after the weed is gone and the world is gray again, I still feel the heat of his body on my skin. I stare out the window until the stars look like eyes. Watching, always watching. I fall asleep and dream that I’m swimming. Pulled under, but never drowning. Never.