Chapter 22
Marina’s journal
At the start of each summer, I open my old diary and cringe at how silly I’ve been.
The lonely girl meeting the boy with shiny scales and open arms. My pretend friendship, the thing I get lost in every year. Despite Jenna reading my diary, despite Uncle Orson saying I’m getting too old for all this.
They send us to camp regardless.
I wouldn’t have said a word if Jenna hadn’t read my diary aloud on the car ride down. Uncle Orson just shook his head and said “So, that’s what you really think of us?” His voice was dark, not yelling how he usually does, but something else. He was hurt, I think.
I never meant to hurt anyone.
“If you like that camp so much, maybe you should just stay there,” Aunt Andrea scoffed.
During the entire drive, I couldn’t stop thinking about how good that would be. I went through the motions during orientation, and unpacking, until it was finally time to slip away and see him. A knot forms in my chest.
What if it really is pretend?
But then, Gale waves to me from our meeting spot, a shine in his yellow eyes. How could I doubt this—doubt him?
I race into Gale’s arms holding him so tight, like if I let my grip slip even a little he’d disappear.
The boy who always waits.
The boy who always listens.
And for some reason I can’t fully understand, the boy who always wants me around.
“You’re back!” he cheers, spinning me in circles.
“Oh, I missed you so much! I have so much to tell ya. Clawrece, she’s gotten so big.
I wanted to bring her, but she was fast asleep.
Goldie, my sister, keeps putting bows on her tail, so it felt like I should let her rest after putting up with all that grief and—” He stopped, his hand suddenly coming up to trace a tear I didn’t know had fallen. “Marina, what’s wrong?”
“Gale, do you remember when you said I should see your world?”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“You say my name so funny. I missed it. I missed you.” His smile is always so big—bigger than any smile anyone else has given me.
“Do you remember?” I press.
“Of course,” he said, blinking slowly. His grip on my hands tightened as his body leaned toward the water, as if he was tempted to guide me there right that second—maybe I should have let him.
No one would have noticed.
Grams doesn’t even pick up the phone, and I see the look on Aunt Andrea’s face every morning when I come down the stairs.
They don’t want me back.
“Did you mean it?” I ask, suddenly the lonely girl standing in front of the boy, not looking for an escape but a place to finally belong.
“Meet me here tomorrow night,” he says with a firm nod. “I’ll have everything ready.”