Chapter 9: I think about you, you know I do
The black one-piece felt strange against her skin. Sleek, like a seal’s, nothing like her usual bikini. Belly stood in front of the mirror, twisting. The fabric was tight, forgiving nothing. She drank a glass of water, the cool liquid doing little to push back the tequila haze swimming at the edges of her vision. Her head was a dense, fuzzy cloud.
She grabbed a towel from the stack, the terrycloth rough in her hands, and pushed through the screen door. The night air was cooler now, carrying the sharp, sulfurous smell of spent fireworks. It mixed with the sea brine and the damp earth from the sprinklers.
She headed for the pool, thinking the clear, chlorinated water might shock her system straight. But she stopped at the edge of the patio.
He was a silhouette against the bruised sky, standing at the far end of the dock. Conrad. One hand on the peeling white railing, the other shoved in the pocket of his jeans. He wasn't looking at the water. He was looking up, where the last few fireworks from town bloomed in silent, distant flowers of gold and red, their sound arriving seconds later as a soft, scattered thud.
The water in the pool glimmered, a placid, easy escape. The dock stretched out like a question mark.
Her feet decided. The wooden planks were still warm from the day’s sun, gritty with sand.
The wooden planks were still warm from the day’s sun, gritty with sand. Each step was a quiet announcement. Conrad didn’t turn, but she saw his shoulders tighten, a faint ripple in the dark fabric of his t-shirt.
He kept his eyes on the horizon where the last firework dissolved into a dying shower of emerald dust. The boom reached them a heartbeat later, a hollow thump in the chest. She stopped next to him, putting her hands on the railing. The worn wood was smooth under her palms.
Conrad looked at her. His profile was sharp in the half-light, all angles and shadow. “You think everyone hates me now?” she asked. Her voice was smaller than she intended, carrying the leftover blur of margaritas and the sharp pinch of her mother’s downstairs silence.
“Who could ever hate you.” He said it simply, a statement of fact. There was no smile, just a direct, weighty look. She smiled, looking at the water to hide the sudden heat in her cheeks.
The blue water beneath them reflected nothing, a void. Conrad looked over at her, debating whether to stay silent or speak. “Belly, about the necklace—” he went to say.
Belly stopped him. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” She said, looking at him. She wished she could snatch the words from the shower right out of the air.
“No, no. I um, I did get it for you.” He said. The confession left him in a rush, as if he’d been holding his breath. Her own breath caught. It was one thing to suspect, another to hear it.
“Then why didn’t you give it to me?” She asked. She turned to face him fully, the old wood of the railing pressing into her hip.
“I don’t know.” He said, looking out at the water for a second then back at her. His eyes were the color of the ocean at midnight. “I got embarrassed, I guess.” He said, looking down at his own hands, gripping the rail.
“Why?” The word was a whisper almost lost under the lap of water against the pilings.
He let out a breath, a slow release of pressure, then looked at her. “Belly, you don’t know the effect you have on people.” He said. It wasn’t a line. It sounded like a diagnosis, a burden.
Her brows knitted. “Effect on people? I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said, but her heart was hammering, a frantic bird against her ribs. The sincerity in his voice was terrifying.
“Yeah, you do.” He said. It was quiet, final. They looked at each other for a long moment. The world shrank to the space between them.
The world shrank to the space between them. The distant rumble of the town’s fireworks faded into a low hum in her ears, replaced by the sound of her own blood rushing. She looked at his lip, the faintest chip in the lower one from a long-ago surfing accident.
He looked at hers, at the way she’d just caught it slightly between her teeth before letting it go. They slowly leaned in, looking at each other, the air charged and still. Their noses brushed, a glancing touch of skin that sent a current straight down her spine.
A firework exploded in the sky behind them, a sudden, violent chrysanthemum of white light that illuminated the fine gold strands of his hair and the stark uncertainty in his eyes. They looked at it, the moment ruptured by the burst of color and the following, window-rattling boom.
She looked at him for a moment, her breath held, then looked away sharply, back toward the safe, dark shape of the house. He looked at her, at the quick rise and fall of her shoulders, then looked away, his jaw tightening.
Belly bit her lip, the sharp little pain a grounding anchor. They watched the rest of the fireworks that went off in a rapid, final volley of reds and blues, their silence now a thick, complicated thing. Each silent bloom in the distance felt like a period at the end of a sentence they hadn’t spoken.
Belly woke up with a dry mouth and a memory that played on a loop: the brush of his nose, the flash of light, the wreckage of the moment after. The black one-piece was on her floor. She pulled on shorts and a tank top, her mind already rehearsing the deb ball steps as a distraction.
The walk to the country club was all sharp sunlight and salt air. Everyone else had a partner except her.
She took out her phone, going to Conrad.
Hey, she typed.
No, too serious, she thought. She deleted it.
She typed Good morning :). She got rid of the smiley face. She added a sunshine emoji instead and sent it. The click of the send button felt reckless.
“Hey, Belly.” Shayla’s voice cut through her panic. She was walking over with Steven, their hands loosely linked.
Belly shoved her phone away. “Hey, I’m so sorry I was such a mess yesterday. I hope I didn’t screw things up.”
“It’s okay, we’re good,” Shayla said, her smile easy and genuine.
“Yeah, but you were a devil though,” Steven said, nudging Belly with his elbow.
“Be nice. We’ve all been there. When I was drunk I FaceTimed each of my exes one by one and made them tell me why we broke up,” Shayla said, rolling her eyes at her own memory.
Belly laughed, the sound a little too loud, a release of nervous energy. The music started, a generic waltz pouring from the club’s speakers.They all began dancing. Belly practiced the box step alone, her arms curled around an invisible partner.
Nicole saw Belly alone from across the room. She walked over, her practiced grace a contrast to Belly’s self-conscious steps. “You need a partner for the big night,” Nicole said, not a question.
“I know,” Belly said, her voice thick with a frustration she couldn’t name.
“So let’s fix it.” Nicole took position, one hand firm on Belly’s back, the other lifting her hand. They rehearsed. Nicole’s lead was confident and impersonal, a reminder of the proper form Belly was supposed to care about.
Conrad woke up smiling, thinking about last night. The almost-kiss played behind his eyelids, not as a failure, but as a threshold. He walked over to the window, looking out at the empty dock where the sun now baked the weathered planks.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, the screen blank for a second before lighting up with her message: Good morning ☀️. He smiled, a real one that softened his whole face. He typed a reply, deleted it, then just put the phone in his pocket.
He knocked on Belly’s door, a quick rap of his knuckles. “Belly?” He opened it, seeing the neatly made bed and the discarded black swimsuit on the floor. She wasn’t there. He went downstairs, the old house creaking under his weight. The kitchen was empty.
The kitchen was empty. The only evidence of life was the dying red eye of the coffee machine and a single, clean mug upside-down on the drainboard. He touched the pot. It was still faintly warm. He was about to pour the last of it when footsteps thumped on the stairs.
Jere walked downstairs in his lifeguard uniform, the red fabric stiff and bright against his tan. His hair was still damp from a shower. “Morning,” Conrad said, leaning against the counter.
“Morning.” Jere said, his voice gravelly with sleep. He went straight for the coffee pot, picking it up and shaking it. He poured the rest of the coffee into a mug. “Seriously?” Jere said, holding the near-empty carafe.
Conrad held his own full cup out, a peace offering. “You can have it.” He said.
“Thanks.” Jere said, taking it. He sipped, wincing at the heat. “Hey, where’s Belly and everyone else?” Conrad asked, trying to sound casual. He glanced toward the sun-filled backyard.
“Belly and Steven are at the club doing the whole deb thing.” Jere said, leaning against the fridge. He studied his brother’s face. “Ah, yeah.” Conrad said, the memory of the dance practice suddenly dimming his mood slightly.
“Want some eggs? I can make some,” Conrad said, pushing off the counter and opening the refrigerator. The cool air washed over him.
“I gotta get to the pool.” Jere said, checking his watch. He didn’t move. “Yeah.” Conrad said, closing the fridge door slowly.
“So what’s with the good mood?” Jere asked, his eyes narrowing. He took another sip of coffee, watching Conrad closely. “You’re like, weirdly chipper. It’s unsettling.”
“I don’t know.” Conrad shrugged, a small, unguarded smile touching his lips. “Maybe I’m just happy to be alive after you almost blew me up last night.” Conrad said, remembering the first firework that went off, the one that had shattered the quiet on the dock and broken whatever magnetic pull had been drawing him and Belly together.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you guys were there.” Jere’s tone was light, but his gaze was sharp. “What were you guys doing out there anyway?”
“I don’t know.” Conrad looked down into his empty mug. “Just talking.”
“About?” Jere pressed, his voice losing its morning roughness.
“Don’t you have a pool to vacuum.” Conrad said, his own voice flattening, a door clicking shut. Jere pulled out his phone, seeing the time. “Shit.” He said, draining the coffee. He set the mug in the sink with a clatter.
The back door opened, bringing a slice of blazing morning light. Laurel walked in, carrying a bundle of fresh-cut lavender that smelled like summer and clean sheets. “Good morning, Laurel.” Conrad said, his voice reverting to its usual, polite tone.
“Morning.” She said, her eyes lingering on him for a beat too long. She wondered why he was so energetic, the contrast with his typical reserved self as notable as a sudden, clear day after a week of storms.
Outside on the deck, Susannah was wrapped in a cream-colored blanket despite the heat. Laurel walked outside with two mugs of coffee. “Coffee?” she said.
Susannah looked at her. “I had a cup.” she said.
“Oh.” Laurel said, her shoulders dropping a fraction.
“But I could go for a refill.” Susannah said, her voice softening.
Laurel handed her a mug and sat down on a lounge chair next to her. The wicker creaked under her weight. The ocean was a flat, brilliant blue today, refusing to mirror the complicated weather between them.
“I don’t like fighting with you.” Laurel said, staring at a seagull riding a thermal.
“Oh, me neither.” Susannah said, sipping the hot coffee.
“I’m just worried about you and the boys.” Laurel’s words were careful, each one placed like a stone on a scale.
Susannah let out a long, quiet breath. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I need to be the one who decides how things go right now.” Her knuckles were white where they gripped the mug.
“I’m trying to honour that.” Laurel said, though the words tasted like surrender.
“Just a few more weeks, that’s all I need.” Susannah turned her head, her profile etched against the bright sky.
“All right.” Laurel said, the agreement feeling both like a defeat and the deepest form of friendship.
“Thank you.” Susannah whispered, reaching over to briefly squeeze Laurel’s hand.
The mirrored walls of the country club ballroom made one Belly into twenty, a spinning array of her own nervous reflection. Nicole’s count was precise, a metronome in three-four time. “And one, two, three. One, two, three.” Her hand was firm on Belly’s back, a guide and a restraint.
The main doors swung open with a groan. Jeremiah strode in, his lifeguard shirt a violent red splash against the muted golds and beiges. “Hey, you got the keys?” he called to the woman at the front desk, his voice echoing.
“Two minutes!” she shouted back, not looking up from her computer.
Jeremiah’s eyes found Belly and Nicole in the mirror. He grinned, a flash of white. He walked over, his sneakers squeaking on the polished parquet. “May I cut in?” he asked Nicole, already tapping her shoulder.
Nicole stepped back, a slight, amused smile on her face. Jere came into the room, stealing Belly away from Nicole to be his partner for the minute while he waited for the keys. They danced.
He took her hand, his palm warm and slightly calloused. “You look miserable,” he said, pulling her into a basic, swaying box step.
“I’m concentrating.” Belly said, staring hard at his shoulder.
“You’re overthinking it. Just move your feet.” He led with an easy confidence, his steps sure. She stopped fighting and let him guide her, her body relaxing into the rhythm.
The lady came with the keys and Jere left, giving Belly’s hand a final squeeze. Belly looked at the door seeing Conrad there. He stood just inside the threshold, backlit by the hallway light, one hand in his pocket. She smiled.
He waved. Nicole, from across the room, thought it was for her and waved back. Belly put her hand down, her smile faltering for a heartbeat. Conrad gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, a private communication meant only for her, then turned and walked to his car.
Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her shorts. She pulled it out, the screen glowing in the dim ballroom. One new message from Conrad.
See you when you get back. It said.
She smiled, a real one that started in her chest and lit up her whole face. She pressed the phone to her lips for a second, then tucked it away, the lingering ghost of the text warming her skin. Nicole called her back to practice, but the steps now felt lighter, the music less like a dirge.
She drove home with the windows down, the coastal air whipping her hair, already composing what she might say to him.
The house was quiet, just the muffled sound of a game show from the living room where Susannah dozed. Belly looked around for Conrad, checking the kitchen, the deck, the path to the dock. He was nowhere to be seen.
A small, deflating sensation tightened her chest. She headed out the front door, thinking a walk might settle the restless energy he’d put there.
Cam was there, leaning against his car door like he’d been waiting. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she said, stopping on the porch step. The sun was angled and harsh, highlighting the awkward line of his shoulders. “Sorry about yesterday. I was a mess.”
“No, uh, sorry for leaving.” He scuffed his shoe on the gravel. “It’s okay.”
“Did you wanna go for a walk?” he asked, nodding toward the trail that led to the inland lake.
“Sure.” The word came out automatically, a polite reflex. She fell into step beside him, the silence filled with the crickets practicing for evening.
They headed to the lake and sat on the familiar flat rock, its surface still warm. He pulled out sandwiches he’d made, wrapped in wax paper, and gave one to Belly. “Thanks,” she said.
He was so sweet, but she couldn’t help thinking that she wished she was here with Conrad. The turkey and avocado tasted like nothing, a bland courtesy.
He grabbed out his binoculars and scanned the water, then stiffened. “Whoa. Ten o’clock. Spout!” He handed her the binoculars, his excitement genuine. She saw the distant puff of white, then the dark, gleaming arch of a whale’s back slipping beneath the metal-blue surface.
“I think this calls for dessert,” he said, his voice bright with the shared victory. He pulled a roll-up from his pocket, the kind she’d always liked.
“Cam, I can’t.” She pushed the binoculars back into his hands, the plastic suddenly cold.
“I thought these were your favourite.” His smile didn’t change, but his eyes did.
“No, they’re awesome. And you’re awesome, but…” She looked at the water where the whale had been. She couldn’t not think of Conrad, of the dock, of the charged air his confession had left in her lungs.
“Kind of saw this coming,” he said. He rewrapped the roll-up, his movements careful and slow.
“I’m sorry.”
“The why or the who doesn’t really matter.” He stared at his sandwich, unable to look at her.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know. But I’ll be fine.” He finally met her gaze, and his smile was thin but real. “You should be with the person you wanna be with. And I hope he treats you right.” He said it without malice, a clean severance.
She nodded, the gesture feeling inadequate. She stood up, brushing sand from her shorts. He stayed on the rock, looking out at the water, and she left him there.
She walked back alone, the weight of the encounter a dull stone in her gut. Headed for the door, the pool’s blue glow reached for her through the gathering dusk. She saw Jere at the pool. He wasn’t swimming. He was sitting on the edge, shirtless, his feet dangling in the water, staring at his own distorted reflection.
He was sitting on the edge, shirtless, his feet dangling in the water, staring at his own distorted reflection. The underwater light painted his torso in rippling blues, making him look like something submerged and waiting.
“Hey, let’s swim.” Jere said, not turning around, his voice flat.
Belly paused on the patio, the tile still warm beneath her feet. “Oh, my mum’s been on me about cleaning my room, especially since yesterday.” She said, the excuse sounding thin even to her.
“How come nobody ever wants to play with me.” He said, smirking over his shoulder. The expression didn’t reach his eyes, which held a hollowed-out look she recognized.
She laughs, but it’s a brief, airy sound. “Later.” She says, and headed up to her room, leaving him with his fragmented twin in the chlorinated water.
Upstairs, she didn’t clean. She stood in the middle of the familiar chaos—discarded towels, a sandy paperback, the black one-piece still on the floor—and felt utterly still. The text from Conrad glowed in her memory. See you when you get back. But he hadn’t been there.
The silence of the house began to press in, a physical weight. She headed back downstairs, each step a quiet surrender to the pull she’d been trying to ignore since the dock.
She heard a noise outside, a soft, metallic scrape from the side yard. Peering through the screen door, she saw Conrad.
He was at the outdoor shower, wrenching the faucet handle with more force than necessary. A slow drip fell from the showerhead, plinking into the drain below. He hadn’t heard her.
She headed outside, the crushed shells of the path gritty under her sandals. She stopped a few feet away, looking at him. The set of his shoulders was tense, the muscles in his back defined under his plain grey t-shirt. You’re the only boy I’ve ever thought about my whole life, it’s always been you, she thinks, the truth of it a quiet, roaring wave inside her skull.
“You’re back.” She says.
He startles, just a slight hitch in his movement, then turns. “Hey.” He says. His eyes were guarded again, the earlier openness from his text completely sealed away. Water from the leaking showerhead splashed lightly on his arm, but he didn’t seem to feel it.
“I don’t think me and Cam are gonna see much of each other anymore.” She says. She crossed her arms, not against the chill, but to hold herself together.
“Why?” He asks. He leaned against the weathered siding, his posture feigning a casualness his eyes betrayed.
“Last night you and I almost kissed.” She says. The words hung in the humid air, simple and devastatingly direct.
He looked away, a flush creeping up his neck. “Did we?” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of pure agitation. “I was pretty wasted. I don’t really remember much.”
A cold void opened up beneath her ribs. “Wait, are you serious?” She says, her voice dropping to a disbelieving whisper.
He looked at her then, and she saw the lie for what it was—a poorly constructed wall, already crumbling. His jaw worked. “Okay. We almost kissed.” The admission was ripped out of him, rough and impatient. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry?”
She took a step closer, the damp grass soaking the edges of her sandals. “Are you sorry?” She says, searching his face for any crack that showed the boy from the dock, the one who’d told her she had an effect on people.
His resolve fractured. He looked down, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know, Belly.” When he lifted his gaze, the conflict there was raw and terrifying. “I think about you. I do. And you know I do. I just can’t.”
Can’t what? The question screamed inside her, but his expression—pained, final—already answered it. It was everything. Can’t start this, can’t be this, can’t undo whatever knot was tied inside him that made happiness seem like a betrayal.
The hope she’d been clutching, the one that had bloomed with his text and his confession about the necklace, withered and turned to ash. It was a death, small and quiet, right there in the side yard with the dripping shower.
“I’m not waiting for you anymore.” She says. The words came out clean, sharp, and absolutely sure.
She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and walked away, heading to her room. Her vision blurred at the edges, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. She just walked, each step carrying her further from the drip of the shower and the boy who stood frozen in its sound.