Rewind to You (6 page)

I glance at the boxes of Lucky Charms and smile. I told Austin all about Spencer’s obsession with Batman on our trip to Winn-Dixie, about how he convinced Mom to buy thirty boxes of Lucky Charms a while back when they had a free Batman figure included. I told him about Spencer’s ADHD and shockingly early diagnosis of bipolar disorder, his erratic cycling between depression and hypomania, my parents’ struggle to find a system of medications to level his mood swings, and how, despite it all, I can’t help but love the kid. Way too much information—I know—considering I just met Austin, but talking to him came easy and I found myself wanting to share.

And what did Austin say about himself, about his family? A big fat
nothing.
He hardly said a word about himself. Almost makes me regret babbling on like I did.

Austin pops his door open. “Promise me one thing.”

My eyes lock on his.

“Don’t give any other strangers a ride home, okay?”

I glance down, blushing. He’s right. Offering to give a ride to someone I don’t really know wasn’t the brightest idea.

Austin makes like he’s about to get out, but he turns back. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“You keep asking me that.” I laugh it off as I glance out at the dark street I’ve never driven down before. Thank heaven for GPS.

His eyebrows arch quizzically, and his eyes dart to the steering wheel in front of me. I did, after all, faint in his arms a couple of hours ago, and now I’m behind the wheel.

“I’ll be fine.”

He nods and steps out. I smile as he walks around the front of the car, the headlights illuminating his figure. He leans against my window again, and my nerves rattle, reacting to his closeness. I catch his curious stare again. “Really, Austin, I’ll be fine.”

“Can I call you? Make sure you get home okay?” he asks. Oh, man, it’s really hard to breathe when he looks at me like this. “Basically, I think I just want your number.”

More nervous laughter. “You don’t need to check up on me.”

He seems satisfied with this answer, and suddenly I wish he wasn’t. He pulls away from the car, and with every inch he draws away, I feel my regret swell. Until his hands meet the window frame again. “So . . . say I was to call you tomorrow anyway. Would your boyfriend beat me up?”

Kyle
. A stab of guilt brings my hands to the steering wheel.
If
Kyle could beat you up, I think. My eyes take in the swell of muscles beneath Austin’s tight sleeves once more. I
do
have a boyfriend, a boyfriend I love, who has a good family my mom seriously dreams I’ll marry into someday. Sure, it’s always been just girly chitchat. But my mom rarely says anything she doesn’t honestly think. And enough of her hopes for the future have been crushed already.

“Well, if you happen to be on River Street again,” Austin says, breaking the silence. “If you’re out walking around late at night and some drunk pervs jump out at you and you need someone to break your fall . . .”

I smile.

He smiles, too. “Stop by the River Street Sweets.”

Laughter bursts through my lips. “You’ll be there, huh?”

He gives me a smile that sends my stomach flying again. “Most likely.” Reaching through the open window, he presses the button to lock my doors and steps away. “Until next time?”

I smile at his hypothetical question. With those three words, Austin has glued himself in my brain, kindling hopes for a next time that will never be.

As I pull away from the curb, I wonder if Austin really likes me and whether it could possibly be a good thing. I feel his eyes linger on my car as I drive away. I glance down and discover something I can’t help but smile about. I’m still wearing his shirt.

Maybe he planned this? Had to. I wouldn’t put it past him. I’ll have to return the shirt sometime, and now I know where he lives. I pull the neck out enough to see the front of the shirt that’s been inside out all night. And with a heavy dose of shock, I read some familiar words.

P
ROPERTY
OF
M
EADOWBROOK
M
ONARCHS
.

As in Meadowbrook High School Monarchs? It must be. The Meadowbrook High I know of is in Richmond, on the opposite side of town from where I grew up. And Austin went there? Or at least he knows someone there.

My eyes flash to the rearview mirror because I’m certain he’s still standing on the sidewalk, watching me. I feel a twinge of disappointment when I find he’s no longer there.

I drive home. No radio. Just me and thoughts of Meadowbrook High and a stranger close to home. From the other side of town my parents didn’t like me driving through.

Marshes cover the lush ground near the highway, the water glistening here and there in the light of the moon. The deep rumble of a revved engine behind me clashes with peaceful thoughts. Severing my reverie. A sound I hate that drags dark memories to the surface.

Two motorcycles speed ahead.

One cuts in front of me. Fireworks overhead.

I snap myself out of it. I try to keep myself focused on the road ahead, grounded in the here and now. I work so hard to push the accident away. It’s best that way.

Tires squealing on pavement. A shrill scream. Me?

My hands tense on the steering wheel as a motorcycle passes my car on the road into Tybee. It’s black. All black. Not like either of the motorcycles from that night with Dad. Still.

I killed my dad.

My heart races. Faster. Terror turns my nerves into lead as the truth repeats in my mind. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. My head starts to spin.

I killed my dad.

I swallow over and over again, but nothing gets past the raw knot in my throat.

Just a few more minutes until the beach house. Hold it together.

My head spins, assaulted with images of that night. I plead with my body, my mind. Focus. Stay focused. I pray.
Please, please help me.

My vision goes crazy. Fast this time. I’m suddenly gasping for air. I ease off the gas and pull off the road before I double over and faint. I throw the car into park, shaking.

Despite the fear clouding my thoughts, I get an idea. A silly one, but I try it anyway. I envision someone catching me. My dad. Austin. I don’t know. But I pull these arms around me, taking a deep breath. It’s not real, but I feel it. A calm reassurance that eases the shakes. Arms that catch my fall and pull me back together.

Again.

I sit like that for a while, my hands gripping the wheel. I stare ahead, breathing in and out, in and out. Until my cell buzzes to signal an incoming text.

When are you coming home?

It’s Mom.

On my way back now.

I hit send, take a calming breath, and put the car back into drive. I turn and start making my way through the old beach town.

And somehow make it home.

CHAPTER 8

Austin

S
ome things are hard to believe. Like, there’s actually a girl named Sienna and I spent Friday night with her on River Street.

The pier visible from this beach shop on Tybee Island won’t be peaceful like this for long, not once the mass of afternoon beach bums arrive. I watch a flock of birds dot the sunrise out the window, and before long my eyes are glued there, my thoughts stuck somewhere along River Street, the memory of her laugh cutting off all focus . . . which is not cool because
I’m at work.

I stock a shelf of flip-flops, clearing my mind
.

Jesse, the owner of Marjorie’s Café, waves to me from across the street as he takes down chairs. I wave back, wondering how many seats will be filled in his old café today. There are only so many sandwiches I can eat. I can’t keep old man Jesse in business forever. My mom says life isn’t fair, but, shoot, I still think it should be for good people like Jesse.

I don’t want to jinx myself, but it’s working; Sienna isn’t dominating my thoughts.

The bell over the door rings, signaling the arrival of the first customer.

“Hey,” some guy calls behind me, “question.”

I turn around, totally unprepared.

“I’m fine barefoot, Brian,” she says. I have a hard time believing that voice is real.

Long, windblown blond hair and huge brown eyes. Well, I’ll be. And who is
this
? I glare at the guy she’s with. Brian. Somehow I know I shouldn’t be surprised that a girl like Sienna has some other guy buying her a pair of shoes, too.

Sienna looks at a display, distracted. When she finally turns and spots me, she does a double take.

“This hot girl thinks she can survive that summer sand barefoot,” says the tool named Brian, draping his gangly arm over Sienna’s shoulder. This is the first time I’ve had the impulse to punch a customer. Sienna’s eyes roll upward. Shakes her head. At least she’s somewhat embarrassed by her moron of a boyfriend.

I remind myself to be nice as Brian steps in front of me and fishes through the flip-flops I just organized. Once he’s made a royal mess, I pick out a pair. “Here, these are her size.”

Brian turns the shoes over, alternating glances between them and Sienna’s feet. “Wow, you’ve got an eye for feet, dude.”

Sienna smiles hesitantly, like I might have forgotten who she is (ha-ha). “Hey, Austin.”

I nod.

Brian’s forehead furrows as he glances back and forth between us. The poor idiot is visibly confused and maybe even a little annoyed at the fact that his girlfriend knows my name. This makes me smile.

She steps closer. “I still have your shirt. I wanted to bring it back to you some—”

Brian cuts her off. “You two know each other, how?”

“We met on River Street,” Sienna explains. “Friday night while you were at that party.”

“And she kissed me,” I add, feeling really good about myself right now.

Brian’s eyebrows wing upward.

Sienna laughs. “Austin showed me what Savannah pralines are all about.”

I love her flirtatious smile and the look on Brian’s face, like he’s already been punched.

Brian purses his lips thoughtfully. “Oookaaay.”

Right when I thought I couldn’t like this girl any more. She’s honest, sweet, and she has her head on surprisingly straight for a spoiled rich girl. But that’s the snag. I glance at Brian, at his brand-name swim shorts, University of Georgia fraternity T-shirt, and ritzy sunglasses, and I’m bugged at the idea that maybe this wealthy frat boy fits into Sienna’s world better than I do.

Sienna flashes a smile that’s hiding something. “So, you’re never going to believe this.”

“What?”

“That T-shirt you let me borrow . . .”

Brian continues to glance back and forth between us, like some spectator at a tennis match tiebreak who’s about to blow a gasket.

“It says ‘Property of Meadowbrook Monarchs’ on it,” she finishes.

Well, I knew that. “Yeah?”

“I went to Deep Run High. I grew up in Virginia, too, in the West End! In Twin Hickory.”

Ritzy Hickory,
my mind inserts. At least that’s what my friends and I from the South Side called it. The fact that I hated playing Deep Run High in the play-offs my junior year doesn’t help either. World’s sorest losers.

“You’re kidding,” is all I say. Meeting Sienna felt like that stupid thing called fate that I never gave a second thought to until Friday night. If so, fate is mean. We lived so close and might have crossed paths without realizing it. “How about that.”

Sienna’s smile dwindles, like she expected a bigger reaction.

Brian claps his hands together. “Yeah, how about that. Well, should we hit the beach?”

As I ring up the flip-flops at the register, Brian talks and talks. Won’t shut up. I tune him out, wondering how it took a summer in Savannah for Sienna and me to meet. It’s all I can think about, besides her red, blushing cheeks and pink-frosted lips. So much for getting Sienna off my mind.

“Um, dude,” Brian mutters after I hand him the bag. I look up. He’s holding a twenty-dollar bill.

“What?” I ask, irritated.

“I’m cool and all, if these are free, but I’m pretty sure you meant to hand me the receipt.”

Chagrinned, I snatch the twenty-dollar bill from him, the one he handed me in the first place. I yank the receipt from the register and shove it across the counter with the right change. Sienna tries to hide a smile as they turn for the door.

“Hey, dude,” Brian says like an afterthought. “You play any football?”

“Yeah, some,” I reply.

“You play football?” Sienna asks, cocking an eyebrow as if the mere idea of me holding a football is hard to picture. Maybe I’m reading her wrong. Maybe not. Either way, I’m suddenly ready to prove myself.

Brian lights up. “Great! A bunch of us guys are meeting by the pier around noon to play touch football. We could use an extra guy.”

Sienna wears her shock, looking anywhere but at me. Maybe she wouldn’t like it if I came. It might put her in an awkward position. So, I do the only gentlemanly thing.

“I’m all over it,” I say.

Brian smiles. “Sweet!”

I can’t figure this guy out. I took his girlfriend out for ice cream, and now he wants to play ball? Reality sinks in, though, and I remember my full day ahead. “I get off work at noon, but I got something to do at four. I’ll swing by in between if I get a chance.”

Like that’s going to happen. Even though my shift is up at noon, why would I submit myself to torture? Sienna has a boyfriend, and although I’d like to think she and frat boy are all wrong for each other, my opinion isn’t worth crap. Still, as I watch Sienna walk toward the pier with Brian, I wonder if I just let a golden opportunity walk out the door.

I throw myself into autopilot. Finish my busy morning shift. Decide to ditch touch football altogether. At last I turn around to head out, and the sight of Sienna standing near the door pulls me to a stop. I’m momentarily paralyzed, feeling pretty good about my day all of a sudden. She came back.

“Hey,” she says. She’s leaning against the glass wall, blending in behind a line of customers. How long she’s been there, watching me, I have no idea.