Shawn is outside my house. I know this not because he called, or texted, or emailed me that he’d be coming over. I know because my dog Skip started barking and, when I followed him to the window, I could vaguely see the outline of a shadow walking up my driveway. I check the time: 9:10. What the hell?

“Hey, Shawn,” I meet him at the door and he quickly pulls me into his arms. It’s early and I’m still wearing my pajamas, my hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. I’m self-conscious because of this, but I try to push the thought away, reminding myself that Shawn doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into my hair. I raise my eyebrows, pulling away.

“For…?” I pull him inside, away from the cold. His blonde hair is still damp from a shower and in the light of the hallway I can really see him. His eyes, a sweet, beautiful green, are darker than normal. He’s taller than me, something not so easy to be, and lanky. Immediately I feel a sense of endearment towards him. So innocent, so skinny, so caring, so inexperienced with the dating thing.

“For ruining our date last night. I shouldn’t have made you hang out with Matthew. I know you don’t like him very much.” He looks at me expectantly, waiting for my response.

I cross my arms, confused. “How do you know I don’t like him…?” I try my best to sound surprised at the idea, but I can tell I’m not doing so great. He laughs.

“I don’t think I would even like Matthew if I was a girl. He can be a total douche.”

I smile, appreciating once again Shawn’s ability to read my own mind even if I can’t say what I’m thinking out loud. That’s what originally drew me to him, two months ago.

I was sitting in the courtyard. It was an unusually sunny and warm day for March, so I was trying to take advantage of the weather by doing my work outside during study. I knew about Shawn vaguely, of course, but I never thought he’d be the type that would date me. Sure, he wasn’t as cool and athletic as Mason, but he was close and had the respect of Mason and his friends. He was impressive in his own right, and up until this day, I hadn’t even known he was intelligent in the least.

“Good book,” A shadow suddenly blocked my sunlight, looking down at me. I felt an inward sense of frustration that someone was interrupting my reading of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and after a moment I placed my book on my lap.

“Can I help you?” I look up to see Shawn Maynard staring down at me, a slight smile on his face. I was surprised but still annoyed.

“Just figured I could ask if you wanted some company.” He says, sitting down beside me on the bench. I was about to say no, thanks, but he stretched out and picked up his own copy of Hamlet, the edges folded in and the front cover tearing.

“I know you don’t want company,” He said to me, reading my mind for the first time, “but you might change your mind when you get to know me. I’m not just a basketball playing asshole.”

I had to smile at this. “I didn’t say that.” I said quietly.

He nodded empathetically. “I know. But you were thinking it.”

From that moment, I was drawn to Shawn. Drawn to his persistence, his ability to get past my defenses, and his sense of humor that could lighten even the darkest mood. Now, looking at him staring at me, his hair dripping wet and his eyes bright and shining, I have the irresistible urge to both laugh and kiss him at the same time.

“Caitlin?” He’s saying and I walk to him, closing the distance.

“Its okay, it’s fine,” I murmur, pulling his head down to mine. His arms wrap around me like they did the first time we kissed and I wrap my arms around his neck, drinking in the whole moment, the spontaneity and romance of it all. I smile into the kiss, wondering how in the world I got so lucky.

“I need your help.” Mason approaches my locker Monday morning and I’m immediately surprised. He scarcely ever talks to me in school. He says hello, of course, but he’s always so wrapped up in his friends and hot girls and being the funny guy everyone expects him to be. I raise my eyebrows, leaning against my locker as I close it.

“With…?” I smile at Grace, a girl in my Statistics class, as she walks by. And I wait. And wait. Mason’s shuffling his feet, and finally I get it. He’s nervous.

“Mase, what’s the matter?” I ask and he leans his head towards me, eyebrows raised. His eyes, dark and penetrable, stare into mine, and I know he’s gathering his courage for the words that will follow. His dark hair is messy and thick and his jawline is sharp and defined. I pick up on a faint hint of cologne from just below his collar. Immediately and without warning, I’m reminded of why so many girls fall for him. Which is why I’m actually stunned when he says what he does next.

“I really, really, like a girl. And she doesn’t notice me. How do I get her to notice me, Noodles? Help me, I’m dying.” He’s leaning back and forth on his heels, keeping his eyes on me, and I feel a stab of jealousy and hurt. Ow. It isn’t that I like Mason, necessarily. I’m completely absorbed in Shawn. But… those eyes. And his words, so weighted down with desperation, makes my heart hurt. I’ve always wanted him to think of me like that. Not so we could date. Just so I could know what it would be like.

“Who is it?” I ask and he takes a step back, running a hand through his hair and shrugging.

“I can’t tell you.” He says quickly, too quickly, and I laugh.

“What?”

“I mean…” He says, stalling. “You don’t know her.”

Wow. He’s got it bad. I cross my arms. “She goes to a different school?”

Mason looks around, probably making sure his friends aren’t lurking nearby and listening. The sad thing is, they would.

“Yeah.”

“What’s her name?” I ask. Now, he looks really pained.

“Melissa.” He shoots off. I can tell this conversation is making him incredibly uncomfortable.

“Melissa. Okay. Well, Mason… you’re you. I really don’t think you need my help. You’re good looking, you have a great sense of humor, and for some reason, though I don’t know why, all the girls love you. Love you. You really don’t need any help.” I expect my words to give Mason a shot of confidence, which I figure is all he needs. Deep down, he must know the effect he has on girls, right?

“No, Caitlin, this is different. You don’t understand. It won’t work like that. She knows me too well. She sees through all my bull s***. I can’t use the usual lines.” He’s pleading now and I feel the need to punch the girl who’s too dense to see what she could have. She could have Mason freakin’ Dillard. What the hell is stopping her?

“Okay, okay. Well how about trying to spend time with her as much as possible? I don’t mean phone calls or texting, Mason. I mean real, meaningful conversation, in person. Old fashioned stuff.” At this, he smiles.

“You’re such a cheesy romantic, Noodles.” He nudges me gently and I smile, shrugging.

“It’s not always about the physical stuff, Mase. Trust me.” I see Shawn turn the corner and instinctively I take a step back from Mason, creating more space between us. Mason must notice my change of expression because he turns to look where I’m looking. I might be crazy, but I swear I see Mason tense up like he’s about to attack.

“Hey, Shawn,” I walk to him. He kisses me gently on the lips, eyes wide open, on Mason. When I turn to look back, Mason’s running a hand through his hair, avoiding my gaze.

Okay, talk about dense. Have I been really stupid enough to not notice any of the awkward tension between these two guys? Or is this tension new?

“Mason, we’re going to lunch. You want to come?” I say, hoping sticking to casual topics will lessen the tension. Mason shakes his head adamantly, staring at Shawn.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll see ya around, Noodles,” he says, turning to walk back down the hallway. I look at Shawn, who has a similar I’ll-kill-you expression.

“Uh, Shawn?” I put my hand to his chest gently, pushing him in the direction of the cafeteria. “You ready for lunch?”

He snaps out of it, smiling at me and putting an arm around my shoulder.


“Love to.”

We walk in silence for a few seconds before I find the courage to ask. “Shawn, what was all that about? Back there, with Mason? I thought you guys liked each other.”

I feel his arm tense up, and a second later he takes it off me.

“I don’t mind the kid. He kind of acts like he has a problem with me, though.” He stares at me for a long moment. “Any reason he should have a problem?”

“Uh, no?” I don’t even know how to answer that. I mean, I don’t really know. Should he have a problem?

“Just checking,” he replies easily, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. What the hell? Am I missing something crucial, or am I just paranoid?

I come home to find two letters on the table in the front hallway. My mom and dad are both at work, so it seems weird that the mail was already brought in.

The first is from Dartmouth, the second from Brown. I take a few deep breaths but my hands keep shaking. Oh, god. This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life, or at least my entire academic life. It seems silly, how this little letter, good or bad, is my reward for thousands of worksheets and tests and quizzes that have amounted to my answer today. How insignificant grade’s are, without tallying in all the work and sweat and tears. An A is impressive, but it’s so bland. Just a letter from the alphabet. It tells the college virtually nothing about who I am or how hard it was to achieve it.

I rip open the first one and slide back against the wall before reading the words. I feel dizzy and it takes me a couple minutes before I find the strength to read what it says. This is my future. This is everything. Good or bad, I’ll have a choice either opened or closed to me today. I won’t ever see how it affects my future, but it is inherently true that it will, indeed, affect every branch of opportunities that will be open to me.

“Dear Caitlin… We regret to inform you that we cannot offer you a place in our Class of 2013 at Dartmouth…”

The letter keeps going, but I stop reading, dropping the page and inhaling air like I’m about to run out. What? How can this be? This isn’t possible. It isn’t fair. No one, no one, has worked as hard as me. I’ve done the best I could. Sure, I don’t attend an elite private school in the mountains, but I’ve maintained a perfect grade point average. Perfect.

I can’t find the strength to open the second one. I can’t see another rejection. I won’t do it. I’ll crawl under my covers and never come out again and maybe someday Dartmouth will realize they made an awful mistake and they’ll ask for me. Only then will I crawl out.

I receive a text from Mason. Stupidly I expect him to know about Dartmouth, to be offering some words of encouragement and kindness. But all it says is: Can I come over?

I shouldn’t say yes. I look like a mess, I’m on the verge of tears, and I’m holding a blatant rejection in my hands. But perhaps it’s because of all these things that I tell him to hurry, or perhaps it’s simply because Mason coming over reminds me that the world isn’t actually over. No matter how much I want it to be.

“Caitlin?” I’m still sitting in the same spot when Mason opens the door carefully, calling out my name. I realize only now that I probably should have gotten up, maybe changed and put on a little makeup. Mason isn’t exactly the supportive, lets-cry-together type. I once called him crying because we had to put our dog down and after five minutes of hearing heartbreaking sobs, Mason interrupts and says “Wait, since when did you have a dog?”

“Over here.” I say now, offering a careful smile. He closes the door and stares at me. I would make a remark about his stupid ghetto outfit, typical calf-high socks, basketball shorts, a black polo, and a flat brim hat, but I’m too upset to say anything. He walks to me and kneels in front of me. Then, he looks down at my hands, which are still gripping the letter.

“Oh, Cait.” He barely ever calls me Cait. Noodles or Caitlin. Cait is when he feels really, really bad for me, like when I slipped in the cafeteria sophomore year and he walked over to help me up, laughing and saying “Oh, god, Cait.” I wanted to cry then, hearing him call me that. And I want to cry now. So badly.

I appreciate that he doesn’t say anything else, anything to soften the blow. He just sits down beside me against the wall and puts his arm around me gently and I burry my face in his stupid polo, gripping it hard with my hand.

“What am I supposed to do now, Mase?” I say into his shirt. I sound pathetic. I rarely let anyone see me like this. I’m supposed to be put together, all the time.

“Well, if Dartmouth says no to you, then I’m thinking there’s not much hope that Yale will get back to me with positive news anytime soon.” He says this so sarcastically that I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry, did you say Yale? Mase, I’m thinking we need to lower those standards of yours. Always too high.” I roll my eyes but pull away.

“I’m an optimist.” He says flippantly, an explanation he uses for everything. He says this when he eyes the hot college student that works at the chocolate store downtown, he says this when he flips through car magazines and talks about owning a Ferrari soon, and he says this when he talks about his future.

“Cait, don’t worry about this. Really. It’s absolutely ridiculous that they didn’t accept you. You’re freakin’ perfect. There’s no hope for the rest of us if you can’t get into the college of your dreams. But seriously, why would you want to go to Dartmouth? Weird artsy people with thick glasses, way too much snow, and a weird shrine to Doctor Seuss? Gross.”

I smile. “Yuck,” I say softly.

He nods. “Seriously, yuck.”

“Mason, I’m going to have to hide out in my room for the rest of my life now.” He doesn’t say anything.

I motion to the table in the front hall. It still holds one more letter.

“Brown rejected me too.”

“No fucking way.” He looks genuinely mad now. I shrug. He gets up and picks up the letter. Staring at it, perplexed, he turns to me.

“It’s not even opened?” He waits for an explanation.

“I’m a realist.” I respond. He rolls his eyes, kicking me gently with his basketball shoe.

“You’re pathetic. Stop that. Just because freakin’ Darth Vadar University didn’t accept you doesn’t mean Brown won’t.” He opens it eagerly, but then pauses before unfolding the letter.

“Emma Watson still goes there, right?” He asks, a hopeful look on his face.

I raise my eyebrows. “I thought you were optimistic, not delusional.” He laughs and continues to unfold, but then pauses, looking at me for an okay.

“Go ahead.” I nod and he opens it slowly, too slowly, deliberately shaking his hands and dropping the letter on the floor twice. I laugh.

“The suspense is killing me.” I say dryly, preparing myself for the worst even while a small, miniscule part of me hopes that at least Brown wants me.

He sucks in a breath as he reads, and his expression gives nothing away. But then, slowly, he raises his head and smiles.

“Bad news,” he says slowly and I hold my breath, wondering how it’s possible that my life took such a turn for the worse, “You might have to reconsider your plan to hide out in your room for the rest of your life. Brown wants you.”

I feel my words catch in my throat. Standing up, I can’t help laughing as I throw my arms around him.

“You suck!” I say, but I’m grinning ear to ear. Brown wants me. Brown wants me. I could go to Brown. I have options. I have a future.

Finally, I pull away. I’m still smiling like an idiot. Mason has this weird look on his face though. A mixture of happiness and paralyzing fear, though I’m not sure why. Is he worried about his future? Or is he as worried about being separated from me as I am about having to leave him? Mason’s been accepted to UMASS Amherst, and he’s going there because he has a scholarship for lacrosse. That’s at least two hours from Brown. The chances he’s in my future are as slim as having Dartmouth in my future. That is, impossible.

“What the hell am I going to do without you?” Mason says. He’s smiling, but his voice cracks slightly on the word without. I shrug, refusing to think about this now.

“I don’t know, but let’s go celebrate. You want food? My mom went shopping and got the most delicious cheesecake.” I try to lighten the mood. Mason nods and follows me into the kitchen, though he still looks a little shocked, like he’s only just now figuring out we are, indeed, leaving in the Fall.

“Mason?” I ask him when he sits down. I busy myself by cutting the cheesecake, not looking at him as I talk.

“Do you like Shawn? Be honest. Today it seemed like the two of you hated each other or something.” I’m expecting a quick response, something along the lines of ‘no, I love him!’ But Mason only clears his throat, pausing before replying.

“He’s… he’s not a bad guy. But… I don’t know, Caitlin. It’s just weird, you having a boyfriend and all. I knew this day would come eventually,” he pauses and I swat at his arm, smiling, “but… I never expected you to end up with someone like Shawn.”

He sounds deadly serious when he says this last part, but I try to laugh. “End up? I’m not marrying the guy, Mason. I mean, I didn’t really expect myself to end up with someone like Shawn either. But then again, I couldn’t really see myself with anyone...” Except you a tiny voice echoes in my head and I take a breath before continuing. “But that’s part of the fun of it, you know? Not knowing what your ‘type’ is until it creeps up and takes you by surprise.” I slide a piece of cheesecake across to him and sit down on my side of the counter. He grabs a fork and takes a bit, chewing thoughtfully.


“It was definitely a surprise.” He agrees. The conversation ends now, but I have a feeling that he wants to say more and just doesn’t know how. I decide now is a good time to change the subject.

“Any progress with Melissa?” I try to say her name casually but notice my voice still sounds sharp and judgmental. Stop it, I scold myself. I have Shawn, I should support Mason’s attempt to find love too.

He looks uncomfortable with my question and takes another bite before answering. “Not… really. I have a feeling she’s into another guy.” He looks so sad at this news, so utterly devastated, that I decide it’s my job as best friend to help.

“Well, then you have to steal her from him!” I say enthusiastically. He raises his eyebrows at me, laughing.

“Whatever happened to finders keepers?” He says.

I roll my eyes. “What happened was, kids grew up and realized that’s a stupid rule. Besides, Melissa isn’t owned by anyone. She isn’t a possession. It’s her choice, who she wants to be with.”

“So… how do I get her to choose me?” He asks, looking at me expectantly. I suddenly realize how funny this is, me giving love advice to Mason. We’ve grown up with roles reversed. Now that our positions as advice giver and taker have changed, it kind of feels like everything’s different.

“You don’t give her a choice,” I say severely. “You do sweet gestures, you miraculously appear everywhere she is, you listen to what she has to say, and you don’t take no for an answer. She belongs with you, Mason. Anyone would be the luckiest person in the world to be with you.”

He nods, smiling slightly like I said something funny.

“I made you a CD.” He says, sliding a CD case across the counter towards me. I take it, raising my eyebrows.

“Uh, thanks?” I say, laughing at the randomness of the gesture. Still, it was sweet of him to think of me.

“What’s on it?” I ask, turning the CD over in my hands as if expecting a track list to be engraved somewhere hidden from view.

He shrugs. “Some seriously epic songs, but mostly just lots of stupid love songs… stuff you like.” I glare at him but have no response.

Later I put the CD in my laptop and click on the first track. As expected, it’s a fast tempo remixed rap song. I skip past it, and the next five songs, until the sixth song makes me pause. I hear a banjo and a guitar and the familiar beginning chords of a familiar song. Immediately, I’m brought back to last summer.

It was late at night after a family dinner, and I was sitting by the bonfire when I got a text from Mason. I still remember what it read- awful date. Can I come over? Of course, I’d readily agreed, taking the five minutes it took him to reach my house to run a comb through my hair and to brush my teeth. You know, just in case.

He sat outside by the bonfire with me, poking sticks into the flames and looking up at me every so often, laughing and looking younger and more carefree than I could ever remember him. The flames danced across his green eyes and made me want to freeze time, if not for forever, than at least for the remnants of a song that was playing on the speakers in my yard. It was a new country band, and it started with the lyrics: “Would you walk to the edge of the ocean just to fill my jar with sand, just in case I get the notion to let it run through my hand.” He leaned back on his hands and rolled his eyes after the first chorus.

“This is quality music right here.” He smirked. I pretended to poke my marshmallow, which was on fire, at him. He pulled his knees up to his chest, laughing.

“Its country and it happens to be the most poetic music that exists.” I argued, my argument seeming stale and overused because of how many times I’d said it.

Mason sighed, adjusting his flat brim to run a hand through his messy, just-went-swimming-in-the-ocean hair. I thought it was unbelievably sexy, but I refrained myself from saying so.

“So what your saying is, you wouldn’t find it at all weird if some guy showed up with a jar full of sand at your house one day? Because I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t seem romantic at all to me. It just seems downright creepy.”


I sighed, taking a bite out of my burnt marshmallow. “Romantic is in the intent, Mason. If a guy showed up randomly at my doorstep with sand for me, yeah, I’d find it weird. But if he’d shown up with sand because I’d asked for it or he’d been considerate enough to think I’d want it, I’d find it nothing short of amazing.”

Mason stared at me for so long after my little spiel that I began to wonder if he had zoned out my words entirely. But then he smiled lazily and shook his head, his eyes ablaze by the flicker from the fire.

“You read into stuff way too much, Noodles. Romance is when a guy takes a guess that a girl will like something he’s put some thought into and he happens to be right. It’s nothing but lucky coincidence. The rest, girls just build up in their heads.”

Now, as I sit at my computer, I listen to the whole song through without moving. I inhale slowly, taking in all the words for what their worth, and remember the words I’d said that day- romantic is in the intent. I still fully believe them, as much as I ever have. It dawns on me how ironic it was that I was sitting here, listening to a CD that Mason had taken the time and thought to make for me. If romantic was all about intention, then wasn’t this CD, a compilation of songs that Mason had handpicked thoughtfully and with me in mind, nothing short of romantic? Was he trying to tell me something, or was he right about romance just coming down to coincidence and built up expectations?

“Hello?” It’s eight o’clock and I’m just starting my homework when I hear it. No, way. I leap out of my chair at my desk and run to the top of the stairs, and sure enough, my sister Haley is standing in the hallway, a suitcase in hand.

“HALEY!” I yell, running down the stairs and throwing my arms around her. I haven’t seen Haley in ages. She lives in New York now working as a lawyer-in-training at a prestigious law firm. In other words, she’s 10 times more successful than I’ll ever be. But that’s how it always is with us. She’s always been better, prettier, faster, stronger. She’s my role model, even though I’ve occasionally resented her success over the years. Not only was she valedictorian at her high school, but she was prom queen. Where I got lucky academically, she got lucky everywhere.

“Lovebug!” She wraps her arms tightly around me, swinging me around. “I missed you.” I step away from my sister to survey her. She still looks relatively the same, although a little more tired and tense than she did when I last saw her four months ago. She’s the complete opposite of me. While I have long blonde hair, my sister has chestnut brown wavy hair. My eyes are hazel, and hers are brown. My teeth are slightly crooked, hers are veneer. I’m tan and she’s pale, although she probably pulls off pale better than anyone I know. Pale like an angel, perfect and untouchable. I’ve always thought my sister was much more uniquely beautiful. I was so typical, so ordinary, so stereotypical. Tall, tan, blonde. Check, check, check. The only thing I was missing was a low IQ level and a string of boyfriends. Luckily, I’d sidestepped the stereotype that blondes are stupid. I’d also avoided the stereotype that blondes have more fun, as evident from my sister’s amazing life in comparison with my own. Still, I have years to catch up to her.

My mom and dad join us in the hallway, smiling at the reunion.

“We knew she was coming,” my mom says, “we wanted it to be a surprise, Caitlin.” Quiet the surprise. We walk arm and arm into the kitchen where my mom’s making dinner.

“Oh, so this is why dinner is happening so late?” I finally understand why my mom was delaying dinner for so long. We normally eat at 6.

My mom laughs. “I’m sorry I was starving you. We can eat now.”

Haley, beside me, squeezes my hand. “I want to hear all about senior year! How’s Shawn? And Mason? And your classes? Any word from colleges? Tell me everything.” My sister and I talk on the phone often, but these types of questions, normally reserved for the random uncle who I only see at holidays, makes me sad for the toll distance can have. My sister shouldn’t have to ask about where I’m going to college next year. She should already know, perhaps even before I do.

“Of course I’ll tell you everything, Hales. But first, how’s New York?” We sit down at the table to hear about my sister’s crazy adventures in the city, her attempts at making it big, and her obvious success. Every once in a while my mom interrupts my sister with a thoughtful comment in my direction, such as “see, Caitlin? Work hard, and you could be like your sister in the future.” Like that’s all anyone strives for. Becoming Haley, an ultimate goal of mine that will not happen because it’s not possible, not that that will stop my mother from hoping I’ll try my hardest anyway.


“He really is the best.” I’m sitting on my bed later that night with my sister. I’m doing homework and she’s checking emails on her laptop, but she wants me to multitask by telling her about Shawn. To my sister, doing too many things at once is impossible.

I find myself floundering for the right adjectives. How do I describe Shawn? My sister isn’t the type to want details about how we get along or the chemistry we have. She doesn’t want to hear how things are good. She wants to hear how he’ll affect my future. She wants to hear how he plays out in the big picture. To my sister, details are better left unnoticed.

“You aren’t going to stay together for college though, right?” She glances up from her laptop, her face contorted in something like contempt.

“No, no. We’re enjoying each other’s company, but we both know it’s not serious enough to attempt long distance. Besides, I want a clean break in the Fall. New school, new friends, new boys.”

“Oh, phew.” My sister looks so relieved, like I just told her I said no to drugs. “That would have been disastrous.”

“…Disastrous? How?” I say, attempting to look nonchalant as I work on Algebra problems. Honestly, I feel my heart beating quickly, but it’s not because I don’t agree that Shawn and I trying long distance would be a stupid idea. Actually, the person I think of when my sister says this is Mason, but I don’t say this out loud or even allow myself to think anymore about it. We’re friends. Friend’s move on and grow apart, Caitlin. Stop thinking about him.

“Well, you know. Relationships are messy. There better left at a safe distance from this period in your life, Caitlin. You need to pursue your dreams and become independent and self-sufficient. You can’t think about anyone else when you should be focusing on your success.” She says this so matter-of-factly, so practically, that I can’t really disagree. That’s one thing that has always bothered me about my sister. She only sees things in black and white, and perhaps rightfully. But right or wrong, she misses a lot of the details and colors of messiness because she’s so busy pursuing self-sufficiency. I’d say all this to her, but I know I would just sound like a stupid younger sister who doesn’t know better.

“That makes sense,” I say slowly, “but I can’t really prevent relationships from forming with people, whether it’s an ideal stage of my life or not. I shouldn’t exactly stop relationships or push people away just because it isn’t ideal or practical, right?” Surely, this isn’t what she’s advocating for.

My sister shrugs, adjusting her reading glasses. “You do what you have to.” She says succinctly, quickly, curtly. Like it’s that easy. Like pushing people away is really what I should strive for. Like I’d be able to even if I wanted to.

Friday morning I’m surprised with flowers at my locker. I roll my eyes, hiding the protruding stems from the intrusive eyes of hallway walkers. I’d rather not be whispered and gossiped about- ‘Did you hear? Shawn left flowers in Caitlin’s locker. I know, it’s adorable, but why he wasted money on her, I’ll never know.’ This was a paranoid fear of mine, of course. I assumed being the center of attention meant being the center of gossip and negative remarks, so I chose to shy away from that stuff as often as I could.

“Hey, babe,” I lean down to kiss Shawn when I find him at lunch. I smile at him. “Thanks for the embarrassing display at my locker.” He gives me a weird look but doesn’t say anything about the flowers, looking like he has something else on his mind.

“Listen, can I take you out tonight? I have stuff I want to talk to you about.” Since it’s a Friday, I’d kind of assumed we’d be hanging out anyway, but I nod, as if this idea only just occurred to me.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I’m free tonight.” I say as nonchalantly as I can. He smiles, looking relieved.

“Thanks.”


Shawn picks me up around seven. I feel bad leaving my sister when she’s only here for a week, but I promise to grab breakfast with her tomorrow to make it up to her. She has work to do anyway, or so she tells me.

“So,” I say when I’m sitting in Shawn’s car, “Where are you taking me?” He looks behind him as he pulls out of my driveway and then raises his eyebrows at me.

“It’s a surprise,” He smiles. A surprise? Oh, I love surprises. Maybe a nice dinner out at a fancy restaurant? Or something adventurous, like rock climbing? Maybe roller skating… that’s romantic, too. Or a walk in the park? Oh, I cannot wait.

A movie. The surprise is a movie. I keep sneaking looks at him as we buy tickets, waiting for him to start laughing and say “just kidding babe, the surprise is this way.” But he doesn’t. He just keeps mumbling things about who said this about this movie and why we can’t go see that movie and something about criticisms and only getting one star. We approach the desk and he slaps a 20 down, saying “It’s on me.” I smile weakly. It is nice of him to pay. Still, a tiny part of me wonders if this is really what he thinks is good enough. There’s nothing wrong with a movie, of course. But there’s something so effortless and bland about it, like a backup plan if plan’s fall through. It’s safe, something guys choose when they don’t know their date well enough to know what she likes. Shawn should know me well enough by now. Movie’s are fine, but there certainly not good enough to be a ‘surprise’, anyway. My expectations aren’t that high, but never in my life will I expect a surprise to be two movie tickets and a bucket of popcorn.

When we sit down, he leans over and whispers in my ear “this movie looks great.” Romantic, I know. Secretly I slip my phone out of my pocket and check for messages before turning it off. There’s one, from Mason.

Taking Melissa out on a first date! She doesn’t know it’s a date. She thinks we’re just hanging as friends. Where should I take her?! I don’t want to do something cliché like a movie. Help.

I stifle a laugh. His timing is amazing.

Take her to the beach. It’s beautiful at night… bring snacks. And blankets. Be prepared. It’s romantic. Good luck ☺

I hear Shawn munching popcorn beside me. I turn to face him and he’s laughing at something on the screen. Still, a small part of me wants him. Even in this atmosphere, with the lights dim and some lame joke being made on the screen, I get butterflies. Sure, my love for him isn’t exactly like a forest fire, but it’s a flame, surely. Even if it’s just the light from a candle, it’s enough to make me want to keep sitting beside him and suffer through this movie. I’m with him, and that’s what matters.

“I’m sorry if you were expecting something better than a movie,” Shawn takes my hand after the movie as we walk outside. I glance at him, surprised once again. His ability to read my mind is scary.

He seems to read my expression. “I know, actually, that you wanted something cooler. More romantic.”

“Then why did you take me to the movies?” My question, so bold and selfish, surprises me. I can see it surprises him too, but he nods.

“I guess I just sort of freeze up, trying to think of good ideas. I was going to take you to a band I’d just heard of, but then I started thinking what if she doesn’t like it, what if she thinks I’m a tool… And the next thing I knew, I was taking a left into the mall.”

I laugh, pulling him towards me and wrapping my arms around him. “I could never think you were a tool. And I’m willing to do new things with you, even if I don’t particularly like them. You know what I was thinking in the movie theatre?”

He grimaces. “That I’m the lamest boyfriend ever?”

“No,” I shake my head, laughing. “I was thinking that I could be anywhere with you and be happy. A concert, school, the movies… I don’t care where you take me. As long as you take me with you.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss me. The kiss feels extra magical in the cool night air, standing in the parking lot with street lamps shining down on us.

My phone buzzes. When we start walking again, towards Shawn’s car, I take it out.

Were you with Shawn last Saturday night?

Mason’s question surprises me. What does he care, when I’m with Shawn and where? I think back to last Saturday. We had been together on Friday, but Saturday I was out to dinner with my parents.

Nope. Why?

Mason doesn’t respond so I imagine it’s only him being weird as usual. Shawn drops me off at home, telling me he has to go to bed early because he has to pick up his dad at the airport at dawn tomorrow morning. His kiss lingers on my lips as I open the door and step into the hallway, lights already off. It’s barely 10:30. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Are you with him now?

What the heck? Now Mason sounds like some creepy stalker dude. I respond quickly, almost angrily,

Noooo. Why are you acting crazy?

A second later I’m just walking upstairs when I hear a bang on the door. A loud one. I freeze, my heart pounding. Who the hell is that? Shawn? Or some creepy rapist?

I tell myself to chill. A rapist wouldn’t knock casually on the door. He would barge right in, especially when the door is unlocked.

Damn, I curse myself as I turn around and walk down the stairs. I always forget to lock the stupid door. Stupid, stupid mistake.

I open the door at the same moment the knob turns, so Mason almost crashes into my front hallway.

“Mason!” I partially screech and partially laugh out of relief.

He stumbles but manages a smile, like his entrance was so casually planned.

“Hey,” He says softly. I roll my eyes, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him towards the kitchen.

“What are you doing, you creep? It’s so late and my parents are asleep and you’re making so much noise…” I realize I’m babbling, probably because my heart sped up when I saw him. But I think that was just because I was afraid he was a rapist. I survey him in the darkness. His dark, almost black hair is wet and the v-neck he’s wearing highlights the glow of his collarbone. God, his skin. I suddenly realize I’m still holding his hand and let go. But honestly, his skin feels like a rose pedal. Soft and cool and comforting.

“I’m sorry, but I… I…” He stumbles and sits down at the counter, running a hand through his hair. Suddenly, his eyes light up. “I had to tell you about my date!”

“Oh! Right. Of course. How… how was it?” I sit down beside him. God, I really need to control my breathing. I sound like an overexcited girl on steroids. Also, I keep casually playing with my hair. I should be a mental patient.

“It was,” Mason leans back in his chair, smiling, “amazing. You would love her, Noodles, honestly. She’s pretty and intelligent and damn funny. And she understands me completely. She loved the beach idea. Thanks,” He nudges my arm and I shrug, taking full credit. Personally, I think this girl sounds disgusting.

“Is she still with her boyfriend?” I say, twirling my hair with my finger. God, I have to stop.

He gets up to take a bottle of water from the fridge. I smile, finding it comforting that he’s so comfortable in my kitchen. I bet he doesn’t know Melissa’s kitchen this well, I think before I can stop myself.

“No. That’s the best part. I’m so excited. She said they broke up. And at the end of the night, I kissed her…” He falls back in his chair, smiling. “It was magic.”

“Woah, she sounds…” Whore-ish. Slutty. Repulsive. “Amazing.”

He smiles and nods. “She is.” We sit in silence for a few seconds. Well, what does he want me to do? Ask him for more details of Dream Girl? No, thank you.

Finally, he leans forward, his eyes shining. His expression has become serious, even nervous.

“Caitlin, I…” He pauses, taking a gulp of his drink. “I just want to make sure that you trust Shawn. He’s a good guy, right?”

Immediately I’m defensive. “Yes! Of course he is. I only pick the best, Mason. Why would you say that?” My voice is shrill to my ears. Okay, I need to chill.

He studies my face for a moment before sitting back. “Melissa told me about some girl from her school. Apparently, she’s been bragging about meeting some guy last Saturday night. She said she’d be hanging out with him again. She said he was from this school, drives a black Volvo, has blonde hair, plays basketball… and his name is Shawn. Her friend Matthew introduced them.” My heart stops at his words, so positive and convincing, but then I shake my head.

“She’s wrong. That’s bullshit. I was just on a date with Shawn. He was more romantic than ever. Didn’t seem like he was off to a date with another girl, that’s for sure.” I laugh like it’s the funniest, most absurd thing I’ve ever heard, but my laugh comes out strangled, awkward.

“Okay, okay,” Mason raises his hands, laughing, “don’t attack the messenger. I’m just looking out for you. You’re my best friend. I just…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think it would be the worst thing in the world if you guys broke up, that’s all.”

That’s all? I want to laugh. Or cry. Or both. He’s my best friend. He should know how much his opinion means to me. It’s crucial. It’s so important. It’s everything. If he doesn’t like Shawn, Shawn’s a goner. Except… except not really. I don’t have to break up with Shawn because Mason doesn’t like him. He’s just jealous.

And, just like that, I get it. He’s just jealous. He’s just jealous. That’s it. That’s what’s been going on. All these random stop-by’s, spending time with me, making me freakin’ mixed CD’s, dissing Shawn and acting weird around him and telling me he always expected me with someone else. Is that it then? Does Mason like me?

But that’s insane. He has Melissa. I’m sure I seem crazy to Mason right now. He’s staring at me, waiting for me to say something, but my thoughts are going a mile a minute. Is Melissa made up? Is she fake? Did Mason make up Melissa to divert me from the truth? Is my advice on how to get Melissa really advice for Mason on how to get me?

“You need to leave.” I suddenly stand up, angry and confused. Mason hops off the stool, looking lost and hurt.

“Noodles, I…”

“Leave.” My tone says it all. So serious, so sharp, so unforgiving. I’ve never talked to anyone like this. And looking at Mason’s face, shocked and broken, I want to take it back. I want to hug him and say I’m sorry, but I can’t, because there’s a good chance my best friend has been manipulating me to break up my relationship. And if that’s true, and he does like me, then where the hell do I go from there?

I text Shawn the next night. We weren’t supposed to hang out- I told him I would be spending time with my sister- but I do anyway, just to see how truthful Mason’s words seem.

Immediately after I ask him what he’s doing, I get a quick, brash response: With Matt.

Ew. I truly hate Matt. Still, I don’t want to seem like that girlfriend that’s paranoid. He probably is with Matt. And definitely not with that girl, too.

Just Matt? I text before I can stop myself. S***. Why did I do that? Now I really sound psycho. Who cares if it’s more than just Matt? Doesn’t mean he’s having sex with them.

Yes… He responds. Dot dot dot? What is that for? Why add that? Why not a simple yes?

I sigh, putting my phone down. Because I’m crazy and don’t deserve a simple yes. Shawn’s perfect. I can’t let Matt fool me.

On Monday, I spot Shawn in the hallway. He’s at his locker, fumbling to send a text hidden behind his coat. I laugh, walking up to him from behind and putting my hands on his ribs. He yelps, jumping back. When he sees me, his expression doesn’t turn to happiness or joy as I expect, but rather a mixture of annoyance and fear.


“You okay?” I ask, trying to laugh it off. He nods, his face softening.

“Yeah, sorry, I just… thought you were a teacher. Hold on,” He turns away from me, continuing to text, and then puts his phone back in his locker, shutting the door and turning the lock. 25-43-18.

“Wanna go to lunch?” When he turns back to me, I’m relieved to see that his expression has returned to its normally happy disposition. I nod, wrapping my arm around his waist. I don’t care about rumors and what Matt heard. And yes, maybe I’m a little bit in denial and not wanting to ask Shawn because his answer could change everything, but so what? If I don’t want things to change, they don’t have to. It’s my choice.

Avoiding Matt turns out to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. He’s everywhere I turn- in the courtyard when I’m eating lunch, at his locker when I go to the bathroom, and standing near my car after school. Part of me wonders if he’s everywhere on purpose, but he never says anything to me to try to fix things between us, so I’m beginning to think it’s just coincidence and things between us will never be the same.

It takes a long, torturous week for Matt to call. I’m at the grocery store when I see his name on my cell, and I’m so surprised that I just stare at it for about 10 seconds, wondering if it’s a joke. I answer on the off-chance it isn’t.

“Caitlyn,” Matthew practically chokes on my name, probably just as surprised to hear my voice as I am to hear his. “I’m sorry about what I said about Shawn. I shouldn’t have said anything. That was stupid. Please, let me make it up to you. I miss you.” I breathe in his words- I miss you- and immediately forget how I was ever angry at all.

“It’s okay.” I find myself smiling as I say it. “How are you going to make it up to me?”

Mason chuckles, his laughter an achingly beautiful sound I’ve missed. “I’ll come up with something.”

Later, when I show up on my doorstep, I find a jar. It’s filled with still-wet, dark sand. A note’s attached, reading: Forgiveness for my best intentions?

I open the jar right there on the front step and put my hand inside, squeezing the sand through my fingertips. It’s cool and damp and soft, and immediately a smile is brought to my face. He remembered. Not only did he remember the song, but he remembered our conversation from the first night we heard it. That means everything to me.

As I stare at the sand inside the jar on my desk, I feel like I’m on the precipice of some great realization, but I can’t quite figure out what I’m supposed to know by now. At this point, I’m fully convinced that Melissa isn’t real, but if that’s true, then why is Mason making her up? Part of me, a deep, romantic, childish part, wants to believe that he made her up to make me jealous. That the CD, the attempts to break me and Shawn up, and the sand are all indicators of a truth I’ve only just now begun to consider- that Mason has feelings for me. But another part of me, the part that reasons with logic and wisdom, scoffs at this idea. He wants to break you and Shawn up because he doesn’t like Shawn. And Mason doesn’t lie, ever. You really think he would make some girl up now? Mason knows how to get girls; he could get anyone in the time it takes to flash a smile and wink. He could get you if he wanted you. He doesn’t need a fake girl to get you. If he wanted you, all he’d have to do was ask.

My reasoning skills are ferociously strong. My daydreaming, hopeful, wishing side clearly needs some work, but I’d rather be prepared for the worst than hopeful for the best. It might make me pessimistic, but it also makes things a lot less painful in the fallout.

The next night, our senior class has organized a cookout on the beach. Shawn picks me up and on the drive over I take a deep breath and attempt to find some solace.

“Shawn… I’ve been hearing rumors.”

Shawn laughs, raising his eyebrows at me as he keeps his eyes on the road. He’s wearing sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes, but I’m sure they’re full of mockery.

“You have huh? Feel free to enlighten me, I love gossiping.” I detect a tint of annoyance in his voice but I forge ahead anyway.

“Someone told me you were cheating on me.” There. The words are out. They feel heavier and more serious, said out loud, and they float in the air around us for a few moments, tainting the mood and perhaps even us in the process.

“I’m not.” Shawn says, his expression stoic, his eyes on the road. I watch him remain composed, confident, and secure with himself, and just like that I’m afraid that Mason’s right. He seems so unaffected by my accusation, like he’d expected it all along.

“That’s it? You’re just… not?” I hear my voice tremble. I don’t want to hear a lie, but at the same time, I kind of hope he’ll lie to me for the sake of my sanity.

“What do you want me to say? It’s not true. You should trust me.” He says it harshly, making a point to take his sunglasses off to look at me when he says it. His eyes are full of accusation, the roles flipped. And just like that, I don’t trust him, not at all. But I’m in unfamiliar territory here, and I don’t know how to proceed with the risk that it could result in the end of the first real relationship I’ve ever had.

“I do trust you.” I whisper, and then I turn to look out the window and he turns the music up. A couple moments later I feel his hand on my knee, and I hate myself for being so affected by his touch. I can’t help liking him so much, perhaps even more now that I know he could have secrets. It makes me desire him more, yearn for the sound of his voice when he says my name so much more, because I might not be the only one who’s privy to him. He’s so good looking, he’s so sweet to me, and his personality is more than infectious. I’m like a moth to a flame, and I know that if I get too close I’ll get scalded, but I can’t help fighting to get closer anyway. As we sit there in silence, I realize that all I care about is for him to be happy with me, even if it means sacrificing my own happiness in the process. It’s a terrible thing, really, because loving him might mean the end of all love I have for myself. But I can’t stop, because I refuse to break his own heart even as he sits here breaking mine.

We walk in silence from his car to the beach. The cookout is already in full swing. Chaperones and teachers are cooking on the grills they’ve set up and tables are already lined with various food items essential to a good cookout. A group of kids are playing volleyball in the sand, a few kids are down by the water, and a lot of them are milling about near the food and refreshments. Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville is playing over the speakers near the beach shack.

I spot Mason before he sees me. He’s sitting on the rocks near the water, leaning against the rocks and looking casually hot with his basketball shorts and no shirt. A girl lingers beside him.

“I’ll be right back.” I say to Shawn, who seems too busy talking to his friend to care anyway. I walk down the beach, the whole way down thinking about what I’m going to say to him. How can I tell him that he’s probably right about Shawn, that he’s probably an asshole and a cheater just like Mason suspected, but that I’m staying with him anyway because I’m like an eager little girl who needs to feel like she means something to someone even if that person is poison?

I don’t get the chance to say anything, though, because before I do Mason looks over from saying something to the girl and waves to me.

“Noodles!” He wraps me into a big bear hug, and just when I’m beginning to sink into the comfort his touch gives me, he pulls away.

“Noodles,” he says more formally, “I’d like you to meet someone.” He pulls me over to the girl and says, “Caitlyn, this is Melissa. Melissa, this is one of my best girl friends, Caitlyn… but I just call her Noodles.” He winks at me, all goofy smiles, like he’s just introduced me to a superstar, lucky me. I stare at Melissa in shock, wanting to reach out to make sure she’s real. She’s more than real. She’s beautiful, all long glossy brown hair and big brown eyes and tan skin and a warm, sincere smile. Immediately, I hate her with a passion. I hate how perfect she is, because she might be even more perfect than Mason, and I know that means she’ll never appreciate Mason for all his perfections like I do.

“Hey, it’s so nice to meet you.” Melissa puts her hand out and I shake it. Who the hell is this girl? Who shakes hands? Rich pretentious people, that’s who. Or, you know, people over the age of 21, but that’s different.

“You too. I was starting to wonder if you were real.” I don’t realize what I’m saying until after I say it, but she just laughs. Oh, her laugh. It’s so melodious, like piano keys. I hate her piano-key laugh and the way she nods and says “Yes, I’m real.” We’ll see about that.

Mason’s watching this whole thing unfold like he’s just so proud of the two of us for being on our best behavior. He keeps nodding at me when I look at him and he has his t-shirt draped around his neck. His hair is dripping, indicating he’s been swimming. Melissa looks dry, so at least I know they didn’t share a dip together.


“Is Shawn here?” Mason asks conversationally, draping an arm around Melissa. I nod, trying to seem unfazed by what feels like a truckload of information slamming into me out of nowhere. Right then, on cue, Shawn joins us.

“Hey guys,” He says, mimicking Mason’s stance by putting an arm around my waist. He keeps his eyes on Mason, and Mason keeps his on Shawn. Melissa seems at ease with the whole situation, probably because she’s too stupid and oblivious to catch on that she should feel uncomfortable.

Mason nods at Shawn and then turns back to Melissa, whispering something in her ear. She laughs and nods.

“I’m going to go with Melissa to grab some food. I’ll see you soon, Noodles.” Mason says suddenly, grabbing Melissa’s hand in his own. He nods quickly at Shawn and then pulls her along with him. She practically skips to keep up with him. I watch them until they reach the food table.

“Hey,” Shawn pulls me towards him, looking down at me, “You okay?”

I nod, but I’m not, not really. And just like that, I realize maybe I’m just as bad as Shawn. Not as socially unacceptable, maybe, but deep down I know my jealousy towards Melissa, my feelings towards Mason, and my consistent dishonesty about it all makes me just like Shawn in terms of cheating. In the end, the only difference is that he is lying to me, while I’m lying to myself.

Shawn and I make our way over to the food table, and while Shawn piles his plate high with a burger and chips and steak tips, I watch Melissa and Mason. Something, though I can’t put my finger on what, seems off. They’re sitting at a picnic table, and he keeps looking around, not focusing on her like I’d expect him to. She seems way too absorbed in her burger, eating slowly and staring at it as if it’s some rare commodity. They look… disinterested, I realize suddenly. Like they accept eating in silence not because it’s comfortable and romantic, but because neither of them have anything to say to fill the void.

I escape from Shawn, telling him I’ll be right back. He seems too interested in texting someone anyway. I decide that I’ll talk to Melissa with the excuse of finding out what exactly she heard about Shawn. When Mason notices me walking over to them, his face lights up like he’s desperate for an escape.

“Hey,” he scooches farther away from Melissa to make room for me. “Sit.”

“Actually, Melissa, I know we just met, but I have a question for you…” I sit down on the other side of Melissa, away from Mason. He seems both crestfallen and intrigued by my choice sitting, and leans forward over Melissa. Melissa herself seems animated and thankful for something to talk about, and turns to me with full attention. Okay, here goes.

“I heard you told Mason about some rumors about Shawn… and some other girl. I’d like to hear it from you, if that’s okay.” I wait for her to look embarrassed or uncomfortable, but she only nods, so sure, it seems, that her information is correct.

“She’s sort of a friend of mine, from the volleyball team. Her name is Bridget. A few weeks ago she started talking about this kid Shawn who had been taking her out on a few dates. Just to the movies, mostly…” She kept talking, and I felt my stomach drop at the truth resonating through her words. It could still be a rumor, of course. But it was just so… Shawn. I felt as sure that what she was saying was true as I had ever felt about anything.


“I’m sorry,” I interrupt her finally, when I can’t stand to hear any more, “how did you say they met?”

“Oh!” Melissa smiles apologetically, “Her brother’s college friend Matthew introduced them at a party.”

I feel Mason’s eyes on me as I stand up, and even Melissa knows enough to stop talking at my expression. I’ve suddenly never felt more stupid, and I hate Shawn for making me feel like that. Shawn, the inexperienced nice guy, turns out to be not so inexperienced. Or nice, for that matter. I guess I knew, sort of, that he wasn’t any good for me in the car, but with Mason here watching me uncover the truth, I know I can’t be afraid of ending it anymore. If I stay with Shawn because it’s easier, than Mason’s image of me will be lost forever. And that would cause more damage to me than any cheating or lying could.

It’s then that Shawn approaches, and he has the audacity to look mad that I’m talking to Mason. He shoots a look at him before putting an arm around me, and after a moment I find the strength to pull away.

“What’s going on?” Shawn’s eyes dart from Mason to me, like I’m the one who might be doing something unfaithful.

“Shawn, this is Melissa. You may have already met her. She says you guys have a friend in common… Bridget, I think you said her name was?” I act like I’m asking Melissa a simple question, but I keep my eyes on Shawn. Slowly, his eyes widen and his cheeks pale. And I know I’ve caught him. I was wrong, all this time. I’m not a moth to a flame. I’m a stupid rabbit, who continuously puts itself at risk by returning again and again to the same area that it knows a cat is lurking because maybe this time the cat will leave it alone. I can’t even blame Shawn. I had all the information right in front of my nose and I chose to ignore it, thinking it would be better that way.

“Cait… Caitlyn, I…” Shawn stammers, backing away like he might disappear if he’s lucky. I shrug, feeling uncomfortable because I don’t even know what to say in this situation. I’m not really big on confrontation. I was never much of an “I hate you, you’re an asshole” type of person. But before I can even begin to make some sort of lame attempt at yelling, before I can even register what he’s doing, Mason stands up and punches Shawn right in the nose.

Right away, I can see how badly it must have hurt. Shawn’s nose starts bleeding and he turns away from us all, his eyes watering and his lip puffy. The funny thing is, I feel bad. Even now, even after what I know, I still have a familiar pull towards Shawn that makes me want to defend him against Mason.

“Mason!” I look over at him, alarmed. He’s shaking his hand out, obviously a little surprised at how much it hurt. Oh, great. Now I feel bad for both of them. Immediately I feel grateful for Mason, for hurting himself for me, and any anger I have melts away.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I walk over to him, holding his hand in mine. He looks at me, his eyes warm and so caring for me.

“What the hell? Even now, you’re flirting with him.” I hear Shawn’s words, so sharp and heated, and I feel myself smile. Turning around, I shrug.

“I don’t owe you an explanation. If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re done. Who I flirt with is no longer any of your business. Have fun with Bridget, though.” Then, when I feel myself really starting to get angry, I turn and walk away.

It only occurs to me when I reach the parking lot that I have no ride home. Shawn is no longer a viable option. This revelation saddens me, and for the first time, I really let the news sink in. I was cheated on. I was cheated on by a boy I thought I could have loved. And Melissa exists, so I’m not loved by Mason either. I’m not loved by anybody.

“Caitlyn!” I turn to find Mason running to catch up with me. He looks frazzled and frustrated. His hair is messy and he’s clutching his shirt in his hand, no shoes to be seen. I vaguely wonder where Melissa is, but then Mason grabs me and hugs me so tightly that all thoughts of anyone else vanish.

“I am so sorry,” his breath tickles my neck and I have goose bumps. Finally, he pulls away.

“You want a ride?” He looks so earnest and caring, and his eyes shine with what looks like pity. I nod slowly, feeling like a small child.

“Yes, please.” I say quietly. He nods and grabs me by the hand, pulling me gently with him. His hand is warm and feels so safe with mine, and I find myself holding onto his arm tight with my other hand, like I can’t quite get close enough. What am I doing? I feel myself being drawn to him, and I reason with myself that it’s only because I’m feeling vulnerable and lonely. We’ve never touched like this. After a moment he lets go of my hand and looks over his shoulder, seeming distracted.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, making long strides back towards the picnic area. I continue to Mason’s car and stand by the passenger door, waiting patiently. After a couple minutes he returns, but a new look, fire-y and intense, has entered his gaze. His eyes are shining and his face is flushed and he continues roughly to his side of the car, unlocking the doors and saying nothing to me.

“Where’s Melissa?” I whisper as I slide into my seat.

“Why do you care?” He shoots back, his tone full of warning.
Woah. What the hell is up with Mr. Bipolar?

“Uh… It was just a question…” I stammer, Mason’s mood taking me by surprise and dragging me down with it. The mood in the car seems tense and stifled, but I’m not quite sure what I did wrong.

“Mase? You alright?” I say quietly.

“Are you?” He looks straight at me when he says this, his hazel eyes burning into me. Quickly, I try to think of something to say, anything at all, to fix this.

“I’m… surviving.” I say quietly. What else can I say? I’m not great, that’s for sure. Even worse since Mason’s anger has made an appearance. But I’m also not awful, and what Shawn did, hurtful as it was, hasn’t destroyed me.

“That’s nice.” Mason smiles forcefully at me, and I hate the sarcasm that drips from his tone.

“Mason, what the hell is your problem?” I raise my voice, finally, and as he reverses out of his parking spot he takes in a breath.

“You let that scumbag do that to you. You knew, and you let him do it anyway, didn’t you?”

“I…I…” How does he know that? I search my soul for the right answer, the one that will justify my unforgivable compassion towards Shawn.

“Well?” Mason’s tone is biting.

“Yes, okay? I suspected maybe you were right, and earlier in his car he pretty much proved it for me. But I didn’t have proof staring me in the face, and I didn’t want to accuse anyone…”

“Bullshit.” Mason’s laugh, so low and un-Masonlike, stops me from continuing. I stare at him, knowing he’ll continue when he’s ready.

“You didn’t break it off with him earlier because you don’t respect yourself enough to think you could have better… that you deserve better. That’s disgusting, Caitlyn. Find some respect for yourself.” He shakes his head, so full of disgust towards me, it seems. And just like that, I’m furious.


“Who are you to tell me to respect myself more, Mason?! You have no right to tell me that. You don’t even have enough respect for yourself to really give yourself fully to another person. You don’t date girls, you hook up with them. Girls are expendable to you because it’s easier and safer that way. How’s that for not thinking you deserve better?” When I stop, I’m breathing hard, my face is flushed, and I can’t meet his eye. The radio is off, and it stays silent for so long that I suspect he’s not going to answer at all.

“I have given myself fully to another person. I’ve given myself to you.” Mason practically spits the words, and stares straight ahead when I turn to look at him. What? I have no words. What does he mean by that? Does friendship count as giving yourself to someone? Or does he mean something else entirely? Is he talking about something on a deeper level than even I can’t comprehend?

“I meant… like, in love.” I correct, just to be sure. I feel my face turn red, just imagining him thinking in his head oh, never mind then, I could never love you. But he turns to look at me, his face serious, and says, “me too.”

“Wh-what?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Was I right? A tiny unreasonable part of my brain, the part that deals with irrational dreams, does a tiny cheer. Yay, he loves you!

No, he doesn’t. My rational part is quick to respond. I hate her. She’s always so practical. He didn’t mean it. But even she sounds dubious.

“Mason, what is going on with you? You confuse me. One minute, you need advice about Melissa, and the next, you’re giving me thoughtful gifts and saying things that could be taken the wrong way.”

Mason sighs, finally pulling into my driveway. He cuts the engine and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him. For a moment I think he’s gone for good, that he just needs to blow off some steam, but then he’s at my door, opening it for me.

“Get out.” He says harshly. I comply, rolling my eyes. No, I was planning on staying in your car if you don’t mind?

“Thanks for the ride.” I whisper. I’m not sure if I should leave or not, but something about Mason’s expression makes me stay. He runs a hand through his hair, staring off into the street and controlling his breathing. He smiles softly then and turns to me.


“Melissa wasn’t real. She was just some stupid plan I came up with, because your advice is the only advice I ever trust, but I couldn’t exactly ask you for advice on how to get you to want me over Shawn, could I?”

I hold my breath and don’t move a muscle. Oh my god, he’s saying it. Everything I’ve always wanted to hear but never expected to. Inside, I feel so light and happy, like I might hyperventilate from lack of conflicting emotions weighing me down. Is it really possible to feel this happy? Why haven’t I ever felt this before?

“You wanted me to want you over Shawn?” I say slowly, just because I want to hear him agree.

“I know it was a stupid plan. In the end, you and Shawn are over because Shawn’s a douche bag, not because you want me.” He looks so sad at this news, so utterly dejected, that for a moment I want to transport all of my happiness onto him, because he deserves it so much more than I do. I try to find the right words to show him how completely wrong he is, but I realize with a terrifying jolt that it will be difficult to prove to Mason that I do want him, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. If I tell him, how will he know I’m not just saying that because I’m on the rebound?

“Mason,” I step towards him, smiling in what I hope is a reassuring manner. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I wanted Melissa to be fake. I hated her, actually. I agree, Shawn and I are over because Shawn’s a douche bag. But honestly, if I’d ever had the slightest inkling of a belief that you and I could be together and make it work, Shawn never would have stood a chance anyway.” For a moment I see my words work, and his face lights up like a little boy, so adorable and pleased. But then his smile falters and his eyes darken.

“You were with Shawn because you thought you couldn’t have me? How could you do that to someone? I mean, I hate Shawn and I’m kind of glad you did that to him. But I like me. What if you do the same thing to me? What if you’re only with me because nothing better has come along? I don’t want you to settle, ever.”

“No!” I shake my head frantically in horror. “Mase, no, that’s not it at all… How can I even explain to you that you’ve always been held to a higher standard than anyone else? You are the single most important thing in my life, Mason. No one else compares. I promise.”

He smiles slightly, but this time he looks sad. Nodding, he retreats back towards the other side of the car and opens the door. He looks up at me, leaning casually against the side of the car.

“I want you, Caitlyn. And I don’t doubt really that you want me too. I can see it, because your expression right now is exactly how I’ve been feeling for months now. Desperate, full of desire…” I feel myself flush. Damn it Caitlyn, hide your emotions better!

“…but I don’t want to be with you like this. Right after you end things with Shawn, when you’re still vulnerable and easily manipulated. I don’t want you to want me just because I ask. I want you to want me anyway… And me alone.” He shrugs then and steps into his car, slamming the door behind him. I’m still watching him as he pulls out into the street, wanting to chase him down and tell him to turn around. But I know he’s right. I never expected to be with Mason for real, but in my darkest of thoughts, late at night, when I allowed myself to succumb to mindless wishing, I saw Mason and I getting together on a warm summer day at the beach, maybe. Or a night under the stars. Or anything, really, except standing in my driveway in the wake of my first break up. Mason is right, this isn’t how it should begin. But I am desperate to be with him, knowing how he feels, and I need to figure out how to show him that despite everything, I want him, too.

We don’t talk for three weeks, because for three weeks I can’t decide what the right thing to say is. That’s the thing, about moments like these. What you say really is everything. It can be the deciding factor in how everything ends. If I don’t get this right, if I don’t say the exactly perfect words that I feel, then maybe everything will end differently than I’d hoped and there will be no way for me to get back to this moment, the moment where everything is still undecided and I can still hope.

School is ending anyway, and summer is beginning. The hopeful mood I feel is probably partially because of this. School will be over soon, I won’t have to see people I don’t want to see again, and I’ll be able to move forward one way or another. I start in the fall at college, a new school with new people and new possibilities. So good or bad, this summer will be it for me and Mason if I don’t figure out how to slow time down enough to tell him something that will make him want to stay.

Graduation goes by in a blur. I wish I could delve into the details of it, but even if I wanted to, I don’t really remember all too much of it. I don’t want to go into it anyway. I remember it being really lonely. I watched crying girls throw their arms around each other and boys holding cigars in their smiling mouths for pictures and I just kept thinking, wow, I really failed at this whole making friends thing. I thought about them all spending the summer together, while I prepared for my departure alone. I thought about all of them planning to visit each other at college and spend their vacations together and how they’d probably keep in touch for life. The only person I could see checking in on me at Brown was Mason, but that seems less realistic now.

Mason avoided me throughout the whole process. He was with his friends, reaping the benefits of caring more about friends than school. For the first time, I was so envious of his life. I felt that he’d succeeded in a way I never would. Maybe he’d never go to an Ivy school. But is that really as amazing as people make it seem? Maybe the whole things overrated. Maybe these memories, the little snapshots that I see of my peers smiling and laughing with their friends and especially of Mason, so happy and accepted, maybe this is more what life’s all about than what school we all end up at.

I wait as long as I can after summer starts to plan my Mason mission. That is, exactly 4 days after school ends. I watch as many movies as I can, I take a trip to the beach by myself with a book, I even drive to my cousin’s house for the day to play with my 4 and 8 year old cousin’s, because I’m that desperate for company. It isn’t until I start typing up my goals for after college that I realize I’m doing this all wrong. I’m putting plenty of effort into a future I’m not even guaranteed, and meanwhile, the present is merely passing me by like an afterthought. Life shouldn’t be like that. And me and Mason shouldn’t end like this.

I don’t listen to that voice in my head, telling me to turn around, when I drive to Mason’s house and leave a note in his mailbox. I think about other, insignificant things as I back out of his driveway and drive to the park to wait. As I sit in the grass in the middle of a field, the only place that seemed fitting for something as grand and beautiful as this moment, I refuse to let myself think about my future at all. Whether Mason shows up or not won’t deter me. It will make me horribly sad, of course, but life is happening whether I’m sad or not. So, at exactly 6 o’clock p.m. I will get back into my car and I will drive fast, as fast I can, out of this state. If Mason isn’t with me, I’ll leave anyway. Because it isn’t until I’m driving in my car that I feel like I’m not running towards something and ignoring everything that’s passing me on either side. This summer is about slowing myself down enough to look around me. I hope and pray that Mason’s beside me, always in my peripheral vision, but I can’t control that. I can only have hope.

At 6:10, I’m just telling myself that I should really get off the ground and get back into my car. I’m telling myself that this doesn’t matter, that I need to feel empowered by myself. Mason isn’t everything. But when he pulls his car into the space beside mine at 6:30, I know he is.

“I’m so glad you didn’t leave when you said you would.” Mason jumps out of his car, my note in his hand, and runs towards me. I don’t get up or panic or start talking right away. I just admire the view of him walking towards me.

“I guess I just really felt like I was missing something for my road trip. You know me, I can’t leave until I’m sure I have everything I need.” I smile at him as he sits cross-legged beside me. The sun is ablaze as it sets behind his head, and his green eyes are shining in contrast with the sweet light green grass that stretches far out into the distance. And I know that I’m truly slowing down time in this moment, exactly as I’ve always wanted to, because you just can’t help but slow down when your with Mason. He reminds me to look around. Because I’m always wanting to absorb everything that is him.

“Okay,” so I begin practically, which doesn’t seem to faze Mason. He rolls his eyes at me.

“I don’t know how to say what I want to say to you. Because there’s just so much I need to say, you know? That’s why I’m inviting you on this trip with me. Because when I’m with you, it doesn’t feel like I’m running away from my life plan. It feels right, like I’m exactly where I need to be and I’m exactly who I’m supposed to be. That’s kind of a perfect feeling, isn’t it? I don’t want to run from that anymore. And you were right before, everything you said about me and you and Shawn and timing being important. Timing is incredibly important with you and me. But the thing is, I’m done waiting for it to feel right. I think its up to us to make it the right timing, you know?” I pause then, just to take a breath, but Mason jumps in.

“So, what your saying is, you don’t want to leave it up to fate anymore? I thought you were all about fate.”

“I am. I am.” I reply enthusiastically. “But I think that this is part of fate. Making choices. Deciding to run away for a while. Creating our own timing. Deciding that now, in this moment, is the perfect chance. Not tomorrow- that’s time that isn’t guaranteed to us. I’m talking about a different kind of fate. Fate that just needs a little push, you know? Mase… me and you are meant to be together. That’s fate. Fate is knowing that somehow, out of all 6 billion people in the world, you were the one that I decided to share myself entirely with. I just got lucky, I guess, that some random friend from lab Freshman year ended up being the perfect person to give my heart to. So. Yeah.”

When I finish, I’m breathing so heavily that I feel slightly lightheaded. I can feel that my cheeks are flushed and my hair is a mess from the wind. But Mason is looking at me like he just won the lottery. He’s looking at me like he’s as positive as I am that in this moment, every single event to ever happen in the world happened to bring the two of us here together. Maybe that’s a little egocentrical. But it doesn’t make it less real of a feeling.

“I think you’ve never sounded more intelligent to me. I think we should do it too. I think I’m so in. I don’t know what will happen when we get back here. I don’t know if everything is even sort of sorted out for me and you, Noodles. I don’t know if this is a huge mistake and I don’t know if this will ruin our friendship. But I know that what I feel right now as I look at you is impossible to fight any longer. So I think yeah. Let’s do this.” And then he gets up, brushes himself off, and offers his hand to me. And as I take it, I don’t feel less myself. I feel exactly as I know I should. More importantly, I feel like my future isn’t all planned out anymore. And that’s what freedom is.

He cups my head gently in his hands as he leans in to kiss me. It’s soft and sweet and unrushed, because we really have all the time in the world and I want to kiss him like this forever.

“Do you feel that?” I whisper to him in-between kissing. He cocks his head to the side, a confused smile on his face.

“What?”

“That,” I say, wrapping my arms more tightly around his neck, “is time staying still for us.”

He smiles. “I think we can make it stay still forever.”

I nod. “I do too.” And then I slowly lean in to kiss him again.