Page 153 of Anyone But Her

Spring semester at Camsburg College just ended and half of the girls on my floor have already left for the summer. I was saying goodbye to my friend, Lilly, who lives next door, when Silas appeared. Months ago, my parents told me Silas might be moving back to Berkeley and working on their farm, but I never thought it would actually happen. Silas is a free spirit. He changes his mind all the time. He said he'd be in Europe for two weeks, but ended up being there for two years. I assumed he'd never come back.

My parents were supposed to pick me up today but instead they sent Silas. I'm sure this was all some ploy to get me to be friends with him again, or more than friends. My parents always liked Silas and wanted us to be together. But all good things must come to an end. And they did, the day he left.

"I don't think it's hot in here," he says, "but I spent the past couple years working outside all day in some of the hottest regions on Earth, so this is nothing."

I haven't talked to Silas in two years. When he left, he told me he was going backpacking in Europe, but apparently he only did that for a couple weeks, then spent the rest of the time doing volunteer work. I only know that because my parents told me. They're good friends with Silas' parents.

"So you've been volunteering?" I ask, still fanning myself.

"Yeah. Building houses. Bridges. Planting crops. Mostly physical labor."

I can tell. God, he looks good. All muscle. He was always lean, with defined shoulder and ab muscles that come from surfing. But now? His shoulders are wider, his arms bigger. He looks older, more like a man than the teen boy I remember. His jawline is sharper, more defined, and covered with a thin layer of stubble.

It's feeling even hotter in here. Did they turn on the heat? Or why is it so hot? And why am I the only one sweating? Silas isn't sweating. He seems perfectly comfortable. And he's wearing jeans! Jeans are heavy and hot. I'm wearing a short red cotton sundress with cutouts in the back. I should feel cool. But instead, I'm on fire. Maybe it's early menopause. Maybe this is a hot flash. At 19? Probably not.

I need to face facts. I'm burning up inside because the man I was in love with—the man who turns my insides into hot molten lava—is standing before me, looking even better than I remember.

"Should we get going?" he asks. "The truck is parked right outside."

"Your mom got a truck?" I ask, shocked that his mom would drive something that uses that much gas.

"No, it's mine. It's not brand new. It's a couple years old. Anyway, it's still cool from the air conditioning. I'll get it running again and you could wait out there while I load up your stuff."

"You used the air conditioning?" I ask, shocked again. Silas comes from a family of hippies, as do I. Both our families believe in embracing what nature gives us, which means if it's hot outside, you suck it up. They're always trying to conserve energy, and since air conditioning uses gas, a natural resource that's dwindling in supply, they refuse to use it.

I'm all for conserving energy, but I don't like sweating and feeling like I'm going to pass out, so I have no problem running the air conditioning.

"I know you don't like the heat," Silas says, "so I made sure to cool down the truck before I got here."

"Thanks." I smile.

His gaze pauses on my lips. Silas always liked my smile. He said it was what made him want to be friends with me when we met on the first day of second grade.

"No problem," he says.

We both keep staring at each other. It makes sense that I would stare at him. He's changed a lot since I saw him last. But me? I look pretty much the same.

Our eyes meet again. I've always loved Silas' eyes. In fact, I'm jealous of them. They're this rich turquoise blue that doesn't even look real. If I saw them in a photo, I'd think they were doctored to look that color. But no, his eyes are actually that color, surrounded by thick black lashes, which I am also envious of.

I need to stop this. I can't be around him all summer and act like this. I admit there's still something between us. A spark. An energy. An undeniable attraction. But I need to ignore it. We both do.

Silas is the past. It's over between us. We've both moved on.

"So your truck is out that way?" I point to my right.

"The other way. I parked by the side entrance." He turns and walks over to the boxes. "Is there anything breakable in these?"

"No. It's mostly just books and clothes."

"This won't take me long. Do you want to wait in the truck?"

"No. I can help." I'm not the type of girl who sits around and waits for a guy to do things for me. And Silas knows that. He was just being nice, knowing I don't do well in the heat. When it's really hot, like it is today, I don't feel good. Once, I even threw up from the heat, right in front of Silas. It was third grade after we'd been running around all day, but still, I'm sure he doesn't want to witness that again.

I take a box from the stack. Silas lifts up three all at once as if they weigh nothing, even though the ones he picked up are full of heavy textbooks.

"Follow me." He casually walks out to the hall. As I follow behind him, I'm so distracted by how good his ass looks in those jeans that I almost trip and drop the box.

"You okay?" He turns back.

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