Page 17 of Harper

“We’re literally sitting outside.”

“Shut up, Reeve,” I say, hopping over Joe’s legs and running down the bleacher steps to freedom.

***

I speed-walk away from Smuggler’s Cove, headed toward Yakutania Point with no real destination in mind—justdesperate to escape from Joe…which is why my heart drops when I hear footsteps behind me.

I whip around to face him, putting my hands on my hips and glowering at him.

“Why are you following me?”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“Leave me alone,” I say, turning back around and continuing my walk.

He doesn’t. I hear his boots crunching on rocks and pebbles behind me.

“Quit following me!” I yell.

He grabs my arm and whips me around, and I’m so shocked by this boldness, I stare up at him, mute.

“Why do you hate me?” he demands. “What did I do? Jesus, Harper! I’ve been wondering for ten years!”

“I don’t hate you,” I say, yanking my arm away. I cross both arms over my chest and take a step away from him, staring down at my sneakers. “Now, please leave me alone.”

“You know what? No. No, I won’t leave you alone until you talk to me. I’ve never asked why you avoid me, why you won’t acknowledge me in public, why you don’t—”

“Please, Joe—”

“Today is the first time you’ve spoken to me in five years!” he cries. “I deserve an explanation!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I insist, glancing up at him for a second before returning my gaze to my feet.

“It does to me,” he says. “What did I do? Just tell me, Harp, and I promise I’ll leave you alone. I’ll never talk to you again if that’s what you want.”

I turn my back to him, resuming my walk, but slower now. He falls into step beside me just like I knew he would.

“I don’t hate you,” I say again as we reach the rocky coastline. “I could never hate you.”

“You act like you do.”

“I just…” I squat down to find a smooth, flat stone, and Joe does the same. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

He nudges me with his elbow, and when I look over, he’s got a perfect flat stone in his hand. I take it gingerly, careful not to brush my skin against his. Then I walk to the shore and skip it into the water.

“How about ‘Hello’? Or ‘How’s it going’? Or anything else remotely civil?” he suggests from behind me.

He’s relentless, and I feel myself weakening a little.

“Hello,” I say to the sea.

“Hello,” he says to my back.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

“I don’t know yet,” he says softly, his deep voice like gravel.

I turn around to face him. “Happy now?”

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