Page 63 of Catch the Sun

“You can try all you want, but I assure you, I’m not going to the Fall Fling.”

That was me, yesterday, walking down the school hallway with Brynn! as she tried desperately to convince me that the Fall Fling was a necessary part of the high school experience and a rite of passage that would forever remain as an incomplete stain on my memory without my partaking.

Famous last words, I suppose.

Turns out, I’m going to the Fall Fling.

But let it be known that I am going stag. There is no date. There is no romantic companionship of any kind. There’s literally no one because I turned down the only person who asked me.

I have Max to thank for giving me a change of heart—even though I’m not going with him. And that’s fine. He’ll have fun with Libby and her pickled pigs’ feet. After all, pickling is an art. I bet Libby is full of fun facts about brine ratios and fermentation times. It will be a night to remember.

Anyway…

The reason I’m going now is because Max left another Post-it note in one of my books when he came by yesterday after school. It’s become something of a tradition. A week has passed since he showed up at my window that night, bloodied and broken-down, needing an escape. I still don’t know why he came to me, but maybe he felt the same thing I felt that day at the lake.The day we skipped stones and the foreign sound of my own laughter fused with the breeze.

That afternoon sure felt like an escape.

So, maybe I get it.

The book he left open for me was a poetry compilation by T. S. Eliot calledFour Quartets. The poem was titled “Little Gidding” and the following passage was underlined:

“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”

The quote has little to do with senior-year Fall Fling festivities, but something about it had me reconsidering.

I even bought a dress.

After classes let out today, I rode my bike into town. I strolled over to a nearby consignment shop and browsed the dress selections, armed with a devil-may-care attitude and my fifty dollars from Grandma Shirley. I spotted it instantly, sandwiched between two black dresses on a cluttered clothes rack. A beacon of vivid orange. A fireball of adolescent dreams.

A tangerine tube dress glowing bright amid a sea of drab neutrals.

My fate was sealed.

I was going to the dumb dance.

I sprawl the new dress out across my bedspread, smoothing the wrinkles and grazing my fingertips down the bright-orange front. It’s a simple dress, sleeveless, with a straight-cut neckline. It cinches slightly at the waist while the hem kisses just above my knees.

As I hold it up in front of me and turn to face the mirror, my mother knocks on the door. “Ella?”

“Present.”

She enters, poking her head inside. When she spots me doing something other than sulking, she gasps and the door swings open wider. “Honey, that’s beautiful. You look terrific.”

I make a sour face.Terrificis such a weird word. “It’s okay,” I reply with a shrug, even though a smile teases my lips.

“Is that for Fall Fling?”

“No, it’s for a funeral. I seem to have died and been reborn as a teenager who attends school dances.” I tilt my head and pop a hip, assessing the dress from all angles. “Dead Me deserves a punchy send-off.”

Mom never appreciates my humor. She folds her arms and leans against the doorjamb, her chestnut hair freshly colored as it waterfalls over her shoulders. Silver flecks were beginning to spawn, which almost sent her into a midlife crisis at forty-five years old. I guess she’s about due. Luckily, she works at a hair salon, so now all is right with the world. The crisis has been postponed.

“Are you going with Max?” Mom wonders.

Instinct has me glancing at my bed—the bed where I fell asleep against his shoulder last week like it was just a normal, everyday thing to do. Heat blossoms on my cheeks, so I swivel away from my mother’s probing eyes to discard the dress. “No, I’m going alone. Can you give me a ride tomorrow night?”

“Of course. Why are you going alone?”

“Because Max asked me and I said no. Now he’s going with Libby.” There’s no bite to my tone. There isn’t.

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