Page 38 of Catch the Sun

She blinks a few times, registering the name. Finally, she lets go of my wrist and glances up at me. “Sunny?”

“Yeah.” I scratch at my hair, wondering why the nickname spilled out of me,while also wondering why my internal thoughts have taken a sharp left turn onto Weird and Sappy Avenue. “Your last name is Sunbury,” I explain with a shrug, glancing up at the light-streaked sky. “Besides…the sun turns your hair this ruby shade of red. It’s kind of pretty.”

Ella fidgets in place, seemingly allergic to compliments. Then she starts playing with her hair, letting the red-brown strands dance between her fingers. “I’m sure there are more fitting nicknames.” She ponders them. “You could call me Monday. Nobody likes Mondays.”

“I happen to like Mondays, but I’m a bit of a nonconformist.”

Another tiny smile flickers as she peers up at me again through long, inky lashes. “Relatable.”

“I guess we have something in common, after all.”

At first I’m afraid she’s going to shut down. Run away. Hop on her red bike and leave me in the dust, turning this budding friendship into a mere shadow that fades in the light of her swift retreat.

But all she says is, “Want to play another round?”

My heart gallops with the prospect of spending more time with her. With knowing that she’s letting me in, even in this small, inconsequential way. Because I know it’s not nothing—not for Ella. She’s programmed herself to keep people out. I recognize the signs because I’m well trained in emotional evasion, as well. Like two sides of the same coin, we’ve both mastered the art of keeping the world at arm’s length, turning solitude into our shield.

But her armor has slipped. Her shield is lowered.

I’ve breached her.

I make my way to the pile of sticks and pluck two more from the lessening mound. “All right, Sunny. Best out of ten. If I win, you have to go to the Fall Fling with me.” Then I add, just to be safe, “As friends.”

She purses her lips. “Not a chance.”

“Fine. Go to a music festival with me this fall. My favorite band is playing in Knoxville.” Again, I add, “As friends. We can invite Brynn and McKay and make it a group thing.”

Contemplation twinkles in her eyes as she studies me, thinking on the terms. She relents with a sigh. “Deal.”

I’m grinning ear to ear when I hand her a stick.

We spend the afternoon dropping sticks off the bridge, racing back and forth from rail to rail and watching as the water decides our fate. Each time we let go of our branches, Ella takes me by the wrist to pull me to the other side, almost like it’s instinct—like I wouldn’t know where to go without her hand to guide me—and every time, my skin tingles in the wake of her touch.

We play Pooh sticks until the sun dips lower and an hour has sailed by.

It’s silly.

It’s simple.

I think it’s just what we need.

Ella manages to be the winner in every match, her sticks always edging out mine at the last second, prompting her arms to rise in victory as the sunshine blankets her in a new light.

She wins.

And yet, when I walk away from the bridge to go for a swim, with her easy smile ingrained in my mind…it feels like I’ve won it all.

***

I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

My eyelids crack open, lashes fluttering with the telltale splashes of color from a setting sun. Pink, gold, orange.

Orange.

I immediately think of her.

I pull up on my elbows and my gaze snaps up to the bridge above me. Her bike is still there, leaning against the distressed salt-and-pepper railing. At least two hours have gone by since we dropped sticks over the bridge, but her bike is still there.

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