Page 60 of On the Beat

I scoff at the notion of getting back together with Holly. The idea is something like a fever dream, induced by drugs or sickness or a psychotic break. The person I was in high school feels like a million lightyears away, but if I close my eyes and picture everything Poppy is writing about, I can almost be that person again, or at least be in the same place.

Anyway. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that. I wrote this letter to apologize, and I almost made a decent attempt at it. But now that I’m here, back in Kentucky, I can almost tell myself there’s nothing to apologize for. That we’re still the two kids starry-eyed looking out at L.A. like it was some sort of fantasy land where all our dreams would come true.

The truth is, I was jealous of you. I was bitter. I resented that you got famous by writing a song about my best friend. I resented that you and Skye broke up and it put me in the middle. And then you publicized the breakup by writing that stupid song for money. You threw her to the paparazzi wolves online. Do you know how that hurt her? You don’t, but I saw it. I saw it all.

And I resented that I felt like I had no choice but to choose her, because if I chose you… Well, if I chose you, I’d be admitting to myself that I hadn’t made it in Hollywood. I’d be constantly surrounded by reminders ofyoursuccess. And if I distanced myself from you, then maybe I’d be able to deal with that a little better. Maybe I’d be able to tell myself that I was just choosing a different path, instead of constantly having to be reminded of your impending stardom. I just wanted to succeed, Ryder. It was easy enough for you. I wanted it to be that easy for me, and it wasn’t.

I guess what I’m saying is, I miss you. I miss what we had and who we were ten years ago. I wish we could go back, but like I’ve been saying this whole time, it’ll never happen.

Come home. If you know where it is, come home.

Your sister,

Poppy Calliope Black

She still signs her middle name with a heart over thei. I blink, hot tears welling in my eyes.

I fold the letter, staring at the page of paper between my fingers. Just one sheet of lined paper, like we’re still in middle school, written in her florid pink strokes, but it means impossibly much to me.

Do I write back?

Chapter 29: Ryder Black

For the final day of Isla’s parents being in town, they invite me and Isla to go island-hopping with them. Her brothers flew back to New York last week, citing jobs, friends, and lives that they needed to get back to.

Isla seems somewhat more enthused by the prospect of sitting in a kayak with me than she would have been a mere month or maybe even two weeks ago since the impromptu swimming lesson I gave her. Is it the fact that she’s more comfortable with the possibility of falling into the water, even if she’s wearing a life jacket over her swimsuit, now that she’s learned to swim?

She’s been colder. More distant. Ever since the letter came from Poppy a week ago, the one that led to a phone call that connected me to her voicemail, I’ve noticed Isla pulling away from me. It isn’t as if we’ve been best friends since the moment we arrived in the Philippines, but I had an idiotic, senseless hope that things between us might lead to more than an agreement that getting together would be a mistake. I know she has her reasons and she thinks our relationship will never work out. But I want it to.

I don’t know how to tell her that, especially not with her parents only a few feet away from us as we carefully steer around the rock formations over the crystal blue water. The gorgeous, lush green mountains loom in the distance, reflecting on the equally limpid ocean.

An idea strikes me before I can stop myself, and I nearly paddle us straight into the kayak in front of us. Isla turns around and looks at me in horror. “Are you sure you’re not trying to kill me? First, the swimming lesson–”

“Sorry, I just had an idea.” Of course. Why didn’t I think of it earlier? I need to write her a song. “Let’s keep going. We don’t want your parents to think we’re lagging behind.”

Though I can only see the back of her head and the braid running down her spine, I can picture her rolling her eyes. It makes me want to laugh.

“I thought that was exactly what you wanted,” she says.

“What reason do we have to lag behind?” I tease. “Unless there’s something you’d like to tell me?”

She tilts her head to one side as we round the corner around another rock formation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That makes two of us.” Well, I’d like to think I know. But I’d also like to think that she cares enough about me to want to have any kind of conversation in private, and right now I’m only fifty percent sure of that. “Are you trying to cement the fake dating thing? I think they believe us. Especially when your brothers told them we were kissing. Or are you saying you don’t think word of mouth was enough to convince them?”

“I didn’t expect to like you, Ryder,” she blurts out.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t expect to hear that. “You like me? And here, I thought that was how you kissed all the guys you hated.”

“Shut up,” she says, but as she turns her head slightly, I see the faint blush on her cheeks.

“Very polite and couth of you. I’m sure your parents would be proud.”

“They’d be proud that I’m dating an unemployed musician?”

“So, we’re dating?”

“Fake-dating. I believe your tenure as my fake boyfriend is almost over, so don’t worry. You can go back to being annoyed with me for supposedly being obsessed with you by the time their flight leaves.”

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