Page 10 of Dear Adam
“You’re friends with my brother on Snapchat?” I ask, finally winning the phone from her grasp and replaying his stories. They’re littered with photos of the past few days in California. I hold my finger down on one with Levi for admittedly too long. I know Adam meant to capture the scenery but Levi’s headed into the ocean and his backside is a glorious sight. Broad, muscular shoulders taper down into a firm, tight…
“Aly? Where do you keep your napkins?”
“My napkins?” I repeat, my voice unusually high.
“Yeah, the ones you get from drive-thrus. Where do you cram your extra ones?”
I open the glovebox and blindly feel around, unable to peel my eyes from the heavenly scene on the screen in front of me. “Here you go,” I answer absently. I drop the crumpled wad onto her lap, missing her upturned palm. She picks them up and begins dabbing at the corners of my mouth. Reluctantly, I tear my eyes away from her phone. “What are you doing?”
“Wiping the drool from your face.” Emma continues to dab, a smirk resting on her lips, while I swat ineffectively at her hand.
Why do I feel like this? I don’t evenknowLevi, not anymore at least. I drop Emma’s phone into her lap and reach for the handle to get out of the car. Pretzel thumps her tail impatiently, waiting to be let out too.
“Why would you think I’m drooling over Levi?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Listen, Aly. All I’m saying is he's more your type than Hudson. You should talk to him.” Emma says, slinging her sequined beach bag over her shoulder.
“No,” I say vehemently. “He lives in California and I live here. It would never work. Plus, I have zero idea what he’s even like now. He could be a major weirdo and I’d have no idea.”
Even to my own ears, these excuses are lame. But there is one big, legitimate reason why nothing could ever happen between me and Levi.
“He’s obviously not or Adam wouldn’t be having so much fun with him,” Emma says.
And there it is: Adam. My brother wouldneverallow it.
I shoot her a glare and she throws her hands up in the air in mock surrender. I turn all my focus to Pretzel, who is straining her leash for the nearest seagull, requiring two hands on her leash and all my strength to hold her back.
“Remember how weird Adam used to get when we’d so much as glance in the other’s direction?” I remind Emma. Pretzel lurches for a bird, misses, instead pouncing on a man wearing a Speedo, waking him up. Dazed, he looks around for the culprit who’s now digging for a crab, kicking sand on nearby sunbathers. “Sorry!” I say timidly with a little wave.
“All I’m hearing from you are lame excuses as to why you shouldn’t give it a shot.” A victim of Pretzel’s digging sits up and tears off her sunglasses, like she’s about to come have a word.
“You’ll be fine,” Emma tells the girl, flashing her palm. The girl, either too stunned to speak or genuinely scared of Emma, only lets out a huff and stays where she is.
“You’re such a baddie,” I say to Emma, picking up a wriggling Pretzel and tucking her under my arm. Emma reaches over and takes Pretzel from me, putting her back on the ground. Pretzel gives her an affectionate lick and settles immediately. “Why is she only bad for me?” I whine.
“Don’t avoid the question.”
I stare at her, purposefully. “Fine, whatever. I know the truth. Youdostill have a crush on him after all these years.”
I think of ways to circumvent her statement and settle on mocking her by sticking my tongue out in my best attempt at being a five-year-old.
“Real mature, Aly.”
“Real mature, Aly,” I parrot.
We find a spot in the sand far away from anyone else, and I set up Pretzel’s long leash, allowing her to enjoy a ten foot radius for chasing seagulls. Only, she surprises me by curling up beside Emma’s beach chair and promptly falling asleep. I roll my eyes, settle into my own chair, and pull a fun rom-com novel out of my bag.
Emma is slathering SPF 70 all over her body when she looks over and says, “I bet I can tell you how that ends.”
“No you can’t,” I scoff.
“They fall in love and live happily ever after. They all end the same way. Doesn’t that ever get boring to you?” Her tone isn’t patronizing. She’s asking because she seriously doesn’t understand how someone can waste hours reading a book knowing it’ll probably end exactly as she said. She just doesn’t understand; it’s a book lover thing.
“Happily ever afters never get boring to me, thank you very much,” I say, and ignore her as I fly through the next half of the book uninterrupted, happy as can be.
Cracking my eyes open, I blink a few times before looking around and noticing several beach goers have already packed up and left for the day. My novel is splayed out across my torso and when I move it, I find a weird tan line forming underneath. Emma and Pretzel are gone, so I can only assume they went for a walk. The sun has moved across the sky and the tide is coming in again, and I wonder how long I was asleep.
I pull back our chairs and bags to avoid a rogue wave and catch sight of my phone lit up in my bag. I pull it out and notice the time. It's late in the afternoon. I rub my eyes, wondering how I could’ve slept that long, and unlock my phone. There are several missed calls from an unknown number and almost the same amount from my parents.
