Page 66 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
“That’s our third frowny face in a row,” I chastise Ben. “Please slow down a little.”
He shoots me a sidelong glance from the driver’s seat. “I’m barely going ten over and there’s no one else on this road. We’re okay. I wouldn’t risk anything happening to you.”
“But those faces are so sad.”
“You know they aren’t real, right?”
“Yes, I know that.”Obviously.“But I still feel like we’re hurting their feelings.”
“You’re adorable.”
“Do you remember Ms. Bradford’s first-grade class and how she graded our letter-practice pages with either a happy face or a frowny face stamp? That’s what those speeding radars remind me of.”
“Idoremember those.” Even from the side I can tell Ben’s eyes light up at the memory.
And it’sthis—the history between us that can’t be replicated, a tie that binds us together no matter the years and distance we’ve spent apart—that proves to me, without a doubt, I’ll never love anyone the way I love Ben. But like I learned before, loving Ben Carter doesn’t mean I get to keep him.
“I struggled with my lowercaseq’s for the longest time,” he says with a little laugh. “I collected a slew of those frowny faces.”
“To be fair, the lowercaseqis challenging.” We hit a bump in the road, and I bounce in my seat. I shoot Ben another disapproving scowl, and he eases off the gas pedal. “I got one once. It was traumatizing.”
“One?” he asks, incredulous. “You only got one the entire year?”
“Yep. Not because of my letter work but because Ms. Bradford said I rushed through it. She told me there was no need to always be the first one finished. That showing off wasn’t a good look.”
“That seems unfair.”
I shrug. “From that point on I made sure to wait until at least one other person turned in their work before I did so I didn’t stand out. Funny thing though, she never said that to Logan Fletcher, who always turned his stuff in first once I stopped.”
Another radar looms ahead, and this time, we get a happy face of approval as we approach. I smile out the window at it like it’s a real person.
“Hey, Ems,” Ben says softly. “Fuck Logan Fletcher.”
My smile widens. I turn back to Ben and add, “And fuck Ms. Bradford, too.”
* * *
Húsavík is a darling Icelandic town situated on Skjálfandi bay and known for its whale-watching excursions. We hurry through the harbor and down a set of stairs to the bustling dock, fishermen and tour guides already hard at work by midmorning. In a shocking turn of events, the sky above is clear and blue—at least for now, in fourteen more seconds, who knows—and I turn back to Ben to comment on our good fortune.
Until I notice Ben’s expression is far from enthusiastic.
I come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dock. “Hey, you okay?”
Up close his complexion is pallid, sweat dampening his hairline. “Uh, you know how I don’t like planes?”
“Yeah…”
“So, I don’t really care for boats, either.”
His gaze is cast somewhere over my shoulder, the reflection of the harbor glistening in his wary eyes.
“Are you afraid ofallmethods of transportation?”
His eyes flick back to mine, narrowed and unamused. “Only ones that don’t take place on the actual fucking ground.”
“Well.” I look over my shoulder at the bay, the surface of thewater rippling in the sunlight. “Technically, therewillbe ground beneath us, it’s just below all that water.”
I glance back to see Ben grip his stomach and squeeze his eyes closed. “That’s not helping, Ems.”
