Page 31 of Every Thought Taken

I zero in on where our hands connect and close my eyes for one, two, three steps. A zing of energy whirls in my chest and makes me swallow. The sensation is exhilarating and overwhelming, pleasant and familiar. A touch of comfort and home. In the same breath, it’s scary and worrisome.

Without a doubt, I care for Anderson. Deeply. But what if I feel things for him that he doesn’t reciprocate? What if his hand holding mine is purely out of friendship? A simple connection between two people that have known each other for years and are nothing more than at ease with one another.

I don’t believe it, but what if he does?

“Holy shit,” Lessa says, her voice echoing in the trees.

Beside me, Anderson laughs without inhibition. “Told you it was worth it,” he mutters only loud enough for me to hear.

I tighten my grip and tug him forward, eager to see what has Lessa awestruck. As the trees thin and the path opens up, a boardwalk over a body of water comes into view. My steps falter as I scan the horizon and take it all in. The sun barely brightens the sky, but I see everything. The mountain in the distance. The scattered trees lining the endless boardwalk and beyond. The scraggly grass plants in patches in the water where birds wait for fish to swim past.

Stepping up to the rail, I lean over and stare out at the open landscape. His hand still in mine, I take a deep breath and let the cool, piney air fill my lungs. In one breath, my muscles relax and my mind quiets.

This right here, right now, is perfect.

Most girls my age wouldn’t be caught dead in the middle of nowhere. They are more concerned about hair and makeup and fashion. I am not opposed to those things. They have their place and time. But being out in the thick of nature, there is just something so real about it. Out here, you get to disconnect from the crazy and reconnect with yourself. Out here, you get to let everything else go.

Shades of pink and orange smear the sky. I don’t dare move from my spot. Don’t dare to look away and miss a second of the view.

“Thank you,” I whisper, giving Anderson’s hand a squeeze. “Best camping memory yet.”

We remain rooted in place as the sky slowly morphs into a cloud-covered light blue. He never lets go and neither do I. For a beat, the world is quiet. Peaceful. Harmonious. I close my eyes and bask in the moment. The solace and warmth and endless buzz in my chest.

Then the bubble pops when Lessa hollers for us to catch up.

I don’t miss Anderson’s irritated huff. Nor the short, soft stroke of his thumb on my hand. And it’s in this single blip in time that Iknowwhat I questioned earlier isn’t true.

Anderson holding my hand… it isn’t just friendship. It’s so much more. But what exactly, I don’t know.

CHAPTER15

ANDERSON

No time in my life compares to now. To this summer. To countless moments with her.

I don’t question our bond. Don’t ask why she is the only person able to lift me up and shine a light on my darkest hours. Whatever the reason, I am lucky to have her. Helena Williams. My best friend. My only real friend.

Years ago, it saddened me to say I had no friends. No one, other than my sister and her friends, cared about me, which is different than friends of your own. Now, things are different. With the exception of a few, I still lack genuine people in my life. But this fact no longer tugs me down or whispers insecure thoughts in the back of my head.

Because I have her.

Chin somewhat tucked, I survey everyone around the campfire. The parents are off in their own world, as usual, after dinner. The dads sit in collapsible chairs closer to their tents and talk about having a dads-only camping weekend. The moms are parked in their usual spot at the table, Mrs. Bishop praising her daughter, Mags, and her skill as a dancer. When my eyes scan our group, everyone seems lost in their own thoughts. Glum over our last night at the park. Can’t say I blame them.

With our chairs nearly touching, I nudge Helena’s knee with my own. “S’more?”

She blinks a few times and turns her head to face me, half her profile shadowed and half illuminated by the fire. “I’m sorry. What?”

I hold up the almost empty bag of marshmallows. “Want a s’more?”

Her eyes hold mine for two of the slowest breaths before she swallows and nods. “With cookies.”

I hand her the bag. “I’ll get the cookies if you prep the marshmallows.”

“Deal.”

Rummaging through the snack bin, I fetch chocolate chip cookies, the last chocolate bar, and a sleeve of graham crackers. Plopping back down in my chair, she hands me my speared marshmallow and smiles. I pin the skewer between my knees and open packages. After a quick check of my marshmallow and a flip, I hand Helena two cookies. While she smooshes her lightly browned sugar cube between the cookies, I break off a piece of chocolate and snap a graham cracker.

“Going to miss this,” she mumbles around a monstrous bite.

---