Surfside Sisters(12)
“Um…okay.” What did this mean? Keely’s hopes spiraled upward.
“Look. I’d like to talk with you. Just the two of us. I really like you, Keely.”
Her heart stopped beating. Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes met his and for a moment they were the only people in the world.
A car passed by. The spell broke.
“I’d like to talk to you, too,” Keely admitted, her voice faint.
“I have to leave tomorrow. But I’ll come back to the island a lot. Can I text you?”
“Um, I’ve got an old phone…” She almost burst into tears.
“I’ll email you then, okay?”
Had she entered an alternate universe? Her heart galloped like a racehorse. “Sure.”
“I’ll get your address from Izzy.”
“No, don’t. She’d kill me. I’ll tell you. It’s easy. Keely90 at gmail.”
“So I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.”
“What about Christmas break?” The question popped out before she could stop herself.
“We’re going to New York again. You know the drill.”
“Right. Yeah, okay.”
“Okay.” Sebastian smiled down at her.
“You’ve gotten even taller,” Keely said.
“Older and wiser, too,” Sebastian quipped.
Without warning, he leaned forward and kissed her gently, quickly, on her lips.
“See ya,” he said, and ran down the Cronins’ walk and onto the street and around the corner.
Keely stood in the doorway, paralyzed with happiness and wonder until Sebastian was out of sight.
* * *
—
“I’m going to lose my virginity this year,” Isabelle announced.
“Why? Because we’re juniors?” Keely and Isabelle walked side by side, laden with heavy new textbooks after their first full day of school. It was as hot and humid as an August day. Who could take school seriously?
“Yeah, maybe. I just want to get it over with. With some guy I like, but don’t love.”
“You are so weird.”
“No, Keely. I’m logical. Thinking ahead. I want to make top grades. I want to get into a good college. I don’t want to be ambushed by ‘love’ and get obsessive over some guy.”
“I know. Look at Bliss. I saw her at Island Variety yesterday. She’s so matronly. She was desperate to know about school. We invited her to some beach parties this summer. She didn’t come.”
“Would you?”
“We were all in bikinis and she looks like a beach ball.”
Isabelle laughed, shoving Keely’s arm. “You’re terrible.”
“But I’m right.”
“I know. That’s what I mean. I really don’t want to lose my mind—my life!—over some guy.”
“Like that’s something you can control.” Keely bit her lip, thinking of Sebastian. She secretly congratulated herself on keeping her feelings for him private, because she didn’t get why he had stopped by at the Cronins’. It had to be more than friendship. Keely wanted to talk it over with someone, but Isabelle was her best friend, and Isabelle would flip if she knew Keely liked Sebastian.
They went to Isabelle’s house today because the badminton set was still up in the backyard. They played a few games—it was therapeutic to run around on the soft grass slamming the birdie with the racket. They ate apples while they worked on their math homework in the kitchen. When Mrs. Maxwell came in to start cooking dinner, Keely gathered up her things and went home.
Her parents were both working late, so Keely chopped vegetables for a quick stir-fry when they got home. She went to her room, woke up her computer, and checked her emails.
Sebastian.
She had an email from Sebastian. She screamed—no one was around to hear her.
She opened the email.
Hey, Keely,
So sometimes it’s easier to say things this way. I’ve been wanting to tell you some stuff, but I feel like you belong to Isabelle and I know your first allegiance is to her, so I haven’t told you everything. Because, you know, she would kill me. Or you. Or both of us. But now, off the island, in my dorm, I guess I feel free to say some stuff. I just don’t want Isabelle to know. I hope you understand.
So…it’s pretty obvious how I feel about you, right? I mean giving you the book, and then seeing you this summer. I grabbed at the chance to talk to you when you were babysitting because none of my family would be hanging around eavesdropping. But that wasn’t the best time or place, was it?
I wish I could spend more time with you. You and me, alone. I think you get me in ways no one else does. Because of your writing and my art, I mean. My pretensions to art. But more than that.
I think you’re beautiful.
I’ve written and deleted that line about ten times. I’m kind of hanging off a roof here, emotionally speaking, and I don’t know if you’ll grab my wrists and pull me up or step on my fingers. (You can tell I’ve been watching too many thrillers.) So, can you do this? Email me and well, let’s have a conversation. And please don’t tell anyone about this, especially Isabelle.