Summer Skies and Ocean Eyes

Where are you? I’m a little worried.

One text. That was all I sent. It took every inch of my self-control not to constantly blow up his phone or send him text after text after text. I even thought about threatening him by saying I was going to sit on his front step until he finally went home.

But that was crazy. Once I had grabbed my stuff from the soccer field and made a lame excuse about how I had to head home, I drove with my phone tightly clutched in one hand. After parking in the driveway, I jogged up to my room and threw myself against my bed.

That was where I had been waiting for the past hour and a half, staring at my phone now poised on the pillow beside my head. Every part of me was strained with painful patience--every part except my feet, which were constantly wiggling and fluttering back and forth with worry.

I wished that Poot hadn’t vetoed my idea that we look for Tommy together. He was mad enough that he had even told me Tommy was MIA, and said I should go back to playing soccer; he would drive around a little bit to look for him.

In any other situation, I would have scoffed a “Yeah, right” and simply taken my own car to join the search. It was just that I didn’t know much about Naples--only the places that my friends, Mom, Jon, and his kids had taken me. As I flashed through every spot in my mind, I couldn’t see the Tommy I “knew” hiding out in any of them. Blindly driving around had seemed like a useless idea.

Sighing to myself, I rolled to my back and stared at my ceiling. Another reason why I had wanted to stay with Poot was because maybe he could have kept me distracted enough not to let my mind run wild with thoughts about Tommy and his family. I had successfully drugged my entire body into sickness by allowing drop after drop of dark thought to mix into me.

I watched the digital clock beside my bed as it flicked from 5:29 to 5:30. It was a small change, taking place over a couple seconds, but it was enough. I had enough. I couldn’t wait here to stew in a pool of my own worry, I had to do something, and I had to do it now.

Sitting up in my bed, I snatched my phone off my pillow and stomped downstairs like Griffin. Mom was surprised at my presence in the kitchen, but I didn’t let her eyes linger over my expression too long. I told her I wouldn’t be home for dinner, waved goodbye, then was backing out of Jon’s driveway again soon after that.

It still might have been a useless idea, but at least it was something. I was going to drive around until I found Tommy.

With the brakes on at a red light, I flicked my phone open and rapidly texted Tommy one more time.

I’m coming to find you. Either tell me where you are, or I’m going to be driving all night.

Shutting my phone with finality, I waited for the light to turn green. I had no clue where to start, so all I could do for a couple minutes was take random turns down the roads by Jon’s neighborhood as I tried to come up with some sort of system. I was driving by the boardwalk when my phone vibrated in my lap.

Driving into the parking area that separated two chunks of stores and restaurants, I brought my car to a stop. With wobbly fingers, I flipped up my phone.

Im fine. Im @ a beach. Go home.

It was from Tommy. My heart thudded from excitement

I’m not going home. Which beach?

Eternity could have passed me by as I waited for his reply. However long it took, I had enough time to flip-flop a million times between the thought that he wasn’t going to text me and the thought that he was going to, but trying to come up with the right words.

I looked at the clock, ten minutes had passed. My eyes lingered out my windshield at the beach. A group of a younger generation of soccer players were using the spot of beach my friends and I usually claimed. I watched as the ball was kicked back and forth, stirring up sand that I could see from where I sat. Five minutes more passed.

Another buzz in my hand.

Where r u?

I quickly texted back. At our beach, sitting in the boardwalk’s parking lot.

Only a minute passed. Wait there.

Are you coming? But he didn’t answer that one.

Exactly twelve minutes later, I had all of given up hope and was about to back out of my parking spot to scour all the beaches of Naples when a car pulled up next to mine. A black Jeep Grand Cherokee, Tommy’s car.

He was looking straight ahead, aviators blocking his eyes, with one hand poised on the wheel in front of him. My lungs were incapable of breathing. After spending the past hours so worried, scared, and frustrated; there he was.

It wasn’t until he turned his head to face me, jerking it back once to signal me to get out of my car, when I realized he was waiting. My hands scrambled for my keys, phone, and tote. Sucking in a deep breath before opening my door, I held it in until I had climbed beside Tommy in his car.

He was purposefully quiet, sitting in the driver’s seat with his gray hoodie zipped up all the way. My own tongue was thick in my mouth, I had no clue how or where to begin.

As he shifted the car into reverse, I decided to keep my mouth clamped. Though I knew it was a long-shot, maybe he would speak first and that would somehow help me get out what I needed to say. I wanted to ask him if he had really gotten hit by his dad today, why it happened, why had it been happening, why didn’t he get out of the situation...

By the time we had reached Tommy’s destination, I had piled up a list of questions that towered like a skyscraper in my mind. So involved in my own thoughts, I wasn’t paying much attention to where Tommy was going until he made a sharp swerve and my head almost smacked right into the glass.

Cautiously glancing at him, I could see he was grinding his teeth together, driving rather recklessly. We were going fifteen to twenty miles over the speed limit as he impatiently wove through the three lanes of road to pass other cars. I surreptitiously moved my hand to the Oh Shit Bar on the ceiling so I could steady myself.

Just when I thought we were going to die, the car started slowing as Tommy switched lanes, all the way to the right. It caught me by surprise as he turned the car down a street that I hadn’t noticed was there in the first place.

A dark, tarred black, the road was barely big enough to fit two cars side-by-side. Like the scenery had changed when I had taken Kendall to the G. Young Marine Lab, trees started thickening around us. First, only a few palms, live oaks, and longleaf pines dotted here and there, then they turned into copses, which eventually turned into somewhat of a forest. As we passed beneath their branches, the sun went through the windshield and dotted Tommy and I with a splattering of light.

Buried about half a mile into the spattering of trees, there was a small, block of a building in front of a chained-link fence stretching as far as I could see from left to right. Weaving around the trees, it was about ten feet high with barbed wire on top, all except for a section that appeared to be a gate that the road passed right through. Tommy followed the tar and drove up beside the entry post, coming to a stop in front of a large pane of glass.

He rolled down my window with a button on his door, and before I had a chance to peer into the interior of the building, an older Hispanic man walked up to the glass. With deep-set wrinkles on his face, he looked down and pushed a button--the pane slid to the side with a small whirring sound.

Tommy waited until the man peered into the car before saying anything. “Hola, Luz. Soy yo, Tommy.”

The wrinkles around Luz’s wise eyes deepened as he smiled, tipping his green cap that had the words Port Royal Country Club sewed into it with golden stitching. “Hola, mi amigo. ¿Cómo estás hoy?” I knew enough Spanish to understand he was asking how Tommy was, but his eyes deliberately motioned to me like that was the question he really wanted answered.

Tommy politely nodded. “Yo soy bueno, ¿cómo estás?”

“Parece que te están haciendo más que bien. ¿Quién es la chica? ¿Hay algo entre ustedes dos?” Luz’s voice was gravely and low as he continued to smile at the two of us like a happy couple. For the first time since he motioned for me to get into his car, Tommy slowly faced me.

His aviators hid his eyes completely, so the only expression I could read from his face was the way his lips were in a tight line as he almost appeared in thought. Without looking at Luz, Tommy replied, “No lo sé todavía.” He took his eyes away from me. “¿Podría abrir la puerta?”

Once again, I was completely lost in the conversation. If I was going to live down here, I should probably sign up for a Spanish class this coming semester.

Luz winked and nodded a yes. He reached his arm out to something I couldn’t see beside the window, and the gate in front of us creaked and swung open. They said goodbye and thank you, it was another small piece of what I could translate, then Tommy drove through.

The car sped down the narrow road, winding through the trees until the tar abruptly stopped and turned into gravel. Tommy put the brakes on as we reached a square clearing, covered with gravel. There were trucks--some with Port Royal Country Club painted on their sides and others belonging to what I presumed were workers--parked alongside each other at one end.

He brought the car to a stop at the edge of the quasi-parking lot, right by three golf carts that were parked side-by-side. As he took out his keys, I was able to get one question out.

“Why are we at some back entrance to Port Royal?”

I wasn’t surprised when he completely ignored me, climbing out of his car with purpose. Clambering my way after him, briskly followed after shutting the door. He continued to pretend like I wasn’t there as he sat in the nearest golf cart, starting it up with a baby-sized sputter before it buzzed comfortably.

Before Tommy could give me another one of his agitated “any day now...” looks, I plopped beside him in the passenger seat.

My butt had barely touched the squishy foam when he lurched the golf cart forward. It sped across the gravel as Tommy ferociously drove, I could feel the intense need to put space between himself and anyone else roll off him in torrents.

Fingers gripping onto the bar beside me and seat beneath me, they ached as we zoomed toward a line of trees.

“Um. Tommy?” I hesitantly said, fighting the need to be a backseat driver. He ignored me with a smirk, brown hair flying in the wind as the golf cart moved forward with a quickening pace. I didn’t know these things could race so fast.

Concluding that he was insane, literally insane, and he was going to send me to my death bed by force upon trees, I managed to garble out “Tommy!”

Trees within twenty feet of us, I squeezed my eyes shut with my feet braced against the tiny car, waiting for that back-breaking impact.

Suddenly, I felt the cart take a sharp right, then a sharp left, causing me to almost lost my grip. Tentatively opening my eyes as the harsh weaving continued, I realized we had somehow missed the trees, and were barely avoiding other ones as we continued through the thick forest. Branches were getting cut off by the cart as it whizzed by, they violently snapped and dropped.

“Do you have to go so fast?” I exclaimed, holding on for dear life. There was a full grin on Tommy’s face now, an almost scary quality to it. He was still ignoring me, but I was getting angry now. “Tommy!”

A branch that was a little too close to me reached into the cart as we whirred by, catching me sharply on the cheek. It felt like a hornet had stung me; reflex brought my hand to my face as I crouched forward in surprise.

The golf cart came to a slow stop, I barely noticed as I took my hand away from my skin to see bright red splotching it.

“What happened?” Tommy spoke to me for the first time that day, putting the cart in park. Feeling the blood start to drip down my cheek, I wiped it with my hand then held it out, wondering what to do with it.

“A branch got me.” I was half-dazed as I used the back of my red hand to press against the cut once I felt more blood starting to trail its way down my face. My blank state of mind quickly changed back to anger with Tommy, even though I knew it had been an accident. He just shouldn’t have been driving like he was auditioning for Fast and the Furious.

“Shit, Calico,” he murmured as he saw the shiny blood on my fingers, “Let me see.”

I defiantly glared at him, still holding my hand against my face like some sort of idiot. Tommy frowned, strongly grabbing my wrist and peeling it away like I hadn’t been resisting in the first place. He used his other hand to grab my chin and turn my head so that he could see it better. Birds chirped around us in the tropical forest as he examined it, a couple huge bugs flew by to inspect the cart.

“It’s not that bad, cuts on your head bleed worse than other ones do,” he stated, letting go of me before turning to the wheel and starting the cart back up. “We’re almost there, and there’s stuff that I can clean you up with.”

Shaking my head as I pressed my hand to my cheek again, I couldn’t hold back a comment. “So you actually have a destination in mind and weren’t trying to kill me?”

Tommy blandly looked at me as he started going through the trees again, noticeably more careful. “Suck it up.”

The only reply I could come up with was a snort and roll of my eyes. Sometimes, I really wished that I was wittier.

A minute later, we approached what looked to be a small storage shed. It was hidden by the trees, so I didn’t notice it until we had completely stopped. In the shape of a cube, it looked worn, maybe about ten square feet in size, and had a couple pipes that emerged from the ground and ran up to it. The shed had probably used to be as immaculately white as the entrance building to the back entrance was, but now its paint was chipped and yellowing from Florida weather.

“It’s one of the unused groundskeeper sheds, we’re about a quarter a mile from hole four of the golf course,” Tommy explained as we got out of the cart. “Come here.”

Too immersed in examining the old shed, I followed his instruction without thinking and walked to where he stood by the white, wooden door. Tommy bent down, turning a knob from one of the pipes that popped up from the dirt below us. The sound of gushing water came to my ears, I could follow the sound as it flowed through the rest of the pip and disappeared into the shed.

Tommy took out his wallet, producing a small silver key, then unlocked the door. He let me in first, the room left a thick taste of dust, dirt, and gasoline on my tongue. Due to the large windows that framed the three walls that didn’t have a door, I could see everything inside. The walls were lined with tools to cut bushes, chemicals to put on the lawn, and knick-knacks that I had never seen before. Everything was connected by thin spiderwebs that caught the musty light just right.

There was a tub-sink in the corner, with a small, dusty mirror right above it. Right in the middle of the room, a wooden table sat; chipped and flaking in a way that would cause splinters just by looking at it. Two frayed lawn chairs sat on either side of it. In one of the chairs, I noticed a balled up sleeping bag and thin pillow--the only things in the room without a layer of dust on them.

I looked back at Tommy as he shut the door after himself, wiping his hands on his shorts to rid them of the grime that had been on the doorknob.

“How did you know about this place?” I asked, forgetting my bloodied, slippery skin for a moment. He moved to the sink, motioning me over.

“My parents come to Port Royal Country Club all the time,” he started, struggling to turn the rusty knob on the sink. He pursed his lips with the effort, until it screeched in protest and moved.The water thudded against the base of the sink as it fell, first running a dark brown, then light amber, then crystal clear. He opened a box of soap from a pile by the sink, then proceeded to thoroughly wash his hands.

“Drew and I used to love to come and golf, it was the only thing we liked about this place when our mom and dad made us go.” Tommy carefully grabbed my hand with his wet one and pulled me closer, then dipped his free hand in the freshly flowing water to taste it. Deciding it was okay, he reached up and grabbed a rag from a pile of folded cloths, shaking out the dust.

“One day.” The dust billowed around us he let go of me, it sparkled and gleamed against the evening light the trees had allowed through. “He hit one of his balls way into the crush, so we came back to get it. We found a small trail that was easy to miss if you were just walking by, and of course we followed it.”

I watched with interest as he put the cloth beneath the water, then squarely faced me. Tommy still had that feeling of space about him, but there was something distracted in his eyes now. For once, he was thinking about someone else.

“Jesus, you look like a murder victim,” he grumbled about the way the blood was spread over my face, then continued. “It led here, and there was a key conveniently located on top of the doorframe.”

Tommy began dabbing away at my cut. At first, it stung, making me wince and pull my face away. But Tommy wrapped his fingers gently around the top of my neck and chin, a smidge of a smile on his lips as he continued cleaning me up. “We took the key, being the stupid kids we were, and came back here every now and then just to get drunk or play cards. The two of us were already kind of friends with some of the workers here, and they told us about the back entrance.”

He paused, ocean eyes looking a whole different kind of distant. “That was about four years ago.”

“I like it,” I thoughtlessly said, eyes glued to his face. Tommy nodded, incredibly careful and thoughtful as he finished cleaning me up.

“I thought you would,” he mumbled, then blew on the side of my face. Involuntary shivers ricocheted down my spine as he gave me a satisfied look, then released his hold on me. “It’s stopped bleeding.”

I wiggled my jaw around, getting used to the stingy feel of the scrape. I couldn’t believe I had left my tote with all of its band-aids in the car. “Thank you.”

The two of us were staring at each other, closer than we usually stood. It felt like all of my blood was slowly traveling to my head. His eyebrows were so dark over his light eyes. There was like a current of electricity between us, nothing like I had experienced with Poot, and I-

I turned and shot my hands beneath the flowing water of the sink, cleaning off the blood after trying to use them like band-aids. The whole reason I had come here wasn’t to think about things like that. It was to help Tommy, even though I had no idea how I was going to do that.

He stepped away from me, tossing the blood-stained rag into a metal garbage can by the door. Sighing, he feel heavily into one of the lawn chairs.

“So this used to be where the party was at,” I said, drying my hands on the bottom of my shirt before sitting in the chair across from him. Another small smile, fueled by memories, brushed across his mouth.

“We were dumb. God, we were dumb. We’d steal liquor out of my dad’s cabinet. From the back, thinking he wouldn’t notice. Then we’d bring it out here and drink until we got sick,” he mused, pointing at a shelf on the wall. I looked where he was directing me, and saw about twenty bottles of hard liquor lined up on a piece of wood like trophies.

“Wow...you were dumb,” I muttered, looking back at him. Tommy didn’t deny it, only thoughtfully shrugged as his eyes stayed rested on the bottles.

“One time, he had a bad reaction to the mix of vodka and the new pills they were trying on him. I dragged him to the back entrance to get Luz to call an ambulance. They had to pump his stomach and stick all these IVs in him. My parents were really upset, but, like always, found a way to completely keep it a secret.”

Another reflective silence. “That happened a couple months before he died.”

My stomach lurched as I remembered Emily telling me about Drew’s pills. “Were they anti-depressants?” I guiltily asked, like I hadn’t been gossiping about it before.

Tommy’s eyes were on me again, reminding me of the way his father’s gaze had sized me up two days ago. I was always waiting for him to stop the conversation, or suddenly push me away. This was the most we had talked about Drew, and I didn’t want to lose my chance to really talk to Tommy about this.

But then he went on.

“Yeah. That’s another thing they weren’t likely to talk about at his memorial service,” he tonelessly said, leaning back into his chair with a creak. “He always had problems with depression, even when he was really little. Just an emotionally heightened guy. When Drew was happy, he was really happy. When he was sad, it was like the world was ending.”

I pressed my hands against my lap as Tommy looked out the window, still immersed in old memories. “No one really saw the depressed side of him, he was always the best at putting on a smile. My parents were like, obsessed about it, though. They had him on pills since he was seven, thinking they could somehow control it.”

“So the anti-depressants were like an everyday part of his life.” My voice was quieter than usual. Tommy nodded.

“Every now and then, they’d switch it up when Drew went on a spree of bad days.” Tommy’s eyes solidly rested upon mine again. “As you’ve probably heard, that last one didn’t help much.”

I gulped loudly. “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

He shrugged as he got to his feet, walking over to one of the wide windows. Tommy’s shape turned slightly into a silhouette against the light. My courage faltered as I traced my eyes over the lines of it. Earlier today, I had been so sure that if I could find him, I’d be able to help pull him out of whatever slum he went into every time he ran off.

But now that I was here, for once in my life, I was without any kind of motherly intuition. The only thing I could think to do was get out of my chair and walk to him. Hand reaching out, I second-guessed myself three times before I finally gripped it on top of Tommy’s shoulder in what I had thought was a comforting way.

His shoulder dropped instantly out of my grasp. At first, I thought it was because he simply didn’t want me touching him, but as his face slightly tilted, I saw the painful wince that flashed across his face.

Though he covered the expression instantly as he stood up straight again, the weary way he looked down at me gave away what we both knew. It was too late for him to make up some excuse.

Neither of us moved or breathed as we stood there. I knew I had two options. I could pretend that nothing had happened and continue to wait for Tommy to talk about it, or I could step up and finally start asking some questions.

My mouth moved before I felt I had come to any decision. “How often does your dad hit you?”

And WHOOSH! Up went every single wall Tommy had. It was almost like I could literally feel miles of distance between us now. My gut twinged in a way that made me regret it, but now that I had started, I might as well keep going.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tommy replied in a metronome voice, crossing his arms firmly over his chest as he looked away from me. Scooting between him and the window so I would be more in his view, I took a deep breath.

“I think you should. I’m scared for you, Tommy-”

“There’s no reason for you to be scared.”

“-and I know that Poot is constantly worried about you. It’s not right, what your dad does.” I continued, ignoring his interruption. Tommy’s face hardened. “If you would just talk to me about it maybe we could-”

“What? Maybe we could what?” Tommy turned on me so fast, it made me hop back in surprise. He took a step toward me as his eyes glared down, our bodies within inches of each other. I faltered with a response, unsure of my own answer. “You don’t know anything, Calico.”

“But- but I just want you to talk-”

“Talk!” Tommy scoffed, looking away from me as he wildly raked his hands through his hair in agitation. “The whole reason I answered you today and not Poot was because you never ask me questions. With Poot, it’s like all I can do is remember, but when I’m with you...”

His eyes were sharply on me again, staring at me through a deep frown. Tommy was only about three inches taller than I was, but with the force and way he was standing, I felt like he was looming over me.

“I can’t sit on the sidelines anymore...” I was as quiet and small as a mouse. “And watch you do this to yourself.”

Tommy slowly shook his head, his stare still on me. “Yeah, because I do this-” he gestured to his shoulder “to myself.”

“I mean you disappear and keep everything locked up inside of you,” I clarified, slowly starting to gain some momentum. “You need help, Tommy.”

“I don’t need help.” His words were solid and came so automatically off his lips, it was like a mantra he had repeated to himself over and over. Looking down and gripping my hands into fists as I thought over an answer, I couldn’t help but notice that Tommy inched toward me again. Our chests were lightly touching, fabric brushing with every breath.

“Don’t you at least care about Poot, and how worried he gets when stuff like this happens?” I asked, looking up to find his face was a lot closer to mine than it had been. I went to take a step back, but my spine pressed against the window.

“You really like Poot, don’t you?” Tommy’s voice took on a softer sound as his eyes changed from angry to calculating. The question didn’t catch me off guard, and I wasn’t fooled by it. I knew he would do anything to try and get the conversation away from what he had kept so secret for most of his life.

“Tommy, stop. You know that-”

He placed his right hand on the window behind me. Thunk. His nose was closer. “Because he’s constantly flirting with you.”

It was my turn to glare in aggravation. This was not going how I had hoped it would. “Poot’s my friend. Like he’s yours. And you can’t keep on-”

My sentence wasn’t cut short by another interruption, but by him placing his left hand on the other side of the window behind me. Thunk. I was completely encased by his arms, feeling the warm window press against me through my t-shirt.

Without meaning to, my breathing started to shake. It was just that Tommy was so close. I could smell that soapy boyish smell mixed in with cologne. Feel the heat that radiated off his body. Hear every inhale and exhale.

The worst part of it was that Tommy knew exactly what he was doing. I wouldn’t have said my crush had been that obvious, but the way that he was looking at me now was almost mocking. “You don’t want Poot, because you want me.”

I hated this side of him, and hated his dad for hitting him. Hated his brother for committing suicide, and hated his mom for letting it all happen. I hated everything that caused him to act this way, and most of all; I hated Tommy for letting himself be consumed in it.

“Tommy. Move.” I was embarrassed as my entire face felt heat rushing to it. He wasn’t Tommy anymore. He had turned into something much worse. It was almost like he was trying to get back at me for trying to pry too far. “This is stupid. I’m leaving.”

It was like talking to a wall.

“You want to help me, Calico? You want to make things better?”

I was quiet, doing my best not to swallow my spit because I knew he would only find more satisfaction if a loud, nervous gulp emanated from my throat.

When I didn’t answer, Tommy pushed his face toward mine. His nose traced its way down the bridge of mine as kept his lips within centimeters of me. I could feel every inch of his body as he pressed against me. Every part of me sparked.

“Then kiss me,” he said in an odd, rough way.

Through every part of me that had wanted to do that same, exact thing to Tommy for a while now ached for me to close in the gap, I was overcome by much stronger emotions. Anger, frustration, humiliation, and a sadness so deep and wide it was hard of me to get a grip on it.

He had suddenly categorized me in with those other girls I had heard so many stories about. Girls to hook-up with that maybe could make him Forget for as long as it lasted, then he’d never glance their way again.

Clenching my teeth, I reached forward to push Tommy away, placing my hands on his chest.

Before I had a chance to gently exert pressure and say “no,” Tommy took my response as a Go and pressed his lips against mine. His hot mouth worked against my motionless one as my breath felt like it had been sucked from my lungs. The electrical current that I had felt before once again surged through me.

But his lips were bearing against mine too hard. Body pressing me against the window too aggressively. The hand that he had moved down to my jaw was gripping it too tight--it pulled at the skin of my cut.

Everything that I had been feeling reached its boiling point in the pit of my chest. Letting out yell against his lips, I used both of my hands to shove him away as hard as I could. He stumbled back and easily caught his balance before he reached the table, breathing deeply. I bit my lip so hard, I could feel my top teeth begin to gnaw through the skin.

My whole body was shaking as I strode to the door, pausing in front of it. Turning fully around to face him, I uncomfortably wrapped my arms over my chest.

“You’re a disaster,” I said, voice coming out wavering and loud. “And I want to help. More than anything. Because I really like you, Tommy. But not like this.”

Tommy was blank, mouth parted as his eyes looked like he had just woken up from a dream.

Then, before he could do or say anything else, I quickly opened the door and got out, slamming it behind me. A few steps into jogging away from the shed, I stumbled upon a small dirt path. Though I didn’t know where it led, I wanted to put as much space between me and what had just happened as possible.

Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth like I was at conditioning, I set myself at a pace much faster than my usual. I would have given anything in that moment for something good to kick, but there were only trees around me, and my flip-flops didn’t serve that much protection for my feet.

I couldn’t believe it. My throat felt prickly, and I pretended it was the wind making my eyes feel watery. Still running down the path, dodging branches, trees, bushes, and other things that littered my way, I thought of Poot. He had been right. How do you help someone who so direly doesn’t want to be helped?

There was no way I could predict my next move, or wonder what would happen to Tommy and I after this. All I knew was that I could still feel the pressure of his lips against mine, burying himself so close to me like he had been trying to desperately find something.

Suddenly, I broke out of the forest and took my last slowing strides as the bright green expanse of a golf course appeared. Trimmed exceptionally low, the professionally-kept grass squished like rubber beneath my feet.

My lungs were on fire, heart burning along, but it did nothing to smother the utter disappointment that lumped in my chest. Gripping at a stitch in my side, I started making my way a blind direction down the course.

I knew that I would have to try and sneak out without getting caught. To any of the patrons, it would be easy to tell I didn’t belong at the über elite country club. My whole outfit was grubby; from my still damp t-shirt and soccer shorts to my raggedy purple flip-flops. Sticking up in all directions from the ride in the golf-cart and running, my hair didn’t do much for me, either.

At least by the time I reached the country club itself, I figured, the red in my cheeks would have died down, and at least I wouldn’t be breathing heavily anymore. But, it was damn hot, and I was sweating.

Looking back over my shoulder at the trees I had just run through, I remembered I had left my tote in Tommy’s car. It had my wallet, license, and keys in there. After mumbling a few choice words to myself, I took some comfort in knowing that at least I had tucked my cell into the waist of my shorts.

My heart was still thudding irregularly as I retrieved it, flipping through the names of people I could call to give me a ride home. I couldn’t call Poot, because then I’d have to explain what happened, and I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about it yet. Mom and Jon were also a no-no. Leaning over, trying to stretch a tightened muscle in my leg, I clicked on the one name of someone who I could trust, no matter what.

“My girl Calico!” Her voice was cheerful and chirpy, as always.

“Emily.” It was harder than I thought to pull myself together and sound normal. “I’m at Port Royal Country Club. Would you come get me, please?”

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