Falling for a Captain

Our parents had been childhood friends and as a result, Jon and I were somewhat forced together. I remember thinking at the time that it was pointless for my parents to hold onto ties from their childhood. In hindsight, maybe it was a blessing that Jon and I were brought together.
We shared property on a lonely and isolated island off the coast. On the shore of the solitary rocky beach laid our gathering house, where the adults stayed, as well as two smaller rickety wood cabins, promptly named "The Kid's Shacks". As Jon and I were the same age, we apparently "earned" the right to share a cabin, while his younger brother David had the luxury of his own. It was not as awkward as I imagined, sharing a cabin with a teenage boy. We got along well enough; essentially casually acknowledging each other once in a while, never actively engaging in more than a "hey" or a "Are you finished in the bathroom?". It was only when we matured in our teenage years that our friendship began to bud. As I grew into a more confident and outgoing young woman, Jon seemed to shy away and curl into his imaginary shell. One would think we would clash and detest each other. Instead, we found ourselves in an unusual friendship. We were entirely different people, but at the same time shared a love of the outdoors, and helping others. Tentatively we began sharing our stories, our problems and our passions. He complained about his parents insistence on him continuing school instead of pursuing hockey, while I told him endless stories about the shallow girls at my school. Sometimes we were able to give each other a piece of advice that would get us through the next couple months until we saw each other again. He loved to steal my drawing sketchbook and carefully pencil in his every home game for the next year. I promised year after year that I would make it out to one of his games, but I could never afford to miss school or the car to drive to his rink.
When my parents decided to move to Vancouver, Jon was the first to know. I cried for hours on end about how much I would miss our summers together. We made pacts and promises as teenagers do, vowing we would always stay friends and keep in contact. We wrote our names in the sand as a sign of our commitment. As time progressed, the pacts fell apart and our friendship began to disintegrate slowly. We made efforts to call each other every day, which soon dropped to every week, then every month. Soon, when Jon called, I felt awkward as I did the first time we shared a cabin with nothing to say to each other. I continued to follow his hockey progress as his career began to rise.
Our parents decided to organize a reunion of our two families when I was in my second year of university at UBC. I was reluctant to leave my friends behind in Vancouver to spend 3 weeks with an old friend, by the parents insisted. As they usually were, my parents were right. After a day or so of small talk and getting to know each other again, Jon and I fell into the same rhythm of our friendship.
Later that night during the family dinner, my mother foolishly asked Jon's mother if she was proud of her son becoming a top prospect for the NHL. WIth no hesitation, she explained how unimpressed she was and how she wished Jon would go back to school and get a "real job". Jon dropped his fork and bolted outside into the oppressive summer heat. His mother acted as if nothing had happened. I excused myself and went outside. He was slouched near the tree next to the dock. I approached him and went to sit on the earthy green moss.
"I'd like to be alone please." he said in a wavering voice. I nodded and sat at the edge of the pier. Dangling my tanned legs in the water, I waited. It didn't take long before Jon began explaining his frustration with his mother. When he had finished, I nodded and stayed silent. He gave me a weak smile and offered his hand to help me up. I smiled right back and took his hand.