I rest against the trunk of the brilliant red oak tree in my backyard, with nothing but my journal to keep me company. Summer’s almost over. In South Orange, New Jersey, that means it’s humid, but not so hot anymore that the moisture in the air is unbearable. I close my diary and let my eyes flutter shut as I lift my face to the sky. I take in a deep breath, enjoying the light breeze tickling my skin and the loud hum of the cicadas singing their song in the leaves above my head. Blissful peace.
As I shift, I feel the uneven surface of the tree behind me. I run my fingers through the deep grooves cut out of the trunk and smile, remembering when Spencer carved our initials here. We had just started ninth grade, and it was our first anniversary as a couple. We were only fourteen at the time, but we’d already been together for an entire year. Spencer nearly cut his finger off with the dull pocketknife he’d used and had to have stitches. But he finish the carving before telling his parents he’d hurt himself, because he said he had to have proof of our longevity when we were old and gray. He wanted to claim a Guinness World Record for the longest relationship ever.
Laughing at the memory, I jerk with a start when a single white daisy pops in front of my face. “Whatcha doin’, sitting out here all by yourself?” Spencer asks, grinning as he takes a seat next to me.
I smell the flower he’s given me before answering him. “Just remembering all the good times. What are you doing here?”
“I came to check up on my girl, of course.” Spencer gives me another smile that makes my heart melt. After all these years, I’m still not tired of that boyish grin, so full of love for me. “And bringing her one of her favorite flowers on our anniversary. Three years. That’s longer than a lot of marriages last.”
“But not a Guinness record,” I tease.
I examine the flower in my hands. I’ve always loved daisies. They’re such a happy-looking flower, with their crisp, white petals and bright yellow center. Plucking one of the petals free from the stem, I smile and say, “He loves me.”
Spencer grins. This is one of our favorite games.
I pluck another petal. “He loves me not.”
Spencer lets me repeat this process a few times before reaching up to pluck a petal of his own. “He loves you.” Pluck. “He loves you.” Pluck. “He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.” Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.
Though only half of the petals are gone, he steals the flower from my fingers and tosses it aside. “I love you,” he says, leaning over to kiss me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lose myself in his love. He lays me back on the grass and kisses me until I’m breathless and my head is swimming. Satisfied for now, he rolls onto his back and shuts his eyes, enjoying this perfect moment as much as I am. Our hands find each other, and our fingers tangle together.
“I miss you,” I whisper.
He turns his head to the side and smiles at me. “I’m right here.”
His answer makes me smile, too. “Yes, you are.”
We enjoy the peace and quiet for a moment before Spencer speaks. “You know…” I look at him, and though his face is serious, his eyes are filled with mischief. “They say kissing a ginger is good luck.”
I burst out laughing and shake my head. My long blonde hair gets caught in the grass. I can feel leaves in it, but I don’t care. “You’re not really a ginger. Your hair has faded so much it’s a light red-brown.”
“It’s red,” he insists. “And you can’t deny the power of the freckles. I’m a ginger.”
Okay, fine, he’s a ginger. But I’ll never admit it out loud to him, because he hates his red hair. “You’re not.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m still lucky.”
“How do you figure?”
His smile widens and he leans up onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow. “Because even though I’m a freckled redhead, I still managed to snag the hottest girl in school. I just had to snag her before she was hot.” He winks and says, “Back when she was all awkward and gangly. When her arms and legs were too long for her body, and she had a mouthful of braces…and before she got her boobs.”
When I gasp, he laughs and leans down to kiss me again, trying to cop a feel of said boobs. I smack his hand away but let him kiss me. “That wasn’t luck,” I tell him between kisses. “That was smart. You were thinking ahead.”
He considers arguing the point but gives in. “Fine.” His lips move from my mouth to my neck, making me shiver. “If I’m not really lucky, can I at least get lucky?”
He pulls back to waggle his eyebrows at me, and I laugh again. No one has ever made me laugh more than Spencer. Grinning wickedly, he lifts his gaze to the old tree house perched in the branches above our head. “We may be too old to play Indiana Jones with Wes up there, but there are certainly other movies I wouldn’t mind role playing with you.”
“Like?”
Spencer pushes himself up on to his knees and beats his chest with his fists. “Me Tarzan. You Jane,” he grunts.
I lose myself in a fit of giggles and gasp out, “You are way too skinny to be Tarzan.”
“Skinny!” He pretends to be insulted and attacks me, tickling my sides until I can’t breathe.
“Okay, okay, I give!” I squeal. “You’re a big, strong, sexy, wild gorilla man, and I’d pay good money to see you in a loincloth.”
“That could be arranged.” His laughter is replaced with a hungry stare that warms my entire body. “I love you, Bay.”
I know he does. And I feel the same about him. More than anything. “I love you, too, Spencer.”
. . . . .
The alarm goes off, and I’m pulled back to reality before Tarzan-Spencer can drag me up to his tree house. My chest tightens and my eyes glisten, but I don’t shed tears. As much as the dreams haunt me, I would die if they ever stopped. They’re all I have left of him.
Hands shaking, I pull myself out of bed and prepare to survive another pointless day. After a nice hot shower to loosen my tight muscles, I get dressed and blow my hair dry. It takes forever since my hair is thick and reaches nearly to my waist. I go for the curling iron next and then apply my makeup, taking extra care to cover up the dark circles under my eyes. I’m not concerned about impressing anyone, but the monotonous routine is something I need. I survive on repetition now.
My dream about Spencer still fresh in my mind, I take a moment to look myself over, thinking about what he’d said. I really was an awkward-looking preteen. I suppose I had the honey-blonde hair and bright blue eyes going for me then, but Spencer had no way of knowing I’d grow into the tall beauty I’d turned out to be.
I’d been lucky, too, though. I figured Spencer would always be an awkward, tall, gangly ginger—and yes, he had enough freckles to map the stars on his body—but he’d grown into himself well enough. It wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t, but he did get a little cuter and less awkward each year we were together.
Coating my lips with my favorite lip gloss, I take a deep breath and prepare for this rotten day. Dream Spencer had it right. If he were still alive, today would have been our third anniversary. I don’t think anyone will remember that except for me, but it’s going to haunt me, whether people bring it up or not.
I make my way from my third-floor bedroom down to the kitchen, where my younger sister Julia is eating a bowl of brightly-colored breakfast cereal. Instead of claiming the rest of the Froot Loops, I opt for a bowl of Cheerios—the plain kind, not the honey nut. I’ve never been able to tolerate sweet stuff in the morning.
Julia doesn’t say anything to me as I sit down. She’s busy finishing the homework she “forgot” she had yesterday. She receives a text message on her phone and then scribbles down another answer. I wonder which of her freshman boys is doing her homework for her this time.
She slips her phone in her pocket when Mom breezes into the kitchen, clasping a set of pearl earrings in place. Mom’s heels clack against the tile floor as she crosses the room to the fridge and snags a V8 fruit blend. “Bailey, honey, can you pick up your sister after cheer practice this afternoon? I’m going to be busy setting up for the fundraiser this weekend.”
My mom is technically a stay-at-home mom, but she’s almost never home. She’s on the board of directors for the South Orange Historical Society and is the president of the women’s auxiliary for our church. She’s always got something or other going on, but I don’t mind so much. She’s always there when we need her, and when she is home a lot, she tends to hover too much.
“That’s fine. I’m not doing anything later.”
Julia scoffs. “She’s never doing anything anymore.”
I ignore the dig and finish off the last of my breakfast. I feel Mom watching me, but I don’t look up. She’s worried about me. I know it, and she knows I know it. But there’s no point in having another tired conversation that will only upset her and in no way help me. After a moment, she sighs and says, “You girls better hurry, or you’ll be late for school.”
Julia shoves her homework into her book bag, and I put my bowl in the sink. Mom wraps her arms around me from behind and kisses my head. “Have a good day today, sweetheart.” It’s the best she can do. The sadness in her voice tells me she knows exactly what day today is. I’m grateful she doesn’t say it, though.
There’s no way I’ll have a good day today, but I force a smile on my face for her sake. “I will.” She knows I’m lying, but she appreciates the gesture, and I’m grateful that she cares, even if I don’t say so.
It’s the second week of September, but we’re having a bit of an Indian summer this year, so I put the top down on my VW bug convertible for the drive to school. I’m a junior this year, which means I’m one of the privileged upperclassman who were issued parking permits for the school’s student lot. I am so glad I don’t have to take the bus anymore.
“I love this beautiful machine,” Julia says wistfully, gliding her hand over the front dash. “I wonder what kind of car Mom and Dad will get me when I turn sixteen.”
Not one like this, I want to say but don’t, because I know it will hurt her feelings.
The car was a bribe. I was still fifteen when Spencer died. After the accident, I refused to take my driver’s test and get my license. I had every intention of never getting behind the wheel of a car in my life, but then Dad plunked this beauty in the driveway and set the keys on my nightstand. I held out for months, but with summer break coming to an end and the threat of the bus looming over me, well, I gave in. I’m not sorry. It was stupid to think I could get away with never learning how to drive anyway.
“Are you going to Jake Wainwright’s party this weekend?” Julia asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t if I had a choice, but I’m sure Trisha and Liz will make me go.”
“You have to go.” When I cast my sister a glance, she raises her eyebrows and cocks her head to the side, as if daring me to say no. “You know Mom and Dad would never let me go without you, and I already told all my friends I was going. I’m the only freshman who got an invite.”
The Atkinson sisters are somewhat legend at our high school. Julia, though only fourteen and a freshman, is just as pretty as I am—good genes, I guess. The difference between us is that Julia uses her looks to her advantage, whereas I never have. I’m glad I’m not ugly, but looks simply don’t matter all that much to me. I was happy just to have Spencer, and now that I don’t, well, truthfully, nothing matters much to me anymore.
When I say nothing, Julia crosses her arms over her chest. “Come on, Bailey. At least one of us should be taking advantage of your popularity.” I give her another look, but she ignores it. “Jake’s brother is single now. If I’m the only freshman there and I’m hanging with you and Trisha, Colin will notice me for sure.”
“Fine. Whatever.” I don’t really care either way. “But if you have one drop of alcohol, I will tell Mom and Dad and get you grounded until you graduate. And I’ll never bring you to another party ever again.”
Julia is quiet for a minute and then softly says, “I won’t drink, Bailey. I promise.”
My response is just as quiet. “Thanks.”
We don’t say another word until we pull into the parking lot. As I raise the top on my car, Julia looks back at me with a sad smile before heading into the building. “Good luck today. Try not to be too sad.” I guess she knows what today is, too.
My little sister can be the biggest pest, but she’s still pretty amazing sometimes. I manage a small, grateful smile that’s somewhat genuine, and she disappears into the crowd of students filing through the front doors. I stay in my seat until the warning bell rings before slowly making my way inside.