Far From You

48

ONE YEAR AGO (SIXTEEN YEARS OLD)

“You know, the whole point of being on a sailboat is to sail,” Trev says.

Mina laughs, and I can feel the vibration of it through my skin. She’s resting her head on my stomach, and the two of us are lying out on the deck of the Sweet Sorrow, Trev at the helm. Both of them are reading. Trev’s got some paperback mystery that he sticks in his pocket when he needs to get up and man the sails. Mina’s been absorbed in the same hardcover about Watergate for a week, taking precise notes in her journal. She props it on her knees, highlighting passages as she goes.

I am content to lie here and listen to them call back and forth to each other, their familiar, good-natured bickering more soothing than anything else could be. We’ve been dead in the water for an hour, Trev too absorbed to chase what little wind there is.

“I don’t see you pulling the rope things to get us going,” Mina says.

“It’s called the rigging, Mina. And I’m at a really good part.” Trev holds his book aloft.

She squints at the title. “I finished that last week. Want to know who the murderer is?”

“Don’t ruin it for him,” I protest.

“See, Soph’s on my side. Two against one.”

Mina rolls her eyes and turns a page.

I fall asleep eventually, lulled by the sun and the rocking of the boat—and by the pills I took before I got in the car this morning.

When I wake up, the sun’s sinking fast, and Mina has moved up to sit with Trev. I watch them for a moment, their dark heads bent together, legs dangling off the side of the boat. And I catch the end of Trev’s sentence, still half-asleep and hazy. “…worried about her?”

“It’s those stupid pills they have her on.”

I freeze. They’re talking about me.

“She needs them. She’s in pain.”

“I know, but lately…Never mind. I’m being stupid.”

“Hey, no.” Trev puts his arm around her, pulling her into him. She rests her head on his shoulder. “I get it. You’re worried. We all worry about her.”

“You worry about her,” she says pointedly. There’s resentment in her voice, and resignation.

A long silence. Trev pulls away from her, and they stare at each other. “Does that bother…Is that a problem?” he asks.

My heart thumps. I should cough, call out one of their names, anything to draw attention to the fact that I’m awake. It’d be the right thing to do.

But I stay where I am, eavesdropping in the worst possible way on the two people I love the most. I wait for her to answer. A part of me can’t help but hope that this will be the moment—when she finally tells him, when he finally realizes the truth.

“Of course it’s not a problem,” Mina says, and it’s so smooth, the way she says it, like there aren’t years of denial and heaps of lies and boys who touched our bodies but never had a chance at our hearts.

“You sure?” Trev asks. “I know she’s your best friend. If it’s weird—”

“Oh, whatever,” Mina says lightly. “You’ve never been able to hide things. It’s why you suck at poker. Everyone knows. Even—”

“Sophie,” Trev says. He’s glanced over his shoulder, caught sight of me. “You’re awake.”

I’m looking out at the water, away from the two of them, but my cheeks heat up. I’m still not sure what I ever did to inspire that need, that love in them both. I’m not honest and steady like Trev or bright and burning like Mina. I’m just me, with dirt underneath my finger­nails and a weakness for love and drugs. Somehow, though, I’ve managed to tie us all in knots, and I don’t know how we can break free.

“We should get back.” Trev is up and pulling at the rigging while Mina stays where she is.

I can feel her watching me.

But when I look at her, she’s turned toward the docks, blocking me out.

Cowards, both of us.