Second Star

28

Jas’s long body curls around me when we finally fall asleep. I concentrate on the weight of his upper arm resting on my rib cage, the heat of his knees pressing into my calves. I press my back against his front, feeling the muscles of his chest flex as he tightens his hold on me.

Soon, Jas’s breathing grows slower and his muscles relax. He’s asleep, and I’m wide awake. Even though I hate to put any space between us, I roll away. He needs his rest for tomorrow; I don’t want to keep him awake just because I am.

And I’m not sure I want to talk to him about my reasons for being restless. How did I get here, lying in bed with a guy whose last name I don’t even know? I don’t even know the name of the town this motel is in. He’s a drug dealer, he can be violent, he can be cruel. He’s the reason Pete kicked my brothers out in January, the reason I’m still no closer to finding them than I was the day I graduated high school.

And yet, listening to the waves crashing through the open window, I know that I am closer. I sit up and slide off the bed. We chose the bed closest to the window; Jas threw my duffel bag on the second bed, but otherwise, it’s completely undisturbed.

I’ve never done anything like this. My god, until last night, I’d never even been in a motel like this. There’s only one lamp in the room, on a nightstand in between the two beds, and when Jas tried to turn it on earlier, the bulb flickered weakly. I don’t even want to think about the last time they cleaned the bathroom; there’s a ring of sand around the drain. And every surface in the room is covered in dust, as though no one has stayed here for months. Which, I guess, they haven’t. This place probably only fills up when the nearby waves break, and according to Jas, that hasn’t happened since January.

When my brothers were here. Maybe they stayed in this very motel. It would have been too cold to camp out on the beach. Maybe they convinced some friends to let them crash on the floor of their room, or maybe they used up the last of their allowance money to pay for a room of their own. No; they would have long since spent whatever money they’d taken when they left home.

I glance back at Jas; he’s rolled onto his back now and is snoring softly. The sound is comforting, a reminder that I’m not alone. With his drug money, he could afford to stay anywhere. He could have booked us into the nearest five-star hotel. The fact that he chose this place makes me like him even more. This is where the surfers stay. There’s nowhere we could have stayed that would have been closer to the water.

I grab his sweatshirt and slip it on, breathing in the smell of him: Tide and sweat, beer and salt, and something else, something uniquely Jas. I slip out the door, careful to close it as quietly as possible behind me. I don’t want him to follow me.

The rain has stopped, but the air is clouded with mist. I can barely see three feet in front of me. I walk barefoot across the motel parking lot and onto the beach, feeling the sand between my toes. It’s cold beneath my feet, no trace of the day’s heat left behind.

The roar of the ocean grows louder and louder, not just because I’m getting closer to the water but because the waves are picking up. Witch Tree might not be breaking until tomorrow morning, but the ocean is getting ready for it now, like a dancer warming up before her big show. The moon is full above me, pulling the tides every which way.

I walk until the sand goes from moist to wet beneath my feet, until I can feel the waves lapping my toes. I hear something to my left—a shout, a laugh, a cry, I’m not sure. In the distance, where there was only darkness before, I see a hint of light, someone sparking a fire. I watch as it grows from a single flame to a roaring bonfire, glowing and brilliant through the fog.

I smile, remembering the bonfire on the beach the night that I graduated, the first time I saw Pete. I’d never seen anyone move on the water the way he did; he looked like it was what he was made to do. Was it luck that made Pete leave Kensington that night, head down to Newport, to the beach where my classmates and I were celebrating?

Even though I’m yards away from the bonfire on the beach now, I feel warmer just knowing that it’s there. I was falling hard for Pete, and now I’m falling fast for Jas. How is that possible? To feel such intense emotions for two different people, one right after the other? Maybe Fiona and my parents were right, after all. Maybe I am crazy. At least a little bit. I’d have to be a little bit crazy to do what I’ve done over the past few months, wouldn’t I?

And I’d have to be at least a little bit crazy to have enjoyed it as much as I have. Even despite the fear and the heartache, despite Pete’s lies and Jas’s dust, I’ve never felt so alive.

Another sound floats down the beach from the bonfire. A shout this time. Someone calling someone else’s name. Must be a group of surfers, getting ready for tomorrow. Maybe they’re celebrating the waves to come. I squint in the fog, trying to make out shapes of people sitting around the fire; from here, all I can see are shadows.

But then one of the shadows turns; I see a profile, one that I recognize. I break into a run, but the fire is farther away than I realized. I’m panting by the time another silhouette comes into view.

Between heaving breaths, I shout, “John! Michael!” I expect them to turn when they hear my voice.

“John! Michael!” I scream hoarsely. I cough; I’m getting a stitch in my right side. I wish I were stronger, faster, fitter. Jas or Pete would be there by now. They’d have sprinted down the beach in two seconds flat.

“Please!” I shout, and as I do, the figures scatter. The wind whips off the ocean, and the fire climbs to a terrifying height; for a second, it looks like it’s about to explode, and I freeze in midstep. Just as suddenly, the flames begin to dwindle until it looks like they’re going to fade away entirely.

“No!” I shout, willing myself to run faster, breathe harder, anything to get there before my brothers have the chance to disappear again. “Please!” I say once more, but by the time I’m close enough to smell the smoke from what’s now a dying fire, everyone has gone. The wind blows my hair into my face, blinding me. I tear it away, wishing I could rip it off. I turn in circles, calling my brothers’ names, but the wind carries my voice away before the words get very far.

I’m sweating beneath Jas’s sweatshirt, but I’ve never been so cold. Even the tears streaming down my cheeks feel like ice. I am so sick and tired of chasing phantoms. I just want to find my brothers and hold on to them, feel their flesh beneath my grip, tactile and undeniable.

Slowly, regaining my breath, I walk back the way I came. The dim lights from the motel lobby are barely visible from here, but they’re enough to guide my way back. I look up at the sky as I walk, waiting for a break in the clouds.

I make a wish on the second star I see.