I set my phone aside and make Mom some oatmeal to go with her muffin. Once she’s set up, I head to school.
That feeling of dread moves over me as I approach the building.
The video with my picture is inching toward old news so there aren’t as many clear instances of people judging me, but there are still a few nasty looks, a couple of people who call me names to their friends without even trying to keep me from hearing.
I don’t let it get me down as much this time, though. I’m focused on this weekend.
Dare said he will give us a ride to the plane and pick us up when we get back home. It’ll take a little under six hours each way and we’re not spending the night, so we’ll be spending a lot of time on the plane that day.
At lunch, I brave the cafeteria. I eat and keep my head down, not paying attention to anyone around me.
I’m working on homework when the freckled soldier Dare sent last time approaches.
“Dare wanted me to give you this,” he says, passing me another handwritten note.
I smile. “Thank you.”
He blushes, nods, then hurries away.
I unfold the sheet of paper and read the note.
Meet me on the beach behind my house tonight.
Come to the cave.
I want to watch the sunset with you.
It’s cute that he sent a note instead of simply texting me like he could have. I fold the note up and tuck it in my book, then I watch his table until I catch his gaze and give him a little smile.
He gives me a small smile back, but then he gets pulled into conversation with one of his friends.
I wasn’t planning to see him tonight, but watching the sunset together sounds romantic. I’m looking forward to it.
___
It’s windier than I was prepared for when I get to the beach.
I wore a thin blue dress with flowers on it. It’s feminine and soft, the same vibe as the skirt I wore that Dare really liked. Thankfully, there’s no one else around because it keeps blowing up and I have to make a constant effort to keep my panties from showing.
I start looking for Dare as soon as I reach the bottom of the steps. I don’t see him, but it’s getting pretty close to sunset, so maybe he’s already over on the rocks by the cave. I trek over there quickly so we don’t miss it, but when I get to the rocks, he’s not there.
I look past the rocks at the cave. The note did say to come to the cave, but that’s not where he said we should watch the sunset last time we were here.
I consider crossing the dangerous rocks and going to look for him in the cave, but something feels off. Rather than go over there, I grab my phone out of my purse and send him a text. “Are you in the cave?”
Dare texts back immediately. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m at the beach, but I don’t see you,” I text back. “I’m by the rocks. I know the note said the cave, but this is where you mentioned watching the sunset before.”
The message goes through and I wait for him to text back, but instead, my phone rings.
I swipe the screen and put it to my ear. “Hey.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
My stomach drops at the coolness in his tone. “The note you sent over at lunch. You—you asked me to meet you at the beach so we could watch the sunset together.”
“You’re on my beach? Right now? Where are you, exactly?”
“By the rocks.”
“Did the note say to meet me at the rocks?”
“No, it said the cave. I didn’t want to cross the rocks if you weren’t over there because I know last time—”
“Get the fuck away from the rocks, Aubrey. Come back toward the steps. Do it quickly. I’ll be down in a minute.”
My stomach sinks. I look around, a bit paranoid, but it sounds like he doesn’t have the first clue what I’m talking about. I don’t see anyone else on the beach, but I turn and hurry back toward the stairs, anyway.
I watch Dare hurry down the steps along the cliff down to the beach with a knot of concern in my tummy. The stairs are steep, and I know he’s an athlete, but he should still take them carefully. I’m relieved when he hits the sand, but he runs to get to me quicker, then pulls me into his arms protectively and surveys the beach.
“Do you have the note on you?” he asks.
I nod, reaching into my purse and drawing it out.
He grabs it, looks at it, and shakes his head. “This isn’t my handwriting.” His gaze flickers to me. “Who gave this to you?”