Oh yeah, my parents had spoken with me about all of it more than a few times. My mom could tell, though, that I didn’t want to revisit it, so she changed the subject. She did that a lot when she didn’t want to argue, especially when we were in public.

“Did you enjoy your birthday?”

“It was okay.”

“Just okay?”

“I barfed all morning. It was kind of hard for me to get excited.”

My mom brought her hands together. “I’m still glad you had a chance to visit with your friends.”

Because it’s the last time you’ll see them for a long, long time, she didn’t have to add. “I can’t believe I’m not going to be home for Christmas.”

“I’m sure Aunt Linda will make it special.”

“It still won’t be the same,” I whined.

“No,” my mom admitted. “It probably won’t be. But we’ll have a nice visit when I see you in January.”

“Will Daddy come?”

She swallowed. “Maybe,” she said.

Which also means maybe not, I thought. I’d heard them talking about it, but my dad hadn’t committed to anything. If he could barely look at me now, how would he feel when I was doing my best to impersonate a female Buddha?

“I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Me too,” she said. “Do you want to visit with your dad for a while?”

Shouldn’t you be asking him if he wants to visit with me? But again, I kept quiet. I mean, what was the point? “It’s okay,” I said. “I just…”

When I trailed off, my mom offered a sympathetic expression. And, strangely, despite the fact that she and my dad were shipping me off, I had the sense she actually felt bad about it.

“I know there’s nothing easy about any of this,” she whispered.

Surprising me, she reached into her purse and handed me an envelope. It was filled with cash, and I wondered whether my dad knew what she was doing. It’s not as though my family had extra money lying around, but she didn’t try to explain. Instead, we sat together for another few minutes until we heard the boarding announcement. When it was my turn, both my parents hugged me, but even then, my father glanced away.

That was almost a month ago, but it already felt like a different life entirely.

It wasn’t nearly as cold on the ferry back as it had been in the morning, and the gray skies had given way to an almost shiny blue. I’d chosen to stay in the car for a while despite the fact that the supplies we’d picked up made stretching out on the back seat impossible. I was trying to play the martyr as neither Aunt Linda nor Gwen seemed to understand that Christmas tree shopping notwithstanding, Sundays were still the worst.

“Suit yourself,” my aunt had said with a shrug after I’d declined their offer to join them in the cabin. She and Gwen had hopped out of the car, climbed the steps that led to the upper level, and quickly vanished from sight. Somehow, even though I was uncomfortable, I was able to fall asleep, finally waking after an hour. Turning on my Walkman, I listened to music for another hour until my batteries finally went dead and the sky turned to black, and after that, it wasn’t long before I grew cramped and bored. Through the window, beneath the glowing ferry lights, I could see a few older men congregated outside their cars, looking exactly like the fishermen they probably were. Like my aunt and Gwen, they eventually made their way to the cabin.

I shifted in the seat and realized that nature was calling. Again. For the sixth or seventh time that day, even though I’d barely had anything to drink. I’ve forgotten to mention that my bladder had suddenly transformed from something I hardly ever thought about into a hypersensitive and highly inconvenient organ, one that made knowing exactly where to find a bathroom imperative at all times. Without warning, the cells in my bladder would suddenly start vibrating hysterically with the message You’ve got to empty me right this very second or else!, and I’d learned that I didn’t have a choice in the matter. Or else! If Shakespeare had tried to describe the urgency of the situation, he probably would have written, To pee or not to pee…that is NEVER the question.

I scrambled out of the car, hurried up the steps and into the cabin, where I vaguely noticed my aunt and Gwen chatting with someone at one of the booths. I quickly found the bathroom—thankfully, it was unoccupied—and on my way back out, Aunt Linda motioned for me to join them. Instead, I ducked my head and exited the cabin. The last thing I wanted was another conversation with adults. My first instinct after descending the steps was to head back to the car. But the martyrdom wasn’t working and the batteries in my Walkman had died, so what was the point? Instead, I decided to explore, thinking it would kill some time. I figured I had probably half an hour to go until the ferry docked—I could already see the lights of Ocracoke in the distance—but unfortunately, the tour wasn’t much more interesting than the Pamlico Sound. There was the aforementioned cabin in the center, cars parked on the deck below, and what I guessed was the control room where the captain sat above the cabin, which was off-limits. I did notice, however, a few empty benches toward the front of the boat, and with nothing better to do I made my way there.

It didn’t take long to figure out why they were empty. The air was icy, the wind felt like it was stabbing my skin with little needles, and even though I buried my hands in the pockets of my jacket, I could still feel them tingling. On either side, I noticed small breakers in the dark ocean water, little flashes that seemed to sparkle, but the sight of those tiny waves made me think about him, even though I didn’t want to.

J. The boy who got me into this mess.

What can I tell you about him? He was a seventeen-year-old surfer from Southern California with beachy good looks, who’d spent the summer in Seattle with a cousin who happened to be a friend of one of my friends. I first saw him at a little get-together in late June, but don’t start thinking it was one of those kinds of parties with absent parents and rivers of booze and marijuana smoke drifting from beneath bedroom doors. My parents would have killed me. It wasn’t even at a house—it was at Lake Sammamish—and my friend Jodie was a friend of the cousin, who brought J along. Jodie convinced me to go, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but once I arrived, it took me all of about two seconds to notice him. He had longish blond hair, broad shoulders, and a deep tan, which was almost impossible for me to attain; my skin preferred to mimic a bright red apple when exposed to the sun. Even from a distance, I could see every single muscle in his stomach, like he was some sort of living human anatomy display.

He was also hanging out with Chloe, a senior from one of the public high schools I vaguely recognized but didn’t know, who was equally gorgeous. It was clear they were together; Nancy Drew that I was, I couldn’t help but notice, since they were making out and basically hanging all over each other. Even so, that didn’t stop me from checking him out as I sat on my towel the rest of the afternoon, in much the same way I ogled the Taylor boys at church. I admit, I’d gone a little boy-crazy in recent years.

It should have ended there, but strangely, it didn’t. Because of Jodie, I saw him on the Fourth of July—that one was a nighttime party because of the fireworks, but there were a lot of parents there—and then again a couple of weeks later at the mall. Each time, he was with Chloe and he didn’t seem to notice me at all.

Then came Saturday, August 19.

What can I say? I’d just seen Die Hard: With a Vengeance with Jodie, even though I’d already seen it once before, and afterward, we went to her house. This time, her parents weren’t home. The cousin was there, along with J, but Chloe wasn’t. Somehow, J and I ended up talking on the back porch, and miraculously, he seemed interested in me. He was also friendlier than I’d expected. He told me about California, asked me about my life in Seattle, and he finally mentioned in passing that he and Chloe had broken up. Not long after that, he kissed me, and he was so gorgeous, things just got away from me. Long story short, I ended up in the back seat of his cousin’s car. I didn’t set out to have sex with him, but probably like everyone my age, I was curious about the whole thing, you know? I wanted to know what the big deal was. Nor did he force me. It just kind of happened, and the whole thing was over in less than five minutes.

Afterward, he was nice about it. When I had to leave to meet my eleven p.m. curfew, he walked me to the car and kissed me again. He promised to call me, but he didn’t. Three days later I saw him with his arm around Chloe, and when they kissed, I turned around before he could see me, my throat feeling as though I’d just swallowed sandpaper.

Later, when I learned I was pregnant, I called him in California. Jodie got his number from the cousin, since J hadn’t given it to me, and when I told him who I was, he didn’t seem to remember me. It was only when I reminded him about what happened that he recalled our time together, but even then, I had the sense that he didn’t have the slightest clue what we’d talked about or even what I looked like. He also asked why I was calling with a kind of irritated tone, and you didn’t need a perfect SAT score to know he had no interest in me at all. Though I’d intended to tell him that I was pregnant, I hung up the phone before the words could come out, and I’ve never spoken to him again.

My parents know none of this, by the way. I refused to tell them anything about the father, or how nice he’d seemed at first or even that he’d forgotten me entirely. It wouldn’t have changed anything, and by then I already knew I’d be giving the baby up for adoption.

You know what else I haven’t told them?

That after that phone call with J, I felt stupid, and as disappointed and angry as my parents were with me, I felt even worse about myself.

While I was seated on the bench, with ears already red and my nose beginning to run, I saw a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. Turning, I spotted a dog trotting by with a Snickers wrapper in its mouth. It looked almost exactly like Sandy, my dog back home, only a little bit smaller.

Sandy was a cross between a golden and a Labrador retriever, with a tail that never seemed to stop wagging. Her eyes were a soft, dark caramel, full of expression; had Sandy tried to play poker, she would have lost all her money because she couldn’t bluff. I could always tell exactly what she was feeling. If I praised her, her gentle eyes would shine with happiness; if I was upset, they were full of sympathy. She’d been in our family for nine years—we got her when I was in the first grade—and for most of her life she’d slept at the foot of my bed. Now she usually slept in the living room because her hips weren’t so good and the stairs were hard for her. But even though she was getting white in the muzzle, her eyes hadn’t changed at all. They were still as sweet as ever, especially when I cradled her furry head in my hands. I wondered if she would remember me when I moved back home. Silly, of course. There was no way that Sandy would forget me. She would always love me.

Right?

Right?

Homesickness made my eyes moisten and I swiped at them, but then my hormones surged again, insisting that I MISSED SANDY SOOO MUCH! Without thinking, I rose from the bench. I saw Imitation Sandy trotting toward a guy seated near the edge of the deck in a lawn chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. He wore an olive-green jacket and beside him, I noticed, was a camera mounted on a tripod.

I stopped. As much as I wanted to see—and yes, pet—the dog, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to engage in stilted conversation with the owner, especially once he noticed I’d been crying. I was about to turn away when the guy whispered something to the dog. I watched as the dog turned and trotted to a nearby garbage can, where it popped onto its rear legs and carefully deposited the Snickers wrapper.

I blinked, thinking, Wow. That’s kind of cool.

The dog returned to the guy’s side, settled, and was just about to close its eyes when the man dropped an empty paper cup onto the deck. The dog quickly rose, grabbed the cup, and put it into the garbage before returning. When another cup was dropped about a minute later, I couldn’t help myself.

“What are you doing?” I finally asked.

The man turned in his seat and it was only then that I realized my mistake. He wasn’t a man, but rather a teenager, maybe a year or two older than I was, with hair the color of chocolate and dark eyes flickering with amusement. His jacket, made out of olive-colored canvas with intricate stitching, was strangely stylish, especially for this part of the world. When he raised an eyebrow, I had the uneasy feeling that he’d been expecting me. In the silence, I felt a burst of surprise at the thought that my aunt had been right. There actually was someone my age around here, or at the very least, someone my age who was on his way to Ocracoke. The island wasn’t entirely composed of fishermen and former nuns, or older women who ate biscuits and read romance novels.

The dog, too, seemed to evaluate me. Its ears perked up and it wagged its tail hard enough to thump the guy’s leg, but unlike Sandy, who loved everyone immediately and intensely and would have trotted over to greet me, this dog turned its attention back to the cup, quickly repeating its earlier performance, once more putting it into the garbage can.

Meanwhile, the guy continued to watch me. Even though he was seated, I could tell he was lean, muscular, and definitely cute, but my whole boy-crazy phase had pretty much died the moment Dr. Bobbi spread that goop on my tummy and I heard the heartbeat. I let my gaze fall, wishing that I’d just gone back to the car and regretting I’d said anything at all. I’d never been good at eye contact except at slumber parties when I was having a staring contest with my friends, and the last thing I needed was another boy in my life. Especially on a day like today; not only had I been crying, but I hadn’t worn any makeup, and I was dressed in baggy jeans, Converse high-tops, and a down jacket that probably made me look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

“Hi,” he finally ventured, breaking into my thoughts. “I’m just enjoying the fresh air.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I continued to focus on the water, pretending that I hadn’t heard him and hoping he wouldn’t ask if I’d been crying.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

Great, I thought. Even though I didn’t want to talk to him, I didn’t want him to think I was an emotional wreck, either.

“I’m fine,” I asserted. “I was at the front of the boat and the wind made my eyes water.”

I wasn’t sure he believed me, but he was nice enough to act like he did. “It’s pretty up there.”

“There’s not much to see once the sun goes down.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “The whole ride has been pretty quiet so far. No reason to even reach for the camera. I’m Bryce Trickett, by the way.”

His voice was soft and melodic, not that I cared one way or the other. Meanwhile, the dog had begun to stare at me, its tail thumping. Which reminded me of the reason I’d spoken up in the first place.

“Did you train your dog to throw out garbage?”

“I’m trying to,” he said before breaking into a smile, dimples flashing. “But she’s young and still working on it. She ran off a few minutes ago, so we had to practice again.”

My attention was fixed on those dimples and it took me a second to retrieve my train of thought. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why train your dog to throw out the garbage?”

“I don’t like litter, and I didn’t want any of it blowing into the ocean. It’s not good for the environment.”

“I meant why don’t you just throw it out?”

“Because I was sitting down.”

“That’s mean.”

“Sometimes the mean justifies the end, right?”

Ha ha, I thought. But actually, I’d walked right into the stupid pun, grudgingly acknowledging that it was kind of original as far as puns went.

“Besides, Daisy doesn’t mind,” he went on. “She thinks it’s a game. Do you want to meet her?”

Even before I could respond, he said, “Break,” and Daisy quickly rose to her feet. Walking over, she curled around my legs, whining, her tongue lapping at my fingers. Not only did she look like Sandy, she felt like her, and while I stroked her fur, I was transported back to a simpler, happier life in Seattle, before everything went sour.

But just as quickly, reality came rushing back and I realized that I had no desire to linger. I offered Daisy a couple of final pats and put my hands in my pockets while trying to think of an excuse to leave. Bryce was not deterred.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

“I didn’t tell you my name.”

“That’s true,” he said. “But I can probably figure it out.”

“You think you can guess my name?”

“I’m usually pretty good,” he said. “I can read palms, too.”

“Are you serious?”

“Would you like a demonstration?”

Before I could answer, he gracefully rose from his chair and started toward me. He was a little taller than I’d expected, and lanky, like a basketball player. Not a center or forward like Zeke Watkins, but maybe a shooting guard.