Meet Me After Class

Chapter 65: A Gap Year

In the days after that emotionally eviscerating moment with Adam at the dilapidated cabin, I was a complete and utter wreck. Like, zero chill whatsoever. My first love and my first real heartbreak were all tangled up into one incredibly messy ball of feelings.

I basically barricaded myself in my bedroom for a solid week, only emerging for basic sustenance. The rest of the time, I was holed up under my covers in an endless cycle of watching self-healing videos and those lame "how to get over your first love FAST" clips on YouTube. It was a pathetic brand of self-care, but scrolling mindlessly and zoning out to strangers' advice beats falling into a black hole of wallowing, right?

Anyway, my parents obviously noticed my total emotional shut-down after a day or two of me refusing to leave my room except for meals. I started feeding them one flimsy alibi after another about period cramps or feeling under the weather. When I ran out of semi-valid excuses, the alibis just got sillier and more nonsensical.

Belle must have caught on that I was in crisis mode, because one day she came barging into my pit of despair without knocking. She all but physically dragged my butt out to the living room, despite my dramatic protests about being "too fragile" for human interaction. We argued for a bit, but then she whipped out an actual LIST she'd made of anime for us to binge together.

"You promised we'd watch together!"

I remembered how the last time I was home from college, Belle had jokingly declared she was going to curate the perfect anime watchlist for "next time."

"Fine."

One promise of "one more episode" was inevitably followed by another broken promise, and then another. Before I knew it, I'd spent days doing nothing but binge-watching, barely moving except to shovel food into my mouth.

It was...actually a pretty great distraction from the never-ending ache in my chest over Adam. The melodrama and escapism were perfect for avoiding my own melodramatic, histrionic feelings for a while.

After two solid weeks of barely leaving the couch except for bodily necessities (much to my mom's annoyance), my family finally managed to pry me away for our first big beach getaway of the summer. We piled into the car and drove the hour out of Pinecrest.

I had just emerged from the sparkling waves, saltwater still dripping from my hair, and made my way over to where we had our blanket set up.

Swiping wet tendrils out of my face, I made my way over to the little patch we'd claimed with our jumble of beach towels and the faded red-and-white striped blanket Mom always insisted on bringing. Belle was already laying out in one of her scrap-sized bikinis, working on cultivating her summer glow.

Mom was beside her in a modest navy one-piece, looking utterly content under the floppy folds of her sun hat. And Dad was crouched over our wicker picnic basket, unpacking an array of sandwich fixings and getting things prepped for lemonade.

I flopped down on the blanket, still catching my breath from my swim. Droplets of ocean water darkened the fabric beneath me as I pushed my damp hair back off my shoulders. I shot a sidelong glance over at Belle practically coating herself in an oil slick of tanning lotion.

"You know they make sunscreen sprays now, right, Belle? Might be a little quicker than spending an hour greasing yourself up."

She rolled her eyes so hard that I was surprised they didn't get stuck. "Oh, har har, you're so hilarious." Squirting more lotion into her palms, she started meticulously smoothing it over her shoulders and legs. "This way ensures full coverage. Can't risk any missed spots or I'll end up a streaky, patchy mess."