Paper Flowers (Pretty Plastic People) ★

046. Trouble in Paradise

Just as Spencer and I are about to head outside, Cassidy and Nathan come back into the kitchen. Nathan picks up his plate and takes a giant bite of egg while Cassidy watches with her arms crossed. Her high cheekbones look even more pronounced than usual.

"Come on," I tell Spencer, tossing my banana peel in the trash. "Let's go outside."

Cassidy and I make eye contact as I turn towards the patio door. I want to ask questions, but her expression pleads with me not to.

Last summer, Spencer and I had a special hammock. It was the one closest to the boardwalk, the one that offered the best view of the sunset. We spent so much time there I'd gotten indentions in my thighs from the netting. It had been so easy to talk to him then, about absolutely nothing. I'd been so in love. That was before things had gotten complicated.

Senior year had twisted and shaped and scarred me like nothing else. I'm a different person now. Spencer is, too. Maybe that's why it doesn't feel the same when he pulls me into the hammock beside him, as I snuggle into the crook of him arm. His body heat only adds to the mugginess outside. His fingers are already sweating, curling into mine.

"Well this seems familiar," he says, swinging us.

I shut my eyes, feel sunlight beating onto the lids, try to transport myself back one year. It's impossible. "I guess," I say.

"What do you mean, 'you guess'?"

I don't know how to say it without pissing him off. "A lot of stuff has changed. Nothing feels like it did last summer."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I guess."

There I go again. I guess. I'm never indecisive about anything. Before now, "I guess" wasn't even in my vocabulary. But now? It's a staple.

Spencer's lips fold into a frown—I feel the muscles moving, pressed against my head. Liam passes us with a volleyball and salutes us with a smirk before jogging down the boardwalk, probably to catch up with the rest of our friends. Our hammock keeps swinging, back forth back forth, and the silence presses on me more heavily than the heat.

"So, you're leaving for California after we get home, aren't you?"

It's a desperate grab for conversation, but it works. Spencer kicks off the hammock on a new bout of swinging and says, "Yeah. You should come with me. At least until I move into my dorm."

"Maybe I will."

I make the mistake of looking up at him. His eyebrows are furrowed, his blue eyes stormy like they always are when he's confused or upset. "Why don't you seem excited about anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look like you couldn't care less about this beach trip. The hammock isn't cheering you up. You seem like you don't even want to be spending time with me right now."

Why do you have to overanalyze everything I say? The words are at the tip of my tongue. But I know as soon as they leave my mouth he'll snap back, and then we'll start arguing, and a fight is the last thing I need. So I force a smile and say, "I'm sorry. This house just trips me up."

"I know. Me too. But it's just a house. What matters is that we're all here and together and happy."

"You're right." I think it's the first thing I've said all morning that I've meant.

I roll over, resting my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat pulses and I smooth down his shirt around it with the very tips of my fingers. His hand comes up and strokes my hair, tucking it behind my ears, toying with it. Every brush alleviates some of the tension until it's almost completely disappeared.