“Be real, Ry. I’m leaving on Friday.”
“Well, then.” A grin steals across Ryan’s face. “You’ve got three days to kiss the boy.”
I fold my apron and stuff it into my work bag, a sun-faded backpack that stinks of beef product and fried cornmeal. My clothes stink, too, so I douse myself in body spray (CEDARWOOD SEA FOAM, it says on the can, but it doesn’t really smell like either) and redo my bun.
I see Samir down the boardwalk and cross my arms to lean against the side of the Corn Dog Cart, but I worry that makes me look too casual so I stand up straight and stuff my hands into my pockets, but then I think that makes me look nervous so I settle on scratching the back of my neck with my right hand and waving at him with my left.
I am a disaster.
Samir’s carrying two big blue puffs of cotton candy, and he smiles when he sees me.
I start to hum again.
“I hope this is okay,” he says, handing me the sugary cloud.
I nod, because when his hand brushes mine I lose my voice again.
“I’m not usually this, uh, you know... bold,” he says with a laugh. “But there’s something about you. You’re not like other boys.”
(I mean, he’s not wrong.)
“You... want to take a walk?”
“Yeah,” I manage.
He leads me down the boardwalk, past stalls and shops and this lady balancing rocks from the shore on top of each other. He peels off a puff of cotton candy and stuffs it into his mouth.
“You live here?” he asks.
“Yeah. You?”
“Just visiting. I live in LA.”
That explains why he felt so far away for so long. Why my heart pointed north once I got back from last year’s migration.
“So what are you into?”
I tell Samir about school, about choir and orchestra (I sing tenor, play cello), about working at the Corn Dog Cart, how Uncle Declan said it “builds character” and Mother agreed.
Samir tells me about his school in LA, about how there are tons of Iranian families in his part of town, about doing theater, about his older brother and sister both studying to be doctors and how his parents never fail to remind him what a steady career medicine is.
We reach the end of the boardwalk, but there’s a set of wooden steps leading down to the beach.
“You want to keep going?”
“Yeah.”
The shore is crowded, with families splashing in the water, sunbathers lounging on towels, plus some college-looking guys playing volleyball with their shirts off.
I instinctively angle us toward the water. A fresh windpicks up off the ocean, and I taste the salt on my lips. Samir is easy to talk to. It feels like I’ve known him all my life.
I think, even without the binding, I would like him. Like the way he looks at me like I’m the only one on the beach. Like the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs.
Like the way he seems to like me too.
Samir licks the cotton candy off his blue-stained lips and catches me staring. I blush and turn away.
“Sorry.”
