Reclaiming the Sand

Even armed with the understanding of what made me the way I was, my foster families were never equipped to handle the angry, violent girl who had invaded their homes.

So I would have to leave. I never settled. I never allowed myself to get comfortable. Because I knew it would be over soon enough. Even the nice ones never lasted long.

My life had been a series of temporary situations.

But Julie continued to try. I’d give her that.

And I could still see the disappointment on her face when I was carted off to juvie six years ago. Her tears were the only ones that fell.

So now, even though I had outgrown her services years ago, she still insisted on “touching base” with me every few months. And living in a small town, we ran into each other a lot more than that.

It wasn’t a coincidence that she stopped by on my shifts at JAC’s, even though she lived and worked across town.

And she, more than most people, knew when I was bullshitting and evading. She sipped on her coffee, a brown lock of hair flopping in her face.

“You do. I can tell. I’m so glad!” she enthused and I knew a grilling session was imminent.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t deny her statement. What was the point? She was right.

“Are you going to take any more classes?” Julie asked, dumping more sugar into her coffee.

“Let’s just take one day at a time, okay?” I said watching her over the rim of my tea mug.

Julie was saying something. Her mouth was moving but I didn’t hear the sounds coming out. Because at that moment the bell tinkled above the door and I nonchalantly lifted my eyes toward the momentary distraction.

And froze.

I swear to fucking god, was nowhere safe from Fly

He came inside, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He walked slowly toward the cashier and then stopped, staring up at the menu boards. He stood there for at least five minutes, not noticing the fact that a line was forming behind him. He took his time. Deliberating carefully as though he were developing a plan for world peace as he stood there.

Finally he gave his order and then took out a wad of money from his pocket and meticulously laid it out on the counter, making sure to count out the exact amount so change wasn’t necessary.

I knew he was mumbling to himself, counting out loud, his fingers hovering above the coins. He would take as long as he needed to in order to get it right.

I knew this because I had seen him do it a hundred times before. I recognized his pattern and his routine as though I were watching a movie I had once memorized but had forgotten I knew so well.

“Ellie!” Julie snapped her fingers in front of my face, making me blink and forcing my eyes back to her.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” she asked me, smiling in bemusement. Only Julie Waterman could find my complete lack of ma

“Sorry, I’ve got to go.” I grabbed my bag and dropped some money on the table. I chanced a look at Fly

“Where are you going?” Julie asked, getting a concerned look on her face was reserved solely for me. She followed my not so subtle gaze to Fly

That was new.

I had at one time been intimately familiar with his ticks. But this was one I hadn’t seen before.

But a lot can change in six years.

Julie frowned, the line between her eyebrows deepening and I watched her try to place the very good-looking, but extremely awkward man that had entirely too much of my attention.

“Is that?” Julie began but I cut her off.

I needed to get out of there before Fly

We hadn’t shared a single word in the three weeks since he first came into JAC’s but already my world felt tight and restrictive. He took up too much space and I resented him for that.

“I’ve really got to go,” I said hurriedly, picking up my to go cup and giving Julie a frazzled smile and hurried toward the door.

Just as Fly

Smash. Crash.

Shit.

I had my mocha dripped down my front, plastering my shirt to my boobs. And I wasn’t wearing a bra. Great, now the entire coffee shop was getting a good, long look at my nipples.

“Sorry,” Fly

Slim to none.

“Ellie,” he said flatly, raising his head and meeting my eyes briefly before lowering them again.

“Fly

“Sure. Sorry,” he said quickly, grabbing a stack of napkins from the counter. We had everyone’s attention. I purposefully made eye contact with a few of the gawkers closest to me and they quickly resumed their conversations.

Being the town hot head had its advantages.

Fly

For a man who didn’t like to be touched, he was spending an inordinate amount of time touching me in an obliviously intimate way.

I snatched the napkins from his hands and took a step back. “I’ve got it,” I said through gritted teeth. Fly

“Sorry,” he muttered again.

“Stop saying sorry,” I barked, wiping the rest of the coffee off my bare arms. It was a good thing I was only wearing a tank top. I didn’t have time to go home before my shift, so I was going to have to suffer through six hours of smelling like dried coffee.

“Sorry,” Fly

We stood there stiffly, the coffee slowly drying into a sticky mess across my skin. I tried not to stare at him, but it was hard. I thought I’d never see him again. I had counted on the fact that I’d never have to be face to face with this confusing, conflicting range of emotions.

He was still cute and unassuming. His shy smile still sweet yet uneasy. He still wore his brown hair messy and longish around his forehead and ears and he was still the only person to ever make me feel edgy and unsure.

I hated that I knew the details of his face. I hated that I knew his favorite television show and the way he ate his cereal (dry and with two spoonfuls of sugar). I hated that I had at one time catalogued these seemingly inconsequential details with a resolute dedication. Because at one time they had mattered.

But the girl that had known these things had died a long time ago. I had destroyed her. Fly

“Mocha latte three sugars,” Fly

“What?” I asked, frowning.

“That’s what you drink. Mocha latte with three sugars. You’d bring it to school in your blue thermos and drink the entire thing before the first bell rang.” Fly

“What the hell are you talking about?” I blustered, feeling unreasonably a

“It was September third the first time I saw you drinking it and I asked you why you had coffee when it was so hot out. You told me to fuck off.”