Formerly Shark Girl (30 page)

to prove something?

Do I
need
to?

No.

I will not swim in that gray mass again,

and I understand without a trace of doubt

that I no longer will feel a need to visit this beach.

Not because I’m afraid. But because

I’m done.

Closure.

Is that what this is?

I am able to look around

and see the beauty of the water.

I do not see the ghost of myself,

lying in tatters on the sand.

For that, I am grateful.

And that, in my book,

is peace.

This place, as lovely as it is,

holds no interest for me anymore.

And no power, either.

“What are you thinking?” Max asks,

and I jump. I have forgotten he is beside me.

I look around once more.

“I think I’m ready to go home.”

He gazes out at surfers, paddling away.

“That bad, huh?”

“No. It’s not like that. Really.”

I turn to him.

My life is just beginning.

And it starts today.

“I’m not upset,” I tell Max. “I’m just . . .”

Grateful.

For some reason,

I am reluctant to speak the word out loud.

“I’m not afraid,

but I’m not going back in, either.

I’m just . . .
done.
If that makes sense.”

“Yeah, it does, actually.” He sizes me up.

“I can see it in your eyes.

Something’s changed in there.

You look . . . taller, kind of. Free.”

He blushes, and I love him for being the sort of person

who blushes at himself. I surprise myself

by taking his hand.

“That’s it exactly. I’m free.”

“I’m glad.” Max says.

The wind blows my hair all across my face,

but I don’t want to let go of Max’s hand

long enough to push it away.

Max reaches up and does it for me.

Pushing my hair behind my shoulder,

he tucks it behind my ear,

gently pushes it off my cheeks.

Then

he leans in

and kisses me.

My very being

lifts

somewhere high above me,

out of my body,

hovers like a hummingbird,

my toes curl in their sandals,

my heart races,

faster and faster

and

f

a

s

t

e

r

and joy fills me

       all   the   way

                  to        the

                           top.

Max pulls away from our kiss,

taking my hand in both of his.

He blinks as though surprised.

“Jane. I didn’t mean for that to happen. . . .

Not here, anyway.

That’s not what today was about.

Of all places to . . .
do
this . . . I . . .”

“Hey, Max?”

I step forward, stand on tiptoe,

and, still clutching his hand,

I put my lips to his

and

kiss him back.

Riding home in Max’s car,

he holds my left hand in his right one

while he drives.

I watch in the side mirror

as the sparkling ocean dwindles away,

smaller and smaller. We drive on,

wind scattering through our hair.

Fear

no longer rules

any part of my life.

I know now

what it means

to reclaim myself.

And what it means

to kiss Max.

All it took

was one trip to the beach.

Who’d have thought?

“I’ve made my decision,”

I tell Mom. “It’s art school.”

I show her the brochure

for the college I’ve chosen.

Mom squeals and throws her arms around me.

“I
knew
you’d make the right choice,”

she says in my ear.

“You didn’t want me to go to nursing school?”

I ask, confused. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Mom holds me at arm’s length.

“It’s not that I
didn’t
want you to go there.

I just wanted you to make the choice

that would make you happiest. All this time

you’ve been agonizing, you haven’t been happy.

But now you are. I can see it in your eyes, honey.

I can see you made the right choice for
you.
”

We hug again. I sure wish I’d talked this over with her

earlier. Maybe I wouldn’t have struggled so long.

Why do I always think I need to do things alone?

Max’s words come back to me:

Your family would want you to do art,

if that’s what you want.

So who would you disappoint?

Mom is so steadfast,

and yet full of surprises, too.

Am I surprised she’s supportive?

Not really. What I am surprised about?

How well she knows me. And how much

I value her support.

Later, we crunch the numbers, go over

scholarship applications,

and decide that for sure

we can make it work.

We give each other a high-five.

I get on the phone and I tell Rachel my decision.

She cries a little. “I knew it,” she says.

“I would have supported you either way,

but I have to admit, I was hoping you’d pick art.

That day on the steps, when we talked . . .

I could tell you’d made your choice but

weren’t ready to talk about it. It’s been killing me

not saying anything. But, Jane? I am
so glad
for you.”

Rachel. So full of surprises. All this time,

and she hasn’t pushed her agenda on me.

She’s given me the room I needed to think this over,

to make peace with it,

before talking about it.

She’s another one

I wouldn’t trade for anything,

not even my right arm.

“I love you,” I tell her.

“I love you, too,” she says.

Then I send the school my acceptance.

I commit. I promise.

I plan.

And when I go to bed that night,

I dream.

“Are you disappointed?” I ask Lindsey. “In me?”

Lindsey wraps me in a familiar hug.

“Disappointed? Yes. You would have made

a
fine
nurse, Jane. We need people like you.”

She puts me at arm’s length.

“Disappointed in
you
? Never. Honey,

you are my hero. Don’t ever forget that.

You want to be an artist?

Go for it
— that’s what I say.

When you figure out what you want,

chase it, and don’t let
anyone

tell you that you shouldn’t.”

I’m crying a little.

“I’m going to miss you, Lindsey.”

She puts her hands on her hips.

“Now, hold on. You’re going to school

over in Los Angeles, right?”

I nod, snatching up a tissue.

“That means you can come home a lot.

And that means you’ll visit me. Right?”

I nod again.

She goes on. “Besides, you’re not going

anywhere until this fall, right?”

I blow my nose. “Right.”

She relaxes. “Okay, then. In that case,

you’re still mine for the next few months.

And while nursing school may not be on your agenda,

I am still going to teach you

how to
properly
wrap a bandage.

Got it? So let’s not talk about good-byes

or missing each other

until we have to. Deal?”

She thrusts out her hand.

Have I mentioned I love her?

I take it, and we shake.

“Deal.”

“What are these?” Justin asks,

leafing through the pile of papers

on the kitchen table.

“They’re brochures for the art college

I’m going to,” I tell him.

We are at my house, baking a cake.

“I wanted to show them to you.”

Justin puts the pamphlets aside.

He beams. “So you’ll live close by?”

“Yes, I will. Just a couple of hours away.

I will come home a
lot.
”

I invite Justin to crack open the eggs.