As wind tore through all the openness of Brooklyn's Mustang, I found it increasingly difficult not to stare at him as he drove us through the tiny center of town, to the bridge that took us through the shallow marshes and off the island. His thumbs drummed against the steering wheel, in sync perfectly with every beat, and he knew every word to every song that came on, silently mouthing along. I found myself counting the freckles that trailed down the side of his cheek, creating made up constellations on his face.

The Thank you for visiting Devil's Point sign passed by us in a flash of faded white wood and gold letters, and he cranked the volume to counteract the wind as 1979 by the Smashing Pumpkins began to play. 

"Damn I love this song," I said softly to myself with a little smile, but somehow he heard me.

"A girl with good music taste? I think I'm in love."

My insides fluttered like I'd swallowed 1000 butterflies, and I had to force myself to look away from him and his perfect sunshine of a smile.

"So you're not from around here then," I had to practically shout over the wind and the fuzzy audio of crooning through the speakers.

"Nah, I live on Crane Island," Brooklyn shook his head. "It's the next little island over, but it's all the same around here. All the kids in the county go to their local elementary schools and junior high schools, but afterwards everyone goes to Mainland Regional High School...unless you're good at sports or you have money, then you go to Montgomery Prep."

He switched the song on the dashboard display, which even after only being in a car with him for a total of 15 minutes I learned was his way of fidgeting without seeming nervous. He skimmed through Smashing Pumpkins to Third Eye Blind to Neck deep, and I swear even his music taste flipped my insides.

"Is that where you went?" I pulled at a frayed string in one of the holes in my jeans, trying to taper myself from sounding too overeager.

Brooklyn nodded. "You see, normal private schools have no jurisdiction on what part of the state you live in, so as long as you're willing to make the trip and pay the tuition, you can attend. Montgomery takes it one step further and flat out recruits kids from all over the place and hands out scholarships like free movie theater tickets - but it's not academic scholarships. You go to Montgomery if you're a standout athlete and you want to be seen and noticed by colleges other than just South Carolina State."

My eyes trailed over to the stitching on the arm of his hoodie. Keller, #65. 

"And you were a standout athlete, huh?" I asked.

He exhaled sharply. "Football. Best tight end in the state." He gave me a playful smirk. "I'm a little insulted. I know I got a little chunky in rehab, but do I really look that out of shape?"

"What?" Foot meet mouth. Again. "N-no, I mean, that's not what I..." I sighed and steadied myself before I talked myself into a hole. "You just don't seem like the jock type. I think of the football players I went to high school with, and they were just the stereotypical asshole jock. You know, the ones that shove kids into lockers, and pick on nerdy girls with glasses. You're just..."

Funny. Sweet. Handsome. Things I didn't dare say out loud after only hanging out with him once.

"You just don't seem like that kind of person," I finished with a sigh.

Brooklyn clicked his tongue. "I had the opposite problem," he said. "I wanted to be everyone's friend. I wanted everybody to like me. I couldn't ever say no to anyone or anything. By the time I got to college I was under so much pressure that eventually it just ate me up, and I couldn't handle it. I was partying all the time, and I never went to class. I was smoking pot, drinking until I got sick, and taking as much aderall and Xanax as I could get my hands on. I was totally out of control."

"So what happened?" I asked.

"I left after my sophomore year." He shrugged. A few moments went by before I realized he wasn't going to give me any more information.

Talking about it seemed to trigger something dark in Brooklyn. Something too sad, and too familiar.

"So...what else you got on this random Spotify playlist you're so attached to?" I deflected as best as I could, but that got him to light right back up again.

While I listened to him go on about his whiplash inducing music taste, I tried (and failed) to pull back my hair in the whipping of the wind. I mentally kicked myself for letting Nikki talk me into wearing my hair down, which was now a tangled mess of windblown sweat.

Crossing the bridge from the sparse humdrum of Devil's Point and onto Crane Island was like night and day. Crane Island was exactly like what I would imagine an island town in South Carolina should look like - oak trees line the streets with their branches long and outstretched over the road, with Spanish moss hanging from every limb. Most of the houses were painted bright colors like salmon and baby blue and were posted up on six feet of stilts in case of flooding from the river and the marsh.

We pulled into a gravel driveway down a shaded, dead-end street, and peaks of a house poked above the trees that were planted against the edge of the front lawn. Cars lined one side of the driveway leading up to a three car garage attached to a large house, as blue as the sky on a perfect day. Trees and shrubs ornately dotted the side of the house, and an expansive porch with white columns lined the first and second floor of the outside of the house.

"Is your mom having a party or something?" I asked, trying to count how many cars were parked. At least eight.

"She hosts this mahjong club on Sundays," Brooklyn replied with an edge in his voice. "Really it's just an excuse for all the soccer moms to get together and gossip about stupid shit, like PTA meetings, and their yoga classes being too crowded, and uh...me going to rehab."

He maneuvered his car in front of one of the three garage doors and killed the engine. He reached over for my hand again just like he had before, his touch soft and reassuring.

"Thanks for this Nat," he said. "Seriously."

"Of course," I replied with a faint smile, pulling my hand away before he noticed how clammy my palms were. "Anything to keep your ass out of trouble."

He gave me one more grin before hopping out of the car and beckoning me to follow him to the front door. Light flooded the foyer as we entered, sending streaks of afternoon sun across the freshly waxed wooden floors. Brooklyn led me right into the kitchen, pulling me past colorful abstract paintings that hung in the front hallway leading into the giant open space of the first floor. Thick white columns were all that distinguished one room from another. Everything was so clean and pristine, I was afraid to touch anything.

Bright white cabinets lined the walls of the kitchen, and  every accent and appliance was high tech and stainless steel, from the basin sink on the far side of the counter to the double-decker ovens on the opposite wall. Every countertop was a swirl of icy gray marble, and the island in the center of the kitchen could have easily fit eight people around it.

"You can sit down if you want," Brooklyn gestured to one of the colorful stained glass barstools at the island. I perched myself at the edge of the stool as I watched Brooklyn pace around the kitchen and yank open random cabinets. He walked over to the refrigerator on the other side of the island. It had a large black screen on the right side door, and when he tapped it twice, its contents were illuminated.

"Wow," I gawked. "That's an impressive fridge."

"It's a smart fridge," Brooklyn grumbled, pulling open the refrigerator door. "It's supposed to be some energy saving thing. It's got a calendar, grocery lists, and a whole bunch of other unnecessary shit." He pulled a gallon of milk out and slammed the door closed with his elbow. "I think it's stupid, but my dad is really into this stuff."

"Where is your dad?" I asked. I pulled at the hair-tie around my wrist.

"Work emergency," Brooklyn replied with an eye roll. He took a swig of milk straight from the carton, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "He's a defense attorney in the city, and he's dealing with some high profile felony case. No days off."

I felt a pang in my chest that I couldn't quite place. It wasn't jealousy, like it used to be when I was in middle school and I didn't have someone to go to the daddy-daughter dances with. Those feelings were fleeting moments, few and far between, and I got over them fast.

Instead, I think it was curiosity. A painful curiosity. What kind of father would my dad have been when I was 17? Would he have forgone my track meets for late hours at the office? What about now, at 22?

I think the worst part was I didn't know either of my parents well enough to know the answer to that. All I knew was that you can't miss what you never had, but in Brooklyn's case, you can miss something that never shows up to a spot that's made for them at the dining room table. And that sucks.

"You are so fucked," another voiced pierced the tense silence.

I couldn't help but stare at the young woman who the voice belonged to. She sauntered into the kitchen through a glass door leading to the back deck, her long, dark hair swinging in a ponytail behind her. She wore large, bug-eyed sunglasses, and her long, polished nails tapped against the biggest plastic Starbucks cup I had ever seen.

When I finally took a step back and looked at her in full, I realized the girl was a dead ringer for a female version of Brooklyn - high cheekbones, angular jaw, tan freckled cheeks and all.

"Mom is going to crucify you," she said.

Brooklyn squinted at her. "Are you drinking vodka from a Starbucks cup?"

The girl sloshed around the liquid in the cup, which was a bright orange. She scoffed. "It's a mimosa, which on a Sunday morning is perfectly acceptable."

He gently lifted the cup out of her hands. "And last time I checked, 20 is still underage."

"Only for another month." She scoffed and put her hand to her temple, the gold bracelets on her wrist clattering together. "Don't act all self righteous now just because you don't drink anymore," she shrugged. "Besides, if you were forced to socialize with those little goblin women outside all morning, you'd be drinking yourself under the table."

I couldn't hold back a snicker.

"Oh my god," the girl exclaimed, suddenly aware of my presence at the island. "I am so sorry. I'm Ella." She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and held out her hand to me. "You'll have to excuse my rude brother. He may be older than me but that has not made him any wiser."

"I'm Natalie." I shook Ella's hand, praying she didn't notice how sweaty it was. "It's nice to meet you."

"Anyway," Ella turned her attention back to her brother. "If you still value your life at all, you should probably go talk to Mom."

Ella walked closer to him and delicately put her hand on his chest. Her voice became hushed. "Just as an FYI, she's been telling people you've been in California visiting our cousins for the past month."

"Are you kidding me?" he groaned. He worked his jaw, and I watched as the little veins in his forehead pulsed in anger.

Ella shrugged. "She just doesn't want you to be the center of attention. You know how she is."

Her words stung, and I felt my face get hot at the thought of a pack of upper middle class mothers poking and clawing at him with pointy nails and words sharp like spears, just like little goblin women would.

"Anyway," she continued, shifting her body so her back was facing me, pressed against the countertop with her dark hair shining in the lights hanging over the island in little glass spheres. "You better go outside. You have plenty of time to be annoyed later, but for now, at least show her you're alive and not uh...under the influence." She pinched his elbow.

Brooklyn rolled his eyes. He glanced at me over Ella's shoulder and mouthed "I'm sorry."

Ella whipped around and faced me again. She slid her sunglasses up onto the top of her head, revealing the same icy blue eyes as Brooklyn's. My whole body tensed.

"Don't worry, us girls will hang out." She gave me a grin and shooed Brooklyn away. "Go. Just get it over with."

Brooklyn let out a heavy sigh before trudging out the glass door towards the back deck.

Ella leaned closer to me with her elbows pressed into the counter. She smelled like a vacation - all coconut and sunscreen and salt water - with the glowing olive skin to match.

"So..." she clicked her tongue. "You're a new face. Not that my brother brings any girls home to begin with, but regardless, I don't recognize you."

"Oh, uh, no," I said as I shook my head, praying Ella couldn't see the itchy redness spread across my chest. "We're just friends."

Just friends, even though I was sure we'd be seeing each other again, and I still couldn't figure out if the pulsing in my nerves was excitement or anxiety.

Ella sighed. "Look, I know Brooklyn acts all tough, but he's..." she paused and pursed her glossy lips. "He's sensitive."

I waited for an explosion. The overprotective, I will ruin your life if you fuck with my sibling role that my own sister played so well. I couldn't read the emotion Ella's eyes behind the beautiful voluptuousness of her lashes.

"Just do me a favor," she sighed. Her expression softened as she looked through the wide open windows at Brooklyn, laughing and chatting with those same upper middle class women who not 10 minutes ago seemed like they could devour him like a sheep among a pack of wolves. "Take care of him, please. He won't admit it, but he really needs some good influences around him, and a... friend."

The word friend flicked off her tongue as she gave me a knowing glance. I felt the redness spread to my neck.

"Brooklyn Elon, you have major explaining to do," another voice carried into the kitchen. Brooklyn returned to his spot next to Ella pressed against the island, followed by a woman to whom the voice belonged to.

"You know you're in trouble when she uses your full name," Ella muttered to her brother.

Brooklyn's mother was not what I was expecting, although to be fair I didn't know what to expect. She had dark hair like Brooklyn and Ella, but peppered faintly with grey, and cut into a sharp, straight, shoulder-length bob. She was tiny and skinny, with pointy edges in her billowy white blouse where her elbows and shoulders should be. She craned her neck up at her son and gave him such a deadly glare that seemed to shrink him where he stood.

"Mom, I'm sorry," Brooklyn said and held his hands up in defense. "I was just out getting coffee, and I have a witness."

He looked over at me with the faintest hint of pleading in his eyes.

"Yeah, he was with me," I echoed with a nod. "I'm Natalie. I'm sure Brooklyn didn't mean to worry you, I asked him to get coffee with me."

I didn't know why I felt so compelled to lie. After all he was telling the truth, but something in his mother's panicked, terse voice told me he'd lied about stuff like this before. Lying tasted funny on my tongue, but I didn't want him in trouble. Not on my account.

Brooklyn's mother let out a heavy sigh as she glanced over at me. She studied me, much in the same way Brooklyn had when we first met. Blue eyes glazed over me from top to bottom, but with less intrigue and more...judgment. Did she know I was lying? Mothers have bullshit radar and hers must have gone off. But then, much to my surprise, she smiled at me.

"Thank you, Natalie," she said, then pointedly turned to Brooklyn. "I'm glad my son is finally understanding the good that comes out of telling the truth."

I heard a groan from Brooklyn. "Are we good now? I have to bring Nat home, she has to take her sister to the doctor."

Nope. A lie. It sounded better coming out of his mouth. Smooth and effortless and so...true. I uncomfortably shifted in the stool as Brooklyn's mother turned back to me.

"Where do you live, Natalie?" she asked.

"Devil's Point, just over the bridge." My body stiffened up straight when I answered.

"You come right back home, do you understand?" She said to Brooklyn, poking him in the chest.

"Sure, no problem," Brooklyn said with a shrug.

His mother gave him another biting glance before returning to her hoard of women on the back deck. After she was gone, Brooklyn bumped Ella's hip with his.

"So were you two playing nice?" he asked with a smirk.

Ella scoffed and elbowed her brother. "Of course. Me and Nat are basically BFFs now."

Nat. Already on nickname basis.

"You ready to go?" he asked me.

I nodded as I hoisted myself out of the stool. "It was nice meeting you," I said to Ella.

She gave me a sly grin, one that almost mirrored her brother's. "I'm sure I'll see you again."

The drive back home seemed infinitely longer than our journey to Crane Island. Wind continued to whip through Brooklyn's car as we drove across the bridge, but the cool breeze felt like a welcoming chill to the heat that radiated through my body. We glided along in silence, with nothing but the grungy alt-rock Brooklyn played through his Spotify thrumming in the background. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, desperately trying to be subtle about my fascination. I was never the kind of girl that crushed on guys - at least not with intent or purpose. Nikki did that enough for the both of us.

But with Brooklyn, it was like the very air he gave off ensnared me. He had an odd hold over me. It wasn't bad, it was just...different. I liked his eyes. I liked his smile. But most of all, I liked the way he looked at me.

By the time we had reached my house, the sky had turned a milky lavender color, and streaks of pink and orange blended with the clouds as the sun slowly dipped below the ocean waves. Brooklyn pulled up to the curb and lowered the music so all that could be heard was the steady hum of the engine.

"Thanks for today," he mumbled. He looked up at me, his lonely blue eyes gleaming in the dusky light.

"I should be thanking you," I replied with a faint smile. "For getting me out of the house, I mean. I actually had a really good time."

My heart swelled as he beamed at me.

"Yeah, me too," he said. "Plus, I'm sure my mom and my sister are thankful I'm getting out of the house too. Or at the very least hanging out with someone without a criminal record." I could start to see that familiar hurt glaze over Brooklyn's eyes. "I know it's weird. My mom treats me like I'm made of glass, and Ella acts like this tough hardass, but...in their own weird way they're just trying to make sure I'm not digging myself an early grave."

I chuckled and rubbed my eyes. They felt heavy, but I wasn't ready to say goodbye yet, and I didn't think he was either. "I mean...wouldn't it be worse if they didn't care?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Brooklyn replied softly. He chewed on his bottom lip, his freckles darkening as his cheeks turned pink. "Look, I need to tell you something."

A combination of words you never really want to hear. I tucked my hair behind my ears and inhaled. "Okay, what?"

"Well, they're like that for a reason." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not like this is the first time all this has happened."

I gave him a light chuckle. "I'm sorry, I don't follow."

Brooklyn sighed and gently rolled his shoulders back, emitting a crackling popping noise in the otherwise tame silence. "What I mean is that..." He paused and sighed again. "That wasn't the first time I've been to rehab. It was...my second. The first time was right after I left Clemson and..." he swallowed hard. "Obviously it didn't really stick the first time."

I was caught off guard, but I didn't want him to know. I exhaled sharply, but he didn't even give me an opportunity to answer before continuing.

"I'm sorry I didn't bring it up sooner I just...I didn't want you to think badly of me."

"I don't think badly of you," I replied softly. "But...do you really think this time will be any different?"

"Well...it's miserable right now, actually. I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, all sweaty and restless like my body is begging me to get high." He paused and looked up at me, his eyes darkening with a cold withdrawal that made my nerves tighten. "But I am trying, and I want to be honest with you. About everything."

"I know you are," I offered him a weak smile. "And for what it's worth, I can't imagine how hard it must be for you. You're trying, and that's gotta count for something."

Brooklyn tapped at his watch. "Well, I've been sober for 40 days. And I think for the first time since then, I feel okay."

"Good," I replied, my smile widening.

I didn't know how long we sat in silence, his eyes trained on me like a lion stalking prey. He licked his lips slightly and cracked his neck again like he had earlier.

Our elbows grazed each others on the center console, and I felt like a bolt of electricity had been shot through me. Hot air filled my chest as the space between us shrunk with every passing second, and for a moment I swore his eyes flickered down to my mouth. He paused, his lips inches away from mine.

"Goodnight," he mumbled, his breath hot against my cheek.

My heart thundered in my chest like my body was conjuring a storm. "Goodnight," I replied softly. We hovered in each other's space for another moment or two, neither of us unwilling to be the first to pull away.

"I guess...we'll talk...later," I said as I fumbled with the seatbelt. I slid out of the buttery leather seats of his Mustang, desperate to escape the choking hot air around us.

"Hey Nat," Brooklyn called as I was about to walk up the front steps. "I uh...I meant what I said before. About hanging out again...I-I mean...if you want to."

"Yeah," I replied with a smile. "I'd like that."

Butterflies fluttered furiously inside of me as I watched him grin at me one last time before pulling away from my house, his rock music carrying into the air of the night until it faded away.

A sudden gust of wind dried the sweat on the back of my neck, and for the first time all day, I felt cold.

✗✗✗