I just couldn't do it.

I just couldn't be there and watch him perving over those other girls; looking at them all and wondering which one had kissed him while I walked around with my secret.

I wanted to go to bed before an actual headache did set in, but, to be nice, I sat in my lounge with Jarrod for a while, and listened to him talk about tech stuff. After an hour or so of hearing about the 'dark web'—this invisible secret part of the internet where you can hire hit men—I told him I was tired, and we said an awkward goodbye. I think he might have been expecting a kiss, or maybe a lingering hug because it was one of those goodbyes that didn't ever seem to get to the 'bye' part.

Jarrod wasn't a bad guy. In fact, he was interesting and certainly kind and considerate, but I knew I would never like him in that way. When I compared him to Connor, which is what I did with everyone, he didn't even come close. But no one would ever come close to Connor. And therein lay the massive problem of my life!

Once Jarrod had gone, I walked into my room and immediately changed, putting my Welcome to Bermuda shirt back on. I stood in front of the mirror and looked at this version of myself—the mascara lashed, pink cheeked, sticky lip-glossed thing. She looked pretty, I must say. But she wasn't going to be coming out again anytime soon either. I grabbed a handful of tissues and started wiping the make-up off my face. But within seconds, it became pretty obvious that dry tissues would not work. What does one remove make up with for heave sake?

I stared at my Bermuda shirt and wished I was there, sitting under the palms, watching the sunset—I wished I was anywhere else right now. Everything felt like it was closing in on me. The thing I could always rely on for stability now felt shaky. Connor. Our relationship had always been the one constant in my life. The one thing that never changed, the one thing I could always lean on for support, but lately, it was different.

For starters, I'd never lied to him before and it was killing me. Secondly, he seemed so preoccupied with this hunt for the mystery kisser that he just wasn't there—even when he was there. The more distant and obsessed he became, the more he seemed to slip through my fingers, not that he was ever in my hands in the first place, but any possibility of an 'us' seemed to be dying a fast death. And the more I lied to him and didn't tell him the truth, the more I closed up and pulled away. Lies change everything. My stomached knotted up again. I hoped this wasn't something that was going to end so badly that it would destroy our friendship—Ughh. I needed to distract myself.

I sat down at my computer and flipped it open—Time for some travel planning.

When my grandparents had died they'd left my sister and I some money and, unlike Mckenzie, I'd invested mine and it had grown enough to cover a whole year of travel. So, for the last year, I'd been planning my trip around the world. I'd already told my parents that I wanted to take a gap year before going to college. My mother had freaked out—obviously—but my dad thought it was a good idea.

At one stage Connor and I had talked about going together, but that felt completely off the cards now. Besides, he was probably going to win the tennis tournament next week, get some fancy scholarship to a university out of state, and go on to become some hot, famous tennis player.

The only thing that had stopped me from actually booking the trip had been Connor, that slight possibility that he would come with me, but after tonight, after all that had happened this week....maybe I needed some time away from him, instead of living with the daily torture of having my heart broken over and over again.

For too long now, I'd been closing myself off to any other relationship that might come my way. I pictured myself at thirty, without a partner because I'd been hopelessly waiting for Connor my entire life? He was never going to come.

I opened my travel folder and added Bermuda to the list of countries I now wanted to visit. My proposed trip started in South America and then on to Europe. Now, with the new addition of Bermuda, I needed to sit down and replan my route. After that, I needed to book it. It was going to take a lot of planning to book all the flights, and train trips around Europe and make a list of all the things I wanted to see.

My heart simultaneously soared and shuddered at the thought. I'd always wanted to leave this sterile environment behind and travel the world, but...a year? A year without Connor? That was a long time.

By the time I returned, Connor might have found some amazing, beautiful girl. But maybe, and this is what I was hoping for, maybe after a year of absence, I could finally cure myself of this Connor obsession. Maybe in a year's time he would be a distant memory, the guy I once hung out with...and loved.

I spent a few hours planning my new route, doing some more research on South America and listing the places I wanted to see. I wanted to do the Inca trail, and explore the Amazon. I wanted to see the salt flats in Bolivia and Carnival in Brazil. As for Europe, I wanted to see it all. I wanted to swim in the Aegean sea, drink hardcore espresso on the cobbled streets of Rome. Run up the Eiffel tower, get lost in Barcelona and then scare myself shitless on one of those famous Dracula tours through Romania. When my eyes felt blurry and tired and I couldn't keep them open anymore, I closed my computer and realized how tired I was. The second my head hit the pillow, I passed out.

**

I woke up the next morning to at least five messages from Connor and one from Jarrod.

I moved to open one of Connor's messages, but decided against it. For some reason I didn't want to read his message—any of them. That morning I just felt pissed. Genuinely pissed off at him, which was a very unfamiliar feeling. I was pissed off with Connor and his obsession to find this girl, and was shuddering when my imagination ran wild about what could have happened last night in my absence. So I wasn't interested in reading a message from him right now. Instead, I looked at the message from Jarrod, opening it tentatively hoping it wasn't what I suspected it might be.

Hope you're feeling better. Last night was really fun. We should do it again soon. X

Crap, I'd clearly given him the wrong message. I'd said friends. I'd said it, but I know what it's like. You always hear what you want to hear and discard the rest—Shit!

I tossed my phone and made my way down to breakfast, where, as usual, I was greeted by some sloppy stuff that looked and smelt like wet soil. My dad wandered down after me, took one look at my mom's latest concoction, and turned to me.

"Sadie. Come, we're going out for breakfast."

As my father and I exited, my mother and sister, who were both spooning up the slush, shot us disapproving looks, especially McKenzie.

When we got outside, my dad threw me his car keys. "Drive?"

I looked at him tentatively. I'd never driven his car before; it was just way too intimidating. It was a large, flashy Porsche and I was scared it would fly the second I touched the accelerator.

"Come on," he urged. "We'll put the top down and feel the wind in our hair." I laughed at that, since my dad was completely bald. He smiled at me and I climbed in, making sure to strap on my seat belt. When I turned the key, the beast roared to life. I swear I could feel the molecules in the air around us vibrate and as soon as I'd put my foot on the accelerator the car jumped forward at an unbelievable speed—Okay. This was exhilarating.

I turned to my dad with a smile. "Wow."

"Tell me about it," he said.

It didn't take long for me to get the hang of driving it. It was just a matter of having a soft touch. When I got comfortable and gave it a little more speed, my father turned to me and we both laughed. I've always been close to my dad (McKenzie is the mama's girl). And we did this from time to time, drove out to the local pancake and waffle place and shovelled sugar into our faces until we felt sick. That morning, we ordered extra bacon with our pancakes and laughed about what mom would say if she saw us eating it. Then we laughed even more when we drowned our feast in syrup until it looked like our pancakes were basically floating in a river of sticky gold liquid.

"So have you booked your trip yet?" My dad asked.

"I was looking at more places last night, so I have a bit more planning to do before I'm ready to book." My mouth was so full at this point that I wondered if he'd even understood that sentence.

Suddenly, my dad leant forward and placed his hand over mine. "I hope that's the only thing stopping you from booking." His look was so obviously loaded that I almost choked on my pancake—God, does he know too? This was so embarrassing.

"What do you mean?"

"I just mean that I hope a certain guy isn't going to stop you from following your dreams." My dad squeezed my hand and then went back to his pancakes. "You have to do this, Sadie. You've been talking about it for years, and, if you don't go, you'll regret it."

I nodded. I knew he was right, but that didn't make it any easier.

"If it's meant to be it will be," he said with a smile as he returned to his own syrupy pile.

I ignored the cliché and suddenly wondered what he and Mom's story was. I'd never asked how they'd gotten together. God, I couldn't even imagine them as young people in love. I just thought of them as adults. As moms and dads.

"Like you and mom?" I asked. My mom and dad had been high school sweethearts, and that's really all I knew.

My dad smiled again. "I went away to college for four whole years and we still got together after all that. In fact, it was good for us to have that break. We both matured a lot. If we'd gotten married right out of high school, I can guarantee you, it wouldn't have lasted. We needed that time apart to grow into our own people."

My father looked at me pointedly. He knew. He totally knew how I felt about Connor and this was his message to me. I nodded at him, but couldn't help feeling the stab in my gut when I thought about it.

"Trust me, sweetheart" he repeated, "'if it's meant to be, it will be. Besides, there're millions of other fish in the sea if it isn't."

I looked back down at my pancake and pushed my fork though the pool of syrup. There might be a million fish in the sea, but there was only one for me.