The Epic Romance of the Sassy, Dorky... Badass Superspies.

Day Eight

August 24th, 2019

12:07 am.

After a long day of driving, we arrive in Penzance, Cornwall. It's dark out, but the town looks quaint. I hope we can still get a hotel room, even if it is this late. Instead, Ezekiel parks next to the beach. There's a long stretch of sand, what I think is just outside of town. There's a few streetlamps, but the open ocean is a mystery. I know it's there, but I can't see it. Ezekiel slings his backpack across his shoulders, and hops out of the car. I do the same, happy to finally stretch my legs for once in twelve hours.

He takes my hand and helps me down the rocky ledge, and onto the beach.

It brings back painful memories of my home, even though it's so different at the same time. There are no trees overhanging along the beach, only sand.

And I'm freezing.

This isn't a tropical beach.

I fall onto the sand, letting out a scream. I don't care who hears me, because I can't see anyone around. I pull off my Converse, and let my toes sift through the sand.

I haven't touched sand in five years.

I run along the beach, dancing like a child. I'm spinning, my arms in the air. I'm letting out a scream.

Ezekiel laughs.

I fall back onto the sand, finally hearing the ocean for the first time. It's loud, but relaxed.

I sit up, shaking the sand out of my hair.

Ezekiel walks over to me, throwing some driftwood on the ground, and pulls a blanket out of his bag. I grab it from him before he can spread it out, and wrap it around me.

He pulls a lighter out of his backpack, and lights the driftwood on fire.

His face, illuminated in flames, is smiling. Proud of himself.

Lionel wouldn't have needed a lighter, I thought. But Ezekiel created a fire nonetheless.

He sighs, sitting back on the sand.

"Hey, are you going to share that blanket?"

I groan, and scoot in next to him, wrapping it around his shoulders.

He pulls his arm out to take off his backpack, and take something out of it.

It's a bottle.

It's wrapped in a bow.

I don't know what to say.

He pops the cork off with his thumb and it starts to bubble over.

He hands it to me. "Happy birthday."

"I-I- how did you- I never told you when my birthday is..."

He grins mischievously.

"Well, your file includes vital information that I had to analyze before working with you. For instance: birthdate- August 24th, 2000."

He looks so proud of himself.

I hand the bottle back to him. "You can have the first sip."

"Well, if you insist."

He takes a long sip from the bottle, and then passes it to me.

I stick it in the sand, staring at it.

"But... I'm underage."

"Oh, come on, Nat. It's just champagne. And you aren't underage. Today's your birthday. You're nineteen."