Dead & Gone (DARAGON)

16 candles make a lovely light

Patrick and I stayed in that field the rest
of the afternoon. Didn't talk much.
Mostly just soaked up the chilly
November sun, stretched out side by
side, and watched the clouds pass
overhead.

"Poodle," said Patrick, pointing at a big
fluffy one right above us.

I snorted. "Are you blind? That is the
least poodle-looking cloud I have ever
seen."

"Wow. That's harsh, Cream Cheese,
real harsh."

"It is so obviously a rabbit," I said,
rolling my eyes. "I mean, COME ON."

The hours passed. We watched the
skaters ride by, their underwear in full
view from where their jeans were
hanging off their butts. We watched all
the nannies pushing strollers with little
kids and their three-pound Chihuahuas
dressed in fancier coats than anything I
had ever owned.

Still, even with all the distractions, my
dumb head kept pulling me back to
Jacob. I thought about all of the endless
summer days he and I had spent together
in this very park. Just hanging out.

Playing cards. Falling asleep all
wrapped up together. Waking up to feel
his lips touching mine.

Will this ever stop hurting so much?

Patrick didn't have a snarky retort for
that one. Maybe he was finally staying
out of my head like I'd told him to, or
maybe he knew I wouldn't like his
answer.

Gradually, the day fell away. Fog rolled
in from Sonoma Coast and the sun began
its slow decent over the bay.

"I'm afraid it's that time of day, lil'
lady," said Patrick, stretching. He stood
up and brushed off his jeans.

"Time for what? I'm not going
anywhere. I'm sleeping in the park
tonight."

"Like hell you are." He laughed. "Oh,
don't be such a party pooper."
He grabbed my arm, whipped me up
lightning quick, and I felt that familiar
crackling of electricity underneath my
ballet flats.

"Not this again," I groaned, squeezing
my eyes shut.

We shot up like a firecracker, and I
could feel the earth falling away beneath
me. I didn't open my eyes. I'd rather not
know how high up we were.

You're never going to get better at this,
Angel, if you don't take a look around
once in a while.

Ugh, okay, fine.

I cracked an eye open. And got
confirmation that yes, in fact, we were
ten thousand feet up in the air. "Don't
you dare drop me," I growled through
clenched teeth.

Patrick zoomed the two of us right out of
the park and back in the direction of
Slice.

Or so I thought.

When our feet touched down an instant
later, I felt sand fill my shoes, all toasty
from an afternoon spent baking in the
sun. Even in November, the sand stayed
warm. That's California for you.

I recognized the cliff faces—tall,
majestic—and the way the surf rolled
back from the shoreline and broke into
perfect, parallel lines of white water. I
knew these wildflowers by heart, little
orange, red, and lavender petals dancing
in the ocean air, and the way they stuck
up in funny places like in between rocks
and underneath seashells.

This was Mavericks. This was the place
I'd come a thousand times growing up.
One of my most favorite spots in Half
Moon Bay. The beach where Jacob had
taken me on so many dates, and where
we'd snuck back with a sleeping bag the
last night of summer. Mavericks was the
place where he had chased me into the
waves and kissed me under three
shooting stars, one right after another.
Where he'd really, truly stolen my heart.