The Summer We Believed (Denim Days #1)

Day 6 -- Melody

Poor Duncan. He left more than an hour ago.

I'd only met his Aunt, Uncle and cousins twice before. Once when they came up to the lake for a day when we were still in elementary school. That time didn't make much of an impression on me. Then, two years ago, I rode down to Duluth with them for Duncan's annual visit.

"I don't understand why you only visit them once a year," I'd said to him when he invited me that time. "Minneapolis isn't that far from Duluth."

"Once you meet them, you will."

After the visit, I knew why. They were hard people to love.

Poor me. What'll I do for a whole day? I could've gone with them if I pushed a little, but I'd said, okay, when Duncan suggested I stay. The reason I agreed? Maybe he regretted kissing me. Maybe he needed some time away.

Still, I wished he was here, because without him around, I couldn't stop dwelling on that kiss. Sometimes that was nice, other times I tortured myself by asking what was that, anyway? Did he get caught up in the perfection of the moment? Sure, Duncan had kissed a lot of girls. That being the understatement of the century. He'd given me a friendly peck before too. But never a kiss like that. Soft and—what was that the passed between us? It definitely wasn't brotherly.

Love?

Did he slip up and forget it was me? Just Mel. His best friend-slash-twin. That must be it. It was the only explanation—the only possible one—for something so extraordinarily out of character.

I shouldn't be thinking there was any more to it than that. I really shouldn't think it meant he feels about me like I feel about him. But he held my hand on the way home.

Stop it! Don't be ridiculous.

I slipped in my earbuds and hit shuffle on my iPod. Let's see what the universe wants me to hear. The new release by Izzy was the first song, and I cranked the volume. Love all his songs except that one about travel. That one was vacuum-cleaner sucky.

The music played on, and every random song spoke to how I was feeling about Duncan, about his move, about us. When "Carry this Picture" played, my eyes stung, thinking about the photos we took yesterday. I was so lost, but now, I believe. I blinked fast, one-two-three times, to hold back the tears. While the song played, I googled the distance between the U and Florida Atlantic. Almost two thousand miles. Could he get any further away?

There was a sharp rap on the door as the song ended, and Mom inched in until she could edge herself onto the corner of my bed. I tugged one of the earbuds out.

"We haven't seen much of you today. Everything okay?" Mom pushed her bangs, which were the exact same shade as my hair, out of her eyes.

I shrugged. There was nothing to say.

"I saw Duncan holding your hand on the way home last night. Anything you want to talk about?"

I used the blinking trick again, but this time one teardrop betrayed me – traitor! –and leaked out. I tried to brush it away nonchalantly with my fingertips.

"Honestly, I'm not trying to pry, but Duncan's your best friend, and I figure this is probably one of those times when he's not the right person to talk to."

There was no one to talk to. If it were any thing other than Duncan, there'd be someone. The girls we hung out with were great, but they'd all been in love with Duncan at one point or another, whether that was sixth grade or last year. Not the most comforting shoulders to cry on. Besides, talking about your best friend-slash-crush felt like betraying him.