where the water meets the moon | e.d.

thirty-nine

addy

the walk to the souvenir shop is pleasant, actually.

kendall is genuinely so sweet, and i find myself talking to her about our favorite movies and learned that we have a couple in common.

ethan walks by her side, staring down at his phone the entire time. cress is simply busy messing with his camera.

"ethan, you haven't been taking pictures. what happened? when you got this thing you wouldn't stop?" she mumbles, pointing it at a palm tree.

he doesn't respond due to his eyes being glued down to his phone. kendall nudges him, and he looks up quickly.

"sorry." he pockets the phone. "it's the first time i've been able to get service in like, three months."

and that is true. to be honest, my phone is somewhere up in the hotel room under a bunch of clothes. i don't really like my it anymore, and i haven't since my sophomore year of high school.

"so... the pictures?" she asks expectantly, holding the camera out in her hand.

"oh. yeah. i don't know."

and suddenly kendall's eyes light up. "we should get the ones you already have developed! i'm sure there's a place somewhere around here where—"

"no, i don't think we should," he quickly cuts her off.

and i think i know why.

half of those pictures are of me, and if i was kendall and saw them, i'd be a little put off too.

i stay quiet as we approach the small shop, admiring the mexican cultural decorations out front. when we enter the door, a small bell rings above the door which causes me to look up.

the shop is filled with little knickknacks with basic names engraved on them, surfboards, volleyballs, sunglasses, tanning lotion, keychains, etc.

cress immediately sets off to admire the printed shirts and ethan and kendall start to talk about the sunglasses that would frame her face the best.

so that's left me to be by myself and awkwardly walk off to a corner of the shop and pretend to be interested in skimboards.

i'm humming to myself, admiring the beautiful designs on them when i hear a door close.

i look up to see a guy about my age carrying a large box, clearly struggling with it. his skin is tanned and his hair is dark and messy on his forehead. i would guess he's hispanic, but i'm not totally sure.

some sweat beads on his hairline as he carries the heavy box past me and to the door in the back of the store.

"oh!" i exclaim, rushing to open it for him. "let me get that."

he sets the box down, and wipes his forehead with a smile. "gracias."

i took french in high school, but still manage to say you're welcome in spanish back to him. his eyebrows jump up at my shaky, tentative voice and he laughs.