a word. “If you can make it through a visit with Laura, I won’t make another argument against you staying,” Paul Michael told me finally.
The best part about the Jersey shore is that more than half the people in Jersey – a rough estimation – have a shore house, which means that your school friends end up only a couple blocks over from you in the summer. But more importantly, it gives your summer romances a chance to continue when you get back to school. And that’s what Greg and I did three years ago. . . well, four, now I guess. What started as a couple late nights on the boardwalk, going into our sophomore year of high school, lasted through senior prom and graduation.
It could have lasted forever if I hadn’t gone to the boardwalk on my last night.
Greg’s house was too tropical for the shore. The siding was a bright Turks and Caicos turquoise, with the scalloped shutters of a doll house. It stood starkly out of place with the reserved houses but felt more welcoming than the rest. Paul Michael stood on the sea-glass mosaic stepping stones leading up to Greg’s house with a look of concentration on his face.
“What are you doing?”
“Shhh,” Paul Michael hissed. I continued to stare at him until he cracked one eyelid in my direction. “I’m using the law of attraction. By putting out energy, I can get Greg to come outside.”
“You’re kidding me.”
The front door opened.
After a year in the afterlife, seeing Greg was like coming home. I was filled with relief at the sight of his curly hair, unruly as always, sticking up from all angles. The instinct to smooth it down was itching inside me. For a fleeting second, I felt alive again. Until, of course, I remembered that Greg couldn’t see me.