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Finally squeaky clean after a real shower, I run the towel through my dark hair and stare at myself in the mirror. Tired, dark circles rim my honey-brown eyes, my naturally tan skin looking a little pale due to lack of sun lately. My eyes wander to the edge of the mirror, where I have photos taped to every available inch.

My fingers trail the lifted edges, grateful but also somewhat wishing that Grams would've gone through this room at some point. My hand stops at a shot of all six of us: Casey, Luke, Jordan, Maya, Brynn and myself, spread out on a picnic blanket in the sand. It was the last week in May of that summer. Too chilly for bathing suits, we wore jeans and tees, basking in the warmth of the sun rays.

We looked so young. I guess tragedy will do that.

I continue until I find what used to be my favorite photo. It's too hard to look at now, despite the fact that I wear the outline engraved around my neck everyday.

Casey and I as small children shot from behind, our arms over each other's shoulders as we sit at the front of our parents boat. I remember every detail vividly in my brain, every minute aspect carved into my memory forever. Something tugs - like a stitch at a wound that's never been fully healed - inside me and I turn from the mirror quickly.

I lay down in bed, wrapped in only my towel, and take in the rest of the room. Stuffed animals of all sorts - bunnies and bears, kittens and anything pink - overflow my bed and the reading chair my grandfather bought for me one birthday.

The band posters are another beast all together. Plastered to every corner of my far wall are pubescent male faces with floppy hair cuts and bright smiles. That'll be an easy fix tomorrow, at least.

Standing, I get changed into some pajamas and unpack the rest of my things. Mom and Dad will be sending me some more, but for now, I'll be fine. Like I told Grams, the plan isn't to be here for very long, anyways.

Just long enough to get some space. From Mom and Dad and all of their questions - why did I drop out with just one year left? What on earth will I do now? What am I thinking - am I thinking at all? And the one I know they'll never say but must run through their minds at least once a day... why am I not more like Casey?

Running my finger over the engraved locket resting just below my collarbone, I lay back in my comforter and do my best to get some sleep.

***

My cell alarm stuns me awake bright and early. Grams likes to watch the sun rise with her tea, I remember that well. We'd do it together often, cherishing the time as ours, before everyone else woke up and interrupted our peace.

As quietly as I can, I get everything ready - an English tea for her, green tea for me, and some of the little crackers that she likes with it. But as I step into her sunroom, I can see that she's still beat me to it.

She opens her eyes when I enter, raising her hands to rub my arm as I walk by. Placing the platter between us, I hand Grams her tea and take a slow sip of mine.

"I'll be earlier tomorrow." I promise.

"You don't have to be," She shakes her head. "I'm serious, Dylan. I don't need all this fuss,"

"Someone your age can't be getting concussions." I raise my brows at her over the rim of my mug.

"'Someone my age,' oh hush," She pushes my knee with her bony fingers. "I suggested you come out here to your parents because I thought it'd be good for you."

I suppose I knew this conversation would come. As my grandmother I guess she has a right to be concerned that my life plan has done a complete flip-flop. Still, it's too early to get into it all right now.

"I think so, too." I agree peacefully. "It'll give me time to think."

"About?" Grams isn't subtle, even when she thinks she is. I grin as she stirs sugar into her tea, trying for casual.

"Everything." I inhale the salty smell of the ocean, feeling the fresh air already beginning to clear my head.

"Your mom said you don't have many friends." Grams says quietly, placing a hand over mine in a sweet, but somehow still pitying way.

Sighing, I roll my head back against the wicker chair. "Mom should mind her business. Everything is just how I like it."

Even if it is a bit lonely.

"This place is fun for the young people."

I can't help but laugh. "The young people? Grams, now who's aging yourself?"

"I'm serious, Dylan Grace. You're young - you've got to live before you're old like me and everyone's fussing over you all of the time."

"Everyone's fussing over me now," I point out, over squeezing my lemon slice into the steamy beverage.

"Hush. Just think about it - Luke was a good friend to you and-"

I interrupt her by shaking my head. "Don't." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and soften my tone. "Please, don't, Grams. Okay?"

With a reluctant nod of her greying head, Grams lets the subject drop. "What's on the agenda for today?"

Grateful for the change in topic, I perk up. "I'm actually going to go job hunting. Know of anywhere looking?"

Grams shrugs. "Not that I can remember - but town hall has that board, you remember."

I do, it had been my original plan to check there first. We finish our tea in silence, watching the sun come through the clouds in beautiful, bright rays. As the beams warm the sunroom, Grams grabs some yarn from her basket and begins to knit.

Taking her cue, I head upstairs to get ready for my day of job searching, hoping to remain as invisible in this small town as possible.

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