❝The island is ours. Here, in some way, we are young forever.❞ -E. Lockhart

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was darker than she'd expected, even for an early April day.

A raw wind whipped at her shoulders, whistling weakly like a dying cry along the blank expanse of sand before her. To her right lay a deserted boardwalk, a few faded signs perched colorlessly just above the row of low, flat roofs, proclaiming once-bright images of smiling families eating ice cream. The vacant shacks below exuded the subdued aura of tourist attractions outside of their proper element.

Lyndsey shivered, ducking back inside her white Toyota to pull out a University of Miami sweatshirt, tugging it over her head. At first glance, the beach appeared so lonely and deserted that the pessimistic side of her viewed it warily--it was just too uneasily empty not to be housing some low-life characters underneath its shabby exterior.

She walked across the gravel lot, the wind still nipping icily at her bare legs as her flip-flops slapped lamely against the ground. Already the smell of the ocean--strong as ever and bearing a less appealing undercurrent of salt and fish--was drifting into her nose in that subtle manner that sent a rush of summer nostalgia through her chest despite the initial coldness of the day.

Again, she found herself weighing the possibilities of whether or not this may have been a dumb errand. If Nicholas were here--and if she were subsequently able to find him--who knew whether her words would even have any effect? Her conversation with Kale just earlier that day still glowed fresh in her mind--his unbelievable obliviousness to Nicholas and Aria's mildly romantic connection, the way he had brashly announced his relationship with Aria, and the fact that Nicholas had only heard the story through Kale's narrow perspective.

She could see the situation clearly now--Kale, unaware of the deeper empathy between the two, had apparently interpreted Nicholas's words to him as more of a wake-up call for him to respect and subsequently break up with Aria, while Nicholas must have viewed the conversation as a last fatal stab at whatever hope he had left for Aria ever talking to him again.

She shook her head. How could they both be so stupid? Each blamed themselves completely for the rift that had occurred; each thought themselves unworthy of initiating a reconciliation. Nothing would ever be accomplished if this continued, and Aria still wouldn't listen to her, even after all they'd been through over this issue. Where would that girl be without me, Lyndsey thought in disgust.

It didn't occur to her until the next moment that she'd been walking just underneath the edge of the boardwalk for a good thirty minutes, starting where it began and winding her way along the remainder of what appeared to be a path, although windblown sand had heaped into drifts along it since last summer.

The path began to widen out, curving to the left into a road which wound just beyond the boardwalk and down a gravel road toward an array of pastel-colored apartment buildings which bore an appearance imitative of beach houses, yet nevertheless lost a portion of their luxury beneath their shabby shutters and run-down yards.

The beach town was far from empty, she thought, noticing the cars parked at intervals and the few figures moving about. The truth was not that the beach town was unpopulated; the population simply was made up of the folks who had no choice but to stay there even when the summer was over and the vacationing families evacuated, draining the town of its exotic flair and leaving the poorer families who remained to scrape out a living out of a wintered tourist stop.

Her reflections on the feeble surroundings pervaded her mind as she hiked up a short expanse of sand toward the beginning of the next section of boardwalk. Stairs mounted the planked walkway to her left, but she continued walking at the beach level, quickening her pace so she ideally would not be easily picked out on the desolate landscape. The beach itself remained empty of people, no doubt having lost its significance to the regular inhabitants of the town who were accustomed to the regularity of the tide and no longer found much thrill in the cool, salty air.

She continued walking, feeling lonelier than she had ever recalled feeling on a beach, as though the sun had left nothing but heavy clouds and depressing emptiness in its wake. To her left, two scrawny seagulls fought over a Doritos bag.

It was the first faint strains of distant reggae music that alerted her, echoing out in the empty air.

When she saw him, she knew him immediately, despite the fact that they had never before exchanged words. Apart from being apparently the only living thing on the beach for miles, the boy was tall and rather skinny, wearing a tan T-shirt and faded orange floral shorts. His loose brown curly hair was swept back from his face which, despite the coldness of the day, was doused in sweat.

She found herself taking in his bleak surroundings almost as quickly, her eyes traveling over the dilapidated wooden crates holding a multicolored array of fruits, the three beach chairs parked into a makeshift lounge area just beyond. A large bundle of bamboo rods lay nearby for an unexplained reason; the boy at this moment appeared to be removing one of the leather thongs tying the beams together.

He stopped as she approached, their eyes meeting instantly. His eyebrows drew together in mild bewilderment, touched by a hint of recognition, a faint do-I-know-you colliding with the strangeness of a girl standing alone on a cold, undisturbed beach in early spring.

The two stared at each other, each aware of the mutual bizarreness, until Lyndsey finally let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Hey."

He still didn't move, watching her intently as she stepped purposely forward. His eyes flicked to the left, where the row of battered fruit bins lay, holding a variety of fruit that looked remarkably colorful, standing out in sharp contrast against the more dismal surroundings.

Lyndsey folded her arms tightly over her chest, biting her lip against a raw wind that whisked over her face. "I have a question."

"Do you want to buy fruit, or..." He still seemed bewildered by her being there at all, regardless of the fact that she was obviously not a local. Abruptly, he set down the knife he had been holding and got to his feet awkwardly.

"No--no--I mean, well sure, I'll take a mango." She hurriedly shifted her words as his face fell in disappointment.

He smiled, his eyes lighting up with the effects of it. Probing carefully through the bin of orange fruit with a practiced hand, he selected one that was satisfactory. As she waited, he whisked it gently underneath a cold water faucet before handing it to her, along with the knife.

"Thanks," she replied, somewhat impressed, and he smiled, picking one up for himself.

He nodded to the semi-circle formed by the several dilapidated beach chairs half buried in sand.

She agreed, sitting down opposite him and stretching her legs out into the sand which, despite the cold of the day, was warm and toasty. For a moment, she closed her eyes, blocking out the grey light. With only the soft chorus of the ocean breaking in the distance ringing in her ears, it might as well have been a sunny July day on the beach, only with more solitude.

"So," the boy said, crossing his legs and turning down the radio, reducing the static-infused reggae to a faint warble.

"Lyndsey Matzeliger." She said as she quickly peeled the mango, knowing the name would likely mean nothing to him. "I need to talk to you, Nicholas."

His eyebrows furrowed as he squinted at her in further confusion, studying her as though attempting to place her face.

"You haven't, Nicholas," she said. "Or should I call you... Tinkerbell?"

Silence followed her words; Nicholas's eyes widened, his face drifting briefly into a vague shade of white before returning to its original light tan. Knuckles whitening on the armrest of his chair as he gripped it, he leaned forward, suddenly intrigued as the slightest signs of fear flickered in his eyes."How do you know her?" he stuttered out, not bothering to elaborate on his words, as though he could already read the answer in her eyes.

"I'm her best friend," Lyndsey replied, surprised to find herself somewhat enjoying the stunned look on Nicholas's face. "And no, she didn't send me here. I came on my own."

His eyes were wide with alarm.

"That depends," Lyndsey teased, wiping her fingers onto her athletic shorts. "Tell me about you two."

"I--I--we haven't talked in a long time," Nicholas admitted, sounding exceedingly sorry. His eyes averted in embarrassment.

Lyndsey waited, watching him steadily.

"She's an overachiever." Lyndsey rolled her eyes. "I know."

"She'd vent to me about it all the time and I felt annoyed because I--well, I actually He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his palms against the armrests nervously, still not meeting Lyndsey's eyes.

"Maybe you were," Lyndsey answered quietly, "but I think she still blamed herself just as much as you did. She told me that she wasn't considerate to you either--always complaining about her problems and barely acknowledging yours. She admitted to me that she barely knew anything about your life because she never bothered to ask. Everything was always about her."

Nicholas was quiet for a moment, eyelids dropping as he fidgeted nervously with the hem of his T-shirt. His mango lay untouched in his lap and he disregarded it, tightening his lips. "Maybe it's better she didn't know so much about my real life," he murmured, his tone subdued as he glanced around at the dismal surroundings. "There's not much to be proud of here."

A weak sense of regret stirred in her chest, but she shook her head. "Have you tried running a long-term relationship without common honesty? Here's a hint--it doesn't work."

Nicholas didn't say anything.

"Both of you should have just called and apologized to each other." She shook her head. "You were both sorry, but neither of you could admit there was a fault on both sides."

"I didn't feel deserving, though," Nicholas murmured, still winding his T-shirt agitatedly around his finger.

"It's never too late to turn that around, you know," Lyndsey said quietly, eyeing him gently. "You can do better." He didn't look up, his eyelids sinking heavily as he sighed. Lyndsey looked down at her own feet, thinking about the fact that they'd met only five minutes before and now were somehow counseling each other.

"I know," Nicholas finally agreed, straightening back up. "It was Aria who actually inspired me to try harder. Since I stopped talking to her, I've been drowning my loneliness in work... trying to get out of my lull and reach the next wave." His eyes settled rather mournfully on the stack of straw that he had hastily set down on a stack of wood.

"Nothing's too late, Nicholas," Lyndsey repeated.

"It's too late for Aria, though," he mumbled.

"It isn't," she retorted, leaning forward. "Nicholas, she tried to call you the other day."

His head shot up.

"The call couldn't go through." Her eyes settled on Nicholas's as his widened.

"I--I--I'm sorry," he began, his voice hoarse and genuine.

"What happened?" Lyndsey demanded.

"I threw the phone away," he admitted. "Or, rather, just left it where I knew the waves would get it. I just couldn't stand looking at it anymore." He paused.

Lyndsey stared at him, bewildered.

"As soon as I heard from her 'boyfriend,' I knew trying to talk to her again would be a lost cause. I figured she didn't need me; she had Mr. Confident Cabbage Man..." Nicholas pronounced what was apparently his nickname for Kale in a harsh spit.

"Nicholas--"

"I'm serious," he shot back.

"Nicholas, I don't think you understand--"

His voice was rising to a sharp, jarring volume cracked somewhere by some distant emotion that was creeping out from under his control. His words scattered themselves, falling at an uneven rhythm that jarred her.

"She stopped dating Kale!" Lyndsey finally blurted out, alarmed at seeing Nicholas so distraught. "You and Aria just never listen, honestly! It never was a solid relationship--Kale saw a future. She didn't. Trust me, I'm her best friend. I know. I was advocating for them to break up since they started dating three months ago. Kale was never going to work out for her. It just wasn't going to work."

Nicholas stopped, his expression mixed and conflicted, aspects of it displaying shocked relief with confusion.

"She didn't, but Kale was the one who eventually saw it and finally broke it off." Lyndsey paused, clearing her throat. "Aria doesn't like to hurt people, but she doesn't know how to fix it when she does. That's why she was so upset when she thought she hurt you, but she didn't have the guts to call you back. That's why she held back from honesty with Kale even though it was necessary." Lyndsey groaned. "And that's why, if you care about her, you have to reach out to her for her to see it. She's so insecure that she'll assume you hate her unless you show her you care. Back when she tried to call you... she was so stressed about it that she assumed you'd blocked her number or something."

"How could I block her number on a landline?" he stuttered, bewildered.

"Aria's never been one to seriously consider the logic in the situation," Lyndsey responded. "Have you noticed?" She shook her head, leaning forward and holding Nicholas's gaze. "Does she inspire you, Nico? Let her know."

Nicholas gazed sadly around the run-down fruit stand, his eyes settling wearily on the stack of bamboo rods.

"It's never too late, Nicholas," Lyndsey said softly, leaning forward to look him in the eyes. "What do you want from life?"

"I want to leave Kasika," he admitted somewhat regretfully, gazing at his surroundings.

"Why don't you leave, then?" Lyndsey asked.

"It isn't that simple," he said slowly. "My family lives here--it's a little too late to please them, but they expect me to at least hold down my wave here." He gestured widely to the surroundings.

She frowned. "Are there any other dreams you can pursue in the meantime?"

"I was working to fix up the market," he admitted, nodding in the direction of the bamboo rods and a bulky bundle of artificial straw. "It's not much, but it's a start." He hesitated, blushing slightly. "It's just... I wish I could somehow improve myself so Aria doesn't have to see me like... like... this." He gestured weakly to the dismal surroundings.

Lyndsey settled back in her seat, biting her lip thoughtfully. The sweet, tangy flavor of the mango still hovered in her mouth, a fresh sense of life that glowed from the otherwise lifeless place. A hint of newness. The chance to reinvent oneself.

"What other skills do you have, Nicholas?"

"I'm a fruit expert," he hurriedly replied.

She hesitated. "Do you uh... surf?"

He blushed, clearing his throat awkwardly. His gaze shifted upward suddenly, his blue eyes narrowing as though he were communicating silently with the distant ocean. "Tried to learn but didn't have the guts to get out there. None of my friends here had ever tried surfing and weren't learning either; I knew it would just be me out there and I just couldn't do it. I just couldn't." He sighed.

Lyndsey was quiet for a moment.

Nicholas smacked his palm against the armrest. "If only a useless knowledge of fruit could actually get me somewhere in life. Can you imagine that? Welcome to Kasika Beach, home of 'Fine Apple University.'" His voice trembled mockingly.

"I disagree," she spoke up suddenly as a new thought hit her. "Of course you can do something with fruit. There's a place out there for every interest, and I think this could actually work for you."

He stared at her disbelievingly.

"Look at this." She held up her phone, having found what she was looking for in several short maneuvers. "'Charlotte Cruises. Always hiring smoothie smiths.' Keldon Ocean Liner Resorts. Craving juice bar employees. St. Kitts Cruises. In need of smoothie baristas.'"

Nicholas repeated.

She shrugged. "Why not?"

"How qualified would I need to be?" he asked.

She tapped the link to the page, scrolling through the job description. "Friendly, outgoing, decent knowledge of fruit, some cooking or food service experience, inventiveness, cheerful attitude... I think you're qualified, Nick."