I started to realize how much I really liked him the day he convinced me to skip Early American Lit to go to the beach with him.

I never skipped class.

Ever.

But I wanted to be with him more than I wanted to be with my books, so I hopped in his car and rode down to the water with him.

Neither of us were dressed for the beach—

I was dressed for class—

but we took off our sneakers, rolled our pants up high and walked down along the water’s edge.

He said I reminded him of a song he knew—

“Will you meet me down on a sandy beach?

We can roll up our jeans

so the tide won’t get us below the knees.”

—

Tonight we were sitting there again, waiting for the sun to set, and he got up to walk to the water, and he was standing in front of me with his tattoos and his wiry hair and his bluejeaneyes and his Levi’s—all in exactly the same place they’d been so many years before

and I thought

“This is what DESTINY feels like.”