Free Sing by Vivi Greene

“Well, I hope you didn’t tell her what a terrible driver I am,” I say lightly.
    â€œI sure did,” he says. “I also told her you were a pretty solid first mate.”
    I sneak another glance at him, trying to fight back a smile. “I can live with that.”
    Noel looks at me for another long moment, like he wants to say something else. But instead of speaking, he hops up to his feet, hooks two fingers in his mouth, and whistles loudly. “Let’s go, you lunatic,” he calls to Murphy, who sprints toward us, my flip-flop still clenched in his jaws.
    â€œGive the lady back her shoe,” Noel orders, and amazingly, the dog obeys, dropping it onto the sand between my feet.
    â€œWow. You really have him trained.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t believe the money I spend on treats,” he says. “He’s got expensive taste. Only organic.”
    I scratch behind Murphy’s ears. “It was nice to meet you,” I say as the dog licks me one last time.
    â€œThe pleasure is all his,” Noel says gallantly. “Glad to see you’re keeping off the roads.”
    I hug my sweater tighter. “Strictly pedestrian,” I vow.
    He taps the outside of his dark jeans and startswalking, Murphy skipping behind him to keep up. He’s almost to the water when he turns around and cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey! Can I ask you something?” he calls out.
    â€œSure!” I yell back.
    â€œWould you want to maybe hang out sometime?”
    Before I can help myself, I’m laughing, harder than I have in a long time. Partially because it’s so unexpected, and I’m not sure how else to respond, but also because I’ve just spent the night in the sand and a guy I barely know is yelling at me on a beach. And for some stupid, misguided, and all-too-familiar reason, I don’t want him to stop. Murphy runs back and sniffs my ankles, and Noel follows.
    â€œSorry,” he says. “I thought it might be easier that way, in case you said no.”
    â€œOkay,” I say, regaining my composure and standing up at last.
    â€œ Okay , you want to hang out?”
    â€œSure,” I say, even though everything rational in me knows it’s the opposite of what I should be saying. The opposite of why I’m here. The last thing I need to do. “Why not?”
    â€œCool.” He smiles, wrinkling the corners of his crystal-blue eyes. “Like, at a reasonable hour, maybe?” He points to my pajamas. “You could wear real clothes.”
    â€œI’d like that.”
    Noel nods, as if still convincing himself that I actually said yes. “Right. Okay. So we’ll hang out.”
    â€œWe’ll hang out.”
    We stand there, sort of awkwardly nodding at each other for a second, until I remember my journal in the pocket of my sweater. “Here,” I say, handing him a pen. “Write down your number.”
    He scribbles it sideways in the margins of a blank page. “Just, you know. Don’t go passing it around,” he fake-whispers. “I’m trying to keep a low profile.”
    â€œScout’s honor,” I promise.
    He holds up his hand in that same lazy wave and calls to Murphy again. They run back along the water toward the faraway cluster of houses. I watch as they get smaller, bobbing alongside the coastline, turning the bend and disappearing around the point. I gather my things and head back up the path, shaking my head.
    Here we go again.

10
    80 Days Until Tour
    June 24th
    WHEN I GET home I curl up in bed, and though I’m sure it will never happen, I manage to get some more sleep. I wake up slowly a few hours later, and as the hazy memories of those early morning hours start to come back, I’m gripped by an intense game of emotional tug-of-war.
    Part of me loves it—the familiar, fuzzy aftershock of meeting someone new. It feels like I’ve been stalling, my batteries running