All I Need

  For Regina Hayes

  who believed in me from the beginning

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty–one

  twenty–two

  twenty–three

  twenty–four

  twenty–five

  twenty–six

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter Title Songs

  one

  Skye

  bring on the night

  “SOMETHING’S GOING to happen tonight,” Adrienne says. “I can feel it.”

  It would be awesome if she was right. We’ve been coming to this beach party for seven years. Nothing ever happens.

  When summer is shiny and new and filled with possibility, I always hope that it will be the summer when I’ll meet him. The boy who will connect with me like no one else ever has. The boy who will change my life forever.

  But summer is almost over. The same sadness that always overwhelms me near the end is making my heart heavy.

  We walk down the steps from the boardwalk onto the beach. This annual party that my parents and their friends throw isn’t exactly a party. It’s more like an excuse to sit around a big seafood cookout in the pit and gorge yourself. After it gets dark, there’s a bonfire where you can toast marshmallows. The rest of the time I’m making small talk with people twice my age or trying to entertain the little kids.

  There are never any cute boys. But that doesn’t stop me from hoping this time will be different.

  “I can’t believe school starts in two weeks,” Adrienne groans.

  “No school talk on the beach,” I demand. “This is a happy place. Only happy thoughts allowed.” I’ve been trying to avoid all the back-to-school displays in town. Whenever I’m ambushed by one of those annoying ads in a magazine, I quickly flip the page before reality sinks in. My determination to make the most of every last second of summer is fierce.

  Adrienne and I head over to the crowd with our flip-flops flinging sand around. I’ll find sand in everything—my bag, my drawers, even my books—way after we pack up the summer house and go back home. I’m not looking forward to the day when all the sand is gone.

  My parents are sitting together on a blanket. They’re staring out at the ocean, Mom leaning against Dad, still happy to be married after twenty-one years. That’s all I need. To find a soul mate to share my life with. To have a love so epic it will never die.

  Adrienne’s little brother runs right at her. He slams into her legs. Adrienne dramatically pretends to be tackled, sprawling back on the sand with her arms splayed out. Dustin thinks this is the most hysterical thing ever.

  “Come on, you rugrat,” she says. “Let’s go husk some corn.”

  Before my parents’ friends start coming up to me with their boring questions, I take a minute to watch the ocean. It’s all sparkly in the evening light. Diamonds of sunlight shimmer way into the distance. I stare at the horizon, trying to find the farthest sunlight diamond. Something makes me look away.

  A boy is staring at me.

  He’s sitting on one of the logs circling the pit. I’ve never seen him before. I would definitely remember.

  It takes me a few seconds to realize that I’m staring back at him. I can’t help smiling a little.

  He smiles back.

  I turn away, feeling like an idiot. Maybe Adrienne was right. Maybe something really will happen tonight. Why couldn’t I be rocking something sexier than my standard oversized tee/cutoffs/flip-flops look?

  “Did you know Zenyattà Mondatta is a portmanteau?” someone says behind me. I know it’s him even before I turn back around.

  “What?” I say.

  The boy who was staring points at my shirt.

  “Oh.” I look down at the vintage Police concert tee. “This is my dad’s old shirt.”

  “Are you into the Police?”

  “They’re okay.”

  “They’re okay? Have you heard the Police?”

  “Only when my dad plays them.”

  “We’ll have to fix that.”

  A zing of adrenaline shoots through me.

  “Are you, like, a Police superfan?” I ask.

  “They were musical geniuses,” he says. “I’m into lots of eighties music. And some late-seventies stuff. That’s when the best music was made. The overplayed crap everyone listens to now is meaningless.”

  This boy is intense. And he’s striking in a way I’ve never really seen before. His eyes are pale green like sea glass, like you could see right into his soul. His straight, clean-cut brown hair makes me notice his eyes even more. He’s about five ten with the kind of medium build I’m into. I even like what he’s wearing—green Vans, cargos, and a plain white T-shirt.

  “I’m Seth,” he says.

  “I’m Skye.”

  “Do you live around here?”

  “Just for the summers. Our house is up there.” I point to the hill where my house sits next door to Adrienne’s. Adrienne and I met the summer my parents bought our house when we were both nine. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have a summer friend the same exact age right next door. People even say we look like sisters. Which is an exaggeration. We both have long, wavy, honey-blonde hair, but mine’s darker. And our eyes are different shades of blue. Still, I think of Adrienne as my summer sister. “What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m . . . staying with my dad.”

  When Seth takes a drink from his Coke bottle, I notice his friendship bracelets. He has a bunch of them in all different patterns and colors. His watch is one of those big ones with an extra-wide band. It looks really good with the friendship bracelets.

  “I love your friendship bracelets,” I say. Then I brace myself for Seth to tell me that his girlfriend made them.

  “Thanks. My cousin Jade made these at camp. She sends me new ones every summer.”

  That. Is adorable.

  “Wait,” I say, remembering. “What’s a . . . portmanteau?”

  “A blend of other words. I forget which words went into Zen-yattà Mondatta. Pretty sure Zen was one of them.”

  It’s so weird that Seth just said Zen. Adrienne and I were talking about her new feng shui book on the way here. She wants to redecorate her room with pairs of things against the southern wall. That’s supposed to bring love into your life. I totally forgot about Adrienne until now. We’re the only people we actually want to hang out with at this thing. She must be ready to kill me. But when my eyes find hers in the crowd and I give her an apologetic look, it’s clear she’s stoked that I’m talking to Seth. She gives me a thumbs-up, then points at me “get it, girl” style. I hope she meets someone tonight, too.

  This annoying lady who has the most outrageous estate on the hill swoops in to air-kiss a mom trying to get her two little kids to stop running around her in circles.

  “Celia!” Annoying Lady shrieks. “How are you?”

  “A bit frazzled at the moment,” Celia says, pointing out the obvious.

  “We must do lunch before you leave. It’s been ages.”

  “Well, I’m not really available for lunch these days.”

  “Why’s that?” Annoying Lady looks confused. Like the thought that a mom could be raising her kids without a nanny never occurred to her.

  Seth moves closer to me. “Why do people always do that?”
he says.

  “Pretend not to live in reality with the rest of us?”

  “That. And ask how you are when they have no interest in hearing it.”

  “I know,” I say. “It’s like people are afraid to be real.” Even as I’m saying it, I know Seth is different.

  I already know he’s the real thing.

  two

  Seth

  only in dreams could it be this way

  I DIDN’T want to come to this beach cookout thing. I’d rather be hiding out back at my dad’s.

  But then I see her.

  She’s coming down the steps from the boardwalk with another girl. I can’t take my eyes off her. Which is weird, considering that exactly zero girls have caught my attention since my heart was ripped out, stomped on, and shoved back in my chest with dirt and twigs stuck all over it. But this girl . . . Do I know her from somewhere? I feel like I’ve met her before. And not just because she’s beautiful. If you could turn summer into a girl, she’s how it would look. Shiny blonde hair. Cute cutoff shorts. Tan from chilling at the beach all summer.

  Dude. She’s wearing a Police tour shirt.

  A part of me that’s been comatose since my heart was destroyed wakes up.

  When she looks at me with those unreal sky-blue eyes, I know that everything is about to change.

  Nick snaps his fingers in front of my face. “She’s hot,” he confirms. “But she must be crazy. She obviously wants you.”

  My dad went to high school with Nick’s dad. They grew up in Stirling, a town in New Jersey not too far from West Orange, where I’m from. I met Nick when we went over to his place for dinner a few days ago. His house is one of those massive McMansions way up on the hill. Sea Bright has an interesting socioeconomic diversity dynamic. There are all these extravagant houses up on the hill, not that far from a bunch of ramshackle beach houses down below. As if the delineation of wealth weren’t painfully clear enough, a stream divides the two areas. Most of the beach houses down here look like they’d be reduced to a clattering pile of boards in a strong wind. The hill houses are oriented so that their enormous windows provide sweet views of the ocean. Their picture windows look like faces in a movie theater, all turned toward the screen.

  Nick is okay. I feel like less of a loser having someone to hang out with on the beach and stuff. Nick’s the one who told me about this party. I didn’t have anything better to do. So here I am.

  With her.

  I have to know who she is.

  “Go for it, man,” Nick encourages when I get up. Like I even remotely have a chance. But I can’t help it. My body and mind are in throwdown mode. Logic is not winning this battle.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  I walk over to her in a trance. Words come out of my mouth. I have no idea what they are, but she’s talking back. We’re apparently having some sort of conversation.

  She says her name is Skye. When she points out that one of those gigantic houses on the hill is hers, I do not point out my dad’s ramshackle hut.

  “Want to go for a walk?” I blurt. I need to get out of here. I don’t want her to see how awkward I am around people with money. This party seems to be all hill people. Including the shrill lady next to us who won’t shut up.

  “Absolutely,” Skye says.

  We walk along the ocean’s edge. Skye takes her flip-flops off and holds them so she can walk in the water. I try not to stare at her legs.

  “The moon is so pretty,” she says. “Look how it’s right next to that star.”

  “That’s actually Venus.”

  “It is?”

  “Yeah. It’s brighter than any star we can see right now. And the moon’s a waxing gibbous. A quality phase. But my favorite phase is waning crescent.”

  “Why?”

  “It looks like the moons we drew in elementary school.” If only I could go back. Not crazy far back to elementary school. Just back to last year. I wish I could start over again knowing what I know now. I never would have given Chloe that stuffed bear for Valentine’s Day. He looked so innocent at the time with his fluffy white fur and satin red bow. But he was an instigator. An evil, fluffy instigator.

  “Sometimes I miss how simple life used to be,” Skye says.

  “Totally. When did everything get so complicated?”

  “I know, right? The highlight of my day was playing cat’s cradle with my friends at recess. Now it’s like some days I can’t even breathe.”

  “Most days I have to remind myself to breathe.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m kind of neurotic. A common affliction among artists.”

  “You’re an artist?”

  “More like a wannabe artist. I mostly mess around with mixed-media collages.”

  “Like layering papers and metals and things?”

  “Exactly. And I like using found objects.”

  Skye bends down and picks up a smooth, white rock. “Here’s a found object.” She holds it out to me. “What can you do with it?”

  “So many things,” I say, despite not being able to think of even one. Skye puts the rock in my hand, her fingers brushing against mine. Her skin is incredibly soft. “Um. Isn’t cat’s cradle that game with the string?”

  “You’ve never played?”

  “Guys aren’t really into string games.”

  “Anyone wearing friendship bracelets would like cat’s cradle.”

  “Got any string on you?”

  “Next time.”

  So there’s going to be a next time?

  “Old-school stuff rules,” Skye declares. “I hate how everyone’s stuck in front of screens all the time. It’s like people don’t want to interact with the real world anymore.”

  That bothers me, too. How does this girl know everything?

  “Have you seen that sand-painting guy?” I ask. I found him yesterday on my way to the snowball place. He creates incredible designs on the concrete ramp using colored sand.

  “Yes! He’s amazing. His colors are so vivid.”

  “I know. At first I thought he was mostly using pastels—”

  “—but it’s all colored sand! I have a thing for colored sand.”

  “Me too. It works really well on collages.”

  We smile at each other, bonded by art.

  The art of collage has always appealed to me. When I was seven, my mom took me to an exhibition at the Guggenheim with these large-scale collages. I was in complete awe. I remember winding down the spiral path, stopping in front of each piece to gawk up at it. Every collage tells a story in such a unique way. They’re like pieces of a puzzle or chapters in a book. They can be subtle and speak volumes at the same time. I love how the final effect is greater than the sum of its parts.

  “Guess you’ve been to the snowball place,” I say.

  “Uh, you mean my second home?” Skye reaches down to pick up a ridged white shell with gray stripes. “We’ve been coming here every summer for the past seven years. Snowballs were an immediate addiction. And they’re essential when it’s hot. I always get them when I’m laying out.”

  I hope Skye doesn’t ask me why I’m in Sea Bright. Escaping with her like this is making me feel alive. I can recognize parts of myself I haven’t seen all summer. But talking about school would force me to relive it all over again. My friends have been telling me to get back out there. To start meeting new people. I thought hiding out in my room all summer was a better idea. Which is why my mom made me come here for the week before college starts. So I’m staying with my dad at our beach house. Except ever since he bailed last year, it’s been his all-year house. That’s how badly he needed to escape.

  Skye stops to look out at the ocean. Standing here with her, I’m overwhelmed with possibility. Maybe I really can have the life I want someday. Even though my heart keeps telling me I can’t.

  “I love it here,” Skye says.

  “I brought my sketchbook down here the other day and worked on a new collage. This whole peaceful v
ibe thing is really inspiring.” That collage turned out to be one of my favorites. I layered tissue paper shreds in different shades of blue and green to create an ocean look. Watching the colors of the water change over a few hours was something I’d never done before. It gave me a new appreciation for the ocean.

  Skye gives me a strange look.

  “What?” I say.

  “Nothing.” We start walking again. “Just . . . you’re kind of perfect.”

  “Not even close. Everyone has their thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “Everyone comes with baggage. No one is perfect. You can work on one problem, but even if you solve it there’s always going to be another problem. So your ‘thing’ is your biggest problem at any given time.”

  “That is so true.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “My thing?”

  I nod.

  “It’s a secret,” she says. “Waiting to be revealed.”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to discover mine, too.”

  “But I can tell you a different secret.”

  “Go for it.”

  “You know that creepy rabbit from Donnie Darko?”

  “Yes!”

  “Sometimes I have nightmares about him.”

  “Dude. He’s so creepy.”

  “He redefines creepy.”

  “I looked up creepy in the dictionary and there was a picture of him.”

  Skye laughs.

  There’s something about this light before sunset that captivates me. Trying to re-create the colors of the water and sky isn’t easy. But I keep taking mental pictures, hoping that I’ll get it right eventually.

  “Pink clouds,” Skye says. She looks so beautiful, backlit by the sun. I didn’t notice all the hues of gold and copper in her hair before.

  “Race you to the dune,” she challenges.

  “Wha—”

  “Go!”

  Skye takes off running toward a big sand dune surrounded by tall sea grass. I run after her. She’s pretty fast. I’m not the spontaneous type, but I make an effort to catch up with her to pretend I am. By the time I get to the top of the dune, I’m panting. I should be in better shape. I look like I’m in better shape. It’s deceiving.