Sing by Vivi Greene Page A

and disappear into the ocean.
    I smile as I hold up my phone. I snap a quick photo and send it to him.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Me: I love it.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Noel: I thought you might.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Me: Who lives there?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Noel: Nobody anymore. The town takes care of it.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Noel: When I was little there was this old guy who lived out there by himself after his wife died. They used to sail together and when he got too old to take care of the boat, he wanted to live on the water. So he built a floating cabin.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Me: What happened to him?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Noel: He died a year after she did. To the day.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Me: Guess they couldn’t stand to be apart.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Noel: Maybe.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Noel: Or maybe there was something in the water.
    I laugh, a short, hard cackle, and a trio of birds scatters from the bushes beside me.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?”
    I whip around to see Tess standing behind me, her cheeks pink from climbing.
    I tuck the phone guiltily into my pocket. “Nothing. Just Terry. He sent some new ideas from wardrobe for the tour.”
    â€œThat bad?” Tess loves to poke fun at the crazy things my style team comes up with. Last tour, she called me “Bubblegum Barbie” for two months straight.
    I swallow. I hate lying, but I tell myself it’s for the best. The last thing I need is a speech from Tess about boys. If anyone knows what I’m doing is wrong, it’s me. But there’s that little part of me that does wonder if I need this, if I’m unable to write without it. “Yeah, it’s absurd,” I say. “I’ll show you later.”
    I start back up the trail. “Come on,” I call back to her. “I want to see this famous view.” I keep moving, my heart pounding in my chest, my phone buzzing in my pocket, holding my breath until I hear the familiar shuffle of Tess’s boots scurrying behind me.

11
    77 Days Until Tour
    June 27th
    â€œARE THOSE THE shoes you’re wearing?”
    It’s late, almost ten o’clock, and Noel meets me behind the house at the top of the rickety beach staircase. I’m wearing my favorite lace-up ankle boots, and one heel is caught between the slats of the wooden deck.
    â€œYou said it wasn’t a long walk,” I whisper. We’re hidden from the house by a wall of tall shrubs, but I remember how far voices carry in the ocean breeze.
    â€œIt’s not long,” Noel says, grinning. “But it is . . . you know . . . in nature.” He points toward a small opening in the trees, the beginning of a path I haven’t seen before. “This way.”
    It was my idea to meet at night. Noel suggestedlunch, or another ride on his boat, but there was the issue of potentially being photographed with a new guy so soon after the breakup. And more important, I didn’t want to hear about it from Tess and Sammy. They’d say all the things I already knew: it’s too soon, I always do this, I need more time by myself. But while I need to write new music, I’m also here to unwind. To have fun. And spending time with Noel—texting him, thinking about him—is the first time I’ve felt relaxed since I got here.
    â€œAlmost there,” Noel encourages from a few paces ahead. His phone lights the trail between us, and he glances back often to make sure I’m all right.
    Noel had said he wanted to show me something, but now, tiptoeing over rocks in heels in the dark, I wish I’d at least told Ray where I was going. I can just imagine a new crop of headlines:
    Lily Ross Left for Dead by Strange Man in the Woods
    Quest for Love Kills Starry-Eyed Singer
    I’m about to ask if we should turn back when the trail stops abruptly and the trees open