Archive of Our Own

The weekend after the last set of high school exams Ellie will ever take (during which she writes no less than five papers about the concept of selfhood in Wuthering Heights and a handful more about Shakespeare's pacing choices in Macbeth), she asks Paul if he'll teach her how to drive.

"What?" he replies, mouth half full of popcorn. He's lying on the floor in front of their TV, gangly limbs sprawled across the rug. His hair is frizzy with static as he twists around to gape at her. "You wanna learn? But — you're always talking about how gas guzzlers are messing up global carbon emissions or whatever."

Ellie is honestly impressed Paul even remembers her saying that, months ago, when they drove out to his first date with Aster. "That's true," she allows, hugging her knees to her chest in her armchair. She sucks a spot of popcorn grease off her thumb and stares at the TV. The Graduate's playing today, some programmer's idea of a warped celebration for all the people finishing school this week; on screen, Mrs. Robinson is seducing Benjamin Braddock. "But I'm about to go to college, and this is my last summer to pick something up before I leave. Maybe it'll be easier to make friends if I can be, I don't know, someone's designated driver to and from Des Moines."

It's a pretty good excuse. It's almost good enough that she thinks Paul's bought it, but when she looks down again, his eyes are narrow. "I don't believe you," he says, settling comfortably onto his back, head tilted so he can still see what's happening on TV. "But I'll let you keep your secrets, Ellie. We'll start bright and early tomorrow, after I feed the pigs in the morning."

Ellie gazes down at his solemn face in profile, fondness spreading through her chest. "You're a good friend, Paul," she says, meaning it. Her only friend, really, since Mrs. Geselschap doesn't count, but the bar's been set ludicrously high. She's going to miss him when she leaves.

"Damn right I am," Paul says, cheerful as ever, and dips his hand back into the popcorn bowl.

It's slow going. Driving a car is nothing at all like riding a bike, least of all something as huge and clunky as Paul's truck. The first time Ellie gets behind the wheel for real — in the empty lot of the local diner before it opens for the day, the driver's seat pulled up as far as it'll go — her brain kind of stalls out for about five minutes.

Still, there's something to be said about gradually building up the muscle memory, feeling the loud growl of the engine reverberate through her when the key turns in the ignition, making slow circles on crunchy gravel. The process of learning how to do this is like learning an instrument somehow, familiarity coming with repetition. Despite all odds, Paul is a good teacher, patient in a way that he wasn't during their conversation lessons and How to Date Aster Flores boot camp. He coaches her through how to do a three point turn, how to let up the clutch and shift gears, how to park between the lines at least somewhat straight.

Progress inches along as the days get longer, heat settling into their bones because the truck's spotty air conditioning is broken more often than not. On a sweltering afternoon in late July, Ellie manages to drive them to the diner and back all by herself, and Paul gets so excited that he nearly punches out his own side view mirror. Then he makes her swing around and go back to the diner so he can treat them to French fries and vanilla milkshakes.

At the very least, it's blessedly cool in the restaurant. A nice waitress takes their order; Ellie gets a grilled cheese as well, just in case. There's an anticipatory look on Paul's face when everything comes out. Ellie picks a fry off the big plate between them. It's crinkle cut, hot and fresh out of the fryer, burning against her fingertips. "Trust me," Paul says, eyes big and guileless.

After another moment's hesitation, she dunks one end of it into the milkshake in front of her, getting some whipped cream as well, and takes a tentative bite. It's… not bad. It's actually—"Really good," she mumbles, using the fry to scoop another dollop of milkshake out of her cup. The hot and cold contrast nicely, and the mouthfeel of the crunchy fry feels good with the sweetness of the vanilla.

A wide, pleased grin spreads across Paul's face. "Have I ever led you astray when it comes to food?" he asks, dunking three fries into his own milkshake with gusto. Ellie thinks about the taco sausages and the braised pork dumplings and has to admit, with much less chagrin than she would have felt at the beginning of the semester, that he hasn't disappointed her yet.

The week before Ellie leaves for Grinnell, while Dad's in the kitchen puttering around with flour and oil for scallion pancakes, she nudges Paul's shoulder with her foot and says, "Can I borrow the truck tomorrow?"

To his credit, Paul doesn't seem at all surprised. He turns away from the TV, on which Cosmo Brown is making 'em laugh, and props himself up on one elbow. For a moment, they just breathe into the room as the music pours out of the TV. "Does this have to do with Aster?" he asks at last, hushed.

They haven't talked much about her since the falling out at the church, but Squahamish is a tiny place, and word travels fast. Everyone knows Aster is off to Baltimore for art school in the fall, having been accepted off the waitlist at MICA. Rumor has it Trig had begged her not to leave; personally, Ellie thinks it's more likely he tried to kiss her again. "Kind of," she says, playing with the empty bottle of Yakult in her hands. "Is that a problem?"

She holds her breath as he thinks through it; being able to see the gears turning in his head is always interesting. In the months since they became friends, he's gotten better at jumping from point A to point B; she remembers him saying you're going to hell and then recanting it all weeks later, in the middle of the church that taught him exactly that. "I just don't want you to get hurt," he says at last, brow furrowing, and it's so sweet that Ellie wants to kick his shoulder again.

"I can take care of myself," she says instead. "I've been doing it for eighteen years."

"I know," he says, smiling a little. Even a little smile on his face looks like it would be a big dopey grin on anyone else's. "You can have the truck for the day, but make it back in time for dinner, alright? You'll have to be my taste tester in exchange."

Ellie laughs. "Deal," she says.

In the early morning, some time around dawn, Ellie loads her backpack, a few blankets, and her guitar case into the cargo bed of the pickup — which she notes with a certain amount of pleasure has been thoroughly wiped clean — and sets off down the road. She's pretty sure she remembers the route Aster took to get to the hot springs; there are really only two main thoroughfares in and out of town, so she just has to follow the trees.

It's not really the right weather for soaking anymore, but being out of Squahamish and in the middle of nature still feels good. Everything she's seen on College Confidential tells her that Grinnell is going to be similar, trees of the Pacific Northwest swapped out for low-rolling fields of corn, so she wants to take her time and soak it in before she has to leave.

She's been thinking about coming back since the first time Aster brought her here. If neither party called it a date in so many words, does that necessarily mean it wasn't one? At the very least, the experience left an impression. Ellie lays out a couple of blankets at the banks of the hot spring, shade from the trees keeping her mostly cool for now, and pulls a journal and pencil from her backpack.

Without the pressures of school and the promise of monetary recompense from her classmates, Ellie has had much more time to wile away the summer writing for herself. Just little snippets here and there: snatches of songs, freeform prose, the odd bit of poetry. Nature isn't quiet, she scribbles down, rolling onto her stomach and soaking in the sound of the bubbling spring, the chirp of the birds in the trees, the susurration of wind through the underbrush.

The flash of inspiration for a new riff comes to her mind in between page flips, and she pulls her guitar out of its case to play with it for a while, idly plucking the melody out from the chords. The humidity means that her strings keep going sharp, but she manages to do some of the annotation in her notebook before she gets tired of constantly retuning the guitar and puts it away.

It's solidly mid-morning by then, the sun higher up in the sky, so she strips out of her sweatshirt in favor of the thin spaghetti strap underneath it. Paul had given her quite a lot of money from his savings over the winter months, and she returned most of it in a fit of pique after the day of Trig's botched proposal, but she'd kept a little so she could pick this out at the Goodwill. She doesn't own anything else like it, preferring long sleeves and boxy jeans that hide all her skin, but the warmth feels nice around her bare shoulders.

Ellie doesn't know when she dozes off, but it must happen, because when she jolts awake again she's baking in the midday heat. Her body feels like it's running hot, the skin on her face and shoulders too tight, like it's shrunk in the sun. It's the distant sound of tires crunching against pavement that seems to have roused her. She doesn't have time to do much but scramble into a sitting position as she hears footsteps trample down the path to the hot spring, and then Aster appears through the trees.

She's wearing jean shorts and a thin striped t-shirt, hair starting to frizz a little this close to the water. She looks beautiful, but then again, she always looks beautiful. "Hey," Aster says, setting her crossbody bag down at the edge of Ellie's blankets. She doesn't seem mad, which is something.

"Hi," Ellie says, clearing her rough throat. Stupid how it always seems to close completely around Aster. "Sorry for, uh, stealing your spot."

Aster shakes her head. "You know, when I saw the truck I thought you'd told Paul about this place, so the fact that it's you is highly preferable," she says, mouth curving. "If I minded, I wouldn't have brought you here the first time."

Ellie tries to smile, but it probably comes out as more of a wince from the way her face stings.

Aster's expression flickers a little with concern. "Can I?" she says, gesturing down at the blanket, and Ellie gives her a mute nod. "Geez, you're red. You should've packed sunscreen, Ellie."

Sunscreen. Right. The thought had never even occurred to her. Aster reaches into her own bag, rifles through it — Ellie sees sandwiches and a few Capri Suns, maybe the curve of an apple, the bulky shape of the blue radio — and finally comes back up with a sizable tube of SPF 40.

"Let me," Aster says, scooting forward so they're sharing breath, easy as anything. That effortlessness used to make Ellie so envious; why couldn't social interaction ever be that easy for her? She can say now that she knows a different version of Aster well enough that she knows it isn't quite as simple as that. Even if the way Ellie went about gathering that information was convoluted and warped, it's not like she can un-know it.

Their knees are touching. Ellie looks focused as she squeezes some of the sunscreen out onto her fingers. At a school as small as theirs, and with the added benefit of shared choir, Ellie had caught glimpses of Aster almost every day during their final semester of classes. Still, they haven't seen each other one on one like this since Ellie stopped by The Turning Point in the spring; they certainly haven't been this close since Ellie knocked her bicycle down and took Aster's face into her hands. The memory of their kiss rises to Ellie's mind unbidden, and for a moment she's grateful for the slight sunburn for hiding her flush.

"You learned how to drive?" Aster murmurs, the question cutting through Ellie's tumultuous thoughts.

"Yeah," Ellie replies, tongue feeling thick and dumb and slow. She hisses when Aster's slick fingers touch her forehead and the curve of her cheek. "Yeah, I figured that I should expand my skill set for college, you know. Grinnell's kind of in the middle of nowhere, but Des Moines is an hour away. Might be fun to go visit the city some time."

"That makes sense." Aster squeezes more sunscreen out onto her hands. Judging by the bottle, it's got some sort of aloe vera in it. A pleasant coolness spreads everywhere Aster rubs, broad strokes down Ellie's chin and toward her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones. "What made you come here?"

Ellie's breath catches in her throat. Aster's eyes are clear as they stare back into hers, fingers still sweeping across Ellie's skin. The stimulus makes her want to be more truthful than she's been with herself. "One last hurrah before I leave," she starts, half-hearted, and then shakes her head. "I didn't exactly expect you to be here, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping you'd show up." She tilts the corner of her mouth up. "I've been trying to lie less."

"That's good." Aster chews on the inside of her mouth for a second. "Turn around? Let me get the back."

"Okay." Ellie turns, still cross-legged, and stares out at the hot springs, the mist rising up from the water. Aster pushes Ellie's ponytail over her shoulder, and then Ellie hears the sound of sunscreen being squeezed out again. Not being able to see where Aster is about to touch is its own torture; Ellie feels too aware of the brush of her fingers, the slight sting against her burned skin making her shiver. "How did you even find this place?" she asks, desperately reaching for something to fill the silence. "I never asked, last time."

Aster makes a sound of acknowledgement behind her, her hands roaming down Ellie's arms to cover every inch of exposed skin. It takes her a minute to gather her thoughts, but her voice is calm when she speaks again. "It was winter break during junior year. I had a big fight with my parents about something stupid, I can't even remember what it was, so I stormed out of the house and took the car and just drove."

"Perfect Aster Flores fighting with her parents?" Ellie says. She gasps when Aster pinches her bicep.

"It's likelier than you think, smartass." Aster sighs, hands falling away. "All done."

Ellie twists to look at her again. "Thank you."

"Mhm," Aster says. She's squeezing more sunscreen out for herself now, dolloping it on her long legs, slicking down her arms. "I ended up stopping here because the tire pressure light went off in the car, and I was just done. I parked in between the trees near the road and screamed for a bit, and then walked in further when I saw the path." She shrugs. "Back then, I thought it was a sign from God."

"And now?"

Aster reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I don't know. That's what everyone says college is for, right? Going out there and finding yourself. Finding what you believe in."

"There's some school work involved too, if I understand correctly," Ellie replies, straight-faced.

Aster laughs, face scrunching, the high pitch of it disturbing some of the birds in the trees. Ellie could listen to that forever, but maybe it's enough that she's getting to listen to it now. Aster finishes applying her own sunscreen and leans back, propping herself up on her palms, gazing up at the canopy. "It always feels like things I do out here don't count," she says after a moment of quiet contemplation. "Like — they're just for me, because I don't have to pretend for anyone. I hope I get to find something like that too."

"Yeah," Ellie says, following her gaze. "Same here."

A companionable silence stretches out between them, interrupted only by the insistent growl of Ellie's stomach. Aster shares her sandwiches (one ham and swiss with a bit of mayo and the other Italian cold cut) and her Capri Sun, since Ellie really only brought snacks. The shrimp chips are slightly stale because she's been saving them for so long, but Aster seems to like them anyway. "Good flavor," she says, tossing one high into the sky and catching it between her teeth.

In the afternoon, Aster manages to coax her into the water again. Ellie leaves her glasses on the blanket so they won't fog up, and the whole world goes blurry. Last time they did this, Aster ended up floating in Ellie's big yellow shirt, and that's impossible not to think about as they slide in. "Have you picked out your classes yet?" Ellie asks, because that seems like a safer topic than bringing up the past.

"Some of them," Aster replies. The acoustics of the hot spring are such that their voices echo a little, and Ellie feels every reverberation in her chest. "Still trying to decide on a first year elective; a lot of the good classes were already fully booked when I got off the waitlist."

"I'm sure you'll find something."

Aster makes a noise of affirmation. "What about you?"

"Lots of intro literature classes," Ellie says. It sounds boring, but she's genuinely kind of excited about them. "I'm going to campus a little early so I can take a Chinese placement exam."

"Nice." Aster floats a little closer, wet hair hanging in her face as she smiles. "I'm trying to see if I can get into a life drawing seminar, but that's usually only available for second year students."

"Life drawing," Ellie repeats. "Nude models?"

"I'll have you know that life drawing is a very serious study of form, structure, volume, movement, and composition," Aster rattles off, too practiced to be from anything but a brochure, and when Ellie starts laughing, she does too. "Okay, but I'd be lying if I said that wasn't part of the appeal. I think my dad would have a conniption."

"You'll have plenty of other opportunities to see naked bodies in college, I assume," Ellie says without thinking, and the ensuing silence feels too loud in her ears.

Aster flips up from where she was floating on her back, an intense sort of look on her face. Ellie has studied a lot of Aster's microexpressions over the past four years, and this is one that usually only appears when she's struggling with some concept in one of their science classes. "Ellie," she says, swimming closer, coming back into focus. Ellie can see the tiny beads of water gathered on her long eyelashes.

"Aster," Ellie says, throat dry. She watches the hollow of Aster's neck dip as she swallows. The moment before Aster leans in, Ellie's heart thuds so hard in her chest that it's almost painful — and then they're kissing. This one is so much slower than the kiss they shared out on the main street in town; Aster's mouth is soft and wet, and the heat of the water and the solitude make every second last an eternity. Ellie gasps a little when Aster's tongue pushes forward to test the boundary of her lips. She gasps louder when one of Aster's thighs settles between her legs in the water, firm and solid.

They're both panting when they break apart, zero to a hundred so quickly that Ellie's head is spinning. She's certain the flush on her face is obvious now despite the sunburn. Aster doesn't look much more put together for once, cheeks rosy in the light of the afternoon sun piercing through the treetops.

"Are you sure you want to do this right now?" Ellie says, even as she curls her arms loosely around Aster's neck.

The corner of Aster's mouth curves upward. "I am," she says, voice a bit hoarser than usual. "Bold strokes, right, Ellie?" She leans in and presses another close-mouthed kiss to Ellie's lips. It's so cute that Ellie feels like she might break into pieces if handled too roughly. "Besides, do you really want to go to college without at least knowing what touching another person is like? I don't."

Ellie blinks. "You and Trig never…"

Aster wrinkles her nose gently. "I mean, I'm the deacon's kid. Trig's audacious, so there was a little heavy petting over my clothes, but he wasn't going to try anything too wild when he had to see my dad at the pulpit every Sunday." She drifts closer again, pressing their damp foreheads together. She smells like oily sunscreen and whatever shampoo she uses, sweet and floral. It's perfect. "But you're a heathen, right?"

Ellie chuckles, shaking her head. "Something like that," she murmurs, heart still thumping to a vigorous beat in her chest. "Let's get out of the water first?"

They rise out of the hot spring and slosh back onto shore. Wet clinging clothes really leave nothing to the imagination, but Ellie still freezes when Aster starts casually stripping out of her shirt and her shorts, laying them out on a nearby rock to dry. She's wearing a dark sports bra and utilitarian underwear underneath, and she looks like a dream as she kneels on Ellie's blankets. It's unfair.

By contrast, Ellie fumbles with the button of her wet khakis; it takes her a moment to unzip fully and slide them off, waterlogged as they are. At least the tank top is easy to shimmy out of. She hadn't bothered with a bra — it hadn't seemed necessary at the time, though she's regretting it a little now as she plops down onto the blanket, feeling overexposed as Aster stares at her.

"Hey," Aster says, voice as warm as it was when she first came through the trees, and in between one breath and the next they're kissing again, Aster's hands tugging the band out of Ellie's hair so it spills down her back, palms cupping her neck. An artist's hands, delicate fingers fluttering over Ellie's pulse. It's not like Ellie hasn't thought about this before, in the quiet darkness of her room. She's even tried to gingerly watch a bit of porn on her computer when she's sure her dad is asleep, but she always ends up clicking out after a few seconds of over the top moaning.

There's no over the top moaning right now, but Ellie feels a bit like she might shake out of her skin regardless. Aster's good at kissing, tongue pressing against the roof of Ellie's mouth, and the close press of her body feels like too much and not enough all at once. Ellie ends up flat on her back across the blankets, the ground at least providing necessary counterbalance to the dizziness in her head. Aster's hands have slid down to stroke Ellie's rib cage by then, wandering up her sides and down toward her hips. On a good day, Ellie barely receives any physical touch — maybe a fist bump from Paul, or a clap on the shoulder from Dad — so the tense swoop of her stomach catches her by surprise. So does the throb between her legs, especially when one of Aster's roaming hands reaches down to touch the crotch of her underwear.

Ellie jerks, a full-body shudder, and their mouths detach as Aster jostles above her. Ellie pants into the air, squirming, not sure if she wants to push into Aster's fingers or away. "Oh," Aster says faintly, hand shifting. "You're — um, you're wet. That's good, right? I maybe did a little bit of research."

Ellie pulls her hands to her face and groans, long and loud. She's trying desperately not to feel embarrassed, but it's hard. Her ears are burning, and her mouth is burning, and her clit is almost definitely burning. She cannot stress enough how much she wants Aster to keep touching her. It's kind of frightening.

"Are you okay?" Aster says, sounding uncertain. "We can stop if it's too—"

"No, no," Ellie says, shaking her head, trying to be as emphatic as she possibly can. She scrubs her hands down her face and lets out a short breath. "I just needed a moment." She forces the next words out through her teeth. "It just felt too good."

"Oh," Aster says, blushing a deeper pink, a pleased grin pulling at her mouth. "Okay. I can—?"

"Yes," Ellie says, and before the word is even fully formed, Aster's settling over her again, pressing their mouths together. Her weight feels pleasant, anchoring Ellie to the ground, and they kiss long enough for Ellie's chest to feel tight and her lips to feel bruised. It's the good kind of sting when Aster drags her teeth across Ellie's mouth, when she wanders lower to nibble on her neck.

"You taste like sunscreen," Aster murmurs against her collarbone, and Ellie laughs breathlessly and says, "Whose fault is that, exactly?"

She punctuates the question with a sharp groan, because Aster's hand has slid between Ellie's legs again. Ellie spreads them open a little wider to make better room for Aster, the two fingers rubbing her through her damp underwear. It was still a bit wet from their dunk in the hot spring, but at this point Ellie's soaked clean through it. Her hips buck up against the heel of Aster's hand, delicious pressure on her clit through the fabric. "Off," Ellie rasps, voice coming out even lower than usual. "Take it off."

"Okay, okay," Aster stutters, fingers tugging. Ellie's panties end up hooked around one ankle, but she couldn't care less. She reaches down to wrap a hand around Aster's wrist, moving her hand where she needs it to be. There's pressure building in the pit of her stomach, a hot flash of pleasure gathering between her legs, and she gasps when the tips of Aster's fingers slip inside her a little, gliding slickly through her folds.

"Fuck," Ellie says, because that's the only word for this, and Aster's face lights up.

"I think — that's the first time I've heard you curse, heathen," she says. Ellie moves Aster's hand in a tight circular motion, chasing the buzzing crest of feeling. Aster's hand grinds against Ellie's clit over and over again, fingers dipping shallowly inside her. It's the best thing Ellie's ever felt.

"For good reason," Ellie says, and then it's happening, her hips pressing up into Aster's hand as the rest of her body goes stiff. The tide of her orgasm washes over her like a wave, pulling her beneath the undertow. The next time she opens her eyes, Aster's watching her face, gaze intent.

"How was it?" she whispers.

"Incredible," Ellie croaks, too gooey between the ears for anything but the truth. She tries to shake the heaviness out of her limbs, pushes herself halfway up before she can chicken out. "Can I, um. Can I go down on you?"

Aster inhales sharply, eyes going wide. There's a brief pause that seems to last forever, during which Ellie wonders if she should take it back, if that's too much too soon, and then Aster says, "Yeah, Ellie," a note of urgency in her voice. "Please."

Ellie's done some research of her own over the past several months. Watching porn didn't really help, but reading stuff online was — somewhat illuminating. She sits up the rest of the way and lays Aster out across the blankets. Ellie crouches, fingers slowly drawing Aster's panties down her long, long legs. When she leans in close again, arms circling underneath Aster's thighs, hands splaying at her hips, she can smell the musk between them. Ellie's mouth waters. "Tell me if anything feels weird."

"I will."

Ellie ducks her head and licks one tentative stripe up toward the frizzy hair at Aster's crotch, and Aster shudders, thighs flexing. Aster tastes good, a bit tangy, and she's so warm. Ellie does it a couple more times, until Aster's groaning quietly. Her hands have slid into Ellie's hair, not pulling but just cradling the back of her head, and Ellie takes it as encouragement to go a little deeper, tongue breaching the first pink layer and sliding deeper.

"Oh," Aster says, the sound punched out of her, and she squirms even more when Ellie latches onto her clit and sucks. Ellie gets into a good rhythm after that, buzzing in her ears as she sinks into the feeling of Aster's thighs clenching around her head, into the taste of Aster on her tongue and the little noises falling out of Aster's mouth. It's all good. Ellie catalogues it all in the back of her mind even as she's experiencing it; this is something she wants to remember.

Aster's body arches off the blankets when she comes, holding Ellie close as her stomach clenches, and Ellie rides through it, keeps licking for as long as she can until Aster groans, over-sensitive, and pushes her head away. "Ellie Chu," she mumbles, the name like a revelation in her mouth. "Who knew you had such a talented tongue?"

"I guess the skills were transferable," Ellie says, grinning, and Aster's rolling her eyes as she tugs her back up the blankets. Ellie's face is a mess of saliva and Aster's release, but Aster kisses her without hesitation anyway, which is too hot for words. Too hot for acknowledgement, so Ellie just kisses her back, hoping the sentiment filters through everywhere their bodies are touching.

She doesn't feel made new, or completely different, or any of those things that the poets say you should feel after you've been with someone like this. In the catching of her breath between now and what comes next, Ellie just feels — wholly herself, and wholly known.

Ellie naps again late in the afternoon, worn out and satisfied, and wakes up as the sun is slipping past the treetops. When Ellie blinks blearily and turns to look at her, Aster's half-dressed, sitting cross-legged on the blanket with Ellie's journal in her lap and a stubby piece of charcoal balanced between her fingers. "Should head back soon," Ellie murmurs, regretful, and Aster nods in understanding.

"Take a look when you get home," she says, flipping the notebook shut. They put on the rest of their clothes and gather their things slowly. Nature isn't silent — around them, the creatures of dusk are starting to move, lizards in the tall grass and crakes on the far side of the hot spring, feathers rustling, barely perceptible through the steam.

Ellie loads her guitar back into the pickup. When she circles around to the driver's side door, Aster's waiting for her, dried halo of her hair a hopeless mess. She's smiling, her entire face creased with it, and leans in to press one last kiss to the corner of Ellie's mouth.

"Keep in touch, heathen," she says, tangling their hands together for a brief moment. "You have my number."

"Maybe I'll write you a letter from the cornfields of Iowa," Ellie says, something in her chest glowing. There's no point in making any other promises to each other, not when the path forward into the rest of their lives is right at their feet, but it's something. It's friendship. That's the best thing she can ask for right now.

"I'll hold you to that," Aster says, hefting her bag, the final flash of her grin leaving afterimages in Ellie's peripheral vision. They follow each other on the road back to Squahamish, splitting off when they get into town. Ellie's humming the melodic line she'd been toying with in the morning as she pulls into the crunchy gravel in front of the Munskys' house. Two of Paul's younger siblings are tussling with each other in the front yard; they wave hello as she parks the truck and then immediately get back to it.

In the light of the waning sun, she pulls the notebook out of her backpack and flips through it. Aster had commandeered the latest two page spread after Ellie's annotation; it's a quick sketch of Ellie, lying asleep on the blankets in the middle of the tangled riot of greenery around them. Just charcoal on paper, simple and rough, but it's lovingly rendered. Aster is going to be amazing at MICA. That's just a foregone conclusion.

Ellie's still humming as she takes the stairs up to their house above the station. When she pushes the door open, jazzy music is pouring out of the TV in the living room. "Good day?" Paul asks, greasy apron tied around his waist, spatula in hand. Something that smells absolutely delicious is sitting on the dining table next to him, and her dad is in the kitchen dancing along to the trumpet solo.

"Good day," Ellie says, smiling wide, and steps across the threshold.