A girl with secrets. A forbidden love. The life-changing power of choice. 

Seventeen-year-old Serenity Goodhaven sneaks away to the ocean every night. No one in her family knows. It’s the only place she can feel like her true self. And then one night, everything changes. When a boy is there. On her beach. In her solitude. 

Serenity and Sam have an instant connection. They start meeting in secret and talking all night long. But Serenity cannot answer his questions about her life—she has big secrets she is keeping from him. Like the real reason she sneaks away to the beach at nightfall. And the real consequences if anyone ever found out. 

But as their forbidden love grows, she must decide if there are some things worth choosing, even if it means losing everything else to have them. 

One

There is nothing like the ocean and night. The enormous endless power of it. The dark pull of it, like it could swallow you whole. 

My mother would be horrified if she ever knew I thought this, but to me, it feels almost like God. Not in a sacrilegious way. In a symbolic way. In the way of a gift. In the way that we are all just tiny humans on a spinning speck and he knows it and he gives us huge unfathomable things like the ocean to remind us of the gap between our smallness and his unending supremacy. 

No one knows I come here. 

I have never been a good sleeper. There are too many ghosts haunting my family, my home, my life. My entire community. Somehow everyone else sleeps. But these ghosts keep me up all night. 

I don’t know how no one else senses it. 

I dig my toes deeper into the sand, feel the soft gritty pillow of it under me, on the skin where my shorts meet my thighs. I wiggle into it, let it become a part of me. The wind is lifting my long red hair off my back. The moon is small tonight, just a sliver of light. Everything is so dark, I can hardly see the waves churning and frothing in front of me. But I can see the white of them, every time one surges, I can see it. It feels like a message. 

Hey. 

Hey. 

Lonely girl. 

Welcome. 

If anyone ever knew I was here all alone in the middle of the night like this, I would be in more trouble that I can even begin to imagine. I try to picture it sometimes. What they might do to me if they ever found out. I have some ideas. But it is so worth it. 

And in over five years, no one has caught me yet. The first time I snuck out I was twelve years old. It had been a bad day. My legs had been red and sore with welts. All because of that red sweatshirt. And I had it in my mind to run away. I climbed out of the window, careful not to wake my little sisters. And I ran. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. Literally. I had come to the edge of the sea. 

If I kept going… I could just let it swallow me. 

I had the thought. I really had it. 

But I only got in up to my knees and then this deep sense of peace came over me all at once. Like a gift from God. Like the minerals of the sea and the frequency of the sand hit my bloodstream right then. And the wind said, you are okay here. You are safe here. 

I sat in the sand for hours. In the same spot without moving. Until the horizon started to glow behind me. Casting golden edges onto the waves. And the tide had inched all the way to my toes. I got up then and ran home fast. 

It became my ritual. 

And here we are. Five years later. 

Without this, I might not be alive right now. At least I might be dead on the inside. Like all of them. 

“Hey.”

I jump so hard, I hear my neck crack. 

“Sorry. I didn’t see you until—”

I peer up at the dark silhouette of a person. A man. 

I wonder if I should be afraid for a split second, but the manner of him, the energy coming off of him tells me: no. I don’t know how I know it. I just do. 

I don’t say anything. 

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” he asks, a hint of worry in his voice. And the sound is deep and soft at the same time. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

He chuckles. “Fair.”

Then he says, “Can I… sit?”

I nod, but then realize he probably can’t see the movement. He sits down next to me, about three feet away. Knees up, forearms resting on them, hands clasped in front of him. 

We don’t speak for a long moment. And I wonder what this will do to my time here. If it will spoil it. But there is something about him, something very calming. Like he doesn’t want anything from me. Like he doesn’t expect anything from me. Like he is just… there. And that’s it. 

This feels like a new experience. 

Everyone around me, in my life, somehow pulls on me. With something unseen. Like every minute I am supposed to be something specific. Supposed to emit something specific. Supposed to calm their fears by choosing just the right state of being. 

But this person just… exists. 

Then he says, “Olivia.” Like he’s testing something out. 

Huh? Does he think I’m someone else?

I turn my head to look at him, but he continues looking out over the water. His profile is very attractive. Strong and angular. His hair is dark. Shaved almost all the way down. 

Then he says. “Penelope.”

Okay, now he’s lost it. 

Another moment passes and it’s like I’m just waiting to see what he will do next. It reminds me of that trip we took to the zoo when I was thirteen. I stared at those animals for hours, just thinking, wow. You are so different from me. Like you are from another world entirely. 

“Colette.”

“Do you have name Tourette’s or something?” I finally say. 

“Just guessing. Since you haven’t told me yet.”

“You haven’t asked,” I say.

He shrugs. “This is more fun.”

“No. No. And… no,” I say. 

He nods thoughtfully. “How often do you come out here? Like this? I mean, this time of night?”

“Every night.”

“Every night? When do you sleep?”

“I don’t need a lot of sleep. Or maybe… I’m too messed up to sleep.”

“Well, now this just got way more interesting. A nameless girl all alone on a beach with secrets. I am so glad I chose this place tonight.”

“Was that sarcastic?”

“Definitely not.”

“So what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” I ask.

There is a long pause and I think maybe he won’t answer. But then he says, quietly, like the words are precious: “My mom died today.”

“Oh.” My heart clenches and I dig my toes even deeper into the sand. “I’m sorry.”

We fall back into silence. I wonder if I should ask more questions, about his mom, but it feels like… no. 

A few minutes later he says, “Jane?”

“Nope.”

“Hm.”

And then, because he told me about his mom, I feel like I need to tell him something precious too, so I say, “I come here because the ocean is the only thing that makes me think I’m going to be okay.”

“Huh,” he says, ponderously. Then he scratches his jaw. “That is exactly why I’m here right now too.”

“Did your mom… Did she… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. She had breast cancer. It was a long painful mess. So it hurts as much as it feels like relief, you know. She said—” he breaks away and his voice does a thing. Like it runs right out. 

“What did she say?”

“She said, Jesus, I’m ready. And then she was gone two seconds later.”

“Oh.” My entire soul condenses like it’s being squeezed. If my mom died right now, I wonder what it would feel like. A little piece of myself gone. I might feel like dying a little bit myself. 

“She was…” he looks out over the ocean, his eyes squinting into the dark, and I can see now, long dark lashes. There is a prominent and very sexy crease along the edge of his full bottom lip. Like a seam. 

“She was full of life. Ironic, really. Do you ever think—”

Silence again. 

“What?”

“Do you ever think death is a real person and he hates life so much that he looks for the most alive people ever? And wants to steal that?”

“Yes,” I say without even hesitating. “Yes, I think it is exactly like that.”

“She’s got it now.”

“Life?”

“Yeah. She’s got all the life now. And no one can take it again. I like that… Kim.”

I laugh quietly. “Nope.”

“Darn.”

“And yes. She does. So, to you, God is just filled with… goodness.”

“Definitely. Don’t you think so?” He turns to look at me then, for the first time. I see the moon reflect off his eyes but I cannot tell what color they are. Maybe brown like mine. Maybe cobalt. Maybe something I’ve never even seen before.

“Oh, I do. I really do. It’s just… some people I know think he is something else. And I wonder sometimes how anyone could think that. But you can’t convince them. Until they feel it, they can’t ever know.”

“True words,” he says. 

“Did you cry?” I ask. 

He inhales deeply, his shoulders coming up an inch, his eyes squinting out to sea. His face winces.

“Not yet.”

“Are you going to?” I don’t know why I ask him this. It just feels appropriate somehow. And also personal. 

He nods. “Yeah. I’m going to. I just don’t know where the tears are yet. They’re in there. But they are too… low still.”

I nod. “I know that feeling. I never cry either. I can’t remember ever crying.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why. I want to sometimes. I try sometimes. But, it feels like maybe the place where the tears are kept is empty. Does that make sense?”

“It makes total sense. And maybe both of us will get some, you know, someday.”

“That would be nice.”

“It would.”

“Because sometimes I think tears can cleanse us,” I say. “And I haven’t been cleansed in a very long time.”

“Me either.”

We fall into a peaceful silence after this. And we sit like that without saying anything else until the edges of the world become orange and red and vibrant. 

I stand up. “I have to go home now.”

He stands up too. He is much taller than me. He steps forward, closer to me. I get the first proper look at him now, in the morning light. And my breath catches. I am mesmerized. He is the most beautiful person I have ever seen. 

We stand there like this for several seconds, just staring at each other. And somehow it does not feel awkward. It feels like we know each other. Like we have shared something sacred these past few hours. 

“Goodbye, Frankie,” he says.

I can’t help but smile. 

“Nope.”

“Hm.” He presses those gorgeous lips together and I see one dimple appear on his left cheek. “Can I have your number?”

My skin goes cold. “No.”

His face changes just a tiny bit, but not like he feels rejected, more like he sees a puzzle he kinda likes. 

“But you can meet me here. Again. Any night you wish.”

“Okay,” he says. “I will.”

And then I walk around him. And disappear toward home. 

It’s a mile at least, and part of it is wooded and part of it is rocky, but I know the way by heart. I would not be surprised if my feet find the exact steps every single time. 

I think of him, the boy on the beach, maybe a little bit older than me, the whole way back. I think of the way he talked about his mom. The way he talked about God. The way he talked about life and death. That crease under his lip. The tiny dimple that appeared on his cheek. 

I also think about the fact that I cannot tell him my name.

Or where I live.

Or give him a phone number. 

Because he is an outsider. 

And we don’t even have phones. 

Cover photo by Mohamed Hamdi