I consider not getting out of bed when my alarm clock wakes me. I do not want to go for my run. i have not had a good night's sleep. My dreams were sick and twisted- more so than usual- and i could not make sense of them. Indeed, but for the one that recurs, they quickly fade into a colorful mish-mass of rainbows and fires and wings and blood. I consider throwing my beeping alarm clock against the wall, but decide not too at the last possible moment. I instead haul myself out of bed and go through my morning routine at half my usual pace.

It is not because I don't want to face the boy. No, that would be silly.

I tell myself this over and over as I bustle around the kitchen, being aware all the while that I am industriously stalling.

By the time I leave, I am a half-hour behind. I realize that I will probably miss him. I do not know whether to be horrifically annoyed with myself or relieved. I believe I am both.

As I walk down the beach, I realize that I have forgotten my Ipod, but do not even pretend to consider turning around to get it. I tell myself that it is punishment for behaving like a stupid, simpering female with a crush.

I pass his house, or at least the place that i see him every morning, and note with a sign that he is not there. I have missed him. I congratulate myself on a mission accomplished. I feel like screaming.

Something warm grabs my hand, shocking me out of my reverie. I squeak and jump, nearly falling in the sand. The boy holds up his hands in a non-threatening gesture as I turn. I have the sudden impulse to run headlong into the surf and drown myself. I fling the emotion away as unworthy. Neither of us says anything for a moment, and the silence stretches out like a taut string.

I start to back away, as if from a rabbid animal. I do not want to say anything to this boy. I do not even want him to remember me, to know me.