Irene dangles a crystal charm on a thin chain in front of me. It looks like a fist clenched for victory.

"Yoongi dropped this off for you."

"What is it?"

"It's called a figa," she says. "It's a good luck charm from South Amercia that dates back to African myths from the 17th century. It attracts positive energy, they say, and protects you from evil. But it has to be a gift to work. Yoongi said."

I fasten the tiny clasp behind my neck and looked in the mirror. "So now nothing bad can happen to me - ever."

She purses her lips. "I'm not sure it's that good."

° ° ° ° °

I don't usually go out at night. but the air is cooler now and I need to get out and run. The screen door hits shut behind me and I sprint toward the beach. The ocean glows with an eerie haze from the full moon.

I keep going for a few minutes, slow down, then sprint again. Finally I kneel at the edge of the water to wet my face and arms and cool off. Above me is an endless expanse of the night sky. I listen to my own breathing and the lapping of the waves - the only sounds in the uncut stillness that surrounds me.

I get to my feet and tighten my shoelaces. I stretch then take off again, building to a steady pace. My breathing is easier, I'm in better shape. I keep going, happy this outdoor world is mine alone.

Then out of nowhere, it isn't.

I'm overcome with the odd sensation that someone else is out there, nearby. I look around me. Nothing moves. No one makes a sound. I slow my pace.

"Hello?"

No answer and I feel silly. It could be a fluttering bird or small animal, something that belongs here more than I do. The tiny flash of a firefly dances by. Another sparkle to my left. Another past me ear. I swipe it away.

It's safe to be on the beach at night. This isn't a big city, there's hardly any crime.

Still . . .

Is my secret sense forever on alert or am I just paranoid?

The boom of male laughter in the distance shatters the quiet. I jump. It's the kind of laugh that comes with too many beers. I flash to the poker games that went on too late when appa had his friends over. I would lie in bed listening, waiting for them to go home.

More laughter. This time like a crash of thunder. There could be a beach party nearby or a group out on deck. I keep walking and then start to run toward home, anxious, on alert, but I keep going, determined not to let myself get overcome by fear - fear of nothing.

You're not used to being outside, by yourself, I tell myself. It's all in your head.

Only it isn't.

There's something the sand ahead of me.

As I get closer, I make out the outline of a figure. I keep going and see that guy of forty or more is lying with his head back, his long, tangled black hair coated with sand. He's drunk and revolting, his shirt half open, twisted around him. 

"hey," He raises a bottle of beer toward me. "Wanna drink?" He's slurring his words.

I shake my head and run.

"Hey, wait. Wait."

I run faster and faster, my breath coming so hard it aches. I lose track of where I am or how far I've gone, until it feels safe to relax and cool off. I slow to a walk, fixated with watching the water. Off in the distance I spot someone at the edge of the waves.

Don't freak out, I tell myself.

And I don't.

Disconnect. Out of context.

I slow, but my heart doesn't. It's the perfect, chiseled profile I recognize first. Instead of board shorts, he's wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. Nervousness rises up in me. Why would he be here at this hour? Is he with someone? Did I interrupt something? I keep walking toward him. I have no choice.

"Jungkook," I blurt out.

"Suzy."

"What are you doing here?"

He looks at me confusingly. "What do you mean?"

"You're not on duty, are you?" I say lightly.

"I come out here at night sometimes. What about you?"

I shrug. "I wanted to exercise and, you know, get air." I hesitate. "There's some crazy drunk down there." I point behind me.

He nods. "I know him, he's harmless."

He looks at me and comes closer. "I'll walk you back."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

I want him to, but I don't. Can you feel two conflicting emotions at once? Anxiety balls up in my stomach. The harder I try to be as calm as he is, the worse it gets, the tension doubling back on me. There's a wall, the awkwardness. I'm captive in this uneasy world when he's near me. I'm never prepared for him.

Why did you ignore me? I want to ask him. Do you know how I felt? Do you know how much it hurt? Only I have to stop those kinds of thoughts. What would be the point? We walk along without talking, the silence creating a wider divide. Help! I want to scream out to nobody and everybody. how crazy is that?

Should I say something about the man he rescued? Anything I can think of will sound like I'm in awe of him and what he did. So I don't, which makes no sense, even though for him, bringing someone back from the dead may be nothing unusual.

I stare up at the sky hoping for an opening line. It's flecked with a million stars.

I try not to think of what an impossibly perfect setting this is.

I try not to think that he's not thinking of what an impossibly perfect setting this is.

I pretend to concentrate on hunting for the few constellations I recognize. He must be wondering what to say too because after a few minutes he lifts his chin toward the sky. "Full moon," he says.

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"More murders, accidents, suicides, births, kidnappings."

"Really?"

He laughs softly and shakes his head. The rare smile. "No."

° ° ° ° °

So he gets one over on me, but his nearness blurs my vision like the wrong glasses. Things don't appear the way they're supposed to. Is there a breathalyzer test for emotions that shows if you're off balance and out of touch with reality? It feels like we're two distant planets and I'm orbiting around him in slow motion.

He kneels and picks up a stone, skimming it above the water. Plop, plop, plop, it lands exactly the way it's supposed.

What is he not good at?

A translucent haze veils the moon as we walk on. "How long have you been a lifeguard?

"Three years."

"Have you ever not save someone?"

He looks away for a second, then turns back to me. "once," he says, softly. "Myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I was out on a swimming practice with some other guys, and all of a sudden we were surrounded by dolphins. They herded us together and wouldn't let us swim away."

"That's strange."

"We thought so too. Then we saw why."

"What was it?"

"There was a great white shark nearby, and they wouldn't let it come near us. They were protecting us, we realized, the way they protect their own."

"What happened then?"

"They surrounded us until finally the shark swam away. Then they broke the circle and let us swim back to shore."

"That's extraordinary."

"I know."

"Things like that must happen to you all the time."

He reaches for my arm, disturbed. "Why do you think that?"

"Because you're not like anyone else."

"Neither are you."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

I start to turn away, and then turn back and face him again. "What is it with you? Why do you hate me?"

He reaches for my shoulders and pulls me toward him, a tiny muscle quivering in his cheek. "Is that what you think?"

"Yes."

"I don't hate you," he says, his face so close I can almost feel the warmth of his skin. He waits, not moving, then suddenly pulls back, dropping his hands. "I . . . I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . ."

"Shouldn't have what?"

He shakes his head sinking into silence. He's off somewhere in his head.

I walk off ahead of him, wincing from the lost opportunity. What is it? His girlfriend, the short hair girl? He obviously doesn't feel he needs to explain anything to me. Some girls wouldn't let him get away with that. They'd be up front, direct. Afraid to make a move because of what your girlfriend would say?

Only I can't.

I turn to stone and look back at him. "It totally doesn't matter, okay?" It comes out in a rush, with more annoyance and frustration than I want to show, only I can't hide the anger building in me. "I have to get going. My cousin will start worrying." I start running ahead.

"Suzy, wait."

I keep going, faster now, only his legs are longer and he catches up, reaching for my arm. "Stop, please."

I look up at him and want to stomp my feet. He's calm on the outside but below the surface he's deceptively deep and unknowable.

Like a riptide.

"I don't hate you," he insists. "I don't want you to think that."

"Why do you care?"

He runs the back of his hand lightly down the side of my face. I swallow hard, leaning into him, my insides aching with some primal longing. I press my lips into the side of his neck inhaling his sweetness. I shouldn't, I know it, only I'm powerless to stop myself. I lift my face up to his until our lips meet. I don't care anymore, I don't. I'm desperate to kiss him.

Only he stands there stoically, emotionless, cold, his eyes shut.

He doesn't kiss me back.

"it won't work," he says, "and I don't want to hurt you."

Am I that pathetic?

I stand back and shake my wrists loose of his grip. "I won't give the chance."

I turn and run back to the house, tears streaming out of my eyes. His words echo in my head, slicing into me like a knife. At least now I know for sure how he feels and I can't pretend anymore. He's completely cold to me. he doesn't care in the least. I've been living in my own blind fantasy world.

I hate you. I want to scream. But it's my fault for what I did. I started it. I brought it on. What a desperate and pathetic loser I must seem to him. I run faster and faster, filled with anger.

This time he doesn't call after me . . . and he doesn't follow.