"You want me to fall back in love with you? How do I do that when I haven’t ever stopped?"

- The Best of Me, coming to theaters October 17

Elara Song could tell you the exact the day her world shifted. It was Sunday, February 28th, 1954. Exactly seven days after her twelfth birthday. She knew every detail of that day. The way the sky looked, it was clear and the brightest blue she’d seen all month. How she had her hair, in a black fishtail plait running down her back. The time on the clock, quarter past one in the afternoon. Where she was, walking past Our Lady’s Hall – a vast and grandeur ballroom reserved for important school assemblies and masses. Who she was with, no one. She could not bear to listen to Virginia Collins (“How many times Elara? It’s Ginger. Please call me Ginger”) and Marian Montgomery argue over who had won the last skipping match. Elara did not want to cause trouble but Virginia – no, Ginger – had not won. She really ought to remember that. Ginger always scowled when Elara called her Virginia.

Elara kept walking, she did not wish to return to Ginger and the other girls. God knows she would die of boredom. She would have stayed with them a little longer, but Rosemary was not there to lessen the dullness of it all. Miss Brixton had asked Rosemary to help her with something in the art department. Elara left Our Lady’s Hall and continued her walk through the school grounds, she did not pay any mind to where she headed. She just knew it was better than listening to Ginger and Marian argue over the most trivial matters. Elara paused when she came to a dark and narrow alley. The darkness looked enticing so she followed it. At the end of the alley was a creaky, wooden door she pushed open and stepped through. In an instant, she was bathed in the afternoon sunlight. Elara blinked rapidly, she hovered a hand above her head and looked out at the sprawling countryside. She hopped down the small stone steps and landed on the grassy floor. More stone steps crept down the sharp hill and lead to the three bungalows, where Drama and sometimes English were taught. She had never been in the bungalows herself, all her classes where in the main building but she had always wanted to.

Elara did not look back at the school as she ran down steps on the hill. She heard the distant sound of the bell ringing, telling everyone it was lunch time and that the food was ready to be eaten in the canteen. She was not hungry, so she ignored it and continued down the steps. Elara contemplated going to the bungalows but at the last second decided against it. She left them for another time and followed the muddy, less travelled path into the woods. She breathed in the fresh, earthy air. The sound of birds singing near and far were like calming. As she walked further into the woods, the more the path faded and gave way to grass and dirt. It was pleasant, more than pleasant to be away from the static noise of the school playground. She never knew until now how much she prized being alone. Elara liked to think she quite enjoyed her own company.

She must have been walking for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes before she realised she was lost. Elara froze as she looked around.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered. This was not good. Elara took a deep breath and reminded herself to stay calm. Panicking would get her nowhere. She tried to remember which way she had come and after a few seconds of deliberation, Elara started walking. Somewhere, she heard the distant sound of water rushing. Elara kept walking in hope of finding that path again. She did not want to die in these godforsaken woods. The bushes soon became thicker and more frequent until Elara had to fight her way through, she was jabbed a couple of times by branches. Elara stumbled over something, maybe a rock or another stray branch and yelped as she crashed to the floor. She expected to be met by thorny bushes and sharp rocks to her face and torso but she landed on soft, wet grass. Elara opened her eyes and the first thing she saw were a pair of feet in black leather shoes. Confused, she pushed herself up so she was kneeling. She looked up, shocked to find there was a young boy, no older than her, pointing a bent stick at her. She gasped and scrambled back, almost falling again but she caught herself just in time. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth was set in a fine line as he stared down at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked after what felt like an eternity.

Elara’s gaze flickered behind him and she saw the great expanse of a green field, no, a meadow. She looked back at him. “I’m a little bit lost,” she said, trying her best not to sound like a complete idiot.

“Lost?” he said, “Why are you walking round these by woods by herself?”

“I….uh…I, uhm, I suppose,” she was stammering, making herself look and sound like a complete idiot. “I-I don’t know. I was bored.” She cleared her throat and gestured to the stick he was still pointing at her, “Could you....could you put that away.”

“How do I know you’re not a threat?”

“Do I look like a threat?”

Honestly, she had just tripped rather ungracefully onto the floor and she suspected was looked a mess. The boy was quiet for several moments, eyes still narrowed and stick still pointing. He seemed to have decided she posed no threat to him because he lowered the stick and lifted his other hand out to her. She hesitated before she took it and with a grunt he helped her up. Goodness. She looked down at her uniform and saw streaks of mud marking the chequered dress.

“You’re from St. Catherine’s aren’t you?” he asked.

She looked at him, “how do you know?”

“Your uniform,” he said, “I recognize it.”

Elara took that moment to survey his own attire. He was also dressed in a uniform, grey socks drawn up to his knees and black shorts that were stuffed sweets she could see peeking out. He wore a dirty white shirt over a navy blazer and a striped tie hung loosely around his neck. She peered closer, there was a white logo sewed into the blazer, a raven sitting on a branch. It looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place where she had seen it.

He must have seen something in her expression that made one of corner of his lips twitch upwards. “I go to Ravensworth,” he said. “Not far, only a fifteen minute walk from here.”

Elara knew of Ravensworth Academy, it was a private catholic school for boys, a lot like St. Catherine’s. She had passed it in the car when her father was driving her to Cathers last year. All she had seen were black ominous gates with the school’s name in big iron letters and dozens of willows trees barring any view inside. Wanda had told her about it. It was a prestigious school, almost as prestigious as Eton and Cambridge, for the rich and social elite. This boy however was so messy he looked like he had been raised in the woods, not like he came from a top boarding school like Ravensworth.

“Oh right,” she said as she patted her dress down, swiping off any dirt, “well, what are you doing? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“You already did,” she said, “I told you, I…I was just taking a walk in the woods and I lost track of where I was going.” She tucked loose strands of her black hair behind her ear, “I don’t suppose you know the way back to St. Catherine’s? It’s just that I really ought to get back before someone notices I’m missing.”

She was sure she had afternoon mass today and she really did not want to be at the receiving end of Miss Llewellyn’s anger for being late. The boy grinned. It was the kind of grin you gave when you knew a particularly appealing secret, it was a little infuriating and Elara was not sure if she liked it. He rested the stick on his shoulder and turned sharply on his heel. He began to walk away, further into the meadow.

“You’re lucky I do,” he said. He glanced back, that grin still plastered across his face. “Well, come on then.”

Elara almost tripped again as she snapped into movement and jogged after him. She stopped when she fell into step beside him. She looked around. They were walking through a flowery meadow. Lush and green, dotted with evergreens and flowers and small rolling hills. She could smell the lavenders in the air. It was refreshing, it calmed her drumming heart.

“You really shouldn’t be in these woods by yourself,” the boy said. He had blond hair, it was the colour of precious gold, unruly and tightly curled. Elara wondered how he could see when the gold ringlets all but fell into his eyes. Every few minutes he had to brush the curls away. It was oddly endearing.

“Yes, I know but –” she paused, “wait, neither should you. How old are you?”

“Eleven,” he said, “but I’m okay, I know these woods pretty well.”

They left the meadow and stepped back into the forest. Elara frowned, “then I’m older than you aren’t I? I’m twelve.”

The boy waved the stick lazily in the air, “age has nothing to do with it.”

“Is it because I’m a girl?” she sounded harsher than she meant to but these things always irritated her. She never understood why her gender, anyone’s gender should be a problem.

The boy shook his head as they continued through the woods, “no, that has nothing to do with it either. It simply comes down to this,” he glanced at her, “could you walk through this woods blind?”

“No,” she answered begrudgingly. “Could you?”

“Yes,” he said, “I know these woods better than I know myself.”

He stopped walking and Elara bumped into his shoulder. The boy pointed to a dirty path a few metres away, it snaked through the trees and disappeared. “Just follow that and it’ll take you straight back to St. Catherine’s.”

“You’re quite sure?”

He nodded, smiling now, “I’m quite sure.”

There was an awkward pause as Elara scrambled to think of what to say. She smiled at the boy, and reached out her hand, “well, thank you for your help.”

His eyes, she noticed, were green like the meadow grass and the first signs of spring. He pushed back the blonde curls from his forehead, only for them to flop back into place a second later. The boy gave her hand a firm shake, “no problem, uh...?”

“Elara,” she said.

His smile widened into a grin, “no problem Elara.”

They let go of each other’s hands. “Sorry, I –I didn’t catch your name.”

He grinned in that secretive way, “I didn’t throw it.”

He gave her a mock salute and turning on his heels, he walked back to the meadow. Elara stared after him for a few moments, feeling irrationally irritated. She pressed her mouth into a thin line and followed the path he had suggested. He was right of course, the path took her back to the bungalows in the clearing. She hopped up the steep steps to school and she returned in time to hear the bell ring. Lunch was over. Elara made it to mass just as everyone was forming a series of orderly lines outside the chapel. She spotted Rosemary standing not far ahead and quickly walked towards her.

Rosemary frowned as Elara stepped to stand behind her in the line, “where have you been? I’ve been looking for you, I checked in the library but you weren’t there.”

“I went for a walk,” she replied, “I suppose I lost track of time, but I’m here now.”

Every Sunday there was mass at fifteen minutes past two for the first and second years. The older years had masses much earlier in the mornings. Elara may have been one of the few girls to actually like going to mass. It was quiet. It gave her time to think and sort through her thoughts. She did like singing and listening to the choir. Rosemary on the other hand always looked perpetually bored and seemed to be simmering with anger. She would glare at anything in the chapel and would only sing if Elara or Lucy Manor nudged her enough times.

Later that night as they settled into their beds, Elara asked Rosemary why she hated going to chapel so much.

Rosemary merely shrugged. “It’s boring,” she told her, “I hate being bored.”

*

The following Sunday, Elara Song decided to take another walk into the woods. All week she had been curious about the boy in the meadow. She took the path he had shown her, and again she was met with a crowd of bushes, but they were not thorny or troublesome like the others. Elara merely had to push the branches away and she was through into the meadow. It was empty and soothingly quiet. The spring wind had an icy bite and it made her shiver. Perhaps she should have brought her coat. Elara walked further into the meadow, taking in the lavender bushes and evergreens and the bright blue sky. She stopped walking and closed her eyes. There was the distant sound of birds singing. She breathed in the sweet scent of lavenders and let out a long content sigh.

“Are you lost again?”

Elara whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice. Her eyes widened. The boy was an absolute mess, he was covered in dirt and leaves and he was breathing hard as if he had been running. She could see bits of leaves trapped in the curls of his gold coloured hair. She expected to see a stick in his hand but instead she saw a wooden slingshot.

Elara met his eyes. He looked curious and expectant, waiting for answer. “N-no,” she stammered. She wanted to kick herself, why did she always stammer?

“Then…” he said, his eyebrows pulling together in a terribly adorable manner, “what are you doing here?”

“I forgot something.”

“What?”

“What?” she said.

He looked at her and frowned, “what did you forget?”

Elara tried to maintain her calm façade but inside she was panicking. She needed a proper reason for wanting to see him. She could not tell him she thought he was the most interesting thing in this Godforsaken place.

“I don’t know,” she said without thinking. What kind of answer was that? She was a bloody moron.

Elara shifted nervously on her feet as she stared at the ground. She waited for the boy to scowl and tell her to go away because she was weird. She was surprised when he laughed. Her head snapped up to look at him. His green eyes were bright with mirth.

“You’re so weird,” he said, “I like that.”

Elara did not know what to say so she just smiled.

“I think I saw a deer near the river,” he said, popping the slingshot into the front pocket on his shirt. “Do you want to see it?”

“Yes,” she said much too eagerly.

Later that day as they lay in the meadow, staring up at the March sky, giddy and tired from all their running he would tell her his name.

Sam.

Sam Bishop.

She would nod, give a smile in return and say.

Elara Song.

And he would tell her she was rather odd.

And he had a particular soft spot for odd things.

*

It soon became a habit after that. Every Sunday afternoon, she would leave school and go to the meadow. Sam Bishop would be there as always with a slingshot in his hand and his unruly blonde hair and that secretive grin. They played games, each taking turns to decide what to play but more often than not it was Sam since he knew the best ones. Sam liked it when they pretended they were explorers in a foreign country and they had to escape before they were captured and killed by the natives. Or when they pretended to be duelling knights in a medieval tournament. Sam would shove a stick in her hand or she would decline and find her own and they would fight. The imaginary tournament usually ended on a draw since neither one could decide who won. Elara liked it when they explored the woods together, he acted as her tour guide, showing her his favourite spots and the spots that were best to avoid like bushes of stinging nettles and the poison ivy.

Sometime in early June, when Sam had just turned twelve a few days earlier, he asked if she could speak Chinese.

“Mandarin,” Elara had corrected him, “there are many dialects in China, but Mandarin is the most spoken.”

“Do you know it?”

They were sitting the meadow, soaking up the summer sun and idly chatting. Elara liked Sam’s curiosity. It was different to the girls’ back at Cathers. Their questions were accusatory, as if she had committed a crime or she was a particularly interesting specimen in an experiment. Sam’s curiosity was genuine curiosity, there was no judgement when he asked about her culture, if anything he was excited about it, he would beam at her when he told her she was born in China, in a province called Hangzhou where she had spent the first four years of life before they packed up and moved to London.

“A little,” said Elara, “I can understand it, but I can’t speak it very well.”

He grinned at her, “teach me something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “anything.”

Elara paused for a moment to think. She looked at him.

“Xīnjiānzi, bié dān xīn.”

His green eyes were bright as he leaned forward. He was close enough for her heart to drum hard in her chest. A slow, warm smile like a sun rise, pulled at his lips.

“What does that mean?”

“Darling, don’t worry,” she translated. Her father always said it to her. The words usually accompanied by a warm voice and a calming smile.

Sam repeated the sentence clumsily, the words ill-fitting in his mouth. She laughed and said it again, this time slowly. After a few tries he finally got it.

“Xīnjiānzi, bié dān xīn,” he said with ease. The sound of her mother tongue on his own made something in her chest bloom with a bright, comforting warmth.

She grinned, “you got it!”

Sam beamed at her, “could you teach me more?”

If anyone else asked, Elara would have respectfully declined but this was Sam Bishop and in the four months they had known each other, he had become her closest friend. She found she could hardly deny the boy anything.

*

At school Elara Song was quiet, she said never too much and she had her head in a book ninety percent of the time. In the meadow with Sam, she felt lighter. She could be anything and Sam would not care as long as she was happy.

*

In 1955, on the last week of May, Elara and Sam were standing at the bottom of a great oak tree near a dirt road that lead to the small town of Bellmoor. It was a ten minute walk away from the meadow and a roughly a thirty minute walk away from each of their schools.

“I bet you can’t climb it,” said Sam as they stared up at the huge oak tree.

Elara huffed, “I bloody well can.”

“Go on then,” he gestured to the tree, “I dare you.”

If Elara had not been so giddy and hyperactive from all the chocolate she had consumed, she would not have claimed something so bold. She really should not have eaten all those sweets Sam had bought from the shops, they made her erratic and loose tongued.

“Fine,” she said.

In her sugar rush high, Elara eagerly stepped to the tree. She grabbed a low branch and nestling foot on a bump, she began her climb. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was telling her she was thirteen years old now and she should spending her time doing more productive things like studying for her upcoming English test not climbing trees like a savage. When she was with Sam, Elara found she could smother the urge to do the sensible thing and she would not give that up for the world.

Elara climbed half way up the tree before she slipped and crashed to the ground. She heard Sam call her name and run over to her. Her sugar rush made everything feel better, look brighter and the next thing she knew she was laughing. Laughing and laughing as lay on the floor and Sam stared quizzically down at her.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing!” she grinned, “That’s why it’s funny!”

Sam laughed, “you’re so weird.”

“I know.”

His laughter died and he just looked at her, in a fond way that made butterflies swoop into her stomach.

“I like that,” he said, blowing heavy blond curls from his eyes and grinning.

*

Elara was in her third year at Cathers and by then the school was no longer a nuisance like it had been at first. By then Elara had come to see Cathers as a second home, and by then Sam Bishop had become her best friend. She did not know how that had happened but sometime in the winter of 1955, Sam had said something along the lines of, “I don’t know, you’re probably the best friend I have here.”

He said it such a casual, dismissive manner, Elara almost missed it but she knew what he was really saying behind that nonchalant tone. You’re the best friend I have here. You’re the best friend I have anywhere.

Elara had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling and said something along the lines of, “Same, I guess you are too.”

I know. You’re my best friend too. You’re my best friend anywhere. Everywhere.

They often did that, say one thing that meant another because neither had the courage to say what they truly wanted. So, they talked in a code both could easily decipher.

*

Elara Song could tell you the exact date her world shifted once more. It was the following year. Monday July 2nd, 1956. By then, Sam and Elara were fourteen years old and by then, Elara had a somewhat cataclysmic crush on the Ravensworth boy. Again, Elara did not know how it happened, these feelings had crept up on her over the years. Slowly, slowly, so slowly she would think she was going mad. And then one cloudy day in April , he had kissed her cheek and it had crashed all through her, the force nearly knocking the air of out her lungs. It was frightening and exhilarating at the same time. Elara did not know what do with such a thing, so she pretended it had not happened.

As always, Sam and Elara were in the meadow, sitting under the shadow of an evergreen tree as they munched on apples. The summer holidays were quickly approaching and they were eager to spend as much time with each other as they could before they separated. Sam’s parents had divorced when he was eight, so most of the time he would be living with his mother in Sussex but when it came to holidays like Easter or Christmas he go to live with his father in Northern Ireland. This year Sam would spend the summer holidays with his father in Belfast. Elara was reluctant to go back to London since it meant she would not see Sam for over two months, although the prospect of seeing her parents and her little sister again did excite her.

“Elara?”

“Yes?” she said as she took a bite from the apple and glanced at him.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Elara nearly choked on the apple. She coughed violently and Sam looked over at her, concern lighting his face. He patted her back as she coughed and sputtered until she could breathe without the fear of choking.

“What?” she croaked.

A corner of his mouth twitched ups, “I said, have you ever kissed anyone?”

Elara’s heartbeat picked up speed. She was afraid he had said that. Elara thought about lying but Sam had this uncanny ability to tell when she was lying. Besides, he would figure it out since she did go to an all-girls school and the only boy she knew was him. In the end, Elara bitterly decided with the truth.

“No,” she admitted, if she could blush she knew her face would be bright red. “Have you?”

He shook his head, “no, in case you failed to notice Ravensworth is an all-boys school. There aren’t many girls there.”

“No…I suppose not,” she said.

Sam was not looking at her, his attention was on the blades of grass he pulled out of the ground. A nervous habit of his.

“Would you like to?” he said.

The air suddenly felt too thick to breathe in. She knew what he meant but she was too scared to acknowledge it herself.

“To what?”

“You’re not making this easy,” Sam huffed. He looked at her then, spring green eyes meeting ink-black eyes and her breath caught in her throat. “Kiss. Do you want to…you know try it.”

Blond curls fell in waves over his forehead. She did not understand how he got away with having such unruly hair at school. Elara searched his face for any signs he was joking because he tended to do that sometimes. Say something and then quickly smile and say it was a silly joke. This time she saw no such signs.

“Aren’t you curious?” he said, “I mean, you’re my best friend, if I’m going to try it with anyone I’d rather it be you and I know it sounds weird but –”

“Yes,” she said in an almost-whisper.

Sam stared at her, “what?”

She nodded, “sure, go ahead.”

“Just once,” he said, “just to see what it’s like.”

“Okay.”

Elara had envisioned better, more romantic scenarios in which she earned her first kiss but right then, she did not care what the scenario was as along as it was with Sam Bishop. They stared at each other. A moment passed. Then another and another. Sam rolled his eyes and leaned forward. He moved slowly, giving her enough time to back out but Elara was frozen to the spot, she could not move even if she wanted to.

Sam’s eyes dropped to her mouth and he licked his lips. Elara swallowed and closed her eyes. She did not know long she had been holding her breath until she felt Sam’s lips on hers. For a moment, neither moved, they stayed frozen in their positions. Elara tipped her head to side and movement seemed to snap back into him, he slid a hand behind her neck and tugged her closer. The kiss was clumsy and awkward and neither knew what they were doing, but the butterflies had left her stomach and were now swarming in her chest. She was fluttery and high like she had eaten way too many sweets again and a sugar rush was sweeping through her veins. Elara clutched the collar of his shirt, her hand balling up into a fist as he nudged her mouth wider with his tongue and deepened the kiss. His hair was tickling her forehead and she could taste the apple he’d been eating and suddenly everything felt too far away to be real and the only thing that existed was the two of them. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, Elara almost pulled back from the shock but he kept her close and soon she found she quite liked it. His lips were warm but his mouth was hot enough to her send into cardiac arrest. It was only when Sam made a surprising noise, somewhere between a moan and gasp did they shoot back. They both scrambled away from each other. Eyes wide and breathless.

“Y-you…you,” she stammered, her fingers going to graze her tingling lips, “you put your tongue in my mouth.”

Sam pushed his hair back, it flopped down again. He was flushed, she could see a ruby blush sweep across his cheeks. He shrugged, “the French do it, ” he glanced away, his hand going to rub the back of his neck as more curls fell messily over his forehead, “didn’t…didn’t you like it?”

“No, I did,” she bit her lip, she could still taste him, “It…It was nice.”

He grinned. Bright and brilliant and if Elara Song was not in love with Sam Bishop before, she was now.