Now that I'm no longer bothered by the block of plaster, I can move around more freely and we can finally try swimming. Sorley's ears turn red when I propose it, but the day after we're both wearing our swimwear. The book we're in, is a silly romance novel about an uninhabited island, that he stole from his grandma. I've had trouble holding back my laughter when I looked up the title of his suggestion. Luckily we have a large library and now that we're on the beach – after our ship sunk, that was little less fun – I'm grateful to his romantic grandma.

One of my legs is exceptionally white, compared to the other and a little thinner as well. I really have to fix that before school starts again after summer vacation. Sorley doesn't seem to mind and when he steps out of his sweatpants a little clumsily, I see he's absolutely no sunbather. His legs aren't as muscled as his arms, but when he shyly looks my way, I halt my investigation. Suddenly nervous, I pull my dress over my head and there I stand, in my bikini, on a deserted beach – safe for the couple that is passionately fighting up ahead, whom I ignore – with a boy who clearly, no doubt about it, truly has a six-pack.

Just breath, you've seen guys in swim trunks before, I tell myself. Yet never one I've been this much in love with and certainly not while we're alone.

When I make an attempt to count all the grains of sand around my bare feet, I feel how he takes hold of my hand. Then, before I know what happens, I get lifted up in the air and carried over to the water. Screaming I disappear in a rolling wave and when I resurface sputtering and dripping, Sorley is laughing his head off.

With both arms I shove a big splash in the direction of his face and he quickly dives out of the way. I wade back a little further away from the beach. When I look around, Sorley is nowhere to be found and a flurry of apprehension courses through me. Did he leave? Or do they have sharks here?

Suddenly I feel two arms around my waist and I scream again.

"No fun", I shout, while at the same time I start to laugh, when he appears right in front of me with a huge grin and shaking his hair.

"I thought you were gone."

His arms pull me closer to him and I wrap mine around his neck for support.

"I will never leave you on purpose." He kisses me and if I had been on my feet at that moment, I would have swooned like pudding.

"I wish we could do this for real", I sigh, when he releases me.

"Isn't this real enough?"

Carefully, trying not to hurt his feelings, I move my head from left to right. "There always is a part of me that's scared something will happen at one of our homes. That you or I suddenly gets pulled away. Or, what if this, our gift, is temporary and it stops. When we grow up or something. It can happen. I just would like it so much to see where you live, meet your grandmother, look at the mountains over there."

I try to smile, but his serious expression keeps me from the attempt. He swims backwards a little, which causes me to have to tread water myself and before he dives under, he says: "Can't we just enjoy what we have?"

Even though I don't actually get tired, I still swim back to where I can stand. Then I look over my shoulder and see Sorley swimming with long strokes further into the ocean. I walk back to where the water pushes tiny layers of foam onto the beach and sit down. My feet feel comfortable in the cool, wet sand and the sun is burning hot on my back. I can see Sorley's silhouette in the distance and wonder why he's so against me wanting to meet him. If I hadn't already taken care of and paid for everything, I might change my mind. What if I'll be in front of his house and he bolts the door on me? What is he's living together with a girlfriend? Horror fills my thoughts, but I quickly shake it off. Don't be so ridiculous. He could have told me much sooner, when there wasn't the least bit of romance between us. That is not how Sorley is, right? I've known him long enough to know that. Don't I?

My heart contracts when I think that he doesn't want this, what ever it is that's between us, to become more than the dream we're now living in. However, no matter how against the idea of a real meeting he is, I have to know. Now more than ever.

It's still strange to return in my room without one drop of water in my hair or one grain of sand between my toes. I do have a seashell that I took. One of those magnificent tropical shells with circular ridges and a pearly interior. I put it on the blue booklet. A tangible memory of a beautiful illusion.

---

My mother takes her leave on Friday afternoon and together with Isla I wave goodbye at the door. The rest of the evening we pack my suitcase. Everything I need to have on hand at customs, goes into my laptop bag. It's a perfect fit.

We don't plan to stay up late, because Bram is picking us up at five in the morning. And even though I can sleep in the air plane, I don't want to be completely broken when I arrive.

"Are you sure?" I hear Isla whisper in the dark caused by the roller blinds. In my room it's never this dark, yet by now I am used to it.

"Little late to back out now, don't you think?"

She's silent for a moment and then says: "I'd be willing to break your other leg as well. Then you'll have a medical emergency and get a refund for sure."

"And thank you very much."

We both whisper, even though there's no one in the house except us. As if our plans are too secretive for the walls to hear. Adrenaline courses through my blood and I won't be able to sleep yet, so I lean up on one arm and say: "What should I do if he doesn't even want to see me?"

Isla also gets up, wraps her arms around her legs and answers calmly: "Then you kick in his door."

I burst out laughing.

"No, I'm serious. You come all that way, just for him and if he can't at least appreciate it a little bit, you can punch him in the face. Hard."

Now I'm laughing even louder. The idea that I, with my broken leg and silly fists, punches someone like Sorley amuses me. I don't want to hit him. I want to know if kissing him in the real world is as amazing as in books.

My laugh fades away into the silence that follows.

"He is at home, isn't he?" Isla asks after a while.

"Uhu. He's expecting us to dive into another book tomorrow evening, afternoon for him."

"And in stead you dive into his bed."

"Isla!"

Howling with laughter we fall back onto our beds. My face must be on fire, but it's dark, so no one sees it. To end the subject, I mumble: "We need to go to sleep. Early rise tomorrow."

"Yeah, ridiculous", Isla mutters, still grinning. "Your idea."

"Good night."

"You too."

---

After a long time, that probably lasted shorter than it seemed and was filled with thoughts of 'what if' and doubts, I fell asleep, but when the alarm rings, I'm wide awake. Next to me, Isla moans and throws her duvet over her head. "Nooo."

We take showers, have a quick breakfast, check my list one last time and wait for Bram, outside on the curb. What I want most is to text Sorley about the journey ahead. Then I would know he will be waiting for me at the end of the day. In stead I have to keep worrying until I'm actually on his doorstep.

Bram arrives nicely on time and in silence we drive to the airport. Bram doesn't say much anyway and Isla's still half asleep. I'm fine with it.

When we get to the airport we find out where we have to be and then it's time to say goodbye. Because Bram is parked at a spot nearest the door, Isla can't stay with me. They have to leave right away and it bothers me more than I let on.

"Oh, I'm going to miss you so much. Text me as often as you can? Even if it's in the middle of the night, it's really no problem."

She holds me so tight it almost hurts, but I don't mind. We wave until she's out the glass door and I line up in front of the check-in desk. That is, until I realize we already checked in back home. What comes after that? Security check? We watched a thousand videos about how to best pack your suitcase, I'm not worried. And I'm so nervous I tell every customs officer I pass about the forms and letters I have with me – no, you don't have to see them? - and that the cast is removable – oh, they can see that – I even chatter about the special deodorant I bought with my friend because the normal one was too large.

When I'm finally standing on the other side of customs with my suitcase and laptop bag, I'm so ashamed I hurry away. It's a good thing I'll probably never see them again.

I text I've cleared customs and put my phone away again. The trip is so long I have to save every bit of battery for when I get to America. On board of the air plane I'll turn it off completely. That'll help.

During the wait until boarding time, I relax a bit. I've come this far, without all the possible doom scenarios which gave me sleepless nights. I can manage the rest as well.

After customs I bought a bottle of water and some magazines. I take one of them and browse the articles absently.

And then, all of a sudden, it's time to board the plane. I left my crutches at home and because I've held my leg up while I was waiting, it hardly bothers me when I waddle down the bridle on my cast shoe. My heart begins to pound again.

Thanks to Isla and her knowledge of flying, I picked my own chair. One next to the isle, so I can stretch my leg. At least, when no one walks past. A stewardess, who sees me fumble with my suitcase, comes to my aid. I keep the laptop bag on my lap.

There I am, all on my own in the big plane, ready to depart for America. Any moment now my mother comes crashing in to drag me home. Or the police, because I don't actually have permission. I look around me, chewing on my lip, but no one pays any attention to me. I have to get up once, because I'm the first one in my narrow row and the woman eyes me apologetic when she sees my leg. I smile cheerfully, but dive into my magazine when we're sitting again. Please don't let her talk to me.

When the stewardesses take us through the emergency procedures, I pay close attention. I'm already strapped in properly, so I focus with all my might on the screen in the back of the chair in front of me. My fingers dig into the shared armrests and I'm so sorry for the lady next to me, but I won't let go until we're safe up in the air.

The lift off gives me a queasy stomach and when we climb I feel how my breakfast gets squashed. Luckily it stays inside. We don't ascend for long and after a little while the sound is heard that we can unbuckle. I take a deep breath, release it and peel my sweaty fingers away from the armrests. Who ever thought that two people with four arms can do with three armrests, was out of his mind.

I briefly turn on my phone, only respond to Isla's text with a picture of the plane's interior and turn it off again. I stay awake and read my magazines until lunch is served. To my surprise, the food is actually good and I eat everything till the last crumble. After that I pry open the bag with sleep equipment I got when I entered. The passenger in front of me already adjusted their chair, so when I figure out how it works, I recline as well. Inside the package are, among other things, a pair of ear plugs and a black mask, that I put in front of my eyes gratefully. Unfortunately I can't stretch my leg into the isle, but I'm not so tall. Not like that mister further down, who can't even unfold his table without slouching.

To my surprise I fall asleep. A stewardess wakes me up when it's time for the next meal. For a moment I'm confused when I look at the clock on the screen before me, but then I remember. We're flying against time. How weird is that. When we land in Atlanta, I've travelled over nine hours, but it'll only be three hours later.

After the meal I watch some cartoons. I stagger a bit when I walk to the toilet and back and try to sleep some more, but somehow I can't.

The stop in Atlanta is great, yet exhausting. I don't get a lot of time to look around and with my suitcase on wheels riding behind me, I follow a nice attendant who points me in the right direction. I can walk straight through after customs, that went as fast as on Schiphol airport and a little under an hour later I'm back on a plane. Three hours to go.

This time I stay awake. This air plane is smaller and I have two people beside me now. When one starts talking to me, I pretend I can't speak English and they leave me alone. I get a meal that's a bit less tasty, but I'm hungry and again finish the whole thing. Because I'm at the isle, I can't see out the window, however I've seen at the airport that the weather is lovely. I hope it will be the same in Colorado.

Three hours of flying, two hours counter clockwise. It's almost four PM when I eventually land and stand at the bus stop near the airport in Denver. I activate my phone and search where I put the info about bus times. I already exchanged my euros for dollars in Atlanta, so I only have to take care of this last bit.

Whatsapp shows I have a few missed messages from Sorley and I open them at once.

Same time? What book?

Zara?

Are you there? Or do we skip this time?

Are you mad at me?

I'm waiting for you.

In the app, that is.

I realize we haven't been inside a book after our swimming adventure. Does he think I'm mad at him? I've been so busy with the trip that I haven't even thought about how we said goodbye the last time.

I quickly reply: Sorry, I was out for a while. Do you have time later?

My bus arrives, so I can't check if he texts right back. Not until I found a seat and asked the driver to warn me when we're almost there, I look on the screen again.

Oh, good, I was afraid you never wanted to see me again

Yes, I'm at home.

Isn't this way too late for you?

I text back: Vacation, I can be as late as I please. See you later, I'll text you the time.

Butterflies, high on adrenaline, rage around in my stomach. The bus drive takes about an hour. I'll see him in a hour. For real. For the umpteenth time I wipe my sweaty hands on my shorts.

The drive is amazing. Normally I don't like buses, but America is so different than the Netherlands it dazzles me. Every now and then we drive through a little village. At least, I think the few houses together are villages. And in between we are on long straps of road in the middle of nowhere.

I have to get off at the bus station that apparently is the final destination of this bus, so I'll get a taxi. Just a short ride left.

---

My heart is pumping blood so fast is makes me dizzy. Or is that because I keep forgetting to breathe? I take a moment to replenish my red blood cells with enough oxygen and then I force my right hand to let go of my bag. My knuckles are white. The taxi driver put my suitcase next to me and drove off immediately. Yeah, how should he know. Should I have asked him to wait? Just in case Sorley sends me straight back home?

I purse my lips and bend over to grab the handle of the suitcase. With my feet's bump-step, that's beginning to sound familiar, I slowly walk over the slightly inclined path towards the front door of the house. The house is on the edge of the city and behind me, shrubs and trees climb up the mountain. Sorley's house is in no way to be compared to any of the houses I grew up around. One floor, plastered walls, white pyramid-shaped rooftops.

The front door isn't an actual door, more a gate that leads to a courtyard. It's open and cautiously I stick my head around the corner. There is no one in sight and I walk on. The house consist of three parts, but only the middle part has a knocker, so that's where I head. I wipe my hands one last time on my shorts, put my suitcase on the floor and place my hand on the knocker.

Knock knock.

Would anybody hear? It sounds much more friendly than a doorbell, but also much softer.

I take a wobbly step back, when I spot movement behind the milky glass in the door.

The person's not so big and I release a bit of air. The door opens and a kind looking old lady looks at me quizzically.

She takes one look at my suitcase and says: "Yes? I don't need anything, thank you."

She's about to close the door again and I yell: "I'm not selling anything, I ... I'm here to see Sorley. Is, is he at home?"

"Sorley?"

Oh, shoot, did the taxi driver drop me off at the wrong place? He couldn't have. This was the address Sorley gave me. I looked it up on Google Maps and the building matches.

"Y... yes, Sorley Connor, he lives here, yes?" My English is not what it used to be. Must be the nerves.

"Aye, he lives here. One moment, I will go get him."

Sorley's grandmother, for I take it, that's her, leaves me standing at the open door and walks around a corner. It takes a long time. What would she say? 'There is a girl at the door for you. No I don't know her. Blond hair.'

Would he suspect anything? Is that why it takes so long? Because he doesn't want to come?

Movement at the end of the hall draws my attention. It's not grandma. It's a boy. A boy with black hair and brown eyes, that now stare at me as if he sees a ghost.

With his hands he pushes against round rods that turn large wheels, until he stops only a few feet away from me. He's wearing a T-shirt with some vague green mask. His legs are clad in sweatpants and for the first time I understand why he never wears jeans. My mouth opens a bit and suddenly all pieces of the puzzle come together.

Sorley is in a wheelchair.