Where Summer Lasted Longer than We Do

by define-serenity

[Barry/Caitlin] After a summer away from home, and her mother moving them to another state, Caitlin isn't looking forward to starting her senior year at a new school. Luckily she can close her eyes and sink away in memories of her perfect summer with the boy of her dreams.

author's notes: Written for the simplysnowbarry's Summer Lovin' challenge, day 1 + 2: Grease + summer love. Title taken from Folkin' Around by Panic! at the Discco. There's still meant to be a Barry point-of-view version of this fic, but given the word count on this part got out of hand, that'll probably take me a little longer. Special thanks to anisstaranise for being the best beta in the world!

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Where Summer Lasted Longer Than We Do

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Her mom parks the car in perfect alignment with the curb, gears coming to a grinding halt. If it'd been up to her she would've driven to school herself, but her mom needed the car to get to work and they could never afford a second one. She could've taken the bus, but she'd taken too long to get ready this morning. She blamed it on her nerves.

Senior year at a new school; another day in the life of Caitlin Snow.

"Let me look at you," her mom says, and closes the top button of her blouse once again, even though it cuts off her circulation.

She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest as she sits back. If it were up to her she wouldn't be here at all; she'd be exchanging gossip with her friends back in Pennsylvania, telling them all about her summer, about the boy she'd met, about their bittersweet goodbye.

About her broken heart.

"I know you're upset with me," comes her mother's voice. "But I'm just trying to make the best life for us."

"The best life for you, you mean," she mutters under her breath.

As expected, this barely gets a rise out of her mother. "One day, when you have a college degree and your own family to take care of, you'll understand," she says. "Now, hurry up. You don't want to be late."

Caitlin climbs out of the car before another argument can unfold. Lately it seems like that's all she and her mother do; they don't talk anymore, they just shout at each other or make passive-aggressive comments that gets under the other's skin. This summer was meant to fix that—Virginia Beach, no classes, no family or friends; just the two of them against the world.

And she'd had the best summer of her life, but not thanks to her mother.

It was foolish to think one summer vacation would fix what the five years since her father's passing hadn't been able to.

Loosening the top button of her white blouse again she makes sure the necklace she's wearing underneath hasn't jostled free, and gives herself a few moments to take everything in.

Central City High.

Boys in letterman jackets flock together in groups of three or more, as do the girls in their cheer outfits—the whole courtyard is a chaotic bustle of comings and goings, no different than her previous school. But it's not quite the same.

"Hey, new girl."

She looks up and meets two brown eyes.

"Hi, Linda," she says, releasing the breath she'd felt trapped below her diaphragm since waking up this morning. She and Linda met only yesterday, when Linda's mom had come over with a casserole and introduced the whole family—Linda had assured her then that she'd watch out for her at school, and help her find her way around. It'd been more of a relief than she thought possible.

"I love your skirt," Linda says.

"Are you sure I look okay?" Caitlin asks, and glances down at her outfit, one her mom picked together—Dr Carla Tannhauser had opted for the pastels, of course.

All summer she'd worn whatever she wanted; bright reds and blues, yellows that could blot out the sun, but now that it came down to making a good impression her mom suddenly wanted a say.

Closing her eyes, she breathes in deep, the air stale compared to the fresh ocean air she'd enjoyed the previous two months.

She misses summer.

"You look great," Linda says, while running a hand through her own luscious hair—Linda is a tad shorter and has a rounder face, and her clothes are a whole lot tighter than hers; a white blouse tucked into a pink midi pencil skirt. Clearly no one told Linda how to dress.

Or did that kind of bitter thinking make her sound like her mom?

Caitlin touches three fingers to the pale blue headband holding back her own thick curls; she'd believed it a nice addition to her outfit, matching her skirt and the cardigan thrown over her shoulders—now she thinks maybe it looks a little too adolescent. She's a senior. She could be dressing a little older.

"I'll introduce you to some of the girls at lunch, okay?" Linda beams, and reaches over to brush her curls back behind her shoulder; and Linda's nice and all, but it makes her feel like a fourteen-year-old. "Registration's right inside."

She smiles and watches Linda traipse inside the school, light as a feather. A little over three weeks ago that was her—carefree, unburdened. In love.

What had happened to that girl?

Oh right. Her mother had packed them up and made her move her entire life at the last minute. She didn't even have her class schedules yet and school will start in exactly seven minutes.

She didn't like starting something without being prepared.

Sighing, she heads for the registration office to get all her papers in order.

.

"How many days until Christmas vacation?" a teacher sighs to her right while she fills out some forms the school secretary handed her—Mrs Cummings, the sign at the desk reads.

Eighty-six, she thinks, eighty-six days until Christmas. She's counting.

Thing is, her mom hadn't even given her any options; she had an aunt up in Chestnut Hill who could've put her up—at least that way she could've finished high school in one and the same place. But no, her mom's fancy new job moved them to Central City, Ohio, and she had no say in whether or not she even wanted to move.

All her friends were back home. Krista and Lexie, and Louise. Even Ronnie, who'd been trying to get her to go out with him for close to four months—she wasn't at all interested in anything he had to offer, mostly because her mother approved of his pedigree, but after her summer in Virginia Beach she'd looked forward to sinking back into the familiarity of home. She'd hoped it might heal some of her heartbreak.

Instead her mother tasked her to let all the appropriate authorities know they'd be changing addresses while she house hunted, and was made to pack up her bedroom, the kitchen and the bathroom. Her muscles ached and she barely slept, and now she was in a completely unfamiliar town where she hardly knew anyone.

She'd loved life at the Medical College, where her mom's position as lecturer gave them access to on-campus lodgings, and while it'd been a hassle to get to school every day, it'd been the most amazing place she could imagine growing up. If this was what all colleges were like, warm with women all there to learn, all passionate about science and medicine, professors willing to go the extra mile—well, becoming a doctor like her mom didn't seem all that bad.

Sometimes, unbeknownst to her mother, she'd sneak into one of the lecture halls and follow along, taking notes of her own. She'd only been caught once, but Professor Martin Stein, whose wife taught at the school too, hadn't told her mom.

It's odd how summer turned out to be a sort of goodbye to that life—home had been a five-hour car ride from Virginia Beach so she hadn't seen her friends all summer either. Krista had written a few times, but she doubted that correspondence would last much longer. Her friendships didn't tend to last long once distance became a factor.

That's why she didn't have much faith that another letter –one she longed to receive– would ever find its way to her.

"Oh?" Linda's eyes sparkle, ever interested in the latest gossip. Though with her being new and all, she's not sure she can be considered gossip-worthy already. "What letter might that be?"

They both fall in line in the cafeteria, pushing their trays further down the counter.

"I sort of met someone this summer." Caitlin chews at her lower lip; a nervous habit unbecoming a lady, her mother liked to tell her. "He promised to write, but he hasn't."

"Caitlin, you moved to another state," Linda says. "It takes ages for the postal service to forward letters."

She thinks it over for a moment or two; she hadn't known about the move or her mom's new job when she'd written down her address, and she could've futzed up terribly at the postal office when she filled out the paper work—any number of things could've gone wrong.

Mostly she doubts he ever wrote, or will write at all.

Everything's so terribly upside down.

.

Linda leads the way toward the picnic tables set randomly on the quad outside, weaving between all the occupied tables until they find one seemingly reserved for them—it takes her mere moments to realize the two girls already at the table –seniors like her– are probably the Queens of Central City High.

Was Linda one of them?

"Hey, you guys," Linda says in greeting, turning back to her as if to introduce her as a priced new possession. "This is my new next-door neighbor, Caitlin."

It isn't giving Linda a lot of credit, thinking of her as consciously manipulative, but she's had her run-in with Queens before, and none were noteworthy or pleasant. At a time when America seemed to revolve mostly around sex and rock 'n roll, she devoted her time to school and friends and family—up until this summer there hadn't been any boys in her life she wanted to keep, and while she'd never apologize for being anyone other than herself, Queens liked to make fun of that.

"Caitlin," Linda says, "this is Lisa," and points at a gorgeous brunette, her black eyeliner applied thick and sharp around her eyes, her lipstick a few shades darker than what she usually sees around school—she's dressed in black, a tight blouse and a fitted pencil skirt.

"And this is Shawna."

Linda gestures at the girl next to Lisa, who smiles brilliantly the moment her name sounds, her skin a warm beige, her hair black and curly—she wears a similar outfit to Linda's and Lisa's, but it's a deep green ensemble.

Both girls are beyond beautiful and next to them she's plain looking.

That probably shouldn't bother her so much.

"Come on, sit down," Linda urges, and they both sink down to the bench.

"How long you been livin' around here?" Lisa asks—a small dark purse lies next to her green tray, no food left on it but a few pieces of corn and a carton of chocolate milk. She can't quite place Lisa's accent; it's not Ohioan, in any case.

"About a week," she says. "My mom found a new job, and—"

"Oh yeah?" Lisa asks. "Doing what?"

"A new research project over at Mercury Labs." Caitlin bites at the inside of her cheek; she doesn't want to sound like a nerd right off the bat. "It's all very technical."

"Sounds awful fancy." Lisa leans forward on her elbows, and bats her eyelashes. "Probably too much for my lady brain to handle."

Her eyes go wide. "Oh, I didn't mean—"

"Don't mind her, Caitlin." Shawna waves a hand. "Lees gets jealous."

Lisa's jaw clenches. "Get bent, Baez."

Caitlin's lips press together in a tight line, disinclined to answer any more questions about her mom or her job; few girls could say their moms were acclaimed and highly sought-after medical doctors, she reckons, and bragging isn't her forte to begin with. She's proud of her mom, and if she manages to accomplish half of the things her mom has so far she'll be over the moon, but no one here needs to know of her ambitions if it'll mean getting picked on for it.

More and more she gets the feeling she's not hanging with the right kind of girls.

"Hi, kids!" a chipper voice sounds through the quad, followed by the light trample of heels tapping on the concrete underground.

"Hey, look who it is!" Lisa's face opens up with a smile, but she's seen enough of those smiles –and Lisa– to doubt the sincerity behind it. "Patty Spitfire!"

Over comes a bright blonde dressed in pastel colors similar to hers, clutching a few books to her chest. Big eyes. Big smile.

"You'll never guess what happened this morning," the girl –Patty, she assumes– says.

Lisa smiles. "Probably not."

"Well, they announced this year's nominees for the Student Council," Patty says, her bright smile never waning, "and guess who's up for Vice-President."

"Who?" Lisa gasps.

Patty bounces up and down. "Me!"

Lisa rolls her eyes. "Wild."

But Lisa's mild disdain fails to slow Patty down, and she rambles on like a real spitfire. "I trust that I can count on all your votes." Patty passes out cards, the words 'Patty for Student Council. Vote!' scribbled in tidy penmanship. "Us girls have to stick together, after all."

Despite Lisa's clear distaste for Patty, all the girls still take a card and tuck it away inside their purses—Queen Bees or not, Shawna, Lisa and Linda still seem to support sisterhood, as well they should.

Patty's eyes fall to her. "Oh my, you must think I'm a terrible clod," she exclaims, and takes the seat next to her. "I never even bothered to introduce myself to your new friend. Hi, I'm Patty. Patty Spivot. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Caitlin Snow."

She smiles, naturally drawn to Patty's personality and clear work ethic—it's not that she has anything against the other girls' attitudes or can't acknowledge that different people have different personalities, as well as different manners of interaction, but she thinks she'd be a lot more comfortable in a crowd that doesn't quite put her on the spot this much.

But she supposes that's what one gets, being the new girl at school. At least it's a nice distraction from thoughts that have preoccupied her during every quiet moment these past three weeks—will he write? will she ever see him again? will this summer fade in her memory like her broken heart will mend?

It all seems pretty unlikely.

"Caitlin," Linda says, "tell us about your summer."

She glances around the table, surprised to find everyone looking at her in anticipation of her story. Biting at her lower lip she considers it: if she were at her old school she'd be talking about this with her friends, who'd offer her advice and a shoulder to cry on and a way for her to deal with something that'd been entirely new to her.

She's not sure these girls are the right audience, but bottling this all up hasn't gotten her anywhere either.

"I spent most of it in Virginia Beach," she says tentatively.

"And you met a guy..." Linda supplies.

Lisa unearths a nail file from her purse and gets to work, but not before commenting, "You hauled your cookies all the way to the beach for some guy?"

Her mood darkens. Saying it like that makes it sound cheap, or dishonest—but the summer had been magical.

"It wasn't like that."

"Oh, sugar"—Lisa smiles slyly—"it never is."

For whatever reason the other girls choose to ignore Lisa, so she decides to do the same—instead, she allows her mind to wander to the beginning of the summer, when all had still seemed possible.

She'd never counted on meeting the boy of her dreams.

.

.

summer lovin',

had me a blast

summer lovin',

happened so fast

.

It crosses her mind briefly that they can't possibly afford to stay at the S.T.A.R hotel in Virginia Beach on her mom's current salary, or any future salary, or her mom's and her future salary combined—the opulent hotel on top of the terraced hill is imposing and elegant, she daresay extravagantly over the top for a small town girl such as herself.

The green grass of the 60 acres hotel grounds spills over into an extensive beach club overlooking the oceanfront, and then a long strip of beach is reserved for guests of the hotel.

There's some fancy medical conference taking place at the end of the week, and they were invited by Professor Stein and his wife to stay for a grand total of five weeks; her mom had discussed this with her, but considering her mom had spent most of her previous summers working on publishing important research papers, she'd opted for Virginia Beach over hanging around with her friends all summer. It couldn't be that terrible to get away from everyone for a while, especially Ronnie, whom her mother was expecting great things from in terms of 'courting' her.

She considers this summer away a bullet she skillfully dodged.

"Mom, are we sure we can afford this?" she asks, once the porter has hauled all their bags inside the hotel room, closing the door behind him. Her eyes trip along the floral window scarves, the heavy shimmering drapes, the two large beds with oak finishing; their home back in Pennsylvania is far more frugal.

"I know it's a bit extravagant for our tastes, honey," her mom grabs around her shoulders. "But this conference is a great opportunity for me, and we can't very well decline Martin's hospitality. What would that look like?"

She bites at her lower lip; her mom failed to answer her question. Still, there are worse places to make home for the next five weeks, she supposes, and her mom's excitement as her looking forward to spending some quality time with her.

"Don't bite your lip," her mom scolds, "It isn't ladylike."

Caitlin rolls her eyes.

.

For exactly five days straight, it's the two of them against the rest of the world. They enjoy the hotel's facilities to their hearts desire; the salt water pool outside, aka The Plunge, and take long baths in their private bathroom afterwards; they walk about the gardens, the brick steps and walkways, and try to remember the names of some of the rarer flowers planted throughout. They go shopping for new, more fanciful bathing suits, and get half a dozen new dresses each, all in impossibly wonderful colors.

In the evenings they dine with Professor Stein and his wife and talk about everything, ranging from their days by the beach, to complicated medical things she happily absorbs for future reference. She dances with Professor Stein and a fair few strangers, and her mom's laughter reaches over the crowd each and every time.

After her dad's passing five years ago, her and her mom had different ways of dealing with the loss; her mom drowned herself in her work, while she cried herself to sleep over old memories and photographs. She'd always been much closer to her dad. She'd always seen a lot more of her dad, with his easy 9-to-5 he could leave at the door, his giddy personality and fast jokes, and his undying love for his family.

She still misses him.

Sometimes she wonders if her mom does. They never talk about him.

.

As soon as the weekend of the conference arrives she loses track of her mom. She's in and out of breakfast meetings and luncheons, and even at dinner she's left to her own devices. She's okay with it; this is the main reason they came and it's her mom's moment to shine, and if she's honest, she likes standing in the glow of that glory just a tiny bit. Without her mom she wouldn't have her own ambitions, she wouldn't be able to see past the idea of finding a husband and settling down in the suburbs to raise children—no, she wants college first, and a career, like her mom.

.

Sadly, the weekend spills over well into the week that follows, and she still hardly sees her mother. It wouldn't be such a big deal were they back home in Pennsylvania, where she had her books and her friends and she knew all the places to hang out. Who did she know in Virginia Beach? Exactly no one.

On Thursday her mom promises her beyond the shadow of a doubt that they'll have dinner together in the Raleigh Room, so she spends a good hour washing up and drying her hair, powdering her face and spritzing her favorite perfume—she wears one of her new dresses, a dark blue one with a tiny waist, a full skirt, and matching studded earrings. When she's done she looks as extravagant as the hotel does, wandered straight out of celluloid.

She heads downstairs at the agreed upon time, filled with anticipation; if the rest of this vacation becomes more like their first week here, it'll be the best summer they've had since her dad died.

All she finds when she approaches the Raleigh Room, however, is her mom pacing back and forth. Which tells her enough.

"You promised."

"Honey," her mom hushes, and brushes her hair back behind her shoulders as if she's an eight-year old being put in her place. "This is a big opportunity for me. Dr McGee has a very interesting job opening."

Caitlin's eyes darken. "You have a job."

"I've been at the college for six years," her mom says. "Might be time to look for something new."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she refuses to take this lying down—it's logical for her mom to want the best opportunity, especially in her line of work. If a physician doesn't continue innovating they risk getting stuck in old ways just as medicine and science were making so many new and exciting discoveries.

Too often those opportunities have come at the cost of their family.

"You can't be serious," Caitlin says. "Mercury Labs is in Ohio."

Her mom nods. "And if that's where we have to go—"

"Move before my senior year?" she says. "You can't do that to me."

"Caitlin," her mom's voice lowers, and she takes a step closer. "Don't make a scene. I raised you better than that."

Her lips press together in a tight line. "You've barely raised me at all these past few years."

With that, she turns and walks away and ignores her mother's voice behind her; she doesn't stop, she can't, stopping will mean another argument or having to give in, and she quite needs to hold onto her anger from time to time. She's like her mom in that respect.

The saddest thing is it isn't so much anger as it is disappointment, and she can't think of a worse thing than being disappointed in a parent. Her father never begged these kinds of disagreements from her; he'd been a kindhearted man, warm and safe, with an easy smile fading in her memory.

A tear runs down her cheek. Maybe she's too much like her mom.

She runs as far as her feet are willing to carry her, down the hill, past the gardens, all the way to the boardwalk at the ocean's edge, where she sits down on the steps leading down onto the beach.

And she cries.

She should've known better; why else would Professor Stein have invited them if not to provide her mom with this 'great opportunity'? Why else would he have insisted they stay longer than the conference?

It was so stupid of her to think things could be different.

"Are you okay?" comes a young man's voice.

She wipes at her cheeks without a brief glimpse upward; maybe if she ignores him he'll go away, let her stew in her own misery. She's good at that. "I'm fine."

A nervous chuckle follows. "You don't seem fine."

She rolls her eyes. "And you're an expert, I suppose?"

"Oh," comes a short dejected sound, followed by the awkward shuffle of a pair of feet.

Fantastic. Now she's getting frosty with unwitting strangers.

"I'm sorry." She sniffles. "That was mean."

When she finally does look up, she can barely make out whom she's talking to; the lights along the boulevard leave them backlit, the beach otherwise cast in darkness, starlight playing over the black water. At least her reply doesn't chase the young man away.

She takes a deep breath, casting her eyes down at her hands in her lap. "I was supposed to have dinner with my mom, but she cancelled."

Like that, she's caught the young man's attention, and he sits down next to her on the steps—he has nice-looking hands, one of his middle fingers sporting a class ring, though she thinks he might bite his nails.

"Why?" the boy asks.

"Job interview." She sighs. "Her job's more important than I am. Always has been."

What if her mom gets this job and they end up moving to Central City? What on earth is she going to do in Ohio?

Caitlin rubs at her forehead. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"I guess I just have one of those faces."

A smile sneaks to a corner of her mouth as she glances sideways, caught quickly in the respectful distance the boy decided to keep—he does have one of those faces; friendly, readable in its openness. His hair lies parted to one side.

"I'm Barry," the boy says.

"Caitlin."

Barry grants her a small smile before his eyes drift further out over the beach. "I'm sorry about your mom."

"But you're not sorry that I'm here?"

Barry giggles, followed by a light snort. "God, no. Who says that?"

And for a few moments she's so caught up in the cheerful sound of Barry's laughter she laughs herself, openmouthed and entirely unladylike. It wouldn't be the first time a boy used a cheap line on her to get her attention, or to get her to smile, and so far she doesn't have any reason to believe Barry's any different. She'd like him to be, though, having found her in such a vulnerable moment.

"You'd be surprised," she says, wiping at a stray tear.

Reaching inside his dark slacks, Barry pulls out a carefully folded handkerchief, and hands it to her with a soft, "Here."

"You carry a handkerchief?" she asks, but accepts it gratefully, dabbing at her face "What are you, eighty?"

Barry's eyebrows rise, his mouth forming around words he doesn't utter, somewhat awkward in his demeanor. It's enchanting.

"Are you—staying at the hotel?" Barry asks, deflecting her comment.

She nods. "My mom was here for a medical conference."

"My dad, too," Barry says, a little too enthusiastic. "So, it's just you and your mom."

"Yes. My dad passed away."

"I'm sorry."

As their conversation draws to a silence all too soon, Barry clasps his hands together, as if he's not sure what to do with them now they're no longer talking. Water laps at the shore some distance away, like soft whispers in the wind, starlight refracting off the ocean's surface—it's a beautiful night by any measure; warm, quiet, the night sky dotted with stars.

She looks at Barry, who's looking up at the stars. "You don't have to stay with me."

"Oh no." Barry's eyes skip between her and the stars a few times, and he points at the sky. "I came here to stargaze."

Her eyes narrow in suspicion. It sounds like an awfully coincidental thing, going out to stargaze and finding a girl crying by the water's edge, offering her a handkerchief.

"Honestly." Barry laughs. "Like, right up there?" and he's pointing up at the sky, towards one of the major constellations. "Those four, with the tail? That's—"

"The Big Dipper," she supplies, without taking her eyes off Barry.

His reaction is immediate: he turns his head and his jaw goes a little slack before he breaks out in a smile so stunning it leaves her weak in the knees. Or it would have, had she been standing.

"You know your stars," Barry says, utterly impressed.

She giggles and faces away, her cheeks heating up. It isn't like her to be charmed so easily; hadn't she been regretting this entire vacation merely moments ago, crying over her mom's quick dismissal of her one and only daughter?

Now she's caught in the splendor of a cloudless starry sky, and she points out the Little Dipper too, originally important to mariners for navigation. She helps Barry locate Polaris, or the North Star, the brightest star in the constellation of Ursa Minor. She learns that Polaris is a multiple star, a fact her own astronomy classes had neglected to teach her; two stars so close together they appear to be one so many million light years away.

.

The next morning at breakfast her mom ignores what happened between them, though they sit at the breakfast table in complete silence—it's her mom's way of holding on to her own anger, or disappointment, she can never tell, while Caitlin's mind drifts back to the beach, where a lonely night had shifted into something near magical.

She leaves the table without another word and wanders around the hotel; she has a specific goal in mind, or does she, because she was certain she hadn't decided on a course of action up until right this moment.

She's searching for Barry.

After a good twenty minutes getting lost in broad well-lit hallways she finds Barry in the east lounge, seated on one of the many settees littered throughout the area, holding a book so close to his face he must be going cross-eyed trying to make anything out. From the way he's squinting at the page, it might be time for him to invest in a good pair of glasses.

She smiles involuntarily—it's not like her, but she can't escape the word 'idiot', and how she doesn't mean that as any sort of insult. Not in Barry's case.

The one thing she had decided on already was that she wanted to get to know him better.

Hesitating, Caitlin brushes aside her short fringe, touching a careful hand to her high ponytail to make sure it's all still in place. The ribbon she tied around her hair matches her red capris, and all of a sudden she wonders why she's focusing on such insignificant details. She likes looking good, she supposes, but for a boy?

Barry looks up and meets her eyes, and she'd been quite unprepared because her cheeks heat up and, heck, since when has any boy had such an effect on her?

Barry waves, and she grants him a small one in return, walking over with some of her earlier confidence knocked. She has no idea how to do this.

But Barry had shown her kindness, gotten her mind off the argument she had with her mom and made it seem spectacularly easy. She could do with a little more of that.

"What are you reading?" she opens with, sitting down on the settee facing Barry's.

Regarding Barry now, in the full spectrum of the light, she decides he's really rather handsome, sharp lines to his face, his nose, that his sparkling green eyes and smile soften. He's wearing a red cotton shirt, buttoned up neatly, and shorts, which probably means he's going down to the beach later.

"Nothing much, actually." Barry's brow sets in a frown, and he rubs at his eyes. "I forgot my glasses at home, believe it or not."

She laughs and reaches over, stealing the book away.

"Inorganic and Theoretical Chemistry," she reads the title, opening the book to Barry's bookmark—he hasn't gotten very far.

"Pretty—boring stuff."

"It's a great read, actually." She quirks an eyebrow, and stands up. "Scoot over."

Before she's well aware of what she's doing Barry's sitting aside for her, so that when she sits down next to him their legs aren't touching—there's more than enough room, but she's not exactly sure which side of appropriate behavior she's verging towards. Girls are meant to wait for boys to take the initiative.

"You've read this?" Barry asks.

She nods, pleased to see she can still take him by surprise, much like last night. "For school."

And for the next half hour she reads to him aloud, about each element and all its known compounds yet discovered or synthesized; it's an advanced read, one Professor Stein had recommended to her, and it leaves her to wonder how Barry had happened upon it. Was she much older than her? Was he an aspiring scientist too?

She asks him as much after finishing a second chapter, and they talk for another hour or two, losing all track of time. Barry's dad, Henry Allen, was an MD in a small town, but he'd earned acclaim and respect in the medical community after publishing two papers—it'd earned him a research grant and the opportunity to travel here for the summer, and the family had collectively decided to remain here for a few weeks.

It warms her heart to learn that she might have the opportunity to get to know Barry a whole lot better, should he be open to the idea.

Nora Allen, she finds out, has an art degree she still manages to use to her advantage volunteering at a museum. Just from the way Barry's talking about his parents she can tell they must be close, a tight-knit family enjoying the summer together. She never had that, not with both her parents, though her dad always made her summers worthwhile.

All too soon Barry has to leave to have lunch with his parents, but she refuses to regret the time they did spend together, if not for her forwardness.

"Maybe I'll see you tonight," Barry says, and the seed of hope it plants inside her chest isn't something she's ever experienced before.

She smiles. "I'd like that."

Truth is she wouldn't mind seeing Barry every single day that remains of this long summer vacation—she likes the girl he turns her into, a slightly giddier version only her dad had been privy to up until now, someone who blushed when boys gave her a compliment; the kind of girl who smiles, just so, because it makes the person on the receiving end of it happier.

It gets tiring being angry at her mom all the time, or having to downplay her smarts around her friends, around boys who like her, and it definitely doesn't pay to stew in her darker moods when there's no one around to cheer her up.

For this summer, then, she'll be some other version of herself. Caitlin Snow, reinvented.

Which isn't the most terrifying idea.

She doesn't see Barry again that night, but it fails to discourage her; there are still plenty of days of summer left, and it's not like he owes her anything.

.

"Caitlin!" a voice calls through the hotel lobby the next day, and she quickly notices Barry waving at her in the small mass of people coming and going.

"Hey, Barry." She smiles, enamored by the way he sprints over, his limbs long and awkward, eyes trained solely on her. He's wearing a loose striped shirt over bermuda shorts, clearly prepared for the hot weather.

"I'm so sorry about last night," Barry says, slightly winded. "My parents made plans for us all, and—"

"That's okay." She shrugs. "Family's important."

"I was wondering if you had plans today?"

She shakes her head. "Not really, no."

After breakfast she'd grabbed a towel and a book, determined to go down to the beach and read until lunch, but if Barry has a better idea she's all ears. Anything will be better than spending another morning or afternoon on her own. Her mom left early this morning and she hadn't seen her at breakfast, but she won't let that make her sad again; she's spent enough time letting that kind of disappointment in.

"What did you have in mind?" she asks.

Barry smiles brilliantly.

She runs upstairs and writes a short note for her mom in case she starts to wonder where she disappeared to, and puts on more sensible footwear; she grabs her purse and sunhat, and rejoins Barry in the lobby. Every cell in her body's abuzz with elation, curious about the adventure they're about to go on, but equally indifferent because it won't matter where they go; as long as she's not alone.

They take the bus further down the coastline, where shops appear one after the other, and there's a small market with all kinds of produce, an arcade, and a large boulevard for walking.

If she didn't know any better she'd think Barry was taking her out on a date.

At the market she tries fresh strawberries, giggling when the juice drips down her chin and Barry, once again, gallantly offers her a handkerchief. They try some kind of French cheese and red wine, neither of which they particularly like—Barry's face contorts and she doubles over laughing, and it's honestly the best time she's ever had in her entire life.

"Have you ever been here before?" Caitlin asks, tugging the knot of her ponytail lower down her neck so she can put on her sunhat. The sun's out in full force, not a single cloud in the sky, and her skin flushes hot.

"I read the flyers at the hotel."

A certain fondness at the mental image warms her insides. "Without your glasses," she teases, imagining Barry lying on one of the hotel beds, flyers up to his nose in order to make out the letters.

"I'll have you know"—Barry smiles openmouthed—"my eyes aren't completely shot yet."

"That's true." She nods. "You might've tripped over me the night we met."

"You are—incorrigible."

She decides then and there that Barry's the nicest little idiot she's ever met, about the cleverest boy who's ever tried to make a pass at her, and the kind her mother would absolutely disapprove of. It'll never cease to amaze her, how after all her mom has accomplished and all her daughter yet could, she holds to the belief that finding a man is what's good and proper, and shouldn't be skipped in favor of chasing a career. She can go to college and have a career, but she can't forget to settle down and have a family either. It's a terrible anachronism.

For lunch they head into the city some ways and find a diner, where Barry has an American cheese sandwich and she gets the chicken salad, while they share a basket of fries between them. They order a king-size Coca-Cola, with two straws, and when their eyes meet over the shared drink she thinks, I'm exactly where I need to be, right here, with this boy.

It's almost rebellious in its rarity; for all her disinterest in Ronnie he was a nice boy, exceptionally kind and soft-spoken, good-looking, athletic, and his family had those kinds of old-time roots the likes of which would impress any girl. For some reason, none of that ever caught her attention.

Maybe Ronnie hadn't been the right boy.

It makes her wonder if Barry had someone like that in his life. Someone not interested in anything he had to offer, however difficult that seemed to believe.

"Do you have a girl, Barry?" Caitlin asks. "You know, back home."

"Not—anymore, no." Barry stares dead ahead at the label on the Coca-Cola bottle, as if it might hold the answer to all his questions.

"What happened?"

Barry draws in a deep breath and finds her eyes. "She fell in love with someone else."

She pouts a little, while Barry closes his eyes. Maybe she shouldn't have pried.

"Besides"—Barry recovers—"I'm leaving after the summer, anyway."

Her eyes fall to his class ring. "College?"

"After the summer." Barry nods. "Yup. I am off—to college."

Barry sits up straighter and feigns for his glasses, realizing halfway he's not wearing them. She's put him on the spot and she hates that; for two weeks she's been happy to be away from all the troubles of home, Ronnie included, and she'd happily let herself get swept away with Barry if it meant not having to think about her mom, and here she is conjuring up his past.

Thankfully it doesn't ruin the mood; they proceed to the arcade for some bowling, and afterwards they buy some snow cones, the shaved ice topped with cherry syrup for her, lemon for Barry as they walk along the boulevard, side by side.

Part of her wishes Barry would take her hand, hook his fingers along hers and have that be the single point of contact between them.

Part of her wouldn't mind if Barry opted for a kiss instead.

Unfortunately, Barry doesn't do either.

They watch the sun set over the ocean standing side by side, gentle blues dimming, the clouds a darker blue still, and the harsh yellow of the sun sinking into the most intense kind of orange and red. For a while the world changes in front of their eyes, and they're not in Virginia Beach; they're in a place of their own making, where they're not a girl abandoned by a parent or a boy asked to entertain himself, but a couple of kids searching for their place in the world.

It's well past ten o'clock by the time they make it back to the hotel.

It's so easy to lose track of time around Barry Allen.

"I had the best time today," she says, reluctant to leave his side even now—she's tired and her feet hurt, but she feels drawn to Barry in ways she's never been drawn to anyone. Is this what it feels like then, to fall in love?

"I'm glad. I was hoping to—" Barry huffs a smile, and stares down at his feet. "I'm just—glad."

"See you tomorrow?" she asks tentatively; she doesn't want to assume Barry means to hang out with her as often as she might want him to, or that today was meant to be anything but a friendly outing.

"I'd like that." Barry nods.

Then, Barry leans in and kisses her on the cheek.

A small gasp leaves her mouth.

"Goodnight, Caitlin," Barry says, his eyes a brilliant green in the soft light of the lobby.

Her cheeks burn, as does her spine and her chest and about every other part of her, while her cheek tingles at the quiet touch of his lips. "Night, Barry."

She doesn't want to leave, she could stand here with Barry forever and be perfectly content, but the elevator arrives—they both get on, Barry pressing the '2' and '3' button. It won't be long before they part ways, and she wishes she had something to say, something clever, or cute, or a way to signal that she might be interested in a date without sounding desperate.

"How about I take you dancing tomorrow?" Barry asks in the too-tight space of the elevator.

"I'd love that," she blurts out, before their time runs out, and she knots her fingers together in a vain attempt of recapturing her constitution. She fails.

Dancing can't mean anything other than a date. She'll have to get one of her new dresses pressed.

"Night, Caitlin," Barry repeats, and gets out on his floor, turning around to look at her through the closing doors.

She smiles. "Night, Barry."

As soon as the elevator doors close she clasps a hand over her mouth and squeals, bouncing up and down where she stands; she's shaking all over with a kind of excitement she's scarcely felt before—she's going dancing with a boy!

Caitlin glides more than walks to her room, her feet light and insubstantial, but she's no sooner closed the door behind her or her mom's in her face waving the note she'd left this morning.

"Where have you been?!"

"I left you a note," she answers calmly; she won't let her mom ruin her mood—she's flying right now, and she refuses to come down.

In truth she never expected her mom to find it or read it, or even care all that much, being in and out the way she has these past two weeks.

"'Out all day, don't wait for me' isn't an explanation, young lady."

"I was with a boy," she says, and sits down on the bed, freeing her feet. "We went down to the arcade."

"Boy? What boy?"

"Barry Allen." She sighs, without any real heat behind it. "His dad was at the conference too and they're staying longer, just like us."

Her calm seems to upset her mom's expectations, because she falls silent, folding her note in half, then in half again. It's as if she's still making up her mind whether or not this is a good thing—true, she hasn't met Barry so there's nothing to approve or disapprove of, but that doesn't mean she's not allowed to utter any concerns.

She doesn't think her mom has a leg to stand on either way; she's the one who leaves her alone every day.

"He didn't do anything—untoward," her mom decides on.

Caitlin rolls her eyes. "No, mom. He was a perfect gentleman."

.

That night she dreams of dancing on the clouds in a dress made of diamonds, shining and shimmering where the sun catches against the small stones—Barry in a tux leading her by the waist, his eyes like emeralds.

Her feet move of their own accord and they glide through the clouds, up and down, left to right, spinning circles until she's dizzy.

It's the most perfect kind of thing she can imagine.

.

On Sunday morning, after breakfast, her and Barry find a nice shaded spot in the garden, spread out a plaid blanket on the green, and read together for hours; his book on inorganic chemistry, and the latest Ian Fleming she bought a few days ago—Barry isn't a fan, but he happily lets her read to him.

There's nothing quite like it, the comfort she finds in Barry's company, the way they can talk about science one moment and the cloud formations in the sky the next, joke around and laugh until their stomachs hurt, or settle in a silence that doesn't have to mean a thing.

She leafs through Barry's chemistry book, eyes falling to the pictures and diagrams, and the names credited below each image. "Do you think some day one of us might make it into one of these books?"

"Discovered in 1964 by Dr Caitlin Snow, MD, PhD." Barry beams. "I can already see the headlines."

She giggles. "Too bad Barium's already taken."

Around lunch Nora Allen makes her way down to them, and she's up and standing and smoothing her hands down her capris hoping desperately her clothes don't appear too rumpled.

From the way Barry had talked about his mom she knew to expect someone warm and kind, much like him, a similar kind of smile, and the most gorgeous long red hair she's ever seen. She's dressed up for tennis.

Nora Allen shakes her hand and it's cool to the touch, while hers feels sweaty—she's never been introduced to a boy's parents before, least of all in such an informal setting. Her mom would say there's a time and place for these kinds of things, but they're not home and Barry isn't her boyfriend, or at least not yet. The thought catches her unaware and hopeful, and makes her even warmer.

"I brought you two some food," Nora says, and hands Barry a small basket, "thought you might like to have a little picnic."

"Mom, you didn't have to."

"Nonsense." Nora waves a hand. "Weather's too nice to be cooped up inside. You kids have fun."

Nora winks. "It was nice meeting you, Caitlin."

"You too, Mrs Allen."

Caitlin and Barry meet each other's eye as Nora Allen leaves, and both blush; they both understand all too well what could be unfolding here, and Caitlin doesn't want it to stop.

They sit down and eat their lunch, in total silence.

Not long after they part ways, and agree to meet up at the beach club around four, for the weekly Sunday Tea Dance, an evening of dancing and refreshments, possibly some kind of light supper. She wouldn't know; she's never had occasion to attend a tea party.

Back in her room she lays out her new red dress on the bed, matching her shoes, and the lipstick she steals from her mom's toiletry bag—her own lipstick isn't quite the right shade and she wants to look perfect, because then maybe tonight will be perfect, and she might be brave enough to tell Barry how deeply she's started to feel for him.

She takes a long hot bath, and blow-dries her hair upside down, so it gets a little more volume, and the natural waves in her hair fall down her face and shoulders the way she likes it. Look at me, she thinks idly, all this fuss over a boy; only, Barry's still not any other boy from back home, chasing after her like she's some kind of prized possession he can't wait to own. Barry's taking his time with her, and maybe that's because he's as insecure about all this as she is, or because he suspects it's a pace she's comfortable with; either way, it's refreshing in its novelty.

Half an hour to four she slips into her dress, the model creating more of a waistline than she has, flowing outward into a full skirt—at least most of the heat will have gone soon, else she might faint dancing in this stifling fabric.

She heads downstairs and has to remind herself there's no need to rush—Barry will be there waiting; he won't abandon her.

And sure enough, as she makes it down the garden towards the club, Barry's waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes sweeping down her dress, legs, down to the tips of her toes and back up again, his mouth falling open.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing." Barry blinks a few times. "You look—beautiful."

She wonders if the shade of red she blushes matches her dress.

Barry offers her a hand, guiding her with one hand at the small of her back once she passes him, onto the open space of the club; the bar and other facilities are indoors, the hardwood dance floor outside running in a semi-circle, raised a little higher than the beach. Tables are set up all along the railing, pastel colored parasols over each of them, the end of each parasol touching as to create some overlap in shade.

They get some lemonades and find a table for two, more guests of the hotel pouring in by the minute. Caitlin folds both her hands around her glass, letting the cold sink into the palm of her hands, blushing again once she notices Barry's staring at her.

They share an awkward smile.

"My uhm—dad said he wanted to meet you," Barry says, and breathes a smile, his own hands seemingly incapable of settling anywhere. "He can't believe I've met a girl as crazy about science as I am."

"Well, I'd love to test his beliefs sometime."

"Caitlin?" Barry asks without taking notice of her answer, and it takes her aback; Barry hasn't been dismissive or uninterested in anything she's had to say so far, and her agreeing to meet his other parent might appear to some as a big deal.

Barry rambles on uninterrupted. "I know that we're only here a few more weeks, and that I really have no— I mean, I do, if you—"

Her mind reels; what is Barry trying to say, or ask her? They have but a startling few weeks left together, left to be together, and, jeepers, could Barry be asking what she hopes he is?

"Barry," Caitlin urges softly. "Use your words."

Barry looks her dead in the eyes. "Would you be open to—dating? Me? For the summer?"

All of a sudden it's harder for her to breathe.

All of a sudden her heart becomes but a background murmur and all she can hear and see and feel is Barry.

"I would," she says, just as Barry casts down his eyes.

"I understand if—" he starts to say, until her words sink in, and he looks back up at her with an, "Oh."

She turns her head to shy away a smile, else it might shine too bright and make Barry go blind.

"Oh," Barry repeats. "Well, that's—swell."

He's the first boy she ever hears using that word who isn't at least forty years old.

That late afternoon, they dance, and they eat, and they laugh so hard their stomachs hurt. Barry twirls her on the dance floor and it's like she's dancing on clouds, his eyes her North Stars, and the one hand along her waist keeping her grounded. She's never felt like this before, so light on her feet, yet so heavy inside, so utterly untethered, yet so incredibly anchored.

She's never been in love before.

The dance winds down somewhere around seven, and they've both eaten too much cake and biscuits to want any more supper back at the hotel. So they take off their shoes and walk along the beach, dip their toes in the freezing water, Barry slipping his jacket around her shoulders.

Once the hour grows too late they head back to the hotel, and Barry holds her hand, his long fingers tangled with hers, and it's a perfect fit. Or at least that's what she thinks.

"Sweet dreams," Barry tells her downstairs at the elevators, knowing that once they get on they won't have much time.

They haven't yet let go of each other's hand, and, well, she has no intention of doing so just yet—tonight was more perfect than she could've ever imagined, and she'd made herself promise. She'd be brave, and tell Barry how she felt.

So in reply, she pushes up on her toes, and plants a kiss shy of Barry's lips. It's the most daring thing she's done in her entire life, wholly improper and unladylike, and as she lowers back down to her heels she fears she might burst in a million tiny pieces should Barry not react.

Her breathing deepens and stutters a little, Barry's gaze hot on her, the beat of her heart stitching all her insides together into one big blob.

Barry leans in and pushes their lips together, soft and sweet—his mouth lingers on hers, seconds, minutes, she loses count.

Barry's jacket slips off her shoulders.

The elevator doors open, but neither of them gets on.

.

All of it happens so fast she can scarcely believe it's happening at all.

Barry kisses her and the world stops turning, her arms wind around his neck and his hands stutter around her waist for a moment, but then their bodies melt together, her lips part and they're breathing the same air.

She could do this, just this, for the rest of her life and she'd never be unhappy again.

They go about their days the same way as before, only now they hold hands when they're walking down the boulevard, they steal kisses whenever and wherever they can, and often use each other as an excuse to get out of breakfast, lunch, or dinner with their parents.

Everything around them changes colors, all brighter, all deeper, all much more intense; they're not in Virginia Beach—they're in a place of their own making, where she's a girl in love with a boy, and Barry's a boy who leaves her whole body tingling.

A couple of kids on top of the world.

They don't talk about college or what might happen after the summer, because that would mean this might end, and neither of them want to think about that. Their days are endless, their moments more infinite still, and for all she cares this summer will never end at all.

.

Later in the week the Allens invite her and her mom to have breakfast with them—despite her usual early morning meetings her mom chooses to accept the invitation, and the five of them join the breakfast buffet dressed to the nines.

Henry sits at the head of the table, Nora to his left, her mom to his right, while she and Barry sits next to their moms.

She barely gets a word in edgewise before her mom and Barry's dad start talking about the conference, but she hardly considers that a bad thing—she wants her mom to be impressed, and if she's honest she wants her mom to impress the Allens too.

She wonders how much Barry has told his parents about her situation, but considering she doesn't get any prying questions she believes Barry limited the information. For all the Allens know she and her mom are vacationing the same way they are, and they get along as well as Barry gets along with his parents.

"Was that as scary for you as it was for me?" she asks afterwards, tangling hers and Barry's fingers, already second nature.

"Scarier," Barry says.

Caitlin raises a quizzical brow.

"Meeting a girl's mom isn't for the faint of heart, Cait." Barry jokes, but it's the shortening of her name that coaxes a giggle out of her. "And a renowned medical professional to boot?"

Barry puffs out a dramatic breath, and she knocks their shoulders together.

"I think she liked you."

"My parents loved you."

Caitlin tugs at Barry's arm until it draws him to a stop; their locked hands sway between them. "It's not a competition, Mr Allen."

"Isn't it, Miss Snow?" Barry's eyes narrow, and he inches closer until their lips meet in a kiss.

"Hmm," she hums. "Maybe."

She pushes up on her toes and drapes an arm around Barry's neck, the tips of his fingers caressing from her neck down to the small of her back.

Caitlin giggles, "I'm winning, in any case," and begs another, longer, kiss.

.

"What did you think of Barry?" Caitlin will ask sometime later in the week, when she returns to the hotel room well after ten and finds her mom lounging on one of the beds in her bathrobe. There's a book open in her lap, and a glass of wine in her hand, and she concludes her mom finally enjoyed a nice night in.

Carla Tannhauser has never been one for relaxation—her mom got a lot of satisfaction from her work, and few of her summers had ever included joining her and her dad at the lake house. Ever since her dad died it's become a rarity to catch her mom in a moment of peace. Just that fact alone probably tells her more about the state of her mom's heart than anything.

"His father's research sounds remarkably promising," her mom answers.

Caitlin rolls her eyes, but there's a fondness behind it—silence usually means her mom has nothing bad to say, and saying anything good always comes a little harder.

.

The week that follows, Caitlin and Barry spend almost exclusively on the beach.

Every morning she joins the Allens for breakfast, and then her and Barry head out with a parasol and towels and books. She reads to Barry, or they talk about high school science, or gossip about their parents. Barry constructs an elaborate sand castle, with several towers and a mote, only to trip over it backwards when she tells him to get closer as she takes a picture with his camera.

They take their swimwear too, in case they feel like going for a swim, and they can easily get changed in one of the cabanas on the beach; hers is a yellow one-piece, Barry's blue shorts, and for a moment she almost reconsiders.

Because she has trouble keeping her eyes off Barry.

"Are you okay?" Barry asks, stepping closer, which only brings the endless amount of freckles on his chest in sharper focus—there are so many of them, and they're all over, and Barry isn't buff or anything, but he's remarkably toned.

Maybe in this other life they don't talk about, he's an athlete or something.

"Hmm?" She tries to shake herself out of her stupor, but next thing Barry pinches her sides and she squeals, and she runs for the water, Barry near tripping over his feet chasing after her.

She shrieks with laughter zigzagging through the water, hoping to evade Barry, but he catches up quickly with his long legs, grabbing around her waist and lifting her out of the water.

"Say 'uncle'," he breathes into her ear—she can't breathe she's laughing so hard and she slaps at Barry's arm to get him to let her go, dragging oxygen into her lungs as she finds her feet sinking in the wet ocean floor again. She'll get stuck if she stands still for much longer.

So instead what she does is scoop her hand in the water and flings whatever water's in the palm of her hand at Barry, making him jump—like that they're off running through the water again, until they go out too far and the current gets too heavy to battle.

Caitlin settles against Barry's chest, held there easily because of how weightless the water makes her, and draws a hand through Barry's wet hair. He's so effortlessly handsome, she thinks, and tall and smart, kind and warm, funny and sweet—what girl could ever say no to him?

"Are you my fella, Barry Allen?" she asks, for no other reason than to hear him say it. She's been on cloud nine for close to two weeks now, and she has no plans of ever coming down.

Barry's arms tighten around her. "I sure am, Caitlin Snow."

If the world were to end right then and there, she'd die knowing she'd been loved completely, and she'd loved to the fullest in return. In quiet moments at night, her mom asleep in the bed next to her, she worries that shouldn't at all be possible at her age, but then she'll look down into Barry's eyes like she is now and realize no one can truly know when love will catch them.

Maybe she's simply one of the lucky ones.

.

Those days they waste away on the beach, they return after sunset, spread a blanket over the sand and she'll lie down in Barry's arms, tracing constellations in the night sky.

"Cassiopeia," she says, and points up at the sky, helping Barry mark the distinctive M-shape. Andromeda shines not far below it, Cepheus above.

Polaris bright where it's been for eons.

She snuggles closer to Barry, her head on his shoulder, her hand over his heart. Nights like these are her very favorite; her and Barry and the stars above, the sea whispering to them. They have another week left of this, just seven more days, and she's determined to live every single moment as if there's no next one.

"Do you want to become an MD like your dad?" she asks idly, her mind wandered to more earthly things.

"Not really," Barry says, one hand unconsciously mussing through her hair. "My dad's great at his job, but I want to work in a lab, behind a microscope."

Caitlin can picture it vividly; Barry in a long white lab coat, glasses, a big cup of coffee on a desk next to him, scribbling formulas down in a disorderly notebook. In some of her quiet fantasies, she sits next to him.

"What about you?"

"He's not my dad."

Barry laughs and kisses her hair. "You're incorrigible."

She lifts her head and steals a single kiss from Barry's lips.

Gazing down she realizes she broke one of their rules bringing up the future, but there's a foolish part of her heart that's started envisioning one for them, where Barry's back home with her in Pennsylvania and she introduces him to all her friends, where they go catch a flick at the drive-in together, as boyfriend and girlfriend. Where she's Barry Allen's gal and everyone knows it.

Is that too much to hope for?

"I want to help people." Caitlin leans up on one elbow. "I want to be a doctor, like my mom, but I'm not sure what field I'd specialize in."

She bites at her lower lip.

Barry reaches over and draws a finger along her mouth, effectively freeing her lip from its worry. "That's okay," he says softly, and plays his other hand through her curls. "You have all the time in the world to figure that out. We both do."

She lies her head down on Barry's chest and listens to his heart, beating strong. In some small notebook back home she has a list scribbled down: etiology, cytology, genetics, ... all branches of medicine that held her interest.

But Barry's right. All that matters they have right here, this place of their own making that's never-ending.

.

Their last week Barry surprises her by renting them a couple of bikes, and they're off exploring the moment their parents grant them permission. For all their emphasis on family time the Allens leave Barry to his own devices, especially since he met her. Her mom, on her part, has kept silent about anything Barry related, and that suits her fine.

They go out for milkshakes, or rather, a single milkshake that they share, and visit a local record store, but mostly they stick close together; talking, kissing, enjoying each other's company. It's only a few more days of this before she'll be forced back to the hard reality of being an only child raised by a single mom, and she means to keep that image at bay for as long as she can.

A small detour has Barry stopping at a Kodak store to get his pictures developed, and he orders doubles so she can take her own set of memories back home with her. Over the past three weeks they'd asked the odd stranger to snap a shot of them together, and she'd already determined to stick the pictures along the mirror in her bedroom, maybe have one framed, so she'll never have to forget his face.

Still, they skip into a photo booth for some instant memories.

"Pose for three photos when red light is on," she reads the words above the rectangular screen, a green 'start' button directly below. "Seems easy enough."

She sits down on Barry's lap, her arms around his neck.

"If we're not happy with the first batch we can always try again." Barry shrugs, inserting some coins into the machine.

They get it right on the first try, smart kids like them; one of the small square pictures is of them smiling nicely for the camera, the other of them bursting out laughing, the last of their lips meeting in a kiss.

Just for kicks, though, they try again.

.

On their last day together, a Sunday, they go dancing again. She wears that same red dress, and Barry looks spiffy in his suit, and they dance like there's no tomorrow.

They'd spent their morning going through the developed pictures of the past few weeks, and rekindled memories of the arcade, that game of bowling she lost, and their first time dancing at the beach club—their favorite part's reenacting kisses they'd shared at the record store, or that first night under the stars together, their first kiss by the elevators and their second the morning after.

Drinking their lemonades underneath a lime green parasol they don't talk about it; the future, their last day, where they'll go from here. It's a silent promise they made the day Barry asked her to go steady, and even in the real world these things don't always last.

But, she catches herself thinking, she and Barry might have a shot in that real world, if not for geography getting in their way. She lives in Pennsylvania, Barry in Ohio, and he'll probably head out of state for college—who knows where that will bring him.

Maybe somewhere, years from now, the universe will bring them together again.

That night they write their names in the sand, Caitlin + Barry, and draw a great big heart them. Soon she'll have to start packing, because her mom plans on leaving first thing in the morning, the Allens later that afternoon. She'd begged her mom for the few hours more, but even she barely recognized her own voice despairing like that; a few more hours wouldn't delay the inevitable.

She and Barry will part ways, and like the rising tide there's nothing she can change about it.

The water comes and washes their names away.

And like that reality comes crashing in; this is their last day together, the very last, and she's not at all prepared. How can she say goodbye to a boy who's kept a smile alive inside her? Who's made her feel loved and wanted, and kept her loneliness at bay? How does she walk away from that? How does she go back to school and reject Ronnie advances? How will she explain to her friends why she's returning a changed person?

Barry will be gone, like her dad's gone, and like her mom leaves time and time again—she gets so tired of people disappearing from her life.

"We'll never see each other again, will we?"

Her voice shakes, and a shiver runs up her spine.

This is the end.

"I don't believe that," comes Barry's swift but reticent reply.

The ocean waves whisper, the stars shine above, but she's lost all ability to decipher their message.

"Hey," Barry calls.

A tear runs down her cheek as she faces Barry.

Barry takes both of her hands in his, and smiles, and her own smile isn't so much the same sentiment as it is a mirror reflection of Barry's. She wishes she had something to smile about.

"Caitlin Snow," Barry says, "thanks to you I've had the best summer of my entire life, and I don't believe life would just give us that to take it away again."

Barry speaks with such determination and his usual excitement it infects some of hers. "Now I promise I will write to you as often as I possibly can."

Caitlin shakes her head. "You say that now—"

"Hey." Barry's finger pries at her chin, and his eyes catch shades of blue in the light of the waning sun. "I promise," he says softly, and when Barry says it, when he says it exactly like that, she's willing to believe. But she's been disillusioned by people who know her far better than Barry does.

"Here," Barry says, and pries at the class ring around his middle finger, giving it a few turns before it pulls free. "I want you to have this."

Her eyes skip between Barry and the ring a few times. This is a token boys give to their girlfriends when they're going steady, and they'd said this would only last as long as the summer did.

Summer's drawing to a close.

"Barry, I can't."

"Yes, you can," Barry insists. "It's my promise," he says, and slips the ring around her middle finger, where it fits perfectly. "I promise to write, and I promise we'll see each other again."

She sniffles, seeing the ring clearly for the first time. "What does the 'C' stand for?"

"Caitlin," Barry answers.

She laughs, even though her tears threaten to get in the way. How can this possibly be the end? How can life give her the perfect summer, the perfect boy, only to snatch it away again? She'll be hours from Virginia Beach, further still from Barry, and she doesn't even know where he's going to college. She doesn't want to know. If this is the end she doesn't want to be able to imagine him anywhere else but here on this beach with her, forever.

"Will you wear it?"

She nods, and whispers, "Every day."

.

Above them, the stars they perceive as the North Star died millions of years ago, billions even, the last light of them reaching them its final curtain call.

.

The day she leaves for Pennsylvania she hugs her arms around Barry and closes her eyes, squeezing him so tight she fears his lungs might collapse, and watches him through the car's back window, fading into a small dot.

"There'll be other boys, sweetheart," her mom says, and as they head out onto the Interstate, she thinks, no, there'll never be another boy like Barry Allen.

.

.

summer dreams,

ripped at the seams

but oh,

those summer nights

.

"True love and he didn't lay a hand on you?" Lisa's shrill voice pulls her back to reality, disillusionment spreading from her peripheral vision until it's all but consumed her eyesight. "Sounds like a creep to me."

Caitlin scowls, upset that once again Lisa makes her time with Barry out to be something other than it was, something cheap or debased. She's not naïve; her mom's given her the sermon often enough, about being careful of what boys might want from her beyond a kiss, about not creating the wrong impression.

Barry wasn't like that. Even if it'd crossed his mind he never said anything, and he definitely never acted on it either.

It seems so long ago now, summer, the beach, her lavish dresses—and Barry's hand in hers. If she closes her eyes she can still smell the sea salt, taste the cherry flavored snow cones, and see all the colors the sky melted into.

How did it all slip away?

"What was his name?" Patty asks, clearly a lot more taken with her story than Lisa.

"Barry," she says. "Barry Allen."

Shawna giggles, but it's Patty who makes her jump, gasping as loud as she does.

Linda's jaw goes a little slack, but she keeps any comments to herself, and Caitlin, she's just confused. What's so special about a name?

All the girls are reprimanded by a single stern look from Lisa.

"Well"—Lisa puts on the same fake smile she gave Patty earlier, and for a moment or two she wonders what she did to deserve it. She only answered all of the girls' questions—"I think he sounds peachy keen."

Lisa stands up and grabs her tray, the other girls following her example.

"Maybe if you believe in miracles Prince Charming will show up again some day," Lisa says, and it's the conviction behind her eyes that sends ice down her veins.

"Somewhere..." Lisa shrugs, "Unexpected."

None of the girls meet her eyes again, Patty in particular, and she can't for the life of her figure out what warranted this kind of reaction. Hadn't she told the story as they asked? Maybe she'd embellished here or there, but it'd been a pretty accurate account of her summer. Surely they didn't envy her.

Lisa's parting words continue to ring in her ears, that same seed of hope she still clings to in her loneliest moments. Could it be possible? Might she find Barry again one day, receive those letters in the mail, maybe get another chance to hug her arms around him? Her head's saying, no, don't be foolish, he's long since forgotten about you and you should do the same.

But her heart's saying to hold on to every single memory like a lifeline.

Like she's been doing for the past three weeks.

.

"Miss Snow."

Her new science teacher, Dr Wells, calls her over the moment she steps foot in his classroom, other students finding a seat as far from the front row as possible—it tells her upfront is where the action is, where the interesting questions will be asked and answered, and she secretly rejoices there'll be a spot left for her. At least some things never have to change.

"I've read a lot of great things about you," Dr Wells says.

He's a tall man with the darkest hair she's ever seen, and impossibly blue eyes that shine behind his glasses; he has a friendly smile, which surprises her considering the black turtleneck and matching black slacks. Not married, she reckons, because no wife would let her husband leave the house dressed like this.

Sure enough, there's no wedding ring around his left ring finger.

"Oh?" she asks, and walks over.

Dr Wells can't have heard anything bad; she's a mostly straight A student, and she often discounted that B- in home economics. She might've been the best seamstress, her fingers quick and nimble with a needle, but who cared if she burned cheese or toast? How would those skills help her get through medical school?

"I've gone over your school transcripts, and I'm afraid some of the material will be revision for you," Dr Wells says. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to give you some individual assignments. To keep you on your toes."

Dr Wells winks at that last bit—she thinks they'll get along just fine.

"Could some of it cover more biochemistry?" she asks, happy to finally meet someone who seems to speak her language. "I feel like my previous teacher skimped out on that topic in general."

"Absolutely." Dr Wells smiles brilliantly, as if no student, boy or girl, has ever volunteered for a homework assignment—and then his eyes narrow. "Have you considered joining any clubs yet?"

To be honest she's been so focused on keeping her head above water she hasn't even peeked at the bulletin board outside of the registration office yet—she'd figured it could be a worry for later in the week. She'd been part of three clubs at her old school at her mom's urging, but she'd enjoyed the weekly meetings. Maybe it would do her good to check out what Central City High has to offer; it is her new home for at least another year, after all.

"We have a pretty dedicated group of young scientists in our Science Club this year," Dr Wells says, and by his tone of voice she infers he's the teacher overseeing the club should they require any materials or classrooms. "I think you'd fit right in."

She sits down in an empty seat on the front row, her heart beating a little faster. Young scientists might be exactly the people she should be surrounding herself with, rather than girls who would judge her life choices because she didn't happen to unbutton her blouse for every boy who looked her way.

Caitlin sighs.

Today has been nothing but worry and anxiety, and more worries, even though that's probably only the nerves of her first day getting to her. Imagine if Barry were here, if he could sit next to her in science class and she'd read the formulas aloud—though in this scenario he wouldn't leave his glasses at home.

She's often wondered what he'd look like in his glasses, if they'd suit him or make his eyes look too big.

The mental image it provides makes her smile.

.

During homeroom she sits with Linda, helping her with some math homework. Lisa and Shawna sit in a corner together, pretending to read, but really they're exchanging one note after the other the moment the teacher isn't looking.

Patty titters from one table to the other to campaign for her student council nomination, but avoids her and Linda completely. She can't imagine what she said or did to already chase Patty away.

.

The final bell rings, and she breathes a sigh of relief—she can't wait to go home and only worry about unpacking the final boxes in the kitchen, and trying to figure out which color her bedroom should be. At the college she didn't have a choice; they had to accept the lodgings they were given as they were, but now she gets to paint a whole new slate.

Maybe moving hadn't been the most terrible thing to ever befall her.

"I'm sorry about Lisa." Linda approaches her in the hallway on her way out. "I should've warned you."

She nods in acknowledgement of the apology, but she's reluctant to admit that Lisa had somehow gotten to her; she doesn't need the reputation that she's easily riled, even though that might be the case.

"What's her problem with Patty, anyway?" she asks, in an effort to deflect attention away from her.

Linda rolls her eyes. "Lisa has a thing for Patty's ex's best friend."

It takes her a full ten seconds to figure out what Linda said, and it still makes little sense.

"That's why she's mean to her?"

"To the ex, too." Linda sighs. "It's just Lisa's way of avoiding her feelings."

There must be nicer ways to do that, she thinks, and even still, if she liked this boy what good does it do her to be mean to his best friend? Or that best friend's ex-girlfriend? It all sounds overly complicated.

She can't wait to go home and argue with her mom. At least that made sense.

Before she gets the chance to even locate the bus, however, Lisa's in her face again, Shawna and Patty not far behind.

"Heyy, Caitlin." Lisa puts on that smile again. "Could you follow me to the parking lot?"

By now she's more than a little suspicious. "Why?"

"We have a surprise for you," Patty supplies. But if Lisa doesn't like Patty, on account of her ex, then what are they doing together? Surely they're not trying to set her up. What would they set her up for? Would this be some kind of hazing ritual? Do high school have those?

"Lees," Linda warns, which does nothing to steady her nerves.

"Don't worry, Linda." Lisa's eyes widen. "This will cheer little Caitlin right up!"

And before she knows it she's tucked in between Shawna and Patty, both with their arms hooked in hers, and walking towards the parking lot.

With school out, everyone's headed in different directions, the overlarge portion of the student body either taking the bus, or going on foot, or cycling home; there are only a handful of cars.

In the strip of concrete separating two rows of cars, which are pulling out one by one, there's a single figure with his back turned, lingering, waiting. Who knows?

Lisa skips forward, and pulls something out of her jacket pocket.

An egg? And it's not meant for her?

"What's going on?" she inquires, but Shawna and Patty merely bring her closer, and Lisa rises on her tiptoes so her heels don't sound on the concrete.

And as they come closer and the figure –a boy– comes into view, she recognizes him; the slouch of his shoulders, the parting in his hair, the long awkward legs.

"Barry," she whispers.

He's unaware Lisa's creeping up behind him, and—

"Barry!" she shouts, and Barry turns immediately towards the sound of her voice, but it's too late—Lisa smashes the egg on top of Barry's head, the shell breaking, egg white and yellow yolk mixing together in Barry's hair.

Everyone bursts out laughing.

"Why did you do that?!" she calls, and means to run over, only—what's Barry doing here, in Ohio, at this school? Why would Lisa do this, to anyone? Why had all the girls reacted to Barry's name the way they did? Do they all know Barry and didn't tell her?

Does Barry go here?

"Ca-Caitlin?" Barry cries, shoulders hunched after the sudden attack, egg white running down the back of his neck, knitting into the collar of his shirt. "What are you doing here?"

She approaches Barry slowly, keenly aware that there are things at play she doesn't know. "My mom got that job I told you about."

"That's great!" Barry cheers, and unearths a clean white handkerchief from a pocket of his tweed jacket.

The sight of it near makes her cry.

She touches fingers over the necklace hidden underneath her blouse, the ring at the end, the memory of the 'C' engraved on its face. Central City.

"You—you go to school here?"

Lisa throws an arm around her neck, scaring the living daylights out of her—she'd almost forgotten they weren't alone.

"Oh, haven't you heard, Miss Uptight?" Linda asks, the nickname freezing her to the ground. "Barry here is the school's resident egghead."

Everyone but Linda starts laughing again, even Patty.

Barry grimaces and shrinks where he stands.

"Tell us again, Caitlin." Linda pushes her towards Barry, and she staggers the few steps closer with a particular kind of dread. "What a perfect gentleman Barry here was. How he held your hand on the promenade. How Polaris was the perfect metaphor for your relationship."

Lisa bursts out laughing while Caitlin's eyes fill with tears. Not simply because Barry seems to have lied, but because they're making fun of her too—she'd told her story in confidence, with the silent promise that what she shared would remain among sisters. Had that been so naïve? Had Linda not promised to look out for her?

How had this all gone so wrong?

Linda throws them both a kiss, retreating with the other girls in tow—Caitlin's eyes cross Linda's briefly, close to tears herself, mouthing 'I'm sorry', but she can't yet say if she'll ever be able to forgive any of them.

Two minutes have passed and it's like her whole world has turned upside down.

Barry, the boy she thought she knew, the boy she'd longed to see again for the past three weeks, has changed in front of her eyes. He looks different with his glasses, the white shirt and the bowtie, the matte tweed jacket. Gone is the laid back boy she'd met, and here's a boy so terribly small, so very vulnerable.

Like that girl he'd found on the beach.

It's Barry, it's her Barry. But it's not.

"I guess—You know now," Barry says, dragging the kerchief down his neck in the hopes of collecting the last of the egg white. His hair's fallen flat and sticky against his scalp. "I'm not—"

He throws the handkerchief to the ground.

"I'm not popular," he says. "Or very good—with words."

Only he had been all summer; not popular, why would she care about that, but he'd been eloquent every step of the way. Even still she liked the way his words caught at the back of his throat from time to time, how his hands had hesitated against her arms and neck and in her hair. How his lips stuttered against hers.

"So, you lied?"

Barry trips a step closer, breathing, "Not about the important stuff. Not—" and his green eyes are beautiful and wild like she remembers, the emeralds she dreams about, but if he lied, if none of it was real—

"Just about"—and he gestures at himself, at his outfit, at his hair, at the school—"this."

She thinks it all over, how today's tested her, and a girl who she thought was her friend might not be at all, and how Lisa manipulated this entire situation to bring them face to face to have this conversation. If it'd gone differently, if she'd run into Barry in the hallway or by herself... maybe this wouldn't be so painful.

"It was easy being myself around you, but I didn't want you to think..."

Barry didn't want her to think any less of him. As if being a nerd could ever chase her away. It hadn't.

"Lisa's right." Barry throws up his hands. "I'm an egghead. And Patty's the ex I told you about. And no one"—Barry draws in a deep breath—"here likes me, except for two people, who are my best friends."

Caitlin wonders if those friends would be the young scientists Dr Wells told her about.

"I just—" Barry sighs deeply, his voice trembling. "I didn't want to be that guy with you."

Cars pull out of the parking lot left and right, and none of the other students take any notice of them. She thinks she's not at all that girl she was in Virginia Beach, so forward and open, so colorfully uninhibited—she's a lot closer to that girl Barry found on the beach, vulnerable and alone, so awfully lonely.

She'd allowed whoever Barry turned her into because she'd been so new, so much fun, and if it'd happened any slower –the falling in love part– she might've questioned it. She fell for Barry because for a while there she'd been a different girl too.

And that was okay. Wasn't it?

"But, anyway, I'll understand if you don't—" Barry's voice tapers off.

"You said you'd write," she says, a familiar seed of hope peeking over the horizon of their currently bleakly darkened skies. It's true she made assumptions about Barry's status at school, if that's what she could call it, but she can amend those. This summer meant too much to her for her to throw it all away, and if what Barry says is true, if he hadn't lied about the things that really mattered, there might be a chance for them.

"I have!" Barry says. "I sent you at least five letters since I've been back."

Caitlin bites at her lower lip. Maybe she really had done something wrong at the post office. Maybe they were still on their way.

"I guess you didn't get those." Barry scratches the back of his head, coming away with some traitorous egg white still knotted through his hair.

"You made another promise too," she says, and she returns to that beach, the night sky filled with stars above them, their names written in the sand, the waves like whispers saying, Don't let go.

Barry rights his glasses. "I—I did."

She reaches for the necklace hidden underneath her blouse, and pulls it out.

"You still have it," Barry says softly, and wanders over, pinching the ring at the end of the necklace between his thumb and index finger, their proximity at once a given as well as a foregone conclusion. That ring had been a promise.

She looks up and meets Barry's green eyes, the exact same eyes, the exact same boy she fell in love with. Why would she ever doubt that? How could Lisa think this would break her heart, and not mend it?

She'd made assumptions over the summer, as Barry undoubtedly had about her, and they don't know each other in this context. Here she's her mom's daughter, who listens to what outfits to wear and which dances to go to, which people to hang out with, and holds to her curfew like it's God's Holy Law. She's Caitlin Snow, the egghead.

It might be a challenge; it might mean she can no longer hang out with any of the girls she met today, but she's bound to find more likeminded people, like Dr Wells said.

There's bound to be a place for them here.

If not, maybe they can carve out one of their own again.

"This is a strange way of keeping it," she says.

"You—" Barry smiles, caressing the back of his fingers down her cheek. "You caught me off guard, Caitlin."

A shiver travels down her spine and she pulls another step closer, putting her hands on Barry's chest. His heart beats so strong beneath the palm of her hand. She'd caught herself off guard this summer, falling as hard as she did.

"Your forwardness and your questions," Barry says, brushing back her hair; for the first time in forever it makes her feel like someone's equal, "and I made some poor choices in return. But my feelings for you are real. I'm crazy about you."

Caitlin sniffles and tries to stifle her tears, ruffling the tips of her fingers through Barry's hair—the egg white's made it sticky like hair gel, and it doesn't give way to her touch.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she whispers.

So much had stood between them: geography, her sudden move, the US postal service, and Barry's unfortunate fictions, yet here they are, together again underneath the same sky.

"I've missed you so much," Barry says, both his hands on her face now and so impossibly close again.

"I've thought about you every day."

"Can you forgive me?"

"I do," she whispers, and when their lips finally meet for the first time in almost a month, her knees nearly give out—her lips part and move against Barry's, and a tidal wave starts in her chest like a storm. She kisses the boy of her dreams, and the boy of her dreams repays her in kind; her arms soon hug around his body, and he lifts her off the ground, and she can't wait for every day yet to follow this one.

.

summer sun somethings begun

but oh, those summer nights

.

Right now, someone, somewhere in the world, is looking up at Polaris thinking it's but a single star.

Well, they're wrong.

There are two stars.

Her, and Barry.

.

.

fin

.