"Wake up," someone whispers in my ear. I whack my arm tiredly at them, hoping they'll leave me alone. "Okay, ow."

"Wimp," I mumble.

"Get up, B," Joey's voice fills my ears. "You don't want to be laying in that bed your whole birthday."

"Birthday?" My eyes whip open. "What?"

"Um... It's your birthday..?"

"Oh," I blink a few times, still nowhere near used to my blindness. "It's July 22nd already?"

"Sure is," Joey says. "So, uh, happy nineteen bestie."

I blink again, feeling confused. Why didn't anyone mention this to me before now? What the crap? Joey's arms wrap around me and he lets out an insane laugh.

"Whoa!" I yelp in my surprise. "Hello Joey."

He laughs again, not letting me out of his death lock grasp. "You're nineteen, chica! That's so old! You're still an immature kid to me, though."

"Jerk," I shove him. But I can't help the smile from erupting on my face.

"It isn't my fault you decided to pick a jerk as your best friend," Joey ruffles my hair.

"You just admitted to being a jerk," I point out.

"Hey, this friend-fest going on is adorable and all, but we've got to get a move on," Owen's voice comes into the room. "Clarin'll help Brinley. Joey, come on out."

"Can't you give me, like, ten minutes to talk to my best friend on her birthday, you selfish monster? You get to spend all day with her!" Joey exclaims.

"Go away, Joey," Owen says, and I can picture the sassy eye roll that's probably going on.

"Hey, you have to get out of here too," Joey points out.

"Boys," Clarin says louder than their argument. "Get out, now."

"Sorry, ma'am," Joey mutters as his and Owen's footsteps fade away. The door finally closes.

"So," Clarin says, voice clear with with excitement. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks. Hey you too! Why aren't you celebrating as well? It's literally just me, that's so awkward!"

"We've decided to celebrate mine tomorrow so you can have your... special day...Um... You're going to want a swimsuit, maybe a dress over it..." Clarin continues. "Owen's super excited about today, by the way."

"What are we doing exactly?" I ask her casually, picking at my fingernails.

"I can't say," she says in a giddy voice. "But it is awfully romantic," she blurts out.

I smile and shake my head. "Alright then."

<•>•<•>

"Ready?" Owen asks, taking my hand once I come downstairs.

"On a scale of 1-10 hours, how ready for this long drive should I be?" I ask him.

"Only three," Owen says. "It isn't that bad."

"Okay. Let's go then," I nod.

"Have fun, lovebirds," Clarin calls as I'm led out the doorway.

"Don't make out too much, aight? It isn't healthy!" Joey yells right before the door slams closed.

"Right then," Owen laughs.

He helps me into the car and shuts the door after me. I wait patiently for the sound of his door closing and the engine turning on. Speeding out of the driveway of his parents' house and off down the road, he presses the radio on.

"So," Owen says. "How does nineteen feel?"

"Um, just like yesterday. How am I supposed to feel?" I ask with a snort.

"Like a new woman," Owen replies. "I know I sure did."

"You sure felt like a new woman?" I ask, snickering.

"You know what I meant, smarty-pants," Owen says with a huff.

"Smarty-pants?" I laugh again.

"I'm officially done talking to you," Owen exclaims, taking a right turn and I sway in that direction.

I tap my feet to the song for a while, closing my eyes even though it really makes no difference. I seriously love Arctic Monkeys. "Turn up my jam!"

Owen does so, and I smile widely.

"Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go, sort of hoping that you'd stay. Baby we both know that the night was mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day. Crawling back to you," I sing along, hitting my hands rhythmically on the center console and window handle.

Owen takes my hand in his, surprising me.

"You could've just told me if my tapping was getting annoying, you know," I say with a smile.

"Definitely not that," Owen says. "I love when you sing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"How about you sing to me for a change?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow in his general direction.

"No," he says, drawing out the short word dramatically.

"Oh, come on," I let out a long sigh.

"Really. No," Owen says.

"Please?" I ask, squeezing his hand. "For my birthday? Just one song."

He hesitates for a long time, then he says, "Not now. Maybe later, okay?"

"I'm holding you to that," I say firmly.

"I never break a promise," he explains.

<•>•<•>

"Where are we right now?" I ask, leaning against him while his arm drapes around me.

"Secret," he tells me, shaking my shoulder.

"This whole blind thing is bringing surprise to a whole new level, and I don't think I like it," I announce.

"No, it's great. It's like the ultimate blindfold," Owen says. "And besides, we're somewhere that eyesight is not absolutely necessary."

We walk a ways ahead, somewhat downhill. He guides me with caution, not going to fast for me to keep up. I'm grateful for my own personal protector. And also, it's one that I really trust.

I can hear birds and bugs and leaves blowing in the wind. It's a nice day, luckily not too warm out. The sun is out, but not enough to endanger us of a major sunburn. I wish I could look up at our surroundings. Not really knowing is killing me.

"Here, take a big step and be careful. It might move below you," Owen says, moving his grasp from my shoulder to my waist.

"What exactly is 'it'?" I ask nervously.

"A canoe," Owen replies.

I take a slow step, trying to keep myself balanced even though I don't know what the boat is doing by sight. By the time I make it up to the front and sit down, I feel the canoe shift again and Owen sits across from me.

"Here we go," he says happily.

I clasp my hands in my lap, smiling softly so myself as Owen moves us along. My eyes close and I listen to all my surroundings. I don't there is a more peaceful place in the entire world. The slight breeze blows the fallen pieces of my hair into my face.

"This was my favorite place in the entire world as a child," Owen says. "My uncle Grant used to bring me here and canoe me across the lake."

I dip my hand into the water on the side, and the cool liquid slips through each of my fingers. I look up to where the sky would be and imagine the bright sun beating down on me through the treetops.

"Who's canoe is this?" I ask.

"My mom's," Owen replies, continuing rowing us along. "She doesn't use it anymore."

"It's nice," I nod my head. "Did Ian ever come here?"

"No," Owen says. "It was me and my uncle's spot. Nobody else knew about it."

"And where is he now?"

"He's passed on," Owen sighs. "He had a really bad case of pneumonia that they caught far too late."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Thank you," Owen says after a moment.

"And not many other people come here?" I ask in surprise.

"I haven't ever seen anyone else," he tells me, stopping the rowing so we just glide around in drawn out circles. "It can be our place now."

"But your uncle-"

"Was a wonderful man, and he would be happy to share such an extraordinary place with you," Owen finishes for me.

The boat is drifting towards something. I don't know what, but I'm slowly moving into the shade. Owen is stopping the boat now, as it gently bumps into something. He ties us into place.

"Okay, do you want to stand up for me?" Owen asks, walking across the boat carefully to take my hand.

I stand up slowly and put one cautious foot over the side of the canoe and find hard rock. With Owen's help, I bring the other one to meet it. And soon after Owen is also beside me.

"What is it?" I ask, almost shivering.

"It's a cave," Owen replies, and he leads me forward. "It's got this pathway out of it and up to the land above the water."

He guides me up and helps me find every rock to step over. I cling to his arm like no other, afraid of taking a wrong step. The cave's breeze is blowing fresh air onto my skin, making me shudder underneath it. I can only imagine the glow of the water in here.

"This one's pretty big," Owen says, "I've got you, just grab onto it and pull yourself up."

I do as he tells me, my foot almost slipping off the slick rock. Luckily he's there to steady me and I make it up successfully. Owen soon finds my hand again and we continue on the steep rock climb. He guides my hands and feet into the correct positions.

It's sort of like an insane trust exercise, now that I think about it.

"We're almost there," Owen says. "There's one last crawl space. I can't be in there with you, but I promise it's safe. You just army crawl through. I'll be right behind you."

"Alright," I say tentatively. I know he wouldn't lie to me about something like this being safe. But part of me is freaking out about the 'what if's.

I bend down and feel the rock until the opening is clear to me. It's hardly two feet tall and three wide. I take a deep breath before convincing myself to do this. In order to get to the top, I have to make it through. I lay down on my stomach and inch my way forward. Soon enough, my entire body is inside of it and there's nothing to do until I'm outside of it.

"I can't- I can't- there's no room to breath!" I say, frantically trying to free myself from the surrounding walls. It's not an easy thing to do, especially since I can't see my end goal.

"You can do it, Brinley," Owen says calmly. "There are only a few more feet left. Keep going. Breathe deeply."

I force myself to press forward even though my brain and everything else is freaking out on me. Eventually, using all of my will power to continue through my panic, I make it to the end. I scramble out as quickly as I can and stand up.

"I knew you could do it," Owen says, finding my hand in his own.

"It shouldn't have been that hard," I say blankly.

"Hey," he says, putting his other hand on my shoulder. "You got through. That's what matters, right? Let's keep going."

"Where are we going exactly?" I ask him as he drags me along.

"Somewhere amazing," is his only reply.

When I ask a few more times and he gives me a few more versions of the same answer, I give up.

"Here we are," Owen says, stopping suddenly. A breeze hits me like no other, and I actually stumble back a bit.

"What is this?" I demand to know the answer.

"Do you trust me?" Owen asks me, tucking a stray hair behind my ear for me.

"Yes," I reply firmly.

"Then jump," he says.

My eyes widen and I freeze in my tracks. "Jump? Where?"

"Down," Owen replies simply.

I crouch down on my knees and feel the ground until it stops altogether. There's an unmistakable crashing of water beneath us. This is a cliff. He wants me to jump into the water.

"I don't know..." I say, thinking about my blindness effecting all this.

"Here, I'll go first," Owen exclaims, letting go of my hand. "That way, I'll be down there already."

And then all I hear is a deep breath and a crash into the water who knows how many feet beneath me. I hold my breath and wait for any response.

"Come on, Brinley!" Owen calls with a laugh. "It's incredible."

I slowly inch to the edge. My toes hang off involuntarily and I tip back and forth, balancing my weight. How far down is it? This has got to be dangerous. What if I hit the water weird?

"Jump!" Owen yells from below me, catching my meditating self off guard and I stumble, falling helplessly off the cliff. My heart plummets in my chest as I let out a scream that rips at my throat. I flail my arms, trying to stay straight up. The wind blows up my hair and my dress and then I hit the water. Entering that water feels like it takes seconds, minutes even. It goes in slow lotion.

When I find my way back up, I take a deep breath, wiping my eyes off. I can't help the laugh from bubbling out of my mouth.

"See? I told you it was fun," Owen says, appearing beside me.

<•>•<•>

After a few hours of playing around in the water and splashing at each other, we settle down on a huge rock, letting the sun dry us off. Owen has a picnic set up from last night (when I guess he brought a ton of preparation crap for today). There's crackers and fruit and sandwiches and desserts and I love all of it.

Relaxing to the sound of the water is the best feeling. When Owen and I have finished eating our food, I lay down with my head in his lap. He messes with my hair while I leave my eyes closed.

"Today has been amazing," I say. "Thank you so much for all of this."

"I'm glad you agreed to come with me," Owen tells me.

"Why wouldn't I?" I ask with a smile.

"You're too cool for me," Owen replies.

"Well, that's true," I shrug.

Owen just laughs, continuing to untangle my hair as I hum a new song. At some point Owen joins in with my humming. And then somehow we're both singing.

"The morning dove sings, two broken wings. Carry me home, I'm not afraid. Stars in your eyes, shimmering lights. Carry me home, don't let me fade away," we sing and I can't help the smile from overcoming my face.

"You actually aren't bad," I comment, looking up to where the sky would be if I could see it.

"Sure I'm not," Owen lets out a short laugh.

"I'm serious! I'm surprised," I say honestly.

"Maybe someday I'll sing you a really romantic song," Owen jokes, hands now holding onto my own.

"That'd be lovely," I smile.

"Hey, but I don't need to sing songs to be romantic," Owen says, squeezing my hands.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, quirking my eyebrow.

"Yeah," he replies. "See, all I have to do is-"

He never finishes his sentence because he brings his mouth down to meet my own. Even though he's upside down and my head is still in his lap, it works out well. His hands stay against my cheeks and even though I can't see him, I know he's smiling when he breaks away. I know I am.

"I guess you weren't lying," I say with a grin.

"No I wasn't-" he stops mid-sentence, and takes in a sharp breath. "Did you put this in your pocket?"

"What is it? No?" I say, sitting up.

"It's a note..." He says, sounding concentrated.

"What does it say?" I ask, grabbing onto his shoulder nervously.

"It says 'Happy 19, Brinley. Hope you enjoy this one because you won't be getting another.'" Owen's voice wavers as he speaks the words.

I gasp, feeling my heart sink down to my stomach. This isn't some stupid note-passing anymore. That was a threat. I grab onto Owen's hand for the only consolation I can get. He holds it just as tight, and I think we're both thinking the same thing but don't want to say it.

It's me or the other person going down, because they're obviously not stopping until either they're dead or I am.