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“All right, Michael Phelps. Let’s go back to the cottage and get you some dry clothes.”
Matt chuckles and Jett scowls. To be honest, I’m amused as well. It’s not every day you see some rich kid boil himself to death. Seriously, his skin is turning pink, and he was only in the water for a good two seconds.
Beside me, Grace is giggling to herself. She’s only known Jett for one day, and she already hates his guts, and for a reason. He’s disruptive during meditation, and he just interrupted everyone whilst they were trying to relax in the bath. Still, I think someone should give Jett a chance. He may be an overall jerkwad, but being sent to a place like the Oasis must be a shock to his system.
So, I turn around and face Jett, who’s resting his head on his knees on the grass behind me. “You can use my towel if you want.”
“What is wrong with you—oh.” Suddenly, his face grows even redder than it was before, if that was even possible. “Oh, crap. Uh, gotta go.”
He shoots off. Matt runs after him. Whatever energy that the water gave Jett is now being poured into this chase. Eventually, in the distance, Jett makes it to his cabin and slams the door behind him.
Grace looks shocked. “What was that about?”
“I’m… not sure…?” is my answer. I think about it for a moment. He’s emotionally repressed, probably, and that’s nothing to write home about. I can’t think of why he would run away like that, though. I may be covered in acne, freckles, and hives, but I’m not, like, contagious or anything. He’s acting as if he just saw his soulmate for the first time—
Oh, wait.
I glance down at my arm. There, in the same big, bold letters that I’ve been tossing around in my head since I was at least three years old, read: What is wrong with you—oh.
My eyes widen. Suddenly, my face is red too, and not just because of my acne. I turn to Grace, slowly, and freak out.
“Dude! Dude!” I grab her shoulders and shake them. She stares back at me, beyond confused and irritated.
“What? And I’m not your dude!” she says, exasperated. She meets my unsure expression.
“The Jett Baranov? Y’know, the son of literally one of the richest and most famous people on Earth? He’s my soulmate.”
“...You’re kidding.”
“I’m not!” I say it loud enough to attract the attention of the other people relaxing at the Hot Spring. I’m so freaked out that I honestly don’t even care. Trembling, I show Grace my arm.
“Wow.” Grace says it as if she’s trying to process the information. I haven’t even processed it myself. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go after him!”
In the distance, Matt is still trying to budge open the door to their cabin, which Jett must’ve locked.
“Okay,” I confirm, shaking. “But you have to come with.”
“Why would I—y’know what, sure. This is too big to miss.”
Before I get a chance to blink, we’re out of the bath and wrapping towels around ourselves. It doesn’t take me very long to realize just how itchy I am, all over. Grace has to slap my hand away from my neck before it starts bleeding. I just nod at her. Neither of us has room for conversation.
We approach the cabin and meet Matt in front of it, sitting on the front stairs and looking exasperated. He wearily glances up at us when we arrive. I know that he must be confused, so I supply the extra information.
“Uhm—yeah, hi. Jett is my soulmate. That’s why he freaked out.”
Upon hearing this, Matt’s eyes grow wider and he stands up. “Okay. Uh. Wow.”
I nod at him in understanding. “That’s exactly what I said. How do we get him to come out of the cabin?”
He shrugs. “I’ve tried everything. Maybe, we just have to wait, and he’ll be done pouting in about 3-4 business days.”
I let out a half-hearted chuckle and approach the door. I glance back down at my arm. Some people never even meet their soulmate, let alone during their childhood years. I know that I’m lucky. Beyond lucky, even. There must be a field of four-leaf clovers nearby. Basically, the first words that your soulmate says to you are tattooed on your body from birth. It doesn’t even have to be romantic, even, it just means that this other person is basically your missing piece. I know it’s corny, but it’s a real thing. My sister has already met her soulmate (Landon), and my parents met when they were in high school. Our family must be blessed.
I sigh and knock on the door. “Jett? Yeah, hi, it’s me, that weird skinny kid with the acne. You can come out of the cabin now. I just want to talk.”
I hear a grunt echo from the other side of the door.
“S—seriously!” I stutter. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is incredible, even. Please?”
There’s no sound. I’m starting to think that I might have to wait an actual 3-4 business days before the door creaks slightly open and a face pokes out. I smile at Jett, and I think he might be warming up to us, before he realizes that Grace is behind me. He shuts the door again.
“Oh, c’mon!” Grace shouts. “You have nothing to be afraid of!”
“Yes, I do!” A sharp reply can be heard from behind the door. “You and Matt need to go away.”
Matt turns to Grace and shrugs. He starts to turn away and Grace, rather reluctantly, follows after him. Before leaving, she gives me one last glance. I sheepishly smile at her and give her a thumbs-up that looks way more confident than I feel. I face the door to the cabin once again. “They’re gone,” I tell Jett. “You can come out now.”
Finally, Jett opens the door slightly and peeks out of the crack before relaxing and opening it fully. I can now see that he’s already replaced his swim trucks with a hoodie and plaid pajama pants. How does he wear this stuff in the middle of summer?
“Hi,” he greets me.
“Hi.” I tell him.
He sighs. “Okay, conversations over, we talked. Shoo.” he makes a so-so gesture with hands, prompting me to leave. I don’t listen.
“Where is it?” I ask him, planting my feet. “I mean—where is the text? Y’know, my first words to you?”
He points to the lowest right corner of his stomach, which is hidden by his hoodie. “About, like, right there or so.”
I show him my arm. “Right there.” I point at the bold words with my other hand.
He looks impressed. “‘Kay. Wow. So, I guess the whole soulmate thing is real. Whoop-de-doo.”
“Did you think it was fake?” I ask him. Once again, my hand has drifted toward my neck and I’m itching at the several hundred bug bites, hives and other splotches that would make a teenage girl faint if she saw just one of them on her forehead.
“Not fake, exactly,” he admits. “Just… unlikely. I decided that, if it never happens to me, then it isn’t real.”
“But then it did happen to you—”
“I will shut this door on you right now.” he threatened, clenching the doorknob. I sheepishly took a step back.
“Got it. Got it,” I muttered. “So… I still have to tell my parents about this. And my sister. And, well, your parents… except your dad is…”
“The world’s most renowned tech billionaire, yeah I know.” He finished the sentence for me. “Vladimir Baranov, creator of Fuego. I hear it every day. Don’t worry, I have a plan.”
“And that is…?” I inquired.
“You’ll learn.”
That afternoon at dinner, me and my family gather at a table near the entrance. I’m carrying a tray full of foods I won’t eat either because they’ll make me break out in hives, or because they’re just downright disgusting. Chia seed porridge and a block of tofu—yum! Yeah, no.
When I sit down, my parents are raving about how great the food is. Sarah would be on her phone if it weren’t locked in a closet in the other building. For now, she’s resorted to gently banging her head on the table.
“Guys,” I begin, not bothering to wait until my parents are done talking amongst themselves. “I met my soulmate today.”
They shut up pretty quickly at that. My dad is the first to speak up. “Here? As in, at the Oasis?”
I nod. “Yep.”
My sister is staring at me in open-mouthed wonder.
“That’s incredible!” My mom celebrates as I begin itching my hand—a nervous habit. “Who—”
“WHO??” my sister’s voice bounces off the walls and and ends up in every corner of the room, politely letting everybody within a 2-mile radius in on our conversation. A few people turn to stare at us, but most just go back to their food when I don’t say anything.
Once everybody has returned to their own meals, I face Sarah and my parents with a sheepish smile. “Jett,” I barely whisper.
“Didn’t catch that.” My sister retorts, twirling her food in her fork.
“Jett.”
“JETT—??”
“You’re serious?” My mom.
“I am,” I can barely manage the words past the lump in my throat, which has gone from the size of a grape to a squash in a matter of seconds.
The first thing that my dad says is, “We’re gonna be rich!”
“Not what that means,” I respond. “Well, kinda. It was a shock to me, too.”
“Okay, well, uh,” I can see the gears turning in my mom’s head. “That’s amazing. For you, and for us. We’re a lucky bunch of people. How has it been?”
“Well, we talked. Kinda. Earlier.” I admit. “He ran away and hid in his cabin after I offered him my towel at the bath—which, apparently, were my first words to him.”
My sister has finally gone from staring at me slack-jawed to gazing at me with genuine interest, which I don’t think has ever happened. There’s a first time for everything. She chuckles. “And his first words to you were ‘What is wrong with you’??”
“Shh—shut up.” I tell her quickly. “Anyway, I got him to come out of his cabin. Eventually. We didn’t say much.”
“Well, that’s that.” My dad concludes. “Wow.”
“I know,” I confirm. “Wow.”