The Last Rain in Los Angeles

November in California, and the sun was still blinding.

When Vivi pulled the rental car into the visitor parking spot at her old high school, the dashboard read eighty degrees. She stared at the number for a second, remembering that back east she'd need a down jacket by now.

"Is this it?" Maya asked from the passenger seat, sucking on her boba straw and surveying the campus through her sunglasses. "Looks like a normal public high school. I was expecting—you know, Gossip Girl style iron gates or something."

Vivi didn't answer. She pushed open the door, and the November heat hit her, mixed with the smell of freshly cut grass. The smell was so familiar it almost made her laugh—four years later, and the school's groundskeepers still mowed on Wednesday afternoons.

"So you flew me three thousand miles to take a nostalgia trip?" Maya climbed out, handing Vivi the other boba she'd been holding. "Here. I know you ordered less sugar."

"Thanks." Vivi took the drink but didn't sip. She walked along the edge of the field, her steps slower than she'd intended. Boys in gold and red jerseys ran across the grass, the coach's whistle cutting sharply through the air. Homecoming decorations hung from the lampposts, some already faded from the sun.

"That one?" Maya asked suddenly.

Vivi stopped.

At the far end of the field, near the chain-link fence, stood a massive old oak tree. It looked older than she remembered—or maybe it had always been that old, and she was the one who'd grown. The trunk was so thick it would take two or three people to wrap their arms around it. The canopy spread wide, casting a generous shade.

She walked over and pressed her fingers to the rough bark.

The carving was still there.

A crooked heart, inside it "J + V." Five years later, the bark had healed and split, making the carving deeper, like a scar that wouldn't fade.

"Who's J?" Maya stood behind her, her voice softer now, as if she didn't want to disturb something.

Vivi didn't answer. She looked at that heart, remembering the person who'd carved it, sucking on his bleeding finger and saying: Five years from now, if we break up, you come back and scratch it out yourself.

Five years had come.

"Vivi?" Maya held out the boba again. "You okay?"

Vivi realized she'd been smiling. She took the drink and sat down against the tree trunk. The roots bulged up from the ground, pressing into her back—the exact same spot she'd sat in junior year.

"Want to hear a story?" She looked up at Maya.

Maya sat down beside her. "About that heart?"

"About..." Vivi thought for a second. "About the year I thought my life would end at seventeen."

In the distance, the football team's practice drills thudded, cheerleaders chanted, and the Homecoming decorations rustled in the wind. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering into broken patches of light on her face.

Maya didn't push. She just drank her boba quietly.

Vivi stared at that "J + V" and thought about how strange time was. Five years ago, sitting here, she'd thought this tree, this school, this town was her whole world. Five years later, sitting here again, she knew the world was bigger than that. But some things—like this carving—were still right where she'd left them.

"It all started sophomore year." She spoke, her voice calmer than she'd expected.

The sun was starting to set.

In the distance, the coach's whistle blew, signaling the end of practice.