Текст книги "Pulled Under"

Автор книги: Michelle Dalton

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“A used fish?”

“It’s a type of surfboard,” I say. “But we’ll save that lesson for later. We’re still taking baby steps.”

He laughs and we start to leave (escape?) when we pass the store’s Wall of Fame. It features action photos of some of the surfers who make up the Surf City Surf Team and a display case full of their trophies.

“Impressive,” says Ben.

“Yeah. As much as I hate to admit it, their team is amazing,” I concede. “They win most of the tournaments in the state.”

“Like King of the Beach?” he says, referring to the annual Pearl Beach tournament.

“How’d you know about King of the Beach?” I ask.

“It’s sponsored by Parks and Recreation,” he says. “I will be working there later this summer.”

“Surf City has won both trophies,” I say. “That one’s for the top team and that one’s for the grand champion. Bailey Kossoff has won the grand champion trophy two years in a row.”

“Is he a local guy?”

I shake my head. “No. They sponsor guys from around the state. That’s how they make sure to win.”

“Does Surf Sisters have a team?” he asks.

I shake my head. “There’s no money for it. These guys are like the New York Yankees. They can sign anyone who’s really good.”

“I bet they can’t sign you.”

“Well, no, they couldn’t, but since I don’t surf in contests, it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“Why don’t you?”

“It’s just not my thing,” I say. “I like to keep my surfing between me and the ocean. No spectators, no judges.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow but lets the topic slide.

So far the day seems to be going great. I still don’t have any idea if he’s into me or if he’s just looking for a friend, but I feel more comfortable with Ben than I’ve ever felt with a guy. He laughs at my jokes, and when I try to explain why I think tourists are like waves and Surf City is evil, he doesn’t look at me like I’m a lunatic or something. But now it’s time for the big test.

Now we’re going to Surf Sisters.

Surf City is owned by an evil, faceless corporation,” he says as we walk along Ocean Ave. “But you said there’s actually a pair of sisters who owns Surf Sisters, right?”

“Mickey and Mo. They’re the best.”

“Mickey and Mo sound more like surf brothers than sisters.”

“That’s because the guys they used to beat in all the surf contests thirty years ago were too embarrassed to say they were getting waxed by Michelle and Maureen.”

“So, unlike you, they were willing to compete in contests?”

I give him a look, and he holds up his hands in surrender.

“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject back, “their dad was a legendary lifeguard and surfer.”

“Steady Eddie,” he says.

“That’s right, Steady Eddie. Lifeguarding doesn’t pay much, so he started up Steady Eddie’s Surf School to give lessons to people staying at the hotels along the boardwalk. Mickey and Mo’s mother wasn’t in the picture, so they were always part of the deal. They were the first girls in this area to make names for themselves as surfers, and they were determined to make sure it was easier for the next generation.”

“Which is why they opened the shop, right?”

“It just seemed like the logical next step. They turned their house into a shop, and when Steady Eddie passed away, they kept the surf school going to honor his memory. It’s part business, part civic duty, part family memorial.”

“So the shop was actually the house where they grew up,” he says. “Okay, I see why that beats some corporate megastore.”

“I was hoping you would.”

Sophie and Nicole are both working today, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behavior when we arrive. Sophie’s on register while Nicole’s walking around making sure all the customers are finding what they’re looking for. Both seem to be keeping an eye on the door as we enter.

Even though they saw Ben when he first came to the shop and again when he was with the campers, they’ve never officially met him, so I take care of the introductions.

“Ben, meet Sophie and Nicole,” I say. “Guys, this is Ben.”

They exchange hellos, and when I see Sophie about to talk, I panic for a millisecond that she might revert to her normal self and say something outlandish just to see how he reacts. But she keeps her promise to behave.

“What brings you to the shop today, Ben?” she asks.

“I want to get some new shoes and socks to wear on the beach,” he says. “Maybe knee-high socks and something in a boot. Is there such a thing as a beach boot?”

The girls both laugh, and suddenly any potential awkwardness is gone.

“Actually,” he continues, “I’m getting some hard-core beach tutoring from Izzy, and I think that means I need some wardrobe adjustments.”

“Looking for anything in particular?” asks Nicole.

“I’m guessing I need some new trunks.”

They both look at each other in total confusion.

“Board shorts,” I say, translating. “They speak a different version of English in Wisconsin.”

They laugh some more, but Ben doesn’t seem to mind.

“You don’t say ‘trunks’ either?” asks Ben. “It’s like ‘pop’ all over again.”

Because the shop is a converted house, it has a homey feel that’s very different from Surf City. The staff even picked up Mickey and Mo’s habit of referring to the different rooms by what they once were. That’s why surfboards are in the garage, women’s swimwear is in the family room, and accessories are in the kitchen, where the counter and shelf space are perfect for displaying everything from sunblock and sunglasses to key chains and waterproof wallets.

“We’re going to the dining room,” I tell the girls.

“We’re eating again?” Ben asks.

“No,” I tell him. “The dining room is where we put everything that’s on sale.”

“That’s good,” he says. “Despite its obvious glamour and prestige, the Parks and Recreation Department doesn’t pay particularly well.”

“Don’t worry,” says Sophie. “We’ve all got employee discounts.”

“Yeah,” adds Nicole. “We’ll take care of you.”

I smile because this makes me think that he’s passed his first test with them. This is confirmed about fifteen minutes later when Ben carries an armful of clothing into a fitting room and Sophie and Nicole rush over to me like football players about to tackle a quarterback.

“We approve,” Sophie says with a firm whisper.

“Definitely,” adds Nicole. “By the way, you look really cute today.”

“Thank you.”

“You owe me so bad,” Sophie adds. “Not only am I the one who made you eat with him, but I’m also the one who swapped shifts with you for the rest of the summer. Don’t forget about that.”

“I already paid you back. Don’t forget who bought your ticket at the movie.”

“I think this is worth more than a movie. This deserves—”

She’s interrupted when Ben comes out of the fitting room wearing a pair of navy blue board shorts. They look great, but we’re all a little distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless and—surprise, surprise—his muscles and abs come fully loaded. (Thank you, cross-country.) The three of us are literally speechless, a reaction that he mistakes for disapproval.

“They don’t look good?” he asks, pointing at the shorts.

“No,” I say with a cough. “They look . . . great.”

“Yeah,” Sophie adds. “Nice trunks.”

The mention of trunks makes him smile, unleashing the dimples again. “I know, I know. I promise I’ll get the hang of it all.”

He is totally oblivious to his current overall hotness factor, which only makes him that much more appealing. He goes back into the fitting room, and the others turn to me and we’re speechless again.

“She’s right,” Nicole finally says. “That’s worth way more than a movie.”

It takes everything we’ve got not to bust out laughing. I can honestly say I have never felt the way I feel at this particular moment. I know it sounds pathetic, but it’s making me a bit dizzy. I’m having trouble processing the whole thing.

By the time we’re done, he’s picked up another pair of board shorts, two Surf Sisters T-shirts, and a pair of inexpensive but comfortable flip-flops.

“Give us some catwalk action,” Sophie says. “Let’s see how it plays.”

Ben goes along with this and walks back and forth in front of the register, accenting it with some goofy fashion poses. When he’s done, he turns to the three of us and asks, “So what do you think?”

“I’d believe he was an islander,” says Nicole.

“It won’t be official until he loses the tan line from his socks,” adds Sophie. “But he’s definitely getting there.”

“I can hardly believe it,” I say.

He takes it to mean that I can’t believe how well he’s got the look down. And while that’s true, it also means that I can’t believe this is happening to me. The cynic in me is waiting for the bubble to burst.

After we leave the shop, we head down to the beach and walk barefoot along the waterline. I point out some shells and a shark’s tooth, but for the moment the lessons are over. I just want to enjoy . . . this.

Whatever “this” is.

It is the most romantic moment in my life, which is a bit of a problem because for all I know I’m just his shopping buddy. I mean, he really seems to like me and we’ve spent the day together, but I don’t know how to know for sure. It would be great if he held my hand as we walk along the beach, but his hands are full because he’s carrying two Surf Sisters shopping bags.

I decide to add a little stop.

“Let me teach you something,” I say. “Stop, look out at the water, and wiggle your feet like this.”

I wiggle my feet side to side and they start to sink into the wet sand. He does the same, and we both settle in about ankle deep.

“I like it,” he says.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” I reply. “I always love to do that when I’m walking along the water’s edge.”

We spend a quiet moment looking out over the ocean. It’s peaceful and nice, but inside my head I’m going a million miles a minute. Finally I snap and blurt out, “So, do you have a girlfriend back home in Wisconsin?”

It is very unsmooth and made worse by the fact that it is not followed with a quick denial. His face looks a little pained, and I wish I could erase the question.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s none of my business.”

“I don’t mind,” he says. “I don’t have a girlfriend . . . anymore. I did for a long time. For over a year. But we broke up during spring break.”

That sounds pretty recent considering they dated for so long. I should stop asking questions, but I can’t help myself. “Did you break up because you were coming here for the summer and she didn’t want to try long distance?”

“That may have been part of it,” he says. “But there were a bunch of little things. I think a lot of it has to do with my parents. I mean, I always thought they were a perfect couple, happy and in love with each other. Then it turned out that they weren’t. It made me realize that things aren’t always how they seem. I started to question what was going on with Beth and me, and eventually I decided that we weren’t right for each other either.”

Beth and Ben. Ugh. They even sound perfect together.

“I’m sorry. It really isn’t any of my business.”

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “Actually, it’s kind of nice to have someone I can talk to about it. Things were so crazy at home, I didn’t even tell my parents until a month after it happened. And my guy friends were useless. They don’t usually have much to offer when it comes to relationships.”

I have killed the mood and totally lost control of this conversation. I have done the boy-girl version of pearling and it’s my own fault. Yet I can’t seem to make myself pull out of it. I just have to know whom I’m competing with.

“What’s Beth like? I bet she’s pretty.”

“She’s really pretty,” he says, in an automatic way that I could never imagine a guy saying in reference to me. “And smart. And funny. Everyone thought we were perfect together.”

I would like to go on the record here and declare that I completely hate Beth.

“But that’s history,” he says with a trace of melancholy. “She’s in Wisconsin and I’m in Florida.”

Izzy Lucas, door prize.

I really have no idea what to say next, so I just stand there and try to imagine how I can possibly compete with the girl he just described.

“It’s easy to talk to you,” he continues. “You’re the kind of girl I can just be myself with. That’s nice.”

And the final verdict is in.

“Easy to talk to,” “kind of girl,” and “nice” are all codes I know how to decipher. I’m the confidante, the girl he feels comfortable talking to about the girl he really likes. Unfortunately, this falls into the category of “been here, done this.” My heart feels like it’s sinking into my stomach just like my feet sank into the sand.

That’s it?” an exasperated Sophie exclaims when I finish recapping my day with Ben. “That’s the end of the story?”

“That’s it,” I say.

We’re sitting in a booth at Mama Tacos sharing a plate of nachos.

“You bailed too early,” she says.

“I hung in there as long as I could,” I reply.

Nicole has an order of chips and guacamole and slides into the booth next to me.

“I still think he’s totally into you,” Sophie says.

“He sees me the way every guy sees me,” I say. “As the one who makes for a really good friend and has a great personality. Besides, I think his parents getting divorced has turned him against the whole concept.”

“The concept of what? Marriage?” Sophie asks. “I’m not saying he wants to settle down for life, but I think he’s interested. And if he is spooked because of what’s going on with his parents, then you’re going to have to be superbrave like my girl Nicole over here.”

She nods toward Nicole right as she chomps down on a huge guac-and-salsa-covered chip.

“What makes Nicole courageous?” Then it hits me. “Wait a second—did you talk to Cody?”

Nicole grins and nods as she finishes the chip.

“I want details!” I say.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she says.

“Liar, liar, skinny jeans on fire,” says Sophie. “It’s a huge deal.”

“Tell me,” I say. “What finally inspired you to break out of your years-long silence?”

She looks me right in the eye and says, “You.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ve never seen you as happy as you looked with Ben,” she says. “I thought maybe that could happen for me. So I just called him up and asked him if he wanted to catch a movie. Just like that. No plan. No script. No stalking.”

My cheeks hurt from how much I’m smiling. “Oh my God! What did he say?”

She almost blushes at the answer. “Yes.”

I really am happy for Nicole. She has liked Cody forever, and it is amazing that she had the courage to ask him out. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that a part of me was dying inside. I inspired her because I looked so happy, but the happiness was all based on hope. Not reality. I was happy because I didn’t know better, and that makes me feel like some tourist who just bought a surfboard for seven hundred dollars.

Over the next two weeks I see Ben twice for summer camp. I’m polite, but I try to keep the conversation to a minimum. I just can’t shake the sting of the conversation we had. Normally, I don’t mind being the confidante, but with Ben it’s different. I need more.

At the surfing class he comes up to me before we stretch and asks, “Do you think we can do another lesson this week? I still feel like a fish out of water around here.”

I shrug and tell him, “It’s hard to say. I’ve got a lot going on with my parents this week.”

“Okay,” he replies, sounding a little disappointed. “Maybe next week.”

“Sure, we’ll see.”

I continue using my evasive skills the next week, however, and when he makes a joke about calling something by the wrong name, I just give a halfhearted laugh.

“Right. That’s funny.”

I feel like a total drama queen about it, but it’s just so hard. I like him so much and am utterly embarrassed by my inability to navigate these waters. At the end of the lesson I almost go over to him to talk, but I notice that he’s talking to Kayla and I hear her invite him to a party. I’ve lived here my whole life and have never been invited to one of the cool-kid parties. I take it as the final sign that we belong in different circles and that I should just move along.

That’s what I’m thinking about on the last day of June as I paddle out on my board. It’s early and beautiful and I am safe here, in my special place, with no one around to get in the way. These waters I can navigate perfectly.

The waves are great and it is liberating to ride them one after another. It’s like the surf gods are trying to make up for my heartbreak. My last ride in is perfect, and when it finally dies out, all I have to do is step off the board into the shallow water. I am fully relaxed.

And then I hear clapping.

“I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good.”

I look up at the beach and see Ben sitting there. He stands up, and I have no idea how long he’s been watching me.

“I really think you should compete in some of these contests,” he continues. “I know it’s not your thing but . . . wow.”

“How long were you there?”

“For about forty-five minutes,” he says.

How did I not see him there? I wonder as I walk up toward him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got seventy-five dollars,” he replies, holding up his wallet. “I want to learn how to surf. I thought you might help me get—what did you call it—a used fish? Is that right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s what it’s called.”

“Great. Where do we find one?”

“You could check online or I can ask around at the shop to see if anyone knows of one for sale.”

He walks right up to me and stops. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks. “Because if I did, I’m sorry.”

“No,” I say curtly. “You’re perfect.”

“Then why are you avoiding me? I thought you were going to teach me about the beach. I don’t want to look online for a surfboard. I want you to help me find one. I want you to teach me how to surf. I want to hang out with you.”

I close my eyes tightly and can feel the burn of the salt water. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . I’m busy. I’ve got work . . . and—”

“I’ll work around your schedule,” he offers. “Besides . . . I thought we were friends.”

“‘Friends,’” I say. “Why does that sound so impersonal? Friends.”

“I take my friendships very seriously,” he replies.

“Of course you do,” I say. “Friends are the kind of people you talk to about other girls, right?”

“Is that what this is about? I’m sorry I talked to you about Beth,” he says. “But if you remember, you were the one who asked me about her. I never would have brought her up, but you asked and I’m not going to lie to you.”

“And what about your new friends, like Kayla?” I ask. “I heard her invite you to a party. Did you go?”

“Yes,” he says. “For about thirty minutes, just to be polite.”

“Is that what this is?” I ask. “You’re being polite?”

“No, this is me trying to figure out why you keep avoiding me. I don’t understand.”

“I know,” I say. “It doesn’t make any sense. I’m really sorry, but I have to head back home so I can go to work. I’m opening the shop today.”

Luckily I’m still dripping wet from the ocean, so he can’t tell that there are tears mixed in with the water on my face. I force a smile and start to walk past him toward my street.

“I knew it was a boogie board,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“When you held it up at camp. I knew it was a boogie board. But I always give a wrong answer so that the kids don’t feel bad if they don’t know something.”

“Then why did you act like you didn’t know later on?”

“I was flustered. I wanted to have an excuse to talk to you,” he says. “I figured if I looked pathetic enough, you might feel sorry for me and help.”

“You were flustered?” I say. “Because of me?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“No. I’m not very good at picking up signs.”

He turns right to me and says, “Let’s see if you can pick up on this one.”

Even though I’m dripping wet and carrying a surfboard, he wraps one arm around my waist and the other around my shoulder and kisses me. To say the least, I’m caught off guard, but I drop my surfboard and start to kiss him back.

It is the first kiss of my life, and on a scale of one to ten I’d have to rate it at least a fifteen. I know I don’t have much to go on, but I have spent a great deal of time thinking about it and it far exceeds my wildest hopes.

There’s a cool breeze coming off the water, the sky is bursting with color and light, and my feet sink into the sand as I lose myself in his lips. I feel like I have caught the longest, sweetest wave, and I want to ride it for as long as possible before it crashes against the shore.