Tan Lines: Sand, Surf, and Secrets / Rays, Romance, and Rivalry / Beaches, Boys, and Betrayal

by Katherine Applegate

  “Actually, that might be very exciting for me.”

  She turned her attention back to Marquez. “Are you going to be okay tonight?”

  Marquez nodded. “I just feel so…you know, helpless.”

  “Tomorrow’s your counseling session at the hospital, right?”

  Marquez gave a terse nod.

  “Well, I’ll try to get off early here and when you’re done at your session, we’ll go on an all-out Diver search. We’ll check all the beaches, talk to anyone who might have seen him. We’ll track him down, Marquez, I promise. Who knows? He’ll probably show up tomorrow, all happy and Zen again, before we can even start looking.”

  Marquez smiled with one corner of her mouth. “Yeah. That would be Diver, all right.” She stood shakily, bracing herself on Summer’s shoulder. “Well, we should get going. Nice place, by the way. I can see why you prefer it.”

  “How’d you find my room, anyway?”

  “Process of elimination,” Austin answered. “You had the lousiest view.”

  “It’s not fair to leave me alone with Diana, you know,” Marquez said. “I had to hide all the sharp knives.”

  “I know. But I just can’t deal with her and Seth right now.”

  “We’ve been so busy talking about Diver. You sure you’re holding up okay?”

  Summer shrugged. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Austin watching her intently. “Just kind of numb.”

  Marquez looked down at her feet. “Summer. There’s something I have to tell you. I, uh, I kind of knew.”

  Summer blinked. “Knew. You knew what?”

  “Don’t make this any harder than it already is. I knew about Diana and Seth. I saw this letter from her to him. Really nauseating stuff. I didn’t tell you because I thought maybe it was over and I didn’t want to mess things up between you and Seth….” She rolled her eyes. “And now look. As usual, with my incredible insight into human nature, I’ve totally screwed things up. No wonder Diver ran off.”

  She started to sob again. Summer felt the choices rolling around inside her—yell, cry, be disappointed, be sad. But when she looked at Marquez, so frail and desperate, all she could do was hug her close. “It’s okay,” she said. “I probably would have done the same thing.”

  Austin put a gentle hand on Marquez’s shoulder. “Come on, kid. How about you and me stop by I Scream? They’re open till one, I think. I’ll buy you a hot fudge sundae with Reese’s Pieces.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Marquez murmured.

  “I know,” Austin said. “But let’s go, anyway. I wouldn’t mind some company.”

  Marquez looked from Summer to Austin and back again. “I need some air,” she said. “And I have the feeling you two need some too. I’ll meet you downstairs, Austin.”

  When Marquez was gone, Austin looked a little uncomfortable. “About last night,” he said, clearing his throat. “When I crashed your little beach party…I believe I may have been slightly inebriated.”

  “You lay on the beach and made sand angels. It took two of us to drag you home. I’d say ‘slightly’ is a slight understatement.”

  Austin winced. “In any case, thanks for lugging me home. And I apologize for my boorish behavior.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “If you need help with Diver…”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

  Austin moved a little closer. He touched her hair and she shivered. “About you and Seth—” he began.

  “Marquez is waiting,” Summer said. “You should probably go.”

  Austin seemed to be debating whether to press on. “All right,” he said at last. “We’ll do this another time.” He gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “You’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

  7

  Jared’s Future, Jared’s Past

  “Glad you could join us.”

  Juanita was sitting in the breakfast room, a sunny, spacious area apparently reserved for the staff. She was just a few years older than Summer, a pretty olive-skinned woman with a halo of brown curls. As usual, she was dressed in a crisp white uniform. She sat at the table by a bank of windows overlooking the ocean, removing sections from a grapefruit with systematic care.

  “I kind of overslept a little,” Summer said apologetically.

  “Deb, our cook, is out shopping, so you’re on your own,” Juanita said. “There’s cereal over there in the cupboard by the sink, English muffins by the toaster. Make yourself at home.”

  Fumbling around in the huge, shiny kitchen, Summer managed to fix herself a bowl of Cheerios. She sat across from Juanita, feeling like an unwanted guest in a near-empty hotel.

  “We were supposed to meet at nine to discuss Jared’s therapy,” Juanita said, opening a notebook.

  “I’m really sorry—”

  “But before we start, perhaps we should establish some ground rules,” she continued. “Jared’s family arranged for him to recover here so that he could have complete quiet. Jared’s very generous with the staff. We’re allowed to have guests and to use the grounds.” She paused. “But that does not mean taking advantage of the situation. That does not mean, for example, having one’s friends sneak into Jared’s home in the middle of the night.”

  Summer gulped.

  “By my count, you’ve already been visited by three friends, two of them”—she lowered her voice—“male. You’re obviously a very pretty girl, Summer, and it’s only natural that you would have…admirers. Including Jared, I suspect.” She added the last part as if it were clearly a topic for Unsolved Mysteries. “But it is extremely detrimental to his recovery to be reminded of all he’s lost. He’s just a little older than you are, Summer. Imagine how hard it is for him to be around people his own age, living their normal lives.” She paused to sip her tea. “I’ve spoken to Jared’s mother on the phone. Apparently Jared was quite a handsome guy. She said he had no shortage of girlfriends. One in particular he was quite smitten with.”

  “I wonder where she is.”

  Juanita shrugged. “I’ve seen it before. People have an accident like this, it really separates the wheat from the chaff. So-called friends just vanish.”

  “Poor Jared,” Summer said. “I’m truly sorry about my friends coming by. I promise to be more careful in the future.”

  Juanita smiled. “I’m glad we understand each other.” She tore out a page from her notebook. “Now, I’ve put together a list of therapeutic activities. Jared’s been going through a slump. He’s very depressed, very uninterested in life. Most of the time he just stares blankly at the TV. Your goal is to help him reengage.” She passed the list to Summer.

  Summer scanned the section headed “8:00 A.M. to 12:00 P.M.” “Wake at eight,” she read. “Bathe, change dressings, eight to eight-thirty. Breakfast, eight-thirty to nine. Read newspapers, nine to nine-thirty. Read novels, nine-thirty to ten. Play chess or other board game, ten to eleven—” She frowned. “I know I’m not a nurse or anything, but isn’t this kind of…you know, regimented?”

  She heard a whirring noise behind her, the sound of Jared’s motorized wheelchair as he sped into the room. He was neatly dressed as always, in a crisp tailored blue shirt and khaki pants, hemmed at the knee on one side to accommodate his large cast. He had a heavy gold ring on his left hand, and on his good foot he wore an expensive-looking dark leather shoe—attempts, it seemed, to impose order onto the chaos of bandages and plaster.

  “She’s right,” Jared said in his low, gravelly voice. “It does sound regimented.” He rolled over to the table and cocked his head to read the list. “My entire future laid out before me.” He narrowed his eyes. “What? You didn’t bother to schedule in my breathing, Juanita?”

  “I just thought a plan of activities would give you something to look forward to each day—”

  “We’ll wing it, right, Summer?”

  “Sure,” Summer said. “How about a walk around the neighborhood? A roll, I guess I should say?”

  “Fine idea
,” Jared said.

  “I’m not so sure that’s advisable, Summer,” Juanita said. “Jared’s wheelchair is cumbersome, and the temperature is so high—”

  “Relax,” Jared said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “The worst that can happen is your throttle will stick and you’ll roll straight into the ocean,” Juanita said with a reluctant smile.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Jared said.

  “Ready?” Summer asked, spooning down the last of her cereal.

  “Wear your Nikes. I’m hard to keep up with,” Jared advised.

  Summer took her bowl to the sink. “There’s one thing,” she said. “I was sort of wondering if I could have a couple of hours off this afternoon.”

  “Of course,” Jared said, but Juanita was scowling.

  “It’s this family emergency. My brother’s sort of disappeared—”

  “Diver’s gone?” Jared asked.

  “Yeah, he…how’d you know his name?”

  “You mentioned him yesterday.”

  “I did? Oh, well, I guess I did. Yesterday’s sort of a blur. Anyway, it’s probably nothing, he’s sort of flaky sometimes, but I was going to help his girlfriend try to track him down.”

  “No problem,” Jared said.

  “You seem to lead a very turbulent life,” Juanita commented.

  “Sometimes I do feel a little seasick,” Summer said with a grim smile.

  Jared wheeled to his bedroom and closed the door. He pulled his sunglasses out of his nightstand drawer and tucked them in his pocket. Summer was waiting in the foyer to start their walk.

  Summer was waiting for him.

  Summer.

  With great difficulty he removed the burled walnut box he kept at the back of the drawer. He set it on the bed, then wheeled over to the closet. With his good hand he removed the key he’d tucked inside his tennis racket cover.

  It was an elaborate precaution, but one he felt was necessary. Juanita respected his privacy, such as it was. But it was too easy to imagine her coming across the box and inspecting its contents.

  He locked his bedroom door and returned to the bed. It took three tries, but he was finally able to twist the key. The catch released. Slowly Jared opened the lid.

  The picture was on top, where he’d left it. A beautiful girl on a sailboat, blond hair shimmering in the Florida sun, smiling radiantly at the camera. A handsome young man, dark eyed and too cocky, his arm draped around her shoulders.

  He touched his bandaged face. He hadn’t been such a bad-looking guy, all things considered.

  Of course, that was a year ago. A lifetime ago. Back when he’d actually thought he might someday hear Summer say, I love you, Adam. Back when he’d been the rich son of a powerful senator. Back when everything he wanted came with such sweet ease he’d never imagined life could be any other way.

  He was still rich. But his father had retired from the Senate in disgrace. His brother, Ross, was dead.

  And he wasn’t the cocky guy on the sailboat anymore, the guy who was sure Summer would fall in love with him, like every other girl he’d ever wanted.

  Summer had been different. Summer, he’d loved.

  That had only happened to him once before.

  He pulled another picture out of the box. A girl on the beach, hiding behind dark sunglasses. She was Summer’s opposite, dark, complicated, her smile full of secrets, and yet they shared one important quality—they both believed in love in a way he never had and never could. He’d believed in loyalty. Family above all else. And he’d lost both girls because of it.

  He put back the pictures, locked the box, hid the key. A knock at the door startled him.

  “Jared?” Juanita asked. “You need any help?”

  “I’m fine. Tell Summer I’ll be right there.”

  He returned the box to its hiding place. He should tell Summer who he was, of course. This couldn’t go on forever. But he didn’t want to.

  For today, at least, for right now, Summer was waiting for him.

  Summer.

  8

  Nice People and Not-So-Nice

  The sign on the door was small, handwritten: Eating Disorders Clinic.

  For the third time Marquez walked past the door, casually, indifferently. The hospital, even this part, the outpatient wing, stank of disinfectant. It was making her woozy and lightheaded. Or maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t eaten in ages.

  She headed for the lobby and sank into a chair. She should go home, work her shift at Jitters, then try to look for Diver. She and Summer could start with the beaches north of town. He liked those. She could imagine him baking in the sun, his shades hiding innocent baby blues, grinning when she finally tracked him down. He’d show her some shell he’d found, or some injured pelican, or whatever had distracted him from acting like a normal human being and telling her where he was.

  That was the good version.

  In the bad version, the R-rated one that had kept her up all night, he was having a secret rendezvous with Caroline. Marquez wasn’t exactly sure where or how, but she knew why. He was with Caroline because she was everything Marquez wasn’t: beautiful, petite, thin.

  A nurse walked by, rustling in her uniform. She paused, glancing down the hall at the ED door and then back at Marquez.

  “Can I help you with directions?” she asked.

  “I’m just…you know. Waiting for someone.”

  “At the ED clinic?” She had a nice smile, Nice, but nosy.

  Marquez reached for an aging People magazine to prove she really was waiting. “Yeah, She’s in there, Jane. She’s, um, one of those throwing-up people.”

  “Bulimic?”

  “I guess. Me, I could never do that. I despise throwing up.”

  The nurse stared. Marquez looked down at her magazine. David Hasselhoff was on the cover. He looked very tan and very old.

  “Well, they’re nice people at the clinic,” the nurse said gently. “I’m sure she’ll like it there. They really know how to listen.”

  “She’s not very talkative,” Marquez said.

  “They’ll understand. Tell her to give it a chance.”

  “Yeah. I’ll try. But she doesn’t really listen to me.”

  “There’s a counselor on staff here all the time,” the nurse said. “You might pass that along.”

  Marquez flipped through the worn pages of her magazine.

  “If you get thirsty, there’s a machine down the hall,” the nurse said, smiling that sympathetic smile again. “While you wait.”

  Marquez watched her leave. She was average weight, maybe a little big in the hips, probably some cellulite on the thighs. But still. Nothing like Marquez. Marquez, who made Shamu look like a runway model.

  She stared down the hall, imagining the other girls behind the ED door. If she tried hard enough, she could almost believe the lie she’d told the nurse. She was just waiting for Jane. Jane, who was a pretty messed-up girl, who threw up breakfast so she could have another one.

  She lingered over an article on some supermodels in L.A. who’d started a new restaurant. In a big color photo they were grouped around a table overflowing with food, enough calories to keep them all happy for a year. One of them, a model Marquez had seen on the covers of Seventeen and Teen Vogue, had a french fry poised delicately between perfectly manicured nails. Of course, she probably barfed it up after the photo shoot. They all did it.

  Marquez had seen girls at school do it too. In the bathroom by the lunchroom, the one someone had dubbed the “vomitorium.” Once Marquez had been in there, plugging her nose at the putrid smell, when Dana Berglund had emerged from a stall, primly dabbing her mouth with a piece of toilet paper, her eyes wet. She’d smoothed her cheerleader skirt and checked her blush in the mirror. Noting Marquez’s rolled eyes, she’d defiantly declared, “Everybody does it,” before slipping out the door.

  And there’d been that anorexic girl Marquez’s junior year. Marquez hadn’t known her. She was a seni
or, very popular, a 4.0, pretty. Real thin, but she always wore big sweaters, flowing skirts. One day she’d just stopped coming to school. Rumors floated around: she had AIDS, she’d taken a job as a roadie with a band from Miami, she’d run off to have a baby. Marquez heard later that she’d died. Starved to death. She hadn’t known that was even possible.

  She put the magazine down and went back to the ED door. With her ear to the glass, she could make out the faint noise of a girl sobbing. She’d promised Diver she’d try this once. Summer too.

  Marquez turned away. Diver had vanished and Summer had moved out.

  She didn’t owe them anything.

  “Eighty-six the pecan pie,” Blythe whispered to Austin. They were standing behind the coffee bar at Jitters. The café was quiet, but the lunch rush wasn’t due to start for another half hour. “That guy on table five just noticed one of the pecans moving. Turns out it wasn’t a pecan.”

  “The Roach War begins anew. This building’s crawling with ’em.” Austin sipped at his cup of coffee, his third this morning. He’d been up late with Marquez, then too buzzed with manic energy to go to sleep after seeing Summer. He was still buzzed, but it was solely the caffeine keeping his eyelids up.

  “In my apartment I’ve learned to accommodate them,” he said. “I split my food fifty-fifty, let them use the TV remote when I’m at work. I’m teaching some of the brighter roaches to play poker. The other day I lost forty bucks and half a bag of Doritos.”

  “In my apartment,” Blythe said, “I drown them in Raid. That works too.” She paused to artistically arrange sugar packets in a bowl. “Caroline just pulverizes them with her foot. I’m really glad she’s decided to stay a while longer.”

  Austin smiled. He liked Blythe, a pretty African-American girl with an easy smile and an open manner. She was fun to work with, and she never shirked on the side work, like some of his fellow waitrons.

  He glanced over at the corner booth, where Caroline was reading a book and sipping tea. “You and Caroline go way back, huh?” he said, wiping down the counter. “Camp counselors. Very wholesome.”