Despite my mood regarding Mo and our conversation, this brings us to the best part of my new daily routine. If I’m not training or working at the shop, then the odds are pretty good that I’m with Ben. We’ve done something together every night this week. We’ve gone bowling (I was pathetic), played putt putt (I beat him on the last hole and was surprisingly obnoxious about it), and just hung out and watched TV. (He’s already got me hooked on British mystery shows.)
We’ve also started basic surfing lessons. For the first few he borrowed Black Beauty, which is what my dad calls his favorite shortboard, and now Ben’s purchased one of his own. It’s an old quad fish that he dubbed Blue Boy in keeping with my dad’s naming tradition. It’s been a while since Blue Boy has been in the water, so I’m teaching him how to strip off the old wax and start anew. He’s got it lying across two sawhorses and is bent over, hard at work.
“How’s this?” he asks as he scrapes the last bit.
“Good,” I say, inspecting it. “Very good.”
I hand him a bar of Mr. Zog’s that I picked up at the shop.
“Now start to apply the base coat. Make straight lines from one rail to the other directly perpendicular to the stringer.” The rails are the side edges, and the stringer is a thin strip of wood that runs down the center of the board and makes it stronger.
“Like this?” he asks as he carefully rubs the bar of wax across the board.
“Exactly,” I say.
I like watching him work. He does this little thing where he bites the left side of his lower lip when he concentrates, and it’s beyond cute. It’s also a sure sign that he is trying to do it perfectly. It’s a total contrast to the goofy way he is around the kids during camp.
“You know Mo was just looking out for you,” he says. “She doesn’t want you in denial. She wants to make sure you can move on after the summer.”
When he says this I realize why the conversation with Mo is bothering me so much. It’s not just the fact that she thinks I would represent Surf City. It’s the fact that she is already encouraging me to find something new after the summer. She’s trying to make it all right for me to replace Surf Sisters. And the problem is, if she can persuade me, then so can Ben.
“Is that something you can relate to?” I ask pointedly.
He starts to answer but stops when he realizes that I’ve set a trap.
“They’re two very different things,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But, yes, I can relate to worrying about you in September.”
I put my hand on his hand to stop him for a moment, and he looks up at me.
“When the time comes for you to go back home, do not be like Mo. Don’t encourage me to meet another boy and replace you. I knew what I was getting into when I kissed you on the pier. I’m a big girl and I know that September will come. But we said this was going to be like the perfect wave. We’re going to ride it until the very end and not worry about the next one.”
He stands upright and carefully looks at me. I can tell he’s debating what he should say next. In my brain I know that he will go home and find someone new. And, theoretically, I know that I will also find someone. But, in my heart, I can’t bear the thought right now.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “I promise I won’t.”
Then, completely out of nowhere, I start to cry. Not big sobs, but steady tears that slide down my cheeks one by one. The fact that I’m embarrassed about this emotional display only makes me cry that much more.
We’re on opposite sides of the surfboard, so he reaches across and holds my hand as he navigates his way around the sawhorse and wraps me in his arms. I cry a little harder as I bury my face in his chest, and he gently strokes my back. I start to apologize for being such a drama queen, but he just shushes me and holds me tighter.
“It’s okay, baby.”
Just hearing him say that fills me with this warmth. In a weird way I’ve never felt worse and better at the same time. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his heart beating.
Okay, I’d like to officially apologize for whatever that was earlier,” I say as we walk along the beach a few hours later. There’s only a sliver of a moon hanging over the water, but stars fill the night sky and it’s stunning.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “You’re allowed to show emotion. That’s part of the package.”
“Well, it was both unexpected and unprecedented,” I explain. “Although I will say that there was a sort of emotional cleansing quality to the whole thing.”
“Is that your way of saying you feel better now?” he asks.
“Well, if you want the SparkNotes version, yes.”
“I am perfectly happy with the SparkNotes version,” he says. “But also more than willing to go into greater detail if that makes you happier.”
I stop and put my hands on my hips in mock protest. “Are you saying that it doesn’t matter or just that you don’t care?”
“Neither,” he answers as he skillfully snakes a hand through my arm and pulls me closer to him. “I’m saying that I’m here for you however you need me to be.”
I give him a playful nod and counter, “You’re a slick talker, Ben Taylor. You always seem to say just the right thing.”
“And is that a problem?”
“It kind of is.”
“Let me get this straight,” he replies, looking down at me. “Are you now criticizing me for not saying the wrong thing?”
“The female mind is quite the riddle,” I joke. “Besides, I’m not criticizing you. I’m just keeping you on your toes.”
“How about I keep you on your toes instead?”
He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me ever so slightly, so that now I’m on my tiptoes—the perfect kissing height. At first I think it’s going to be a peck, but our lips linger and I close my eyes. The instant it’s over, I pick up the conversation where I left off.
“See what I mean? You always say the right thing. That’s suspicious, don’t you think?”
I break free from his arms and sprint ahead of him.
“Where are you going?”
“I thought you were a runner,” I call back. “Yet I’m the one winning the race to the lifeguard stand!”
Up ahead of us is a lifeguard stand. It looks like a giant high chair that’s twelve feet tall and made out of bright orange two-by-fours. I’ve got a good head start, but he quickly closes the gap and we both get there at the same time.
“I won,” I say, catching my breath.
“Hardly,” he laughs. “It was a tie and you cheated more than a little bit.”
“That’s not what I meant. I won because I got you right where I want you,” I say as I climb up into the seat. It is big and roomy enough for a lifeguard to sit with all of his gear. Or, in other words, it’s the perfect size for two people to squeeze into.
“So this was your plan all along,” Ben says as he climbs up and slides in next to me.
“Bwahahaha,” I reply with an evil master villain’s laugh. “And you, Ben Taylor, were just my puppet.”
This high up, there’s a cool night breeze that makes it perfect for snuggling. I’ve known that couples do this and I have always imagined what it would be like. (Spoiler alert: It’s awesome!) Ben puts his arm around me and I slide up next to him, and we just snap together perfectly like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.
“Are we even allowed to be up here?” he asks.
“Of course we are,” I say. “It’s for lifeguards during the day, couples at night. It really fits right into the whole ‘reduce, reuse, recycle’ philosophy that we encourage here at the beach. Very multipurpose and good for the environment.”
I rest my head on his shoulder and look out at the sea. More than a minute passes without either one of us saying a word. We just listen to the slow and steady music of the waves washing
up on the beach and then pulling back into the ocean. Everything at this moment is perfect. So of course that means I have to screw it up.
“Can I ask you something?”
“There’s an ominous beginning,” he says.
“Whose idea was it to break up?”
“What are you talking about?” he asks. “We’re not breaking up.”
“No. I mean between you and Beth. Whose idea was it to break up?”
He lets go of me and turns so that his back is against the side of the chair. I may not be fluent in body language, but I can tell he’s not thrilled with the question. “Why would you even ask that? Everything about this moment is perfect. Excuse me, was perfect.”
“I know.”
“So why would you ask that?”
“I told you. The female mind is complex.”
“It’s not a joke, Izzy.”
“And I’m not joking. I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but this is all new to me. I’ve never had a boyfriend. Nothing even close to one. That means you know every single thing about my past relationship history. So when we’re sitting like this and everything’s perfect, you know what’s going on in my mind.”
“Trust me when I say that I have no idea what’s going on in your mind.”
“Okay, that’s a fair point,” I answer. “But all I know about Beth is that she was beautiful and wonderful and everyone thought you two were a perfect couple.”
“And after I told you that, you ignored me for two weeks,” he says. “In fact, just a few blocks up from this very spot you told me that you couldn’t be the girl I talked to about other girls.”
“Things are different now,” I reply. “And to be honest, since the only things I know about Beth are how wonderful she is, a little part of me could stand to hear how it ended.”
I really don’t know what it is about me that takes perfect moments and twists them into psychodramas, but I can’t help it. I am who I am.
There’s just enough moonlight on his face for me to tell that he’s biting the left side of his lower lip. He’s in deep thought mode, so I stop talking. Finally, after what seems like forever, he responds.
“It was my idea. We were out by the lake. She was talking about the prom and how important it was and how it would be this signature moment in our relationship. I mean, I know it’s a big deal, but it is just a dance. She was obsessed with what table we were going to sit at, where we were going to go for photographs, and I just couldn’t get excited about it. Maybe it’s because I was in a pissy mood about my parents, but I just couldn’t. Then, somewhere in the middle of it all, I just knew it was over.”
He stops for a moment and takes a deep breath.
“Some of my friends said that I should’ve just hung on until it was time for me to come to Florida, but I couldn’t do that to her. She didn’t deserve to be strung along. So I told her that I was really sorry but I couldn’t go to the prom with her and that we couldn’t see each other anymore.”
“You dumped her right before the prom?” I say, almost feeling sorry for her.
He nods. “I know. I’m a terrible person.”
“You’re not a terrible person,” I say. “The timing was unfortunate, but if that’s how you felt, you did the right thing.”
“Just for the record, Beth did not agree with your take on it. She made sure everyone knew how much it was not the right thing. I can’t blame her, I guess. Somehow she did manage to bounce back and find a guy who was more than happy to sit at the right table and smile his way through God knows how many pictures. He’s a good guy, actually. I hope it works for them.”
There’s a pause. Which means of course that I have to keep pressing the issue.
“How did you know it was over?” I ask. “You said that in the middle of it all you just knew.”
He turns his head to the side and shakes it in disbelief. “You really want me to tell you this stuff?”
I nod. “I know. I can’t help it.”
“Somewhere in the middle of all the discussion it dawned on me that it really was more than a dance for her. She sounded like my sister did when she was planning her wedding. And that’s when I realized that Beth was actually in love with me. We weren’t just dating. It wasn’t just some high school thing. She loved me.”
“And you weren’t in love with her?”
“No,” he says. “I might have been in love with the idea of her. I might have loved the attention. But I didn’t love her, and it seemed incredibly unfair for me to let someone love me when I didn’t feel the same way in return.”
Now here’s a problem.
I have no doubt that I am completely in love with Ben. Not the idea of him. Not the concept of him. Him. I’ve even wondered if I should tell him. But now I think the smart thing to do is to keep that secret to myself. Instead, I lie to him for the first and hopefully only time.
“Lucky for us we don’t have to worry about that,” I say, trying to sound convincing. “We both know that this is just for the summer.”
He doesn’t really answer. Instead he just kind of nods, and I lay my head on his shoulder again. It takes a moment, but he puts his arm around me.
It’s quiet for a while and we just sit there. I can’t help but think I’m doing everything wrong in this relationship. I don’t know why I asked about Beth, but the truth is I really felt like I needed to know that stuff. I put my hand over to rest it on his chest, but he pulls back, and I worry that he’s about to tell me that I’m just not worth the headache. But instead, he says something completely unexpected.
“Is that a body?”
“What?”
“Over there,” he says, pointing down the beach about a hundred feet. “I just saw that dark shadow move. I think it might be a body.”
I look, and when I see it, I know instantly what it is.
“Ooh, ooh, ooh, it’s not a body,” I say, trying to contain my excitement. “Follow me.”
I quickly climb down the lifeguard stand, and he’s right behind me.
“I just saw it move again,” he says as he tries to keep up. “What is it?”
I stop and turn to him. “A turtle!”
I grab him by the hand and we race down the beach together until we get close. We slow down and stop when we’re about fifteen feet away from where a massive sea turtle is slowly dragging herself across the sand. She’s three feet long and weighs nearly two hundred pounds.
We keep our distance, and I put my finger over my lips and say, “Only whisper, and don’t cross her path.”
He nods and replies, “She’s huge.”
“She’s a loggerhead coming ashore to lay her eggs.”
A bank of clouds drifts by and reveals the moon, its light dancing across the turtle’s red and brown shell.
“She’s going to lay them over there,” I say, pointing toward the sand dunes. “Don’t disturb her and don’t let her see any lights, like your phone; it can confuse her.”
“Okay.”
We spend the next thirty minutes watching her. It’s a lumbering crawl up onto the edge of the dunes, and you can’t help but marvel at her determination. When she starts to scrape away an area with her front flippers, I tug on Ben’s hand and we quietly loop around to get a closer look. She uses her hind flippers to dig a nest and then fills it with dozens of ping-pong-ball-sized eggs.
“Oh my God!” Ben whispers, being careful not to disturb her. “It’s amazing.”
I nod in agreement.
Once she’s done laying eggs, she uses her flippers to cover the nest back up, and then she begins the laborious task of dragging herself back to the ocean. We keep watching, but we move far enough away so that we can talk at regular volume.
“She was born here in Pearl Beach,” I say.
Ben gives me a skeptical look. “How could you possibly know
that?”
“Because sea turtles always come back to the same beach where they were born. It’s in their DNA.”
He thinks about this for a moment and then says, “Like me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I came back to the beach where I was born too.”
I laugh. “That’s true. You did.”
“What will happen with the eggs?”
“In about six weeks they’ll hatch, and the little turtles will poke out of the sand and look for the moon. That’s the key.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s how they find their way,” I explain. “During hatching season all the houses on the beach keep their lights off. That way the babies can find the reflection of the moon on the water and know where to go. Then they’ll scramble back toward the ocean and disappear.”
“That sounds amazing,” he says. “We’ve got to come and watch.”
“Will you still be here then?” I ask.
I didn’t mean it as anything more than a basic question. But, given the conversations of tonight, it carries some emotional baggage.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “That should be my last week.”
I’ve already been enough of a drama queen for one night, so I decide it’s time for me to put on the brave face. I take his hand in mine and our fingers intertwine.
“Perfect,” I say. “We’ll come out and watch them together. You’re going to love it.”
I’m a total moron,” I say as I slip on a blue cami and look at it in the fitting room mirror.
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Nicole calls out from the next stall. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
“I don’t think so,” I reply. “I cried. I grilled him about breaking up with his girlfriend. Twice. It was basically a horror movie.”
“And then you were saved by a sea turtle,” she says. “Now there’s a twist on the normal environmental dynamic.”
“No kidding. Who knows how much damage I could have done if she hadn’t rescued me?”
“Let me see the outfit,” she says.
I step out and she looks it over. I’m wearing a lace shirt over the cami and a pair of white jeans.
Pulled Under (Sixteenth Summer) Page 12