by Coco Simon
“Here we go!” my mom singsonged again as she returned with an armload of clothes. Right away I recognized one or two things that there was no way I’d be caught dead in. I literally bit my tongue (not hard) to avoid saying anything mean. I took some calming breaths and counted to ten. (My mom learned that in a parenting class and always does it when she’s about to lose her cool.)
“Thanks, Mom!” I said, maybe a little too cheerily because she glanced at me suspiciously. I kept a smile plastered on my face because one of Dylan’s relaxation books says you can trick your brain into thinking it’s happy by smiling, even when you’re not happy.
Gingerly, as if they held plague-causing germs, I lifted and sifted through her clothes.
“Oh, now these shorts are really cute,” she said, lifting up a pair of long pink shorts that I would never wear in a million years.
“Yeah!” I said halfheartedly. It wouldn’t do to encourage her too much, especially this early on.
“What about these?” suggested my mom, holding up a pair of scalloped white shorts that were almost cute, but still a little too momish for me.
“Uuhnn.” I made a pleasant, noncommittal, not-encouraging-but-not-rude sound. There was one cute turquoise T-shirt from Big Blue that I set aside, and my mom beamed. I’d always had my eye on that, and now would be the time to make my move. T-shirts aren’t old ladyish, anyway.
I looked through a couple of other things and then pulled out a pair of white capris I hadn’t seen before. They still had the tags on them.
“Oh, sorry. These are brand-new,” I said, laying them back down.
“No, go ahead, honey. Try them on. I bought them on impulse. I’m not sure they even look good on me. I’d be happy to have you wear them.”
“Thanks, Mom. That is so nice, but I don’t need to.” Now I felt bad.
“Alexis, I insist!” she pressed.
“Well . . .” They were really cute. I yanked off my pj bottoms and pulled on the capris. They weren’t too high-waisted, and they had cute side-seamed pockets and a slit at the end of each leg. They were pretty comfy, actually.
“They have stretch in the fabric!” crowed my mom, like stretch had just been invented.
“Great!” I said. I went down the hall to look in the full-length mirror in her room, and as I passed Dylan’s room, I made a point not in to look to see what Dylan was doing. But I heard her right behind me as I entered my parents’ room.
In an enthusiastic but slightly accusatory voice, Dylan said, “Hey, where’d you get those—” There was a pause, and then she said, “Pants?”
Right then, I looked in the mirror and gasped. My legs stuck awkwardly out from the bottoms, and the hem hit me at just the wrong part of my lower leg. It wasn’t clear if they were Bermuda shorts that were way too long or pants that were way too short. “I look like a scarecrow!” I cried, pulling off the pants immediately. “See! This is why I never wear capris!”
My mom came rushing in. “Wait! I didn’t even get a good final look! I thought they were great in your room!”
Angrily, I folded the capris in half and smoothed them down, then I stomped out of the room, calling, “Mom, thank you so much. I’m not mad at you. I’m just cranky with my body!” And then I slammed my door, gently and neatly moved my mom’s clothes to my chair, climbed under my covers, and turned off my light. My knees ached for some reason, and I was so frustrated, I didn’t think I’d be able to get to sleep for hours, but it must’ve been only minutes because the next thing I knew, I was waking up and it was morning.
When I got out of bed a few moments later, I stepped on a piece of paper that was just a few inches away from my door. I bent down to read it and gasped at what it said. “Wake me up when you are ready to get dressed for the beach. I will help you. D.”
“I wonder how much Mom paid her. . . .” I muttered as I went to brush my teeth, shaking my head in wonderment at Dylan’s unusual kindness.
CHAPTER 3
Boys Are People Too
As chilly and damp as it had been yesterday, today was warm and dry: a perfect beach day!
I carefully woke Dylan up at about nine thirty, since Katie’s mom was picking us up at ten thirty. I’d need at least an hour to navigate my fashion intervention by Dylan. Dylan was surprisingly pleasant upon waking up, and after a granola bar and a quick cup of tea, she was back upstairs and whipping open her shades, making her bed, and then turning to size me up.
“Now, you want to wear the turquoise T-shirt of Mom’s, right?” she said with a gleam in her eye.
I nodded cautiously. “Yeeeess . . .”
Dylan nodded. “Good. So we have a nugget to start with.”
Suddenly, I relaxed, realizing that this was one of those extreme makeover projects Dylan so enjoys. It would be smooth sailing after all. Dylan loves a good creative outlet every now and then, and I am usually lucky when I end up on the receiving end.
She nodded and began flicking through hangers in her closet, one efficient click after another as she evaluated and then discarded choices. A couple of times she selected something, which she hung on the doorknob, but because of my angle in the room, I couldn’t see what they were.
Then she went to her dresser, flinging open the bottom drawer, where she keeps her pants in the winter and shorts in the summer. (Like me, Dylan is pretty organized.)
She grabbed two or three things, then she grabbed the hangers and gestured that I should ditch my pj bottoms and begin trying things on as she laid them on the bed.
First, I tried on supershort cut-off jeans of hers that I have always loved and my mom rarely allows her to wear.
I pulled them on, and they fit perfectly around my waist, maybe a tad loose. I looked down—not as short on me as on Dylan, but still pretty short.
“Cool! First try!” I said. But Dylan was shaking her head.
“A little . . . inappropriate,” she said. “Next!”
“Wait, what?” How had that happened so fast? “But that’s what Mom always says when you wear them! On me?”
Dylan shook her head again. “Now I can see what Mom means. Next!”
Sighing heavily, I took off the denim shorts. This new maturity of Dylan’s was superannoying, but I couldn’t exactly fight it now when it was helping me. Next, I tried on a floral-print romper. “Yuck! Really?” I asked.
Dylan sighed. “They don’t work on me, either. Rompers were supposed to be the next big thing. They never took off. Next!”
I couldn’t get that romper off fast enough. Eyeing the denim shorts wistfully, I pulled on a white denim miniskirt and buttoned it. It was comfy and light and looked good with the turquoise T-shirt.
I jammed my hands in the front pockets and twirled. “Well?” I asked.
Dylan was nodding silently. She looked at me from afar and then from behind. “Yup. That’s it.”
“Can I go look in Mom and Dad’s room?” I asked.
“Go for it,” said Dylan.
I trotted down the hall and looked in my mom’s mirror. The denim skirt looked nice, and the turquoise was good with my coloring. I felt happy with what I had on for the first time in days.
“Thanks, Dilly!” I called as I skipped back down the hall.
“Anytime!” she said cheerily, which was kind of hilarious since it was a total lie. Dylan would not help me “anytime,” but I was grateful for this time.
“Do you need help cleaning up?” I asked, standing in her doorway.
“No.” She eyed me carefully. “Don’t forget to put on some sunscreen. Those legs are looking neon white.” Regular Dylan was back, and I was relieved.
I looked down. “Right,” I agreed.
In my room, I grabbed last summer’s racer-back swimsuit, which suddenly looked frayed and babyish. As I put it on under my new outfit, I made a mental note to ask my mom to get me something new. Then I grabbed a Sudoku book, my cool heart-shape red sunglasses, my wallet, and from the linen closet in the hall, a beach towel. I packed every
thing into a tote bag from some conference my mom had gone to for work, then jammed on a pair of flip-flops. On my way downstairs, I took a tube of sunscreen from the bathroom. Down in the kitchen, I put the sunscreen on the counter and filled a steel water bottle with cold water from the fridge, then I made myself an almond-butter sandwich on whole grain bread (my mom is a health nut) as a snack. I had a little time left before Katie was coming to get me, so I flipped on the TV in the den to watch some of my favorite show, Celebrity Ballroom.
I guess time got away from me because the next thing I knew, Katie was in my kitchen calling, “Helloooo!”
“OMG!” I jumped up. “Coming!” I called back. I looked at the cable box: 10:26. Katie was early. But still. I hate being late or fumbling and rushing.
In the kitchen I squealed with excitement when I saw Katie in her bikini top and gym shorts. “All ready for the beach!” I cried.
Katie was looking at me, puzzled. “Why are you all dressed up?” she asked. “I mean, you look adorable, but do you have somewhere to go after?”
My bubble was burst. I looked down at my outfit in dismay. “Wait. Is this too dressy?”
“Oh. No. Just . . . You look cute!” said Katie brightly.
Suddenly, I realized my outfit was all wrong. And after all that work! I should have known Dylan would get all dressed up for the beach. She wears cute outfits to go to the grocery store with Mom! I looked at the clock again. Did I have time to change?
“Let’s go!” said Katie.
I guess not.
Slowly, I gathered up my bag and my water bottle, and then I spotted the sunscreen on the counter. I had forgotten to put it on. Boy, I was really scatterbrained these days! It was so unlike me! I dropped the sunscreen into my bag and trudged out to the Browns’ car, not as excited as I had been a little while ago. And as we picked up Emma and Mia, and I saw them in their beachy outfits (Emma in an old cotton cover-up and Mia in a sarong and a tank top), I felt even more out of sorts. Everyone admired my outfit, but they each had a look of confusion when they first saw it. Glumly, I stared out the window. I felt betrayed by my body.
Everyone was chattering and didn’t seem to notice that I was quiet. Then Emma said, “Lexi—I mean, Alexis—guess what? Matt’s going to be there today, and so will George Martinez!” She nudged Katie, since Katie has a crush on George, and even better, he has a crush on her, too! I was glad Emma had made the effort to refrain from calling me “Lexi.”
Katie whooped and reached out her hand for a high five. I had to crack a smile and high-five her back.
“Is that why you got dressed up?” asked Mia from the front seat. “Did you already know?”
She wasn’t trying to be mean, but I was so fed up. “I’m not that dressed up!” I cried. “It’s just a T-shirt and a denim skirt! It’s all I had that fit, and it’s not even mine!” I took a deep breath and stared out the window.
The car was quiet for a moment, and Mrs. Brown said, “Alexis, you look lovely. Like a California beach girl! Totally natural and pretty.”
I didn’t even need to look at my friends to know that they were exchanging looks about me. I sighed and thanked Mrs. Brown politely.
We reached the beach and pulled out all the gear from the back of the Browns’ car: beach chairs, an umbrella, a raft. It was already getting hot, even though it wasn’t even noon, and I thought again of the sunscreen I hadn’t yet put on.
Mrs. Brown went to park the car. She’d set up her gear on the other side of the beach from us, in case we needed her, but so she wasn’t “breathing down our necks,” as she put it. She cautioned us to have a buddy system for swimming and to stay in front of the lifeguard the whole time. Then she reminded us about sunscreen.
“Reapply every two hours and when you get out of the water,” she said.
“I’ve got mine!” I said. “Anyone can borrow some. I’ll put it on when we get set up.”
Mrs. Brown smiled at me and said, “You are always so organized, Alexis. I love it. I know I can count on you. Make sure the other girls put some on too, okay?”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” I said with a salute. I love Mrs. Brown. She’s always so nice to me.
Lugging my share of the gear, I followed Emma toward the lifeguard stand. The beach was only medium-crowded, so we had our pick of some good spots. She chose a spot to the right of the stand, close to the water, where no one would get between us and the edge of the ocean, and we set up camp.
I have to admit, as soon as I peeled off my unfortunate outfit, I felt a little better. My swimsuit was a tad small, and I had to keep pulling it down for decency’s sake, but since I was planning on spending most of my day in the water, it would be okay.
“Hey! There are the boys!” called Katie. She began waving at Matt and George and some other guys who were walking toward us along the water’s edge.
Ugh. I didn’t want them to have an instant full view of me in my too-small bathing suit, so I took off into the water, crashing awkwardly through the white foam and belly flopping into a wave that promptly smacked me and rolled me under.
When I stood up, gasping and wiping sand off my face a moment later, I was face-to-face with Matt Taylor—love of my life, total god—who looked adorable in a pair of colorful surf trunks and a navy blue T-shirt that showed off the muscles in his arms. He was laughing. And I think it was at me.
I swam away a little bit and dunked under to rinse off the sand and came up face-first, smoothing back my hair. Then I stood there and tried to act natural as Matt waded through the white water toward me.
“Leave it to Lexi to be the first one in!” he said, laughing and shaking his head.
“Early bird gets the worm!” I said. Lame. So lame!
Matt dove under and popped up about ten feet from me, floating on his back with his feet in the air. I wasn’t sure if I should swim to him or stay put. The sun beat down on me hard, and I wondered if I’d be okay for just a few minutes without sunscreen. I mean, I couldn’t get that burned while I was underwater, right? I ducked under and swam out toward Matt, surfacing near him but not too close.
“Freezing!” he called.
“Is it?” I hadn’t really noticed. I guess I was just numb. Or maybe I had more important things on my mind, like how cute Matt looked with his hair wet! But I suddenly realized I was freezing.
“Yeah. I don’t think I can even stay in. My feet are numb. Wanna get out?”
I looked to shore. Emma and the others were standing, chatting with the boys. No one else had come in.
I shrugged. “It feels kind of good. And this way, by the time July rolls around, it’s gonna feel like the Caribbean to us.”
Matt laughed and shook his head. “Always planning ahead.”
“It’s my trademark!” I said, and I dove under again. I had to keep moving or I would freeze to death, that was for sure.
I came up, and Matt said, “Want to try and ride a wave in?”
“Okay.”
It took a few attempts, but we both finally timed it right and got a good ride back to shore. We landed in a heap, laughing, at everyone’s feet. Katie squealed and jumped away from us.
“How can you guys even put your feet in there? It’s so cold! Even the drops from the spray feel freezing on my legs!”
Matt and I both shrugged and laughed. “I have to go back in and rinse off,” I said. I stumbled back into the water and dove under a wave, then I paddled a bit, shook the sand out of my suit and my hair, and then made my way back in, careful not to get covered in sand again.
Out of the water, I dashed to my towel, partly because I was freezing and partly because I didn’t need those guys seeing me in my too-small, unstylish, soaking-wet bathing suit from last summer! Snug and warming up, I walked slowly back to the group, where Matt was standing with his arms folded across his chest, shivering. His lips were actually bluish!
“Oh, Matt! You’re freezing! Don’t you have a towel?” I asked.
He laughed, but he shiver
ed as he tried to talk. “It’s at the other end of the beach. We wanted to be away from people, so we could throw the football around, but it’s pretty far.”
The poor guy. “Here,” I said impulsively. “You can use mine.” I unwrapped myself and handed it toward him.
“No, you need it. That’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll warm right up in the sun.”
“I insist!” I said. “Even for a minute. And you can take off the T-shirt, so you don’t have that wet, cold fabric next to your skin.”
“Nah, I’m okay. Here, I’ll just use it to blot my face and hair a little. Thanks,” he said. It warmed my heart to see my towel being used by Matt Taylor, love of my life. I was happy to have been able to help and happy that he accepted. It’s like my mom always reminds us: You should accept people’s help when they offer because it makes them feel good too.
I crossed my arms and waited to get my towel back. The sun felt good, and now I remembered again that I needed sunscreen. Darn it! But I didn’t want to leave while Matt was still standing there.
“Thanks,” he said again, handing my towel back. He looked a tiny bit warmer but not much. I was grateful to have the towel to hide behind again and especially to be able to cover up my shoulders, which were feeling warm and pinchy in the sun. “What are you guys doing about lunch? We’re going to go to the snack bar,” he said.
“Um.” I looked at the others. “We could do that, I think. . . . Hey, guys? Want to go to the snack bar with the boys for lunch? When are you going?” I asked Matt, turning back to him.
He was staring at my legs when I looked at him.
“Huh? Oh. When are we going?” he repeated, all weird and awkward.
Why had he been looking at my legs? I was dying to look down and see what was wrong. Did I have a huge bruise or something? Were they neon white like Dylan had said? Ugh.
“Maybe in, like, half an hour?” he suggested.
“Okay. Sounds good. See you up there,” I agreed. I was dying to get rid of him so I could look at my legs.