It's All About Us

by Shelley Adina

  We wobbled out into the channel, where the breeze whistled happily down the open stretch between rows of boats. Expensive boats. Boats with fiberglass hulls that could be pierced by our bow and sink, along with all their nice teak decking and designer bed coverings and state-of-the-art GPS electronics.

  What kind of lunatic had said that sailing was fun? I was never laughing at Kaz’s dad with his goofy captain’s cap again.

  “Look out!” Gillian shrieked.

  Vanessa and Dani’s boat bore down on us like a runaway train, only slightly more out of control than we were.

  “Talbot!” Jake shouted from his boat, which he was crewing single-handed. “Come about!”

  “How?” she yelled.

  “Steer into the wind. Now!”

  “Impact four seconds,” Gillian said. She had been green before. Now she was as white as the sail that flapped uselessly above her head.

  How did I steer? Where was the wind? What should I—

  I stood up, letting go of the tiller and grabbing a sheet in each hand. I had some vague plan about pulling the sail tighter, about changing direction, about—

  Crump.

  Vanessa’s boat hit ours dead amidships. The hull tilted up. Gillian grabbed the boom and hung on with both arms, and I went butt-over-Body Glove into San Francisco Bay.

  Chapter 10

  THE COLD PARALYZED ME.

  Arms, legs, face, lungs. Surfing in the Pacific in SoCal had not prepared me in any way for the frigid water only six hours’ drive north. As the dark green water thundered closed over my head, all I could think about was getting out—and fast.

  I kicked for the surface just as something plummeted into the water next to me. I had no idea what it was—I’d squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t lose my contact lenses. An arm reached out and snaked around my waist, and powerful legs propelled both of us to the surface. As my face broke into the air, water streaming off me and my hair tangling around my neck and arms, I heard shouting but couldn’t make out the words.

  “Grab the gunwale.”

  I pushed water out of my eyes and saw a hull looming in front of my face. I reached up and hooked my hands on the gunwale as it tilted toward me.

  “Kick as hard as you can!”

  I kicked, whoever it was heaved, and I shot up and over the gunwale, landing like a beached elephant seal in the bottom of the boat.

  “Lissa, are you okay?” Gillian helped me roll over and sit up. Eighty degrees outside or not, the cold had gone through skin, muscle, and bone, right to my core. My teeth chattered as I tried to speak.

  “Y-yeah.”

  “McCloud, here!”

  I looked up as Jake, the instructor, leaned over the gunwale of his own boat and Callum kicked up and out of the water into it. A lot more gracefully than I just had.

  Callum?!

  Gillian yanked a pristine white Spencer Academy bath towel out of her backpack and wrapped it around me. “Thanks.” I huddled inside the towel, which meant Gillian had to get the boat turned around and get us back to the dock all by herself.

  “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “Can’t believe it. You should have seen him. Dove right in after you. I take back every nasty thing I ever said about him.”

  “He’d d-do it for anyone.”

  But would he?

  All around us, the girls twittered and relayed what had just happened to the people who’d missed it. Jake called, “Mansfield. You okay?”

  “Yes,” I said, molars clacking on the word.

  “Chang, get her to the wharf. We’ll get her dried off and find her something hot to drink. The rest of you, the excitement’s over. Practice tacking up and down this open stretch for thirty minutes, and come back in.”

  Reluctantly, the other boats peeled off. All except one.

  Vanessa leaned over the gunwale while Dani tacked behind us and to one side. “Melissa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to turn and I just . . . fell apart. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “It’s Lissa. I’m okay. Just c-cold.”

  “We’re coming back with you, just to make sure.”

  Given the choice of Callum, Gillian, or Vanessa making sure you were okay, who would you pick? But it was nice of her to make the gesture. I mean, with at least a dozen witnesses, she could hardly do anything else. Call me cynical, but considering the way she’d been treating me for the last week, it was pretty hard to see her running into us as an accident.

  Maybe it was. Maybe she was telling the truth. Or maybe she was giving an Oscar-winning performance, white face, huge eyes, and all.

  I was too cold and wet to care. And there was something long and slimy stuck to my calf. I peeled the bit of seaweed off my leg and tossed it over the side. Gillian brought the boat around so that it bumped against the dock—only hard enough to jar my teeth, not enough to send me into the water again. Not bad for her first time.

  “Take my hand.”

  Callum materialized in front of me for the second time in five minutes. His hand was big and damp and beautiful as it engulfed mine and he helped me out of the boat and onto the dock.

  “Thank you,” I said fervently. “You saved my life.”

  His hair stuck up every which way, and water trickled down his legs to puddle in his wet deck shoes. He shrugged and looked embarrassed. “Nah. You wouldn’t drown with all these people around.”

  “It’s cold, though. Another couple of minutes and hypothermia might have set in.”

  “And speaking of that,” Jake said, moving between us and slinging an arm around my waist, “let’s get you into the boathouse, okay?”

  I looked over my shoulder at Gillian, still sitting in the boat and looking a little forlorn. Jake followed my gaze. “McCloud, help Chang wash down her boat and meet us in the boathouse.”

  So while I got to sit in the sunny window drinking hot chocolate out of the microwave, Gillian got to do the grunt work. She and Callum unstepped the mast and rolled up the sail, tying the canvas like a big furled umbrella. Then they washed the salt and seaweed off the hull of our boat and pushed it into its place on the dock.

  At least Jake was nice enough to make hot chocolate for them, too, when they came in.

  “Feeling better?” Callum joined me in the window to watch Vanessa and Dani haul their boat out of the water and start scrubbing it down.

  Now, there was a cheery view if I ever saw one. Almost made me want to yell, “Swab those decks, ye scurvy dogs!”

  “Much,” I said. Gillian sat on the bench behind him. “Thank you guys, again. They’re going to be talking about this for weeks.”

  “I doubt it.” Callum didn’t seem to realize Gillian was even there. “Every term someone falls in, usually before the class where you learn how to capsize and how to get back in.”

  “I told you we’d be capsizing boats.” I leaned over and looked at Gillian, including her in the conversation. After all, if it hadn’t been for her, Callum and I would have had to swim for it, and I probably wouldn’t have made it very far.

  “Not ’til the ninth week.” Callum leaned back and smiled at Gillian, and something inside me relaxed. I wanted my friend and my (possible future) boyfriend to be friends. After all, if they couldn’t bond over my near-death experience, what was it going to take?

  “Have you had this class before?” she asked.

  “Oh, sure. You can take it three times for credit. During winter and spring terms I do golf. My old man plays a lot. It’s about the only thing we both like.”

  Callum played golf with his dad? I mean, not to perpetuate a stereotype or anything, but I always saw golfers as retired guys with knee socks and plaid shorts, hauling around clubs with little fuzzy tams on them. The clubs, not the old guys.

  I caught Gillian’s eye and from her expression, I gathered she had the same picture. Well, weren’t our stereotypes just getting knocked all over this week?

  The door swung open and Vanessa and Dani burst in.

  “I’m
so glad you’re okay!” Vanessa hugged me. With my left hand I held my paper cup of hot chocolate in the air so the impact wouldn’t spill it, and with my right arm I hugged her back.

  Maybe it was an act. Or maybe she really was sorry for dumping me in the bay. But if she was willing to offer the olive branch, I’d take it.

  “Is there any more of that chocolate? Jake?”

  My mother would have asked her if her arms were broken, but Jake just turned from organizing life jackets by size, shook a couple of packets of powder into cups, poured in water, and nuked them.

  “At our yacht club, the chocolate is the real thing.” Dani gazed at the contents of her cup like there were bug bodies floating in it. “They import it from Switzerland.”

  “You asked,” Jake pointed out.

  Dani ignored him. “So, Melissa, are you coming to San Gregorio with us tomorrow?”

  “You guys, she’s told you, like, twenty times that her name is Lissa,” Gillian said.

  Vanessa looked as though she hadn’t noticed her until this very second. “Is it?” She glanced at me for confirmation.

  “Yes. But it’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Have you been calling her Melissa?” Callum grinned at Vanessa as if he hadn’t been doing the same.

  “Not anymore.” With a big smile, she sat on my other side. “So. San Gregorio? It’s going to be fun. Bodysurfing, tanning, and the dining room’s going to pack us a big lunch.”

  I glanced at Callum. Pressure much?

  This is what my sister calls being stuck between a rock and a hard place. More than anything, I wanted to go with them. I wanted to show Callum my moves on the waves, and teach him a few, if he felt like it. I wanted to take a long walk on the sand and just talk. Get to know him. Look up at his beautiful face without anyone thinking I was obsessive.

  Most important of all, I wanted him to get to know me—the real me. Not the goofball falling in the water or the idiot who could never think of anything to say. Out there on the beach, where I was comfortable, surely he’d see the real me—and like me.

  On the other hand . . . I sighed. A commitment was a commit-ment. I’d been so excited about Gillian meeting my folks. I was not going to toss that out the window for Callum.

  All the same, temptation bit hard and I fought it off.

  “We talked about it already,” I said, shooting Callum a sideways glance. “I have plans.”

  “On a Sunday?” Vanessa frowned. Then her expression cleared. “Oh, I get it. You’re going to church!” She looked at Dani and they both grinned.

  The specter of Tuesday night loomed up in all its dark horror. I could feel Gillian’s agitation from three feet away.

  “You are?” Dani looked as though I’d said I was going to eat raw squid when I finished my hot chocolate. “What a waste of time.”

  On Callum’s other side, Gillian straightened, then leaned back to catch my eye. In one look I read a whole Gospel, but she kept her mouth clamped shut.

  This one was up to me.

  Just what I always wanted. Taking a stand for my faith in front of the girls whose opinion mattered most at Spencer. Knowing it would be fatal.

  “I don’t think it’s a waste of time.” I answered her as if she’d said something reasonable. “Gillian’s coming with my mom and me, and then we’re going out to Marin for lunch.”

  “With your dad?” Callum asked.

  “Yes, with my dad.” What did he think? “We wouldn’t let the poor guy starve.”

  He whistled, a short note of appreciation. “I still say that’s worth giving up the beach for.”

  “What?” Dani asked.

  He shot her a look. “Do you know who her dad is?”

  Dani shrugged. Vanessa rolled her eyes and said, “He’s a director. So what? My dad gave him money for a movie once. Big deal.” She made it sound like Dad had been begging at the front door. Or maybe the servants’ entrance.

  “He’s only one of the best directors in the business. And since she won’t invite me to lunch, I guess I have to wait ’til the Benefactors’ Day ball to meet him.”

  Oh, those eyes. Those lashes, dropping down to hood them in a way that just made my toes curl.

  “Why can’t he come to lunch?” Dani looked almost angry with me, as if I’d slighted Callum somehow.

  “Because, dummy, then he’d have to go to church.”

  Vanessa has such a way with words.

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  Had he really said that? Or was it just wishful thinking, talking out loud in my head?

  “Oh, come on,” Vanessa said to him impatiently. “Your mom would faint—right after she called the guys in white coats.”

  “What my mom thinks is up to her,” he told her in a tone devoid of expression. “I do what I want.”

  “You won’t do that,” she said with absolute conviction. “That’s too out there, even for you.”

  “You think so?” He glanced at me. “Any chance I can hitch a ride along with you guys?”

  My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  “Sure,” Gillian said coolly. “Unless Lissa’s mom drives a Z4. Then we’ll have to tie you to the trunk.”

  He grinned, and the neurons in my brain fritzed out. Again. “Does she?”

  “No,” I managed to say. “A Mercedes.”

  “Great.” He stood and held out his hand to me. “That means you and I can sit in the back.”

  LMansfieldHey Mom.

  Patricia_SutterHey. I’m at my gate. Home in an hour.

  LMansfieldOK if bring one more tomorrow?

  Patricia_SutterSure. Who?

  LMansfieldYou’ll see.

  Patricia_SutterA BOY????

  LMansfieldCallum McCloud. Think Lauren model only blond.

  Patricia_Sutter!

  Patricia_SutterThey’re calling my flight. Love you.

  TRunyonIs it true?

  VTalbotWhat?

  TRunyonCMcC is going to church with the princess of purity?

  VTalbotRumor has it.

  TRunyonWay extreme. I’d do a lot to get a chick, but even I have standards.

  VTalbotYou DO?

  Chapter 11

  DRESSING FOR CHURCH isn’t a big deal. At least, not in Santa Barbara. Kids come in surf shorts and T-shirts, moms come in jeans, old folks come in suits. It’s all good.

  But dressing for church and lunch with Callum? That’s a whole different game.

  The Max Azria slipdress and jacket?

  Too formal. I hung it up.

  The Lauren skirt and sweater set? What had I been thinking? It was so not me. That azure blue is fabulous but color isn’t everything.

  The D&G pants with the silk trapeze top and beautifully cut Marc Jacobs jacket?

  Now we’re talking.

  Gillian, who had thrown on a severe black Anna Sui minidress and black tights, had been practicing on the harp for the past half hour while she waited. She stroked a rippling arpeggio and launched into something I vaguely recognized. “Please tell me you’re done.” She pulled perfect notes out of the air and I found myself wishing that at least some of my genes could be musical.

  They aren’t, and I know it, despite eight years of piano and singing lessons. This is why God gave us the iPod.

  “I’m done.” I put on the pearl drop necklace Dad gave me when I turned thirteen and went into the bathroom to put on my makeup.

  “It’s not like you need to impress this guy,” she went on. “Anyone who could make comments about backseats in front of the girl who obviously wants him is already committed.”

  “Nobody’s committed,” I reminded her, stroking on mascara. “What is that you’re playing?”

  “‘May It Be.’ From The Lord of the Rings.”

  I knew I’d heard it before. I had all the extended-version DVDs. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks. I got the lead line off the Internet and wrote my own arrangement.”

  Of course she
did. “What’s the matter with the original?”

  “Nothing. I just like mine better. If you transpose it into the Dorian mode it has this great minor tone to it that—”

  “Whoa! Stop. You’re making my brain hurt.”

  She just grinned and started on the third stanza. “So do you think he’s a Christian under all that bronzer and mousse?”

  By this time I’d learned not to play dumb with Gillian. “He does not put on the pretty. Those looks are totally natural. And I don’t know. If he’s okay about going to church, maybe he grew up with it.”

  “Or maybe he just wants to meet your dad.”

  Cynic. I waved the pot of Urban Decay Carney lip gloss in agitation. “Has it never occurred to you that he might just like me for me? That there might not be strings attached?”

  “It occurred to me.” The melody shivered into silence. “But we’re talking about Callum McCloud. Longtime male BFF of Vanessa Talbot. Junior Ryder Cup winner for golf. Heir to the Penoco oil fortune.”

  “Thank you, O queen of the research geeks. I hope you ran a criminal records check while you were at it.”

  “He’s clean in NCIC,” she informed me smugly.

  I stepped out of the bathroom to stare at her. “What?”

  “My cousin’s husband is in the FBI. He ran a check for me last night.”

  “Oh, good grief.” I turned and set the pot of gloss on the counter with a clack, making its little tassel jump. “That’s not even legal. Or necessary. I just want to be friends. At first. I don’t know how he feels.”

  “We’ll find out, won’t we? But at least you know he hasn’t committed any felonies lately.”

  Gillian has such a way of putting everything in perspective.

  Callum was already waiting outside on the front stairs when we got there. And oh, my, didn’t he look fine in jeans and a white T-shirt with a rumpled Hugo Boss linen jacket over it. He had his hands jammed in his pockets against the fog that swirled around the campus, chilling everything down to sixty degrees.

  Of course, he could have worn emo black with a nose ring and I’d have still thought he looked fine, not to mention completely appropriate to meet my parents.

  He nodded at Gillian and smiled at me. “You look great.”