The Shore

by Todd Strasser

  “What? Since when have you ever thought that about any party?” Jodi said. She laughed. “This is me, Jodi—remember? I know you.”

  “You know me? Maybe you once did, when we were friends,” said Linley.

  “What?” Jodi sounded both startled and annoyed.

  Ignoring her, Linley went on. “But whatever you think you know about me, this doesn’t look at all like my kind of party. It’s . . . I mean, Claire, sweetie, we put you in charge to make sure we had enough beer. And tequila. Not to . . . to make such a big deal out of it.”

  “Unfair, Linley,” said Max.

  Linley said, “I appreciate that you’ve worked so hard and tried to make it special, but really, Claire. And it’s nice that you like being so busy busy and have all these nice new friends to play with and that everybody is humoring you, but admit it, this is just ridiculous. And it’s not going to impress Finn, trust me.”

  Claire gasped. Because it hurt. It actually physically hurt, hearing those words. It was as if Linley’s words were rocks hitting Claire.

  Looking down to hide her shock, Claire noticed that the napkin she’d somehow started folding and refolding was now shredded paper, and noticed, too, that her hands were shaking. She threw the napkin away and put her hands flat on the counter.

  I’ve tried to make it a good party, Claire thought numbly. I thought everyone else wanted it that way, too.

  I thought they were my friends. And yes, she’d been showing off a little for Finn, even if he didn’t notice. . . .

  She looked around at everyone now—Max, Dean, Poppy, Jodi. And Linley.

  Linley was watching Claire like a cat at a mouse-hole.

  No one else spoke. Did they agree with Linley? Did they all think she was being ridiculous? Were they just humoring her?

  “Is that what you think?” Claire said slowly, to everyone as much as to Linley. She felt as if she might cry.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Linley said.

  And then Dean said, his eyes bright and watchful, “Sounds as if you’ve got a problem with what a great party Claire’s put together here, Linley.”

  “A problem?” repeated Linley.

  “Maybe you’re a little jealous,” he added conversationally.

  Don’t, Claire thought automatically, and saw Jodi’s hands go out as if to stop the words. Even Poppy looked taken aback.

  But it was too late.

  “Me? Jealous? Of Claire? Claire?”

  “I don’t know,” Dean said, smiling with deeply fake innocence. “Just a thought.”

  Claire said, “I . . . you . . . we should . . .” At least they didn’t all think her party plans were stupid. She looked around. The party, she told herself. We have to finish putting it together. Inside, she wanted to cry. She wanted to curl up in a ball in the corner. She wanted never to have come to California, never to have met Linley.

  But then she wouldn’t have met Finn. She wouldn’t have learned to surf.

  Or to wait tables, she thought, and in spite of herself, smiled a little.

  Linley saw the smile.

  “Are you laughing at me?” she snapped.

  And then, a new Claire thought, a dark, angry Claire thought: I’ll murder Linley later.

  And put it on her mental list: Linley. Later. Murder.

  Claire’s silence, the silence of the whole room, was too much for Linley. Claire would think—later—that it was the silence of a whole summer exploding, a whole lifetime, maybe.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Claire Plimouth!”

  And Claire heard herself say, in the old Claire’s voice, calm and unemotional, but using words only the new Claire would have used: “Why, Linley? Because you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

  And then Linley was almost up in Claire’s face, shouting, “I have a list for you, Claire! You like lists, right? Here’s a list. One: party: overkill, way over the top. Two: I’m not jealous of you, not now, not ever, not possible. So not possible—”

  “Linley!” said Max. He moved toward her as if to step between her words and everyone else.

  Claire didn’t move. She stared at Linley, the Claire of thousands of boarding school days and thousands of more Plimouth family rules. Lists and lists of Plimouth family rules, now that she thought about it. All at war inside her with the Claire of the long shining days of this summer—the feel of the water beneath the board, things little and big, people new and amazing and not so different in so many ways after all, and yes Finn.

  Finn.

  And Claire said, politely, really, “Oh, get over it, Linley. We have a party starting and we just don’t have time for a tantrum.”

  Eighteen

  “Whoaaaa,” Dean breathed, stepping back.

  Linley’s golden tan went maroon with rage. For one moment, Claire thought Linley was going to go for her.

  Max must have, too. He put his hand on Linley’s arm, and when she tried to shake it off, he wrapped his fingers around her list. Claire realized that she was breathing heavily, as if she’d carved a ride on her biggest wave yet.

  And maybe she was right.

  “You . . . ,” Linley said in a low, furious voice and paused, her own breathing out of control. “You . . .”

  She looked around and said, clearly and slowly, “You can all go to hell. Fuck each and every one of you. And especially you, Claire.”

  “Linley,” said Max.

  She jerked, but he held on. She swung with her free hand, and Max would have gotten not a slap but an eye full of fist if he hadn’t caught her other arm in time. She yanked that arm free, but didn’t try to hit him again. Instead, she twisted around.

  Jodi said, “Get a grip, will you?”

  “Oh, that’s good. Me get a grip. I’m not the one that’s speeding her brains out night and day. Jodi the junkie, that’s what you are. Up your nose, in your mouth, popping it between your toes so no one will know—”

  “I do not . . . I would never . . . I—”

  “Can quit anytime. Hah!”

  “You’ve got no right!” Jodi said furiously.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Did I hurt your feelings? But I’m just being your friend. Telling you the truth. Which is more than you’ve done with me!” Linley said.

  “I’m not the one who went and lied about paying rent,” Jodie managed to choke out.

  “No. No, you lied about fucking Poppy, that’s what you lied about,” Linley said.

  Jodi went red, then white.

  Now Poppy put her hand on Jodi’s arm. “That wasn’t yours to tell, Linley,” she said evenly. But Claire had the impression that Poppy was really angry.

  “Ohh, Poppy, I’m scared,” Linley said. “For your information, Jodi’s my oldest friend. My best friend. You’d think she’d tell me something like that. Especially since it’s been going on all summer.”

  “I was going to tell you,” Jodi said. She glanced at Claire.

  Linley caught it, figured it out. “You’ve told Claire,” she said. “You told Claire, but you didn’t tell me.”

  “You didn’t like Poppy,” Jodi said. “You made that pretty clear.”

  “We’d all pretty much figured it out, anyway,” Max said.

  Was he talking to Linley or Jodi?

  “You told Claire,” repeated Linley. “And Claire was sooo understanding, weren’t you, Claire? So fucking grateful Jodi shared your stupid little I’m-a-dyke confession with her—”

  “Stop it,” Poppy said. “Watch your language.”

  “Sorry, Poppy. Did I offend you?” Linley said.

  “Try every day this summer,” Poppy shot back. “Why would Jodi tell you anything? You’ve pushed her away. You treated everyone in this house like shit. And you’ve done nothing but throw your own little pity party pretty much every single moment this summer.”

  Max almost lost his grip when Linley lunged this time. “Bitch!” she screamed.

  “Oh, please,” said Poppy.

  “Stop it!” Claire said. “S
top it. We’ve got a party—”

  “And you,” said Linley. “Until I came along you didn’t have a life. You were a mouse. A virgin WASP mouse.”

  Linley had known, Claire thought. She’d known Claire was a virgin. Why hadn’t she said anything? “And if it hadn’t been for me, you’d be sitting in your daddy’s bank right now, still being a boring little mouse. Boring Claire. Right next to the definition of the word, there’s your picture. . . .”

  This time, Claire’s eyes filled with tears. She backed away. “I’m not . . . ,” she tried to say. But not what? A mouse. Boring?

  She wanted Finn. She wanted him now.

  Jodi had Poppy. Dean was watching them all, his eyes bright. Max had caught Linley by the other arm and was trying to pull her to him, talking softly as if to a crazed animal.

  Claire reached the door. Her hand found the handle.

  She heard Linley shouting at Max, “Liar. Liar! I hate you. I hate you . . .”

  And then Claire was outside in the last of the daylight.

  Finn.

  She could go to Finn. He’d had a late surf lesson that afternoon at the hotel.

  Claire would go see Finn.

  What about the party? A little voice inside her asked.

  And Claire said aloud, “Fuck the party,” and kept going.

  Finn saw her coming across the beach and knew something was wrong. He finished the lesson, then turned and said, “What’s happened?”

  Claire walked into his arms, leaned her head against his chest, and silently began to cry.

  Later, late enough so it was full-on dark, Finn took Claire back to the party.

  A pirate ship, thought Claire. That’s what the house looked like to her as she and Finn drove up to the driveway entrance. A big, strange pirate ship, lit from within and sailing into the new night.

  And maybe I’ll have to walk the plank before the night is over, she thought.

  Finn slowed. Claire was pleased to see someone had remembered to put out the sign. “‘Danger,’” Finn read aloud. “‘Drive Under Construction. Do Not Enter.’”

  He glanced over at her. She laughed. “If it just said ‘Keep Out,’ no one would.” She jumped out of the van and ran to open the gate to let Finn in to park.

  The house was jammed. Claire and Finn came in to a sea of people. Music pumped, but no one was dancing yet. They were still drinking, climbing higher, getting hooked up.

  Claire caught Finn’s hand as much for comfort as to keep close to him in the crowd. Who were all these people? She didn’t see anyone she knew—not even her roommates.

  She turned to Finn. “I’m going to go change into my party clothes,” she said.

  “What?”

  She pulled out the front of her damp sweatshirt and pointed up the stairs.

  Finn nodded. He pointed to Barrel and also pointed up the stairs.

  Claire nodded back. She knew what Finn was saying: too many people, too much loud noise for Barrel. She reached down to catch Barrel’s collar.

  “I’ll get drinks,” Finn offered. Or at least Claire thought that was what he said.

  With a quick glance back to make sure it was okay, Barrel followed Claire obediently.

  Upstairs, the noise was less. Claire led Barrel into Finn’s room and settled him in, making sure he had plenty of water and his favorite chew toy. She even made a sign that said be careful of dog inside and taped it on the door, as much to protect Barrel from the party as to make sure she and Finn had the room all to themselves at party’s end.

  Finn had fed Barrel at the beach when they’d finished surfing. And before they’d gone horizontal. Claire smiled and felt a twinge of sadness. Sex on the beach. Would it be the last time?

  The flight back east was at the crack of dawn day after tomorrow. Tomorrow would probably be dedicated to party recovery and cleanup.

  And considering all the people who weren’t speaking to each other, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant day.

  But she’d think about tomorrow, well, tomorrow. With a final pat for Barrel, Claire headed for her own room. When she was party ready, she surveyed herself in the mirror. The girl who looked back was almost as golden as Linley. She had brown hair streaked with sunlight. She looked strong and capable and, Claire thought, turning to admire her legs in the very short skirt, damn good.

  Sexy. No, smart and sexy. When she got back to school, she was going to buy a lot more things in a lot more colors—particularly red.

  Confidently, maybe even swaggering a little, Claire headed for the party. As she passed Dean’s door, she noticed it was half-open. She gave it a push and called, “Hey, come join the party.”

  No one answered. Claire peered inside. She’d never really looked in Dean’s room. He was the only person in the house who kept his door closed at all times. She didn’t know what she expected to see. Fanatic neatness? Wild disorder?

  It was as bland as a hotel room. A laptop glowed on a table in the corner. Next to it was a half-eaten chocolate doughnut and a half-full beer bottle. Claire wrinkled her nose at the combo.

  Then she saw her name on the screen. She frowned and stepped closer.

  Yes. It was definitely her name. And Finn’s. And Linley’s. And even Barrel’s.

  She read, “So we have a pretty good idea of what happens when good girls go bad. But what happens when bad girls go off the deep end. A summer of sex and drugs and now what can only be called a bitchslap-fest of epic proportions, with über-bad girl Linley at—”

  “What are you doing in my room?” Dean’s voice was neither lazy nor mocking.

  Claire blinked and tore her eyes from the screen. “What is this?” she asked.

  “What it is, is none of your business,” Dean said.

  “Oh, I think it might be,” said Claire. And she didn’t step back when Dean stepped closer.

  “Why don’t you just go to the party and forget it,” Dean said.

  “Why don’t you tell me what is going on?” she answered, glancing again at the screen, at the story on the screen. Then, finally, she got it. “You—you’re some kind of wannabe writer, aren’t you?”

  Dean grimaced. “Ouch,” he said. “Little Claire grows up.”

  “You’re writing stories about us.”

  “Well, yes. And actually, I have a contract. For a piece for a magazine. So, technically, I’m not a wannabe.”

  Claire thought of Dean, always watching, never getting involved—except those times he’d said things that seemed to escalate matters, make situations crazier or more out of control.

  “You used us,” Claire said.

  “Everybody uses everybody,” said Dean.

  “No, they don’t,” Claire said.

  They regarded each other.

  Claire said, suddenly, “Does Poppy know?”

  “Poppy’s an old friend. She knows I’m a writer, that I’m working on something, that I’m this close to the break I need. But not even Poppy knows everything,” Dean said.

  “So you used your old friend Poppy, too,” Claire said.

  Dean looked away, then, not quite meeting her eyes.

  “You’re a scum,” said Claire, simply, and walked past him. She stopped in the hall and leaned back in the door. “Dean. Don’t think you’re leaving. You’re staying and helping with cleanup tomorrow. Meanwhile, feel free to join the party and take all the notes you want. I’ll be sure to let everybody know so you’ll have their full cooperation.” She smiled and knew her smile was a threat.

  Power. It was good to be queen, she thought and, walking like a queen, went back to Finn and the last party of the summer.

  People had started dancing. Unsurprised, Claire saw Linley in the middle, working it dirty with someone Claire had never seen before.

  Finn appeared at her side as if he’d be watching for her. Maybe he had, or maybe it was just part of the Finn mojo. He handed her a drink. It had a plastic surfer riding the frozen crest on one side, and a tiny parasol on the other.

 
; Claire had to laugh.

  Finn laughed too. “Excellent decorations,” he said. “Jodi tells me you planned it all. Amazing girl, Mermaid Claire.”

  He had noticed. Screw Linley. Claire took a sip of the frozen drink and thought, Thanks, Jodi. Jodi was her friend, after all. “Excellent piña colada,” she answered. She saw Jodi, then, dancing with Poppy.

  She looked . . . happy.

  “Yo, look!” Finn waved. Claire recognized Rita and Axel and NOLA and Suzie and some of the other surfers from the hotel. She waved too. Finn peeled away and went to talk to them as a burly figure loomed above Claire.

  “Joseph?” said Claire, hardly believing her eyes. She checked the impulse to make certain her hair was pulled back in a Health Department–approved waitress tail.

  “Hey,” Joseph rumbled. “Didn’t think I’d take you up on your invite, didja?” His eyes roamed the room and stopped. “Sweet,” he said.

  Claire followed his gaze to Linley doing something Claire thought might be called the grind with the guy she remembered as Nicholas or Ned or Nathan from the Jacuzzi.

  “I wouldn’t share a crossword puzzle with her,” Claire said flatly.

  Joseph rumbled, this time laughing. “Darlin’, that wasn’t what I had in mind.” His mittlike hand came down on her shoulder in a reassuring pat that would have buckled her knees had she not known Joseph and been prepared. “But she’s too young for me, anyway. That one, now, she looks more my style.”

  “Poppy,” said Claire. “Forget it. She bats for the other team.”

  “Damn,” said Joseph. “What a shame.”

  “Not for whoever she’s batting with,” Claire retorted.

  Her now ex-boss regarded Claire with expressionless eyes for a moment, then went from a rumble to a roar of laughter. His hand descended again to her shoulder, and Claire winced and thought, bruises.

  “You know, kid, you’re all right. I thought you might be a little too East Coast preppie and uptight when I met you, but you’re all right. You’re gonna do just fine.”

  “Thanks,” said Claire, and meant it. This was high praise, indeed. She smiled at Joseph, suddenly realizing she would miss him. “You’re my favorite boss, now and forever.”

  “Thatta girl,” Joseph said. “You ever need a job, you come back to me.” His eyes were sampling the room again, and Claire hid a smile. “Come on,” she said, “Poppy’s got plenty of friends who play for your team,” and led Joseph over to help him hook up. Poppy would know who to put him next to.