“Sure.”
We walked side-by-side toward the noise and laughter spilling out from café tables and open doors. Matt stayed close, but he didn’t try to take my hand again.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“No. I just know Laguna Beach from that MTV show.”
He laughed. “It’s a little different from how it looks on TV,” he said. “A ton of artists live around here, and there are all kinds of galleries and studios and stuff everywhere you look.”
“Sounds like my kind of place.”
“Yeah. You’d probably like the Pageant of the Masters here too. They make exact replicas of famous masterpieces using real people. It’s pretty trippy.”
“You mean they’re all life-sized with people in costumes and everything?”
He nodded. “You have to see it to believe it.”
We rounded the corner to join the sidewalk winding along PCH. People strolled by, peering into shop windows or calling to friends. On the other side of the highway, couples meandered down the narrow wooden boardwalk winding along the beach. My hand itched, missing Matt’s. Almost like he read my mind, he reached over to take it, and I felt content again. I decided not to analyze why I didn’t flinch like I would have with anyone else.
We made it to the next block, commenting occasionally on different window displays or the live music pouring from a corner coffee shop. Halfway down the sidewalk, a soft light floated from the window of a small art gallery. Matt stopped to check out the pieces on display. There were two sculptures, one made from polished wood and the other from smooth stone. They were sinuous and twisty with no real form, more the hint of a feeling.
“That wood piece reminds me of how I feel when I wake up from a nap,” Matt said.
I looked at him, impressed. “I didn’t know you were an art connoisseur.”
He snorted. “Ha. I’m not. I’m just saying, it looks like a big, long stretch.”
I studied the piece again. “Huh. I can totally see that.” I pointed to an abstract painting hung on the display wall behind the statue. “What’s that mean?”
He looked at the picture, full of sharp angles in different shades of blue and red. He tilted his head and thought for a minute. “Oh yeah, it’s speaking to me,” he murmured.
I stifled a laugh, and he squeezed my hand.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “That’s a commentary on partisan politics in America.”
“No,” I said.
“No?”
“I can’t believe you don’t see it. The artist is clearly imagining what it would look like if Superman got smooshed.”
“No way,” he said. “Smooshing would be swirly. That’s pointy.”
“Well, it’s definitely not about politics.”
“You’re right.” He narrowed his eyes and stared at the picture again. “Okay, I just had to use all of my awesome art interpretation skills, but I figured it out.”
“Lay it on me,” I said.
“That is a rendering of the struggle for primacy between red and blue crayons.”
“Primacy? That’s a two-dollar word.”
He looked sheepish.
“Hey.” I tugged on his hand and caught his eye. “I love two-dollar words.”
“Oh, really?” he drawled.
“Really.”
“How much?”
I tugged on his hand again, but this time I kept the pressure consistent, drawing him down toward me. When he was close enough, I leaned up and kissed him just to the left of his mouth. “That much,” I said.
He stared at me for a long moment.
“Antidisestablishmentarianism,” he said.
I gave him another peck.
“That’s the longest word I know,” he objected. “It’s only worth as much as primacy?”
“No, but we haven’t even had a first date. I can’t be giving you the wrong impression.” My insides went all squishy knowing that he was fishing for a juicier kiss.
“And whose fault is it that we haven’t been on a date?” he asked. “Seems like one of us is responsible for putting that together, and it isn’t me.”
“How’d that happen, again?”
“I’m your awesome surf coach.”
“Oh yeah. Well, I’m not a slacker. I pick Wednesday for our date. Be there or be square.”
“Be there or be square?” he teased me. “1985 called, and they want their catchphrase back.”
“It’s not fair, you know.”
“What’s not fair?” he asked, moving closer to me to allow another couple room to pass us on the sidewalk.
“It’s not fair that I can’t tease you back,” I murmured, distracted by his scent. He smelled faintly spicy.
“Why can’t you?”
“You’re holding my surf lessons hostage. I have to be nice or I won’t get any,” I sighed.
“Oh, that’s a bummer,” he said.
He tugged me back into the sidewalk traffic and continued down the strand of shop fronts. Four stores down, he stopped again. We were in front of a dimly lit window showcasing antique tobacco pipes.
“I have a solution,” he announced.
“To what?”
“To the surf lesson hostage crisis.”
“I’m listening.”
He turned to face me and took my other hand, then peered down at me intently. “Turns out I kind of like giving you lessons. So I’m going to do it just because. No barter or trade.”
“But—”
He shook his head. “You can’t change my mind. This way, if we hang out, it’s because you want to, not because you have to so that you can get a surfing session.”
“Oh.”
He released one of my hands and turned to walk again. I nestled beside him, liking how he made sure to stay between me and the road, and how our hands didn’t seem to sweat even though they’d been connected for a while now.
“Hey, Matt?” I said after a couple of easy minutes passed.
“Yeah?”
“You want to go on a date with me Wednesday night?”
“Yeah.”
Just then my cell phone chirped with a text message. I dug it out of my back pocket and tapped the display. It was from Celia.
Where are you?
Ah, a dilemma. I wanted to see her face when I told her how I spent the evening. “It’s Celia,” I said to Matt. “Do you care if I text her back really quick? I don’t want her to worry.”
“No problem,” he said.
I looked at him expectantly, but nothing happened. Finally I shook our joined hands gently. “I need mine back,” I said.
“Another bummer,” he answered, but he let go.
I tapped out a quick answer to Celia. Been captured by pirates. Don’t wait up.
I slipped my hand back into Matt’s and returned the phone to my pocket where it immediately chirped again. He loosened his grip once more, but I held on. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “She can wait.”
“You sure?”
I nodded.
“Let’s hit the beach.”
We crossed the next intersection right as the time was expiring on the walk box. The sand had little traffic now that the sun had set, but a few people dotted the benches along the boardwalk, quietly taking in the lap of ocean waves. A playground perched near the side of the boardwalk, empty of children. I pointed. “Can we?”
Matt smiled. “Definitely.”
I scampered over to the swings and then slipped off my flip-flops, enjoying the feeling of the cool sand sliding over my bare feet.
“Need a push?” Matt asked.
“Nope. Grab a swing,” I invited him.
He settled onto the one next to me and began a lazy sway back and forth. I swung higher and dropped my head back, trying to pierce the evening clouds and see the night sky.
“So far, the only thing I like better about Utah is summer nights,” I murmured.
“Why’s that?” Matt asked.
�
�Stars,” I said.
“I’ve heard of them,” he said. “We don’t see those here with the marine layer.”
“That’s too bad. They’re pretty spectacular.”
He waved toward the ocean. “That’s our consolation prize. Lots of sun and ocean breezes.”
I took a deep breath of the salt air. “You guys aren’t doing too badly for yourselves down here.”
He laughed. “Thanks for noticing.”
Despite the darkness enfolding the playground, I could still see the flash of his teeth when he smiled. I liked that smile. Its brightness owed everything to the contrast against his tan and not whiteners, I suspected. Feeling foolish for mooning over it, I dug my feet in and stopped my swing. I flicked a foot toward him, showering his shins with sand.
“Did you just kick sand at me on purpose?” he asked.
“It’s the playground,” I said. “It brings out the kid in me.”
“And what’s your favorite part of the playground?”
I thought about it. “Swings are pretty awesome, but it’s hard to beat a good twisty slide.”
He nodded toward the dark shape of a jungle gym several yards away. “You up for it?”
“If there’s a twisty slide, I’m totally in,” I said.
He helped me out of the swing and we trudged toward the hulking shape, parapets and a rope bridge melting out of the darkness as we approached the playground castle. The tallest parapet covered the top of a spiral slide.
“Is it calling to you?” Matt asked.
I grabbed the rung of one of the ladders hanging off the side and climbed. “Totally,” I said.
Matt followed behind me. The parapet enclosed a cozy space. I sat with my knees beneath my chin, my arms wrapped around my legs, and Matt pressed against my side as he scrunched himself up so we could both fit. With a little effort, we arranged elbows and feet in a way that kept us both from getting poked.
“I don’t even want to go down the slide. I like it right here,” Matt said.
“It’s kind of cool,” I agreed. “Do you hear how everything sounds different in here?”
He listened for a minute, noticing like I did the way the metal captured and amplified sound from outside. “It’s like being in a seashell.”
I dropped my head back against the wall. “I love the sound of waves.”
We sat there for several long, quiet moments when I heard a new sound in the background. Someone was shuffling through the sand on the playground, gradually getting closer. Matt straightened, obviously hearing it too. The footsteps stopped, placing whoever it was very near our turret.
“Should we say something?” I whispered to Matt. He hesitated for a moment and then shook his head.
“Let’s just wait for them to leave.”
I had no sooner nodded than a giggle floated up toward us.
“Is this where you wanted to take me?” asked a female voice.
“Yeah. It’s private here.” The second voice was male and sounded adolescent.
“So . . . you wanted to tell me something?” prompted the girl.
“Um, yeah. I mean, yes.” The boy sounded nervous. He cleared his throat. “I wrote you a poem.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh I felt bubbling up.
“Oh, Chase, I can’t believe you did that for me! I want to hear it!” the girl exclaimed.
Chase obliged her, and I heard the sound of a paper unfolding. He cleared his throat once more and began.
“Jennifer, you are so dope, I hope you like this poem I wrote. Your hair is fly, your curves are kickin’. I’d choose you over Mom’s fried chicken.”
I felt Matt begin to shake next to me, his laughter obviously getting the better of him. I pressed my lips together, determined not to start. But it was hard.
The high school Romeo beneath us wasn’t done yet, though.
“Some girls think that they’re so hot because they’re rich, but really they’re not. They just got money but not the looks, you may be poor but you’re off the hook.”
Matt shook harder, and although Chase was a terrible poet, I figured he didn’t need the added humiliation of having two strangers listening in. As he started the third stanza, I scrambled for a way to give him an out. I eased my hand toward the pocket of Matt’s shorts where I’d seen my keys disappear. Chase continued, unaware that I was trying to save him from public disgrace.
“You’re so fine, you blow my mind. In the rain or sun, you’re the one. You put me in a whirl, will you be my girl?”
I could tell Matt was on the verge of losing it completely. I snatched my keys from his pocket, startling him, and then dropped them on the metal beneath us, startling Chase and Jennifer, who gave a feminine shriek. At least, I think it was Jennifer.
“Who’s there?” Chase called, manfully controlling a quaver in his voice.
Rather than answer, I scuffed my flip-flops all over the place, letting the noise telegraph our presence to the couple.
“What is that?” Jennifer whispered.
“I don’t know,” Chase answered. Matt got in on the action, thudding his head against the turret walls a couple of times and producing an ominous boom. I glared at him, trying to communicate that he shouldn’t overdo it, but he couldn’t see me in the dark.
I heard the shuffle of feet moving quickly in the opposite direction and Chase’s voice floating back to us as he reassured his new girlfriend. “I don’t know what that is. I’d check it out if I was by myself, but I don’t want to put you in any danger.”
Jennifer’s reply came back even more faintly as they sped farther away. “You’re so awesome, Chase.”
Matt and I waited for a few beats, and then he broke, laughing so hard he had to gasp for breath. “I guess she liked the poem,” he managed when he calmed down a little.
I crawled over him onto the slide. “You’re mean.” I sniffed and slid down.
“What?” he called down to me. “I felt you laughing.”
I crossed my arms and glared up at him.
“‘I’d choose you over Mom’s fried chicken?’” he repeated. “That’s funny. Admit it.”
I fought a smile.
“‘You may be poor but you’re off the hook’?” he said. “How can you not laugh at that?”
It was getting harder not to. He took the slide down and landed in front of me.
“‘In the rain or sun, you’re the one,’” he reminded me.
That did it. Laughing, I held up my hands to fend off any more terrible poetry. “Okay, it was bad, but you have to give him credit for trying,” I said.
“No, I don’t. He should have said it with flowers because his rhymes stink.”
“Flowers? Is that your strategy of choice?”
“Strategy for what?” he asked.
“You know. Getting a girl. Maybe he’s too poor for flowers.”
“First of all,” Matt said, “I’m not a big believer in strategy. And secondly, he’s probably just too cheap for flowers. Five bucks would get him some kind of flower at any grocery store.”
“I think the poetry was sweet. It was from the heart.”
“‘Your hair is fly and your curves are kickin’,’” Matt mused. “Yeah, from the heart, all right.”
“Jennifer liked it. That’s what counts.”
“You’re right.” He took my hand and we headed back toward the boardwalk. “Is it true that all girls like being swept off their feet?”
“You mean by doing stuff like whisking a girl away for a drive down the coast and wandering through a beach town holding hands?” I squeezed his hand. “Maybe.”
“Maybe I believe a little bit in strategy.” He grinned. “It worked on me, after all.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Always being where I am, at the beach, at Institute, in Sunday School class.”
“Whoa, buddy. If you’re going to accuse me of using strategy on you, at least
accuse me of the right one.”
“Which is?”
I shut my mouth almost as soon as I opened it to answer. That was a neat little trap, but I sidestepped it. “To be hot and funny and irresistible.”
“You’re awesome at that strategy.”
I laughed. “Uh-huh, well, it requires massive amounts of beauty sleep, so I probably need to take you home.”
“That’s supposed to be my line, I think.”
“It would be if we weren’t in my Jeep,” I said, giving the keys a slight shake.
“Good point. You forgot being smart in your strategy list.”
“I kind of am, aren’t I?” I pretended to preen.
“And modest.”
“I rock at being modest.”
“You totally do. Wow, Ashley, is there anything you aren’t great at?”
I sighed. “Surfing.”
“Right,” he nodded. “Good point.”
“But that’s all your fault, so it shouldn’t count against me.”
“How do you figure it’s my fault?” he asked, surprised.
“I’ve had one whole lesson with you and I’m not a pro yet. That doesn’t seem right.”
“I guess you need another lesson,” he said.
“I’m just saying.”
“How about Wednesday morning?”
“We have a date that night,” I reminded him. “Are you going to get sick of me?” I asked casually but surprised myself with how much the answer mattered.
He pulled me closer to his side. “I’ll risk it.”
“Fine. But proceed with caution.”
This time he stopped. “No.”
“No?”
“No. No caution.” He crossed his arms across his chest and stared down at me. “You’re only here for a couple of months, right? I’m going to make it count.”
My stomach flipped. In a good way, I think.
“Does that make you nervous?” he asked. “I’m trying a new strategy called being up-front. What do you think?”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” I joked. I wasn’t sure what to say, but Matt just waited me out.
“Up-front, huh?”
He nodded.
“Okay, then being up-front, I should tell you that I’m not looking for anything serious this summer. Just hanging out, having fun. I don’t want any attachments when I leave for school,” I said.
He shot me a sharp glance. “A girl who doesn’t want commitment?” he asked.
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