Beth dragged her board across the sand, weaving around the people littering the beach. She spotted noisy families, groups of girls, and packs of teenagers who looked like they might be on the prowl. Music blared from all sides. Beth always liked it when she could hear one song down at the water’s edge and follow it all the way to her towel on different radios, all of them tuned to the same station. Down near the pier, the sand was so packed, it was nearly impossible to pick a path through all the towels. Where the Tuttles set up camp, however, it was much less chaotic—just the lifeguard stand down the beach and quiet couples who were dozing off underneath their bright umbrellas.
Beth collapsed on her towel and let the sun tease the cold from her limbs. A light breeze danced along the beach and carried faraway smells of flowers and the rich tang of seaweed. Her skin felt tight from the salt water and the chilly temperature of the ocean. It was still early in the summer, which meant the water was still recovering from the cold Maine winter. The warmest water would be in late August, right when they would have to leave.
Beth moved the fat Jennifer Weiner paperback she had read all of two chapters of so far, off her towel. She pulled her cell phone out of her beach bag and smiled when she saw that there were two text messages waiting for her in her inbox.
DEMAND YOU CALL ME NOW. MIT GEEK GIRLS HAVE ME SURROUNDED. REQUIRE GIRLFRIEND INTERVENTION, George had written.
Beth actually giggled out loud, and covered her mouth with embarrassment. George was the only guy she knew who sent text messages—and e-mails—in complete sentences, with all the words spelled out correctly. And in all caps, no less.
ARE YOU SURFING INSTEAD OF SAVING ME? the second message read.
BEAT THE GIRLS OFF W YOUR PAINTBRUSH. 2 WET 2 CALL. Beth wrote back, still grinning, and slipped the phone back into her bag.
Beth sat up, and pulled her wet blonde hair into a new, tighter ponytail. Last evening, she and Ella had sat out by the picnic tables long after everyone else went to bed, talking about everything and nothing until the fog—the original peasoup kind Maine was famous for—came up out of nowhere and settled over the yard. But before they went to bed, Ella had been going on about how great it must be to fall in love. Beth had agreed at first, remembering how inevitable her and George’s coming-together had felt. And how awesome her junior year of high school had been with George there to kiss and cuddle with every afternoon.
But Beth also knew that love was only fun when you knew the outcome. When you were flailing around in the middle of it, it was just like falling off your surfboard every five minutes—it hurt like hell. And it also hurt when you couldn’t share all the stupid trivial things of life with the person you loved. Like yesterday, when she found the bluest seashell she’d ever seen. Or the day before, when she saw a five-year-old boy puke chocolate milk shake in front of the Twin Freeze. George was missing everything. And Beth felt like a part of her was missing it, too.
George was being wonderfully attentive—texts every hour on the hour, phone calls before they went to bed, and sappy e-mail poems on the weekends (which Beth promised not to forward on to Jamie for critical review). But it still didn’t seem to be enough. Beth wanted George there—his physical presence. She craved it. And that awful longing made being in love not so grand, after all.
After her short time-out on the beach, Beth resumed her surf-my-blues-away program. An hour later, she was feeling a chill on her skin as she bobbed along. It was way too easy to zone out with all that bright sky and the light reflecting on the waves. She yawned and decided she should call it a day.
Lying on her stomach, Beth paddled herself around and started back toward the beach. She’d only gone a few strokes when she realized, with a little shock, that she was much farther out than she’d meant to go.
Good move, she chided herself. Getting washed out to sea is not part of the plan.
She started to paddle harder, but the current was against her, and it seemed to keep sending her farther down shore. Beth wasn’t one to panic, but—hello—she and George had seen Open Water last fall. It was kind of hard not to get mildly freaked.
Think! Beth ordered herself, closing her eyes, but the more she thought, the more panicked she felt. She tried to paddle again, but felt suddenly paralyzed.
At first, Beth thought the buzzing sound was just in her head, and she had gone from panic straight to shock. She thought she was hallucinating, and one step shy from hyperventilating, and two steps shy of passing out and drowning.
Lucky for her, the buzzing sound was real.
The Jet Ski came out of nowhere and skidded around to a stop right in front of her. A young man sat astride it like he was floating on the back of a dolphin.
Beth was positive she’d never been so happy to see another person in her life.
“Don’t worry,” the guy said. “I’ve got you.”
Beth was mesmerized by his regulation red shorts that had ADAM printed on the left leg, and the whistle around his neck. As it turned out, the lifeguards at Pebble Beach really did their job. She’d always thought they were around for show more than anything else.
Adam strapped her board to his Jet Ski, and then helped Beth climb up behind him. She was so not used to feeling like a damsel in distress, but she was too relieved to care.
“Just hold on,” he told her, and then he started the motor. Beth wrapped her arms around his waist.
Beth’s stomach lurched as the Jet Ski shot across the water. She had to shut her eyes against the wind, so the whole world narrowed down to the muscled back she was holding on to. Beth’s heart was still pounding, like she was still stranded out in the center of the ocean. But she wasn’t. She’d been saved.
When they got to the beach, Adam helped her get her board to the sand. Calmer now, Beth started to feel embarrassed.
“I’m usually much more careful,” she told him, trying not to blush.
He flashed her a big smile. “That current can knock anyone out.”
For the first time since he’d rescued her, Beth looked Adam full in the face. He had eyes to match the water and tousled, curly brown hair. He had muscular shoulders and a narrow waist, and all of his skin was a golden bronze. Not bad-looking, Beth thought. If she were single, she might almost have a semi-crush on this guy.
“Thanks for saving my ass back there,” she said, and was surprised to hear her voice get a little breathy. All that adrenaline. “I think I scared myself silly.”
“You were in no real danger,” Adam told her. He jerked his chin out toward the water. “You eventually would’ve washed ashore, but over in the next town.”
Beth giggled. A girly, Ella giggle that, up until that moment, Beth hadn’t thought she was capable of. She had to recover, and fast.
“Well, then,” Beth said with a very straight, purposeful face. “Thank you for saving me a long walk home.”
“Anytime,” Adam replied with a crooked grin.
Beth hoisted up her board, which suddenly felt like it weighed two hundred pounds. She struggled to keep it level, but it just bobbled and ended up hitting her on the head with a loud thud.
“Are you okay?” Adam said with concern. “Do you want to just check in with the first-aid stand?”
“No, no. I’m cool,” Beth assured him, tucking the board under her trembling arm. Just say good-bye and run like the wind, she thought. “So I guess I’ll see you around. Like lifeguarding and stuff.” After that lame remark, Beth thought about getting back on her board and letting the current finish the job.
“Sure thing,” Adam said, squinting a little bit as he looked at her. “Listen, I’m a decent surfer. Let me know if you ever want a partner, okay?”
“That would be great.” I probably look like I could use one.
“Excellent.” He started back toward the Jet Ski, which was still bobbing with the tide. “Don’t get washed away, now,” he told her over his shoulder.
“I promise you won’t have to rescue me again,” Beth told him with a lau
gh.
“Would be my pleasure,” Adam replied.
He waved with one hand, and then climbed back on the Jet Ski. Beth watched him zip away, skimming across the water like a skipping stone.
She trudged up the beach to her towel and dried herself off as well as she could before stepping into her shorts. She felt sandy, salty, and tired right down to the bone. But, as she started up toward the cottages, she was also smiling, for what felt like the first time in days.
7
On the third day of July, Kelsi bundled her three younger cousins into their wet-weather gear, and pulled on her own windbreaker. It was an obnoxiously bright shade of yellow, but the key point was it had a hood, which was essential for fending off Maine thunderstorms. The drenching rain had let up a little bit, so Kelsi just wore her Timberland boots, cutoff Gap jeans, and a purple T-shirt underneath the windbreaker. She was ready.
Once outside, Jordan and Drew took off at a gallop, having been stuck indoors for the entire rainy morning. The rain was washing everything clean, so Kelsi could smell the grass, the dirt, the trees—all of it distinct. She took a deep breath.
“Are we going to walk all the way to the farmer’s market?” Jessi asked as they started down the dirt road, which, after a whole morning of solid rain, was more like a mud-filled swamp. The littlest of the cousins, Jessi, was wearing a bright pink slicker with a pair of matching galoshes that had Hello Kitty faces on the front of each foot. Kelsi thought she looked adorable, but knew better than to say so.
“It’s not far—just down from the pier,” Kelsi reminded her. “And we can watch them building the clambake pit on the way.”
“I love the clambake,” Jessi chirped, clinging tightly to Kelsi’s hand.
Every year there was a huge community clambake on the Fourth of July, right down on the beach, near the spot where they’d attended the bonfire a few weeks ago. Kelsi preferred the Tuttles’ tradition of eating out in town and then wandering off to see the fireworks, but she loved the way the clambake infused the air all day long with the rich aroma of fire, seaweed, and salt.
Today, the Public Works employees would be out digging the pit and getting everything ready for the celebration. When she’d been younger, Kelsi had been fascinated by the process of digging the hole. She could spend hours watching the men in their bright orange overalls, calling instructions to one another in the Down East accents Kelsi loved to hear and always failed to mimic correctly.
Jordan and Drew ran ahead and jumped in all the puddles while Kelsi and Jessi took the slower route and tried to avoid getting any wetter or muddier. By the time they all reached the farmer’s market, Kelsi felt disheveled from trying to keep all the kids from running into every yard on Peachtree Road for a sudden tree-climbing.
The aunts had given Kelsi a detailed list of the things they wanted her to pick up, because Aunt Joanne liked to throw a big brunch on the Fourth. That meant she wanted fresh baked bread, ripe tomatoes, farm-fresh eggs, berries, and other yummy things best found at the farmer’s market. Kelsi gave each one of her little cousins a specific job, and then went to pick through the fruit herself. She took her fruits and vegetables seriously, despite the periodic mockery from the rest of her family.
You’re not dressing like a hippie anymore, Ella had complained over dinner just last night. So why do you have to keep eating like one?
“Well, look at this,” said an amused deep voice, interrupting Kelsi’s thoughts. “Lucky for you, Kelsi, I decided to remember your name. Because that’s the kind of nice guy I am.”
Kelsi knew exactly who it was—she recognized that self-satisfied drawl immediately—but she looked up just to make sure.
Sure enough, Tim was lounging against a nearby bin of cucumbers, grinning at her as if he’d known she would turn up. Insufferably blond Tim, looking slightly more rumpled than he had that night at the bonfire. Rumpled, but still tragically hot, Kelsi thought. She wondered if it was her lot in life to trip over guys like Tim wherever she went. It made for nice scenery, sure, but why couldn’t she ever find a good guy for a change?
“I know what kind of guy you are,” Kelsi replied, probably with more bite in her tone than necessary.
“Somehow,” Tim said, his grin widening, “that doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”
“Kelsi! Kelsi!” Jordan came tearing up to her, and rebounded off her legs. Kelsi grabbed him to keep him from falling over. She could just imagine her hyper cousin upending one of the vegetable carts and causing a huge commotion.
“Careful, there,” she warned him.
“Two loaves,” Jordan said, thrusting the items in question at her. “Am I first? Did I win?”
“You win,” Kelsi told him, laughing at his excitement. “You can pick one thing from the Penny Candy, okay?”
“I won!” Jordan whooped, and took off again at top speed.
Kelsi looked back over at Tim and blushed a little when she found him watching her, his hazel eyes still.
“What?” she asked, feeling defensive. “My cousins respond best to bribery.”
Tim just kept smiling, which was seemingly motivated by Kelsi’s obvious annoyance at his mere presence.
“Why are you here?” she finally asked. “You don’t look like the grocery-shopping type.”
“You’re all about what ‘type’ I am, aren’t you?” he asked, suddenly serious. He stepped around the side of the bin, and Kelsi noticed he was wearing one of the green aprons that indicated he was a working volunteer. Excuse me? Frat Boy Tim was also Charity Volunteer Tim? Mr. Football actually planted seeds and grew stuff out of the ground, then donated his time to the community? He cared about doing something that didn’t involve running with a ball and colliding with burly guys? Kelsi wasn’t used to ever feeling this confused.
“You work here,” she said, realizing that she sounded like a complete tool. She felt her face go hot again.
Tim pushed his hair back from his forehead and leaned in close. Kelsi stiffened. She could feel his breath against the damp skin of her neck. Goose bumps popped up across her skin, and she shivered under her windbreaker.
It was the cool, wet weather, she told herself.
“Yup. And I recommend the blueberries,” he said, his mouth close to her ear.
“Um…” was all Kelsi managed to say.
Tim smiled. He reached over and tapped the tip of her nose with his finger, and then sauntered off, losing himself in the crush of people beneath the big canopy.
Bewildered, Kelsi stood there longer than she should have, looking at him walking away. But this time, he was the one who never turned around.
8
Ella spent the Fourth of July the way it was meant to be spent: lounging on the beach in a tiny bikini, Diet Coke in hand, Bain de Soleil-ing her skin toward a perfect tan.
Yesterday’s rain had given way to today’s bright heat, and Ella had staked out a perfect spot, where the soft white sand gave way to the harder-packed tidal sand. She could smell the clambake in the air, that hard salt tang that almost made her mouth water, and she didn’t even like seafood. Families were setting up elaborate picnics up and down the shore, preparing for the fireworks later that night. Ella’s tanning spot was smack in the middle of the commotion. She didn’t mind. She liked to be where she could check out the entire beach.
Not that she was checking anyone out, Ella reminded herself as she applied another coat of Bain de Soleil. After her wild night with Inigo, she was reformed. No more boys this summer. Period. Even if being boyless was so darn…boring.
Ella noticed a set of boys passing by and pretended not to see them enjoy the way she greased up her legs, one shapely calf after the other. The old Ella would have made eye contact, maybe exchanged a few flirtatious words. But the new, post-Inigo Ella remained silent. Which wasn’t to say she didn’t love the way the tall one swallowed hard when she reclined against her towel.
Ella couldn’t help it if she had a certain power. Kelsi was a brilliant student
. When Beth performed some athletic feat, everyone talked about her talent. Ella’s talent was making boys drool. Everyone had to be good at something.
Ella was turning over when she saw Beth walking up the shore with a lifeguard. As they drew closer, Ella appreciated the way the guy’s shoulders moved, to say nothing of the six-pack he was sporting. She debated flinging herself into the water so he could rescue her, but discarded the idea. Daring rescues were romantic, sure, but she didn’t like getting wet. All that seaweed and the possibility of jellyfish—yuck.
Beth was deep in conversation with the lifeguard. Her eyes were sparkling in a way Ella hardly recognized. When Beth finally looked away from the lifeguard and waved, Ella wiggled her fingers in reply, but continued to study the lifeguard. He was laughing, and Ella thought he had a familiar-sounding laugh. She tilted her head to the side and considered it. He had that dark curly hair and there was something about the way he—
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