by Tiffany King
"Will I be with you tomorrow?" I asked when he handed over my time sheet.
"Not tomorrow, honey. It's my day off, but you should be in good hands," he said, shooting me a wide smile before heading through the same door Josh had disappeared behind. I decided to walk around the outside of the building to wait for my ride rather than cut through the receptionist's area. The last thing I wanted to do was give Josh another excuse to snub me. Butch showed up after only a few minutes and I climbed into the van quickly, grateful to put some distance between the rat and me.
"How'd it go?" Butch asked as he maneuvered into traffic.
"Okay. They assigned me with a nice guy you'd probably like. People are freaking slobs though!" I griped, looking at my dirty, grimy hands that were also scratched up from the pieces of driftwood Larry and I dragged out of the way earlier. Half my nails were broken down to the quick while the other half had an inch of dirt crammed underneath.
"Looks like you had a tough day," Butch observed, taking in my battered hands. "You should bring Buttercup's gardening gloves with you tomorrow."
"That's what I was thinking," I said, resting my head back against the seat in exhaustion.
Once we got home, I showered thoroughly before crawling into my favorite PJs. It was still the afternoon, but I was beyond tired. Switching on my fans, I opened all my windows before crawling into bed with Player.
I ended up dozing off before dinner and slept through the night, but woke up the next morning feeling refreshed but ravenous.
"Feeling better?" Buttercup asked when I joined her in the kitchen.
I shrugged, grabbing a coffee mug from the cabinet. "I'm still sore and my fingernails may never be the same again, but I guess I'll survive. I did the crime, I guess I have to pay the piper," I answered, using one of Buttercup's favorite quotes.
"I'm glad you have that attitude. Your dad and I still feel three hundred hours was excessive, but we're proud of your maturity."
"It stings a little since technically I did nothing wrong except the underage drinking, but at least I feel like I'm doing something good. I'd be singing a different tune if they had me volunteering at a hospital or something," I said, shuddering slightly.
Buttercup nodded, well aware of my aversion to blood.
"Who's giving me a ride in today?" I asked, before heading back to my room with coffee in hand.
"I am. What time do we need to leave?"
"I have to be there by nine, so probably like a quarter till."
"Okey-dokey, artichokie."
Vanessa was sitting at her desk when I arrived at the beach patrol office with five minutes to spare. I was dressed in old clothes again like I had the day before, but this time I had come prepared with gloves.
"How'd it go yesterday?" Vanessa asked after greeting me.
"Not bad. Larry's cool. People are slobs though."
She laughed. "Welcome to tourist season. It'll get better once summer ends. It's the double-edged sword of living in a beach community. We need tourist dollars, but unfortunately, they don't always appreciate the importance of protecting the environment like we do."
"Well, I got all summer to show them," I joked.
She smiled and pulled up the work schedule on her computer. "Larry's off today, but I matched you up with one of our younger workers, Josh. He's going to be manning his lifeguard stand, so you'll be working around that area. That way if you need anything he'll be on hand."
I muttered a string of curse words under my breath. I'm pretty sure Vanessa heard me, but she was still looking at her computer screen. It was bound to happen. As a matter of fact, I'd been expecting it. Just not so soon. I needed more time to mentally prepare myself. Then maybe the urge to punch him in the nuts would have passed.
"You okay?" Vanessa asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just have something caught in my throat."
"Oh, there's water over there if you need it. Josh told me to tell you to meet him out back when you got here," she said, smiling warmly before returning to her work.
Clutching the desk for a moment, I debated running out the front door. I could go see my court advocate and beg for a different assignment. Hell, I'd take a hospital instead. Mopping up blood and guts would be better than spending the day with Josh. All I could hope for was that he would remain on his lifeguard stand, too busy to give me much thought. Josh and I had proven we were about as good a mix as oil and water. My feet felt like they were encased in cement, but I managed to pry myself away from Vanessa's desk and headed out back where Josh was waiting for me.
I found him already behind the wheel of his ATV when I shoved open the heavy door. Without saying a word, or even looking at his face, I slid into the seat beside him. Not that he acknowledged me either. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he guided the four-wheeler through the back lot and down the beach access path to the sandy beach. With each minute that passed, the anger I felt for him rose to a slow boil. The fact that he seemed equally mad at me only fueled my fire. He had nothing to be mad about. If anyone was wrong here, it was him. He had betrayed me.
Josh parked the four-wheeler behind his designated post. Neither of us talked as we climbed from the vehicle and headed in separate directions. Josh climbed the ladder of his stand, holding a bottle of water and one of those long floats that all lifeguards carried. I snatched my gloves off the seat of the ATV along with a heavy-duty trash bag and stuck my tongue out at Josh like I wanted to the previous day.
The morning dragged as I worked my way down the coastline, staying within relatively close proximity to Josh's stand. The sun relentlessly beat down on me, more than it had the day before. Every so often I would head down to the water to cool off a little. Each time I could feel Josh's eyes on me, but we were both too stubborn to be the first one to break our silent standoff. I wished I didn't care, that my mind would stop dwelling on him.
Somehow I managed to clean up about a half-mile stretch of the beach, which felt like a small miracle considering the relenting heat and my hyperawareness of el jerko. My back, which was sore from the previous day, protested the physical labor, but I ignored it. By noon, when a replacement lifeguard arrived to relieve Josh for lunch, I had covered almost as much ground as I had with laid-back Larry the day before. Josh and I climbed on the four-wheeler and headed for a place to eat, although we still weren't speaking. He didn't bother to ask me what I wanted, but I was too tired and hungry to care. A convenience store would have been fine, so the taco stand he chose got no argument from me. I headed to the bathroom to clean up and by the time I returned Josh was already sitting with his lunch. I pulled a sweaty five-dollar bill from my shorts and ordered a couple of tacos and a large Coke before sitting at a table away from him. The break was a welcome relief to my aching body. Once I finished, I tossed my trash in the receptacle and joined Josh, who had risen from his table at the same time. We drove back, still without talking, and Josh resumed his spot on his lifeguard stand. I wanted to throttle him. Demand to know what his deal was, but I kept my mouth firmly closed. I just needed to get through the rest of the day. For the last couple of hours of my work detail, I worked the beach in the opposite direction with neither Josh nor I willing to break.
We arrived back at the patrol office at three o'clock. I handed over my sheet to Josh and waited while he signed off on my time. He returned it without even looking at me. I guess we'd call the day a draw.
Butch picked me up out front again and our conversation went much the way it had the day before, except that I refrained from telling him who I had worked with. I still couldn't wrap my brain around why Josh felt he had a right to be mad at me. Part of me wished I would have confronted him over it. Not that I wouldn't have plenty of opportunities to do that. Surely today wouldn't be the last time we'd work together. It was going to be a very long summer.
Luckily, for the rest of the week I was assigned with Larry. I spent my six-hour shifts repainting lifeguard stands, which was slightly more stimulating than walking ar
ound picking up trash. He left me alone for the most part, but during lunch entertained me with old surfing stories. He really was a cool guy to hang out with. At least it helped keep my mind off Josh.
On Saturday I woke to an overcast sky outside. Go figure it happened on the weekend when I wasn't working out in the stifling heat. Opening my windows, I let the ocean breeze blow through my room while I gave it a thorough cleaning. I'd been so busy that I hadn't had a chance to unpack all my belongings after my bathroom construction. Now that I had no part-time job and no friends to speak of, I figured I'd put all my pent-up energy into making my room look the way I wanted. Butch helped by dragging the bookcases we'd discovered in the shed to the carport so I could re-stain them. It was tough work to sand the shelves and strip off the old varnish, but it was worth it when the new stain we applied began to bring out the beauty of the wood. While the shelves dried, I hung up some pictures and other knickknacks to accessorize my room.
By the afternoon, the shelves had finished drying and Butch and Buttercup were in the process of helping me move them into place when Farrah showed up.
"Hey, what's up?" I asked, surprised to see her. Even though she had hinted that she would see me around, I'd pretty much assumed it wouldn't pan out. We came from very different backgrounds. "Aren't you grounded?" I asked as she shoved some of my belongings to the side so she could perch on the edge of my bed and pet Player.
"I was. I guess I got time off for good behavior. I think my parents feel guilty about dishing out punishment since for the most part I never get in trouble, except when I'm with Leslie."
"Figures," I said disdainfully. I hardly knew Leslie, but I'd definitely gotten my share of her and Paris after the few times we'd hung out. The fact that they'd gotten off scot-free from the party still irked the shit out of me.
She laughed. "I take it you're not a part of her fan club? My parents aren't either. It's not like we're all BFFs or anything. I just sorta hang with them, but I'm never really with them. You know what I mean? I've known them since my parents got the idea to send me to the same private school in Connecticut. For me it's always been a survival-of-the-fittest kind of thing. Choosing to be with Leslie rather than against her was the easier move." She shook her head reluctantly. "I've never said those thoughts aloud before. Hearing them that way is kind of sad."
"I get it. I didn't realize you guys were that tight. I guess I assumed you only knew each other when you came down for the summers."
"That's how it started. We moved here when I was twelve. I met Leslie and Paris that summer. Then my parents met their parents and heard about this exclusive private school, better education, blah-blah-blah. So, before I knew it I was living the back-and-forth life. Now that's all changed again though. My parents have decided not to send me back to Danbury Academy. The party was kind of icing on the cake. They'd seen enough trouble over the years that I never got into before meeting Leslie and Paris. I kinda have too," she admitted. "It'll be nice to go back to public school, especially since you and I will be friends."
"I hate to break to you, but I don't have the best reputation either. I guess you could say that I got into my fair share of trouble back home. I was supposed to be turning over a new leaf here, but things haven't exactly worked out that way yet," I said ruefully. "And that's not even mentioning how everyone will react when they realize how eccentric my parents are. I'll be the butt of everyone's jokes. You sure you want to align yourself with that much drama?"
She snorted. "I'm not sure what life was like in Kansas, but I hate to break it to you also. Your parents aren't all that weird. Look around the boardwalk sometime. We're talking wacky instrument players, roller skaters, dated surfer dudes, and eclectic elderly people. Compared to that, your parents have got to be pretty normal."
"I'm sure Evan and the others would feel differently," I said sharply.
"That's just Evan. You only knew him for a few days and look what you saw. You have to understand, with people like him and Leslie, the way they are is more because of their parents than anything. They just tend to only want to interact with people within certain social classes. That's why Leslie was pretty cold from the beginning."
"Yeah, well, maybe if I would have realized that sooner I wouldn't be serving some insane debt to society. It was only a matter of time before Evan and Leslie figured me out anyway. I didn't belong in their group."
"It's not just you. Hell, the only reason they accepted me was because parents are filthy rich; otherwise, I never would have been included," she said, smiling wryly. "I mean, look at me. I'm fat, short, and ordinary."
I glared at her. "First off, you're not fat. You have curves. In all the right places, I might add. Secondly, you're not short. Most girls aren't Amazons like Leslie and Paris," I said, opening another box. "In any case, things turned out good anyway. If it wasn't for Evan, I wouldn't have you as a new friend."
Farrah smiled brightly at my words. "Do you need help?" she asked, watching me open one of the cartons filled with my journals.
"Sure, if you don't mind," I said, bookending my journals on one of the shelves. As we worked, I could see Farrah eyeing the journals curiously, though she refrained from commenting. By the time we finished unpacking, three of the shelves were dedicated to my journals.
I broke down the boxes and stacked them in the corner while Farrah fluttered around my room checking everything out.
"I like your room," she said, sitting back on my bed.
"Thanks. It's a bit of a work in progress at the moment," I answered, folding a shirt and putting it in my dresser.
"I like it. It feels like your own place," she said, looking envious.
"I know, right? I think that's what I love about it the most."
She nodded her head. "So, I actually came over to see if you wanted to stay the night at my house."
"Sure. Your parents won't mind? Did you tell them I was a hardened criminal?"
"I told them to hide the good china and to sleep with one eye open."
"Good call." I grinned at her, dusting off my hands. The boxes in my room were covered in construction dust from my bathroom renovation.
"I figured we'd watch scary movies all night on Netflix while we munch on popcorn."
"That sounds fun, but I should warn you I'm a baby when it comes to blood and guts. I'll probably have my hands over my eyes the whole time."
"Really? I love slasher flicks. This is going to be fun," she said, rubbing her hands together in a sinister fashion.
"You're evil," I groaned. "Let me clean up and then we can head to your house."
Chapter 7
Farrah sat on my bed entertaining Player while I quickly showered and then gathered my stuff. Once I finished we headed into my house to tell Butch and Buttercup my plans for the evening. They were embarrassingly thrilled to meet Farrah. It wasn't like I didn't have friends back in Huntsville. Of course, they rarely saw them since I tried to keep my two lives separated.
After reminding Buttercup to check on Player and feed him, Farrah and I left for her house. We passed Evan's place on the way. It was too bad he turned out to be such a douchecanoe, especially after getting a little insight from Farrah. Not that I wasn't still pissed about the party.
Farrah kept up a steady stream of conversation as we walked past several houses that rivaled Evan's. Finally she stopped in front of a house that was easily the largest around. Farrah unlocked a white wooden gate and I followed her along a concrete path that led to the back of the house. I tried to hide my intimidation over the pool with multiple waterfalls and perfectly sculpted yard with tropical-looking plants everywhere.
"I'm surprised everyone doesn't hang here," I said to cover my shock. "Your pool is easily twice the size of Evan's," I added so she'd get my point.
"My parents can't stand my friends long enough," she said, pulling open a large set of French doors. "They're both writers and work from home. Dad says he'd have to drown us."
"That's funny," I laughed
as we stepped into a living room that could have held my entire house. The decor was vibrant and warm and would have made Buttercup buzz with excitement. The walls were painted in a patchwork of different colors that shouldn't have worked, but somehow with the right accents all seemed to complement each other. I was entranced by the multiple framed pictures scattered around the room that all showed Farrah at various ages in goofy poses.
"My parents don't believe in formal pictures," she said dryly when she saw me checking out a picture where she looked to be about two years old. She was smiling broadly at the camera with a face smeared in spaghetti.
"I like them," I said, feeling a kinship with her.
"Come on. I'll introduce you to them," she said, leading me down a long hallway that was lined with enlarged canvases that matched the smaller pictures of her in the living room.
"Sorry. My parents have a picture fetish," she said apologetically, seeing the way I was studying them.
"I think they're cool," I said, flashing a genuine smile.
"You do? Paris and Leslie think they're ridiculous," she added, looking at me like she was waiting for me to change my opinion.
I rolled my eyes. "Well, I think they're cool," I repeated.
"Me too," she answered impishly, looking relieved that I wasn't making fun of her.
We reached the end of the hall where she threw open a large set of double doors without knocking. I'm not sure what I had been expecting when Farrah said her parents were writers who worked from home. Maybe a dark, dusty old room with endless bookshelves and large wooden desks, but their office was nothing like that. One entire side of the room was nothing but windows that provided a breathtaking view of the ocean below. It looked like the beach was a part of the house. There were bookshelves, but they only lined one wall. The two other walls were covered in framed poster-sized book covers. Each cover depicted a different couple in an intimate embrace. Against one of the walls below the posters was a custom-made sofa that was easily ten feet long. A frumpy-looking short balding gentleman was sitting there typing frantically on a laptop while a slightly less plump woman was perched on a luxurious chaise lounge in the center of the room with her own laptop on her bent knees. Both looked completely lost in whatever they were doing. I was envious. Writing was my passion. It was my dream to one day make a living at it, but that was my secret. Not even Butch and Buttercup knew.