by Kieran Scott
Didn’t she want the answers to these questions too?
“Hon? Are you okay?” my mother asked.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped moving. They’d gotten ahead of me, and she had to come back to snap me out of my trance.
“It’s too windy out,” I told her. “I’m gonna go inside.”
She nodded and I made a beeline for the living room. Most of the other kids were in there as well, playing video games in the sunken conversation pit near the stone fireplace or huddled around the leather-topped wet bar in the corner. I realized my mistake the second I was through the door, but it was too late to turn back now. I’d been spotted.
“You came!”
Faith put her plastic cup down on the coffee table and skipped up the two wide steps from the pit. She was wearing a tiny red minidress, which rode up high enough to expose her underwear when she threw her skinny arms around me. (I could tell by the way the Idiot Twins and their friends reacted, with widened eyes and high fives.) A few girls from the year above us—Victoria Mihook, Tandy Lassiter, and some new girl I’d never met—shot us cursory looks from the bar area and went back to texting.
“Omigod, thank you so much for changing your mind,” Faith said as she leaned back.
As if I’d come here for her.
“Where are Shannen and Chloe?” I asked, wanting to get my nemeses in my sight line.
Her eyes widened. “Didn’t you hear? They’re not coming down.”
I blinked as the possibility that this could be true rushed through me like a calming breeze. “What?”
“Chloe’s mom’s, like, completely renovating Chloe’s room, so they’re staying home. But really, it’s probably because Chloe doesn’t want to be around Hammond,” Faith said, lowering her voice and glancing back over her shoulder to where Hammond sat with the other boys cheering at the huge plasma screen.
Unbelievable. Chloe didn’t want to be around Hammond, so her mother not only agreed to stay home for the summer, but gifted Chloe with a freshly renovated bedroom. But when I wanted to stay home for the summer because I’d been publicly humiliated in front of practically everyone I know, my mom’s response was “I’m out.”
“What’s to drink?” I said, walking past Faith toward the bar.
“Oh, there’s lemonade, iced tea, soda.” She paused at the end of the bar. “Not, like, drink drink, just drink. Right?”
The older girls looked at me. Part of me wanted to grab a Corona just to shock them, but it wasn’t in me. I’d never been drunk in my life and I wasn’t about to start just because I was pissed at my mom—and Jake, and my dad. I took a bottle of Minute Maid lemonade from the well-stocked minifridge. The girls lost interest in me again and went about their business.
“What about Shannen?” I asked, shaking the bottle.
“Her parents sold her house a couple of years ago, so Shannen usually stays with Chloe, but . . .”
“Right. They’re in a fight,” I said, swigging the tart lemonade. It cooled me instantly, taking the edge off my tension. “So why doesn’t she stay with you?”
Faith averted her eyes and shrugged. “She said she might come down later in the summer. . . .”
There was something in her voice that made me doubt she really believed this. Part of me was curious as to why, but if she wasn’t about to share, I wasn’t about to pry. Honestly? I didn’t care why Shannen wasn’t there, I was just happy to avoid her. And as much as I wanted to get the chance to explain everything to Chloe, I was more than happy to avoid that for the summer too.
Over in the pit, the Idiot Twins shouted, then laughed. Hammond slapped Trevor on the back in a congratulatory way. Hammond and I hadn’t spoken since the revelation of our hook up at Shannen’s party. I wondered if he was going to acknowledge it or, like everyone else these days, pretend it never happened. I saw him glance over at us, but he didn’t nod or smile. He simply popped a macadamia nut into his mouth and leaned back on the plush couch, with his arms crooked behind his head and his ankle across his knee. I noticed how good his arms looked, and quickly busied myself, fishing some ice out of the ice bucket at the end of the bar.
“Isn’t it so weird, how Hammond always seems hotter down the shore?” Faith said.
I blushed and dropped two ice cubes into my bottle. Did she really think I was checking out Hammond? Because I hadn’t done it on purpose. It was merely an accidental ogling.
“Okay, spill.” She put both hands on the bar stool behind her and hoisted herself up. Her legs crossed at the ankle and she smoothed her hair over one shoulder. “You have to tell me all about your hook up.”
I gulped my lemonade. “My what?”
“Your hook up with Hammond!” Faith said. She laced her fingers together on the bar and leaned forward in a way that made me think of Kelly Ripa or the chicks on The View. “What did you guys do exactly?”
“You’re serious,” I said.
“Yes I’m serious! I mean, Hammond’s like a brother, don’t get me wrong, but was it hot? I bet it was hot.”
“So . . . let me get this straight,” I said, setting my bottle down. “You freaked because I didn’t come to Chloe’s sweet sixteen, but sticking my tongue down her boyfriend’s throat . . . that’s not a problem for you.”
Faith screwed her face up like I was nuts. “Okay, first of all, Hammond was still in love with you then, so we all know it was him who stuck his tongue down your throat. I think even Chloe knows that. Which is why she’s so pissed off. I give her a couple of weeks before she forgives you entirely, by the way.”
I wasn’t sure which was more shocking: the fact that she had it entirely right about that night, or the fact that she was talking so casually about it.
“So did he attack you or what?” Faith asked conspiratorially.
“Ally, you have to come outside! My dad’s looking for you!” Quinn appeared out of nowhere, a swirl of pink and white, and grabbed my arm.
“What? Why?” I asked.
“His friend Rick Morris is out there and he wants to meet you!” Quinn tugged on my wrist like a toddler begging her mother for ice cream.
“Who the heck is Rick Morris?” I asked, holding my ground. Quinn may have been aggressively cute, but I had more strength in my big toe than she had in her entire scrawny body. And when did Gray start demanding I meet his friends, anyway?
Quinn released me and put her hands on her hips, like she was about to launch into a halftime cheer. “He’s a scout for the UNC women’s basketball team.”
I glanced past her out the plate-glass windows. My mother and Gray were chatting up a towering guy with squared shoulders and the biggest smile I’d ever seen. UNC was one of my top five choices. I’d kill to play on their team. Butterflies crowded my stomach, and I automatically smoothed my hair behind my ears. Crap. Now I did care about what I was wearing.
“Faith. I gotta go,” I said.
“I’ll come with you!” she said, sliding off the stool.
It was needy Faith all over again, and momentarily I missed the oblivious bitch she’d been all year. I put a hand out. “I’ll find you later, okay?”
Though I didn’t really intend to find her later. Faith and I were no longer friends. The sooner I reminded her of that, the better. But this was no time for a scene. And with Faith, that conversation would definitely be a scene.
“Oh. Okay. I get it. Big meeting,” she said, backing up again. She bumped the stool with her butt and it jostled Victoria Mihook’s seat. Tori gave Faith a glower, which made Faith look like she was about to pee in her pants. “We’ll go for a drive!” she said to me, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “I have my car!”
“Okay,” I said.
“Promise?” Faith called after me.
“Promise,” I muttered. But I didn’t even know what I was saying. I was already going over my last season’s stats in my head.
“There she is!” Gray boomed as Quinn ushered me onto the deck. He reached out an arm, slung it ov
er my shoulder, and squeezed. I tried not to cringe. “The pride of the Orchard Hill High basketball team!”
I kept my smile on for my mother’s sake—and for Rick Morris—but it was difficult. Gray finally released me so I could shake Rick’s hand, and I was able to breathe again, but now I felt like I needed to keep a wary distance from my mom’s boyfriend. What was with all the fatherly touching? What had changed between the night of Shannen’s party and now? I hoped he didn’t think that me coming down here was some sort of sanctioning of his relationship with my mom—or that I’d somehow chosen him over my own father. But as Rick started to ask me about my season, and Gray and my mother looked on proudly, I had an awful, sinking feeling in my gut—a feeling that it was too late. For all of us.
Daily Field Journal of Annie Johnston Thursday, July 1
Position: CVS.
Cover: None. I work here, bitches.
Observations:
10:47 a.m.: Subject Jake Graydon pulls into the parking lot. The top’s down on his Jeep. He throws his arm over the passenger seat to look over his shoulder as he backs into a space. He kills the engine and looks around, like he’s expecting applause. Yes, we’re all impressed with your driving prowess, golden boy. Hang on while I click your Like button.
10:53 a.m.: Subject Jake is still sitting behind the steering wheel. Hmm. I wonder who he’s waiting for.
10:57 a.m.: Subject Jake gets out of the car. Uniform: Orchard Hill High athletic shorts, white T-shirt, sneakers, Ray-Bans. Subject Jake peeks through the CVS window while walking casually by. He tries the door at Stanzione’s Pizza. Looks momentarily flustered upon finding it locked. (Note: It’s not even eleven a.m., smart guy.)
10:58 a.m.: Subject Jake casually strolls by again.
11:01 a.m.: And again.
11:02 a.m.: And again. (Query: Can this guy ever enter a place without staking it out first?)
11:05 a.m.: Subject Jake grows a pair and walks through the door. He looks at me, flinches, and heads straight for the back of the store. Where the condoms live. (Note: God, please let him buy condoms. Ringing up that transaction would make my summer.) After one complete circuit of the place, Subject Jake heads for the door. He hesitates a second, looks at me again. Seems to consider saying something, then thinks better of it. As he starts to walk out again, I speak.
Me: She went down the shore for the summer.
Jake: Oh, I thought . . . I mean, I know. That’s not why I’m here.
Me: You thought she might have changed her mind.
Jake (defensively): No.
He walks up to the counter, picks up a random roll of mints, and slaps them down.
Jake: I just needed these.
I ring him up.
Me: You do have some awful breath.
He pays.
Jake (sarcastically): Thanks a lot.
He walks out, leaving the mints behind.
11:08 a.m.: Subject Jake cranks up the stereo in his Jeep and tears out of the parking lot. (Assessment: Somebody’s in lo-ove.)
11:08 a.m.: I pop a few of my free mints. (Assessment: Spearmint rocks.)
“Ally, I’m sorry, but would you mind taking your feet off the table?”
I looked up to find Gray looming over me with bright red lobster-shaped pot holders covering his hands. He held them up like he’d just scrubbed in for a surgery and was letting the water drip off.
“Sorry.” I let my Converse drop onto the white area rug under my feet, one of several that had been carefully and strategically placed throughout the great room to protect the rare Australian bamboo floors I had already heard far too much about.
Gray gritted his teeth, pulled his lips back, and sucked in a hiss. “Actually, would you mind taking off your shoes? I just had a cleaning service come in to do all the rugs.”
I bit down so hard on my tongue I tasted blood. “Sure.”
Laid out on the couch to my left, Quinn lifted the remote and changed the channel, flipping from MTV to ABC Family. I hooked my finger inside the back of my shoes to remove them. I could actually feel Gray’s breath on my hair. I sat back again, but he still hovered. Finally, I had to look up at him. He gave me an impatient glare.
“What?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes, removed one pot holder, and put his hands out. “I’ll just take those.”
He meant my shoes. “Oookay.” I bent over and plucked my Chuck T.’s off the rug, noticing for the first time how grungy and worn they were. Still, he took them from me without wincing and put them inside the closet next to the front entry. As he closed the door, I noticed that the shoes my mom was wearing earlier were in there, along with Quinn’s sandals, which she’d kicked off upon returning from her first rehearsal. I didn’t know this was a no-shoes house. Why hadn’t someone just told me?
“My dad’s a little anal about the beach house,” Quinn said as soon as her father was safely on the far side of the island that separated the huge gourmet kitchen area of the great room from the living area. My mother returned from the bathroom right then, and I sank lower in my seat. He’d waited until she was gone to come over to me, hadn’t he? The revelation made me feel icky and conspicuous. “You’ll get used to it,” she added.
But I didn’t want to get used to it. Her dad was not my dad. And I didn’t like that he was acting like he was.
I looked around the great room. When we’d finally come inside the night before, I’d seen enough to realize the place was very beautifully decked out with modern furniture and carved wood sculptures and other expensive trappings, but now I noticed the details. Like that there was a stack of round glass coasters on every single table. Like the bristled floor mats outside each of the sliding doors. Like the complete and total lack of magazines, books, beach towels, boogie boards, lawn chairs, umbrellas, and all the other beach-related paraphernalia that was usually strewn around a true LBI house. This was not the kind of place in which a person could kick back and relax—not like our shore house used to be.
When the doorbell rang a moment later, I flinched. Quinn jumped to get it.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ross!” Quinn trilled, standing on her bare tiptoes to accept a cheek kiss from Hammond’s mom.
“Quinn! You get lovelier every time I see you,” Mrs. Ross said.
Hammond and his brother Liam, who was basically a taller, skinnier, but still hot version of Hammond, stepped in behind their parents. They were followed by Faith and her mom and little brothers. All of them shuffled their shoes off before Gray and my mother had looked up from their pasta pots. Hammond lifted a hand in my direction.
“Hi, Ally!” Faith called, standing on her toes. “You have to show me your room!”
“Take her upstairs, Ally,” Gray said congenially. “Show her around your new digs.”
They’re not my digs and you are not my father, I thought, but wasn’t brave enough to say. Instead, I rolled my eyes, got up from the couch, and headed for the sliders to the beach.
“Ally? Ally, where are you going?” my mother called.
“I’m gonna go call Dad,” I replied. “You know, the guy you’re still married to?”
I closed the door behind me, shaking from my, admittedly, low blow. But honestly? Maybe she needed a reminder. Maybe they both did. I looked around for my flip-flops, which I’d definitely left out here earlier, but they were nowhere to be seen. Probably squirreled away by the shoe police.
I hurried down the steps anyway. It wasn’t until my feet hit the cool sand that I could breathe again. I curled my toes, gripping the sand, then releasing it, letting it tickle the balls of my feet. Freedom was mine.
Then my phone beeped. I yanked it out of my pocket. It was a text from Faith.
WTF was that? R U O K?
I rolled my eyes and deleted it. Someone couldn’t take a hint. For a minute, I considered actually calling my dad, but last night’s conversation with him hadn’t gone all that well, what with me lying through my teeth about why I’d changed my mind at the last minute, and
him being oddly quiet in return. Besides, every time I thought about him and Jake together, I felt betrayed. What had Jake said about me? Did my dad realize Jake had been there the night Shannen had taken that video? Were they hanging out at Jump right now, wiping down the counters, talking about my crazy, fickle exit yesterday? The very idea made me want to hurl my phone into the ocean as far as I could.
Instead, I took a deep breath and walked a few yards toward the water, away from the house. Then I turned my steps north, following the edge of the dunes. The sound of the breaking waves cooled my nerves, and the stars overhead were like winking little friends, welcoming me back after my long absence. I took another deep breath and blew it out very, very slowly.
I loved the shore. Always had. I just currently couldn’t stand the people who came with it.
A sudden whoop and a shout caught my attention and I froze. Squinting in the relative darkness, I could just make out the shadowy outline of about half a dozen people laughing and shoving each other closer to the shoreline. There were a couple of beer bottles—which was totally illegal, but common anyway—and an open box at their feet. While I stood there staring, someone noticed me and pointed me out. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The beaches up here were private, but trespassing was a favorite pastime of some of the locals (who claimed they should own the beach since they lived here all year), and of some of the environmental types (who claimed all beaches belonged to everyone). So was this someone’s older brother or sister and their friends—someone I knew—or were they strangers?
I faced forward and started walking again, feeling like an open target. Any luck, they’d just ignore me and stay where they were.
I was about thirty yards away from them, drawing up even, when the security light over the deck on the Schwartzes’ house lit up like a spotlight and completely blinded me. There was a rustle in the reeds and someone came barreling out onto the sand, slamming right into my side.