Rules of Summer

by Joanna Philbin

  Most of the items on Bianca’s list were things she’d never heard of. At the cheese section, she had to elbow her way past a line of pushing and shoving people, and even then she wasn’t sure if she’d snagged the right brand of Asiago Classico. At the pasta counter, she ordered two pounds of fresh richetti, which turned out to be a fancier version of penne. In the condiment aisle, she grabbed jars of harissa red pepper paste and sun-dried miso, whatever they were. She reached for a bag of granola and gasped at the price. It was eleven dollars. Eleven dollars! Rory debated putting it back on the shelf, just on principle. But she threw it in the cart.

  When she was finished, she walked over to the café area and ordered herself a hot chocolate and a croissant. She’d barely had any of that smoothie Fee had made for her.

  “That’ll be six seventy-five,” said the man behind the counter.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Six seventy-five,” the man repeated.

  “For hot chocolate and a croissant?”

  The guy didn’t blink.

  Rory took out her wallet and handed him the money. Maybe her mom had been right about the Rules needing to pay her, she thought.

  She ate her breakfast while in line to check out. After putting the three-hundred-dollar bill on Lucy Rule’s account, she loaded the two bags into the trunk and pulled out of the parking lot. At the light, she typed TWO TREES, WATER MILL into the GPS.

  “Distance, nine miles,” said the automated voice.

  Rory checked the map on the screen. Water Mill was directly west of East Hampton on Montauk Highway, and then a mile or so north. She had at least fifteen minutes until she was supposed to be there. Nine miles, fifteen minutes—plenty of time, she thought.

  Twelve minutes later, she’d barely driven two miles. Fee had been right. The traffic on Montauk Highway was almost at a standstill. She fiddled with the GPS, hoping there was another way to Water Mill besides this two-lane highway. There wasn’t. She gripped the wheel, picturing Isabel waiting for her at the stables, her scowl growing darker and darker. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant trip home.

  At a quarter to twelve she turned off the highway onto Hayground Road and sped past open fields until she reached Two Trees Stables. Isabel stood at the end of the long gravel drive, texting on her phone. In her jodhpurs and button-down white shirt, and with an ebony riding hat dangling from a strap around her wrist, she looked even more intimidating than she had yesterday. Don’t worry, Rory told herself. You don’t need to be best friends. You don’t even need to be friends. You just need to make it through twenty minutes in a car together.

  Rory lowered the window as she approached. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” she said, stopping in front of her. “There was so much traffic.”

  Isabel marched around to the driver-side door, opened it, and looked at Rory impatiently.

  “What?” Rory asked.

  “I’m driving,” Isabel announced.

  “Um, actually, I think it’s better that I—”

  Isabel lowered her chin and glared at Rory. “I’m driving,” she repeated.

  Slowly, Rory unclicked her belt and got out of the car. Isabel slid behind the wheel and slammed the door. So much for following Bianca’s orders, Rory thought.

  She’d barely closed the shotgun door when Isabel stepped on the gas and made a rough U-turn. As they careened down the drive, she picked up her phone from her lap and began to text with one hand.

  “Are you sure you should be doing that?” Rory asked, holding on to the dashboard.

  “Doing what?” Isabel asked as the car drifted toward the center line.

  “Texting. You could get a ticket. And it’s kind of dangerous.”

  Isabel gave her a look, then dropped the phone in her lap and turned hard onto Hayground Road.

  “So, where do you go to school?” Rory asked, feeling slightly sick to her stomach from all of the hard turns.

  “Santa Barbara,” Isabel finally said. “It’s in California.”

  “I’ve never been to California. Never been on a plane, actually.”

  “Huh,” Isabel said. “Fascinating.”

  “Do you have your own horse?” Rory asked, deciding to change the subject.

  “Uh-huh,” Isabel said.

  “I’ve only been on a horse a couple of times, just for trail rides. I’ve never really ridden a horse. They actually kind of freak me out—”

  “Sorry, can I just concentrate on the road?” Isabel interrupted. She made a left onto the highway, oblivious to the car coming directly at them.

  “Sure,” Rory said, swallowing.

  When the traffic slowed to a crawl, Isabel picked up her phone and began to text again. Rory stared out the window. They were heading toward Bridgehampton now. A few minutes later, they passed a sign that read HISTORIC BRIDGEHAMPTON SETTLED 1656. But with horrendous traffic from 2012, Rory thought. “There are so many vegetable stands out here,” she murmured, as they passed tent after tent with signs that read SWEET SUMMER CORN and FRESH TOMATOES. “People here really love food.” And yet everyone is thin, Rory thought. It didn’t make any sense.

  Suddenly Isabel veered off the congested highway and onto the shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Rory asked.

  “Everyone does this here,” she said calmly.

  “But you’re on the shoulder! This is illegal.”

  “You really need to chill,” Isabel said. Rory gripped the door handle just as the nose of a car suddenly poked out from a hidden driveway.

  “Slow down!” Rory yelled.

  Isabel slammed on the brake. The Prius lurched to a stop just in time. When Rory opened her eyes, she saw that they’d stopped a few feet from the other car. The elderly woman behind the wheel stared at them, too terrified to be angry.

  “Well, that was close,” Isabel noted.

  “Are you crazy?” Rory cried. “You could have hit her!”

  Isabel backed up to let the woman edge onto the highway. As soon as she was gone, Isabel continued down the shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Rory yelled.

  “Will you please relax?” Isabel yelled back. A moment later they’d turned off the shoulder and were driving down a quiet, paved street. “See?” Isabel said. “Jesus.”

  Rory fidgeted in the front seat. Her knuckles ached from squeezing the door handle. Rich people, she thought. They never thought the rules applied to them. And when they broke the rules, everything seemed to work out for them anyway.

  A few minutes later, they were back on Lily Pond Lane. Isabel turned into the break in the hedges and stopped at the gate. She opened up the glove compartment and took out a small remote. “So are you catatonic or something?” she said.

  Rory watched the gates silently open. “I’m fine,” she muttered, as they began to drive beside the lawn. Sprinklers whipped streams of water over the grass.

  “I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Rory glanced at Isabel’s hand on the steering wheel. Her gold charm bracelet shone in the sun. Among other trinkets, a gold I hung off the chain. “I like your bracelet,” she said, trying not to sound too nice.

  “Thanks.” Isabel looked over at Rory’s own bracelet, which was made from purple rope. Rory waited for Isabel to say that she liked her bracelet, too, simply out of politeness, but she didn’t say anything. Figures, Rory thought, turning to look out the window. This girl was awful.

  As Isabel drove past the house toward the garages, Rory noticed a weathered, dark red Nissan Xterra parked in the circular drive. A bumper sticker read AIR AND SPEED SURF SHOP, MONTAUK, NY.

  “Home in one piece,” Isabel said sarcastically as she parked behind the Xterra.

  Rory didn’t respond. She got out and went straight to the trunk. Thankfully, the dozen organic brown eggs she’d just bought were still intact.

  The back door of the house opened with a creak. “Isabel?” Fee asked, coming to stand on the threshold. “There’s a boy here to see you.�
�

  A guy slipped out of the door behind Fee and walked onto the flagstone steps. It was hard not to stare. He was quite possibly the sexiest guy Rory had ever seen. Thick black hair fell over his eyes, which were large and liquid and a deep chocolate brown. Stubble covered his jaw and dimpled chin, but his lips were full and almost feminine. His white Hanes T-shirt and inky-dark jeans showed off a body that was lean and muscular in all the right places. This guy is trouble, Rory thought. My mom would so be into him.

  Isabel stood at the car, her hand still resting lightly on the door handle. This had to be a dream, she thought as she watched him come toward her. He looked even better in clothes than he had in his wet suit. She looked at his tanned, ropy arms and remembered the way they’d made her feel when they were wrapped around her on the beach. Safe and excited and electrified. Her mind went blank.

  “Hey,” he said. “I came by to check on you.”

  “Hi,” she said. The word come out as a whisper. She needed a glass of water. “How’d you find me?”

  “It wasn’t hard,” he said with a knowing smile.

  She was aware of Rory carrying grocery bags into the house and Fee following her inside. She was alone with him now. And he was still smiling at her.

  “So, you know my name,” she said. “What’s yours?”

  “Oh,” he said with a grin. “Mike. Mike Castelloni.”

  “Mike,” she said, nodding. “So now we’re even.” She grinned back.

  “You ride horses?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you surf.”

  “Yup.”

  “Which do you do better?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me.”

  He smiled wider. “You have a wet suit in there?” he asked, tilting his head toward the house.

  She shrugged. “Of course.”

  He glanced at the thick black watch on his wrist. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  She paused to make sure he was serious. “Wait here. I’ll be right out.” She headed to the house, trying hard not to break into a run when she walked through the front door.

  She raced across the foyer to the stairs. Everyone was probably at the club, which was perfect—she didn’t want to have to ask anyone’s permission to leave. She flew up the front staircase to her room, grasping the iron banister as she took the steps two at a time. So he did like her. In her room, she changed out of her riding clothes and into her favorite tangerine-colored bikini, matching tunic, and silver leather sandals. She grabbed her beach bag, then went down the back stairs to the mudroom. The mudroom was such a stupid name—as far as she knew, nobody had ever tracked mud into this room, only sand—but her parents insisted on calling it that. She threw open the closet doors and grabbed her suit and Connor’s shortboard. She knew Connor wouldn’t mind.

  As she darted back into the hall, Rory came out of the kitchen. “Hey. Can you tell everyone that I took off for the beach with a friend?”

  Rory shook some dark curly hair out of her face. “What’s his name?”

  “Mike. We’re friends. We’re going to Montauk.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Why do you need to know when I’ll be back?” Isabel asked, slightly annoyed.

  “What if they ask me?”

  “Nobody will ask you,” said Isabel. “Only mention it if it comes up. Okay? Thanks.” Isabel grabbed the board. “See ya.”

  She didn’t wait for Rory to reply. She turned and ran toward the front door, the soles of her sandals slapping on the marble floor. Behind her, she could feel the girl’s eyes on her back, watching her go. Thinking that she was quite possibly making a total fool of herself.

  But she didn’t care. She’d worry about that later.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Isabel squeezed the salt water out of her hair and threw her board on the sand. The last time she’d been to Ditch Plains, all she’d seen were the pebbles and the rocks and the drainpipe that stuck out in an unsightly way from under the dunes. But today the beach looked beautiful. Surfers bobbed on the surface of the dark blue water as haze from the salt spray swirled in the air. Groups of teenagers and young people hung out on faded blankets and plastic beach chairs. An against-the-rules black Lab trotted happily down the beach with a Frisbee in its mouth. And there was Mike, coming out of the water with his board under his arm and sending a lightning-quick shiver all over her skin.

  “What do you think?” he said, shaking the water out of his hair. “You up for one more?”

  “Sure. One more.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but you’re better than I thought.”

  “I told you,” she replied, throwing him a smile as she set off toward the water.

  She threw herself belly-down on her board and paddled out. Behind her, Mike slammed onto his board and started racing her to the lineup.

  He liked her. He didn’t say too much, but every chance he could get he talked to her, complimented her, gave her some advice on her form. There hadn’t been much time for any personal questions yet, which was just fine with her. There was so much she wanted to know about him, though. She didn’t even know how old he was. Or where he lived. Or how many girls he was currently hooking up with. Chill out, she thought. You have to relax. She hadn’t had to tell herself that in years.

  When they reached the lineup, they sat astride their boards waiting for a wave. He was the one to start asking questions. “So… you’re in high school, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What year?”

  “I’ll be a senior.”

  One of his feet kicked hers under the water.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “I’m twenty,” he said. “Too old?”

  “Too old for what?” she asked.

  He smiled at her. “I get the feeling that you always date people safe.”

  “Safe? Are you about to tell me that you’re an ax murderer or something?”

  “I mean, guys you know. Guys you can control.” He grinned. “Am I right?”

  “I get the feeling that you take a lot of girls surfing,” she said.

  “I don’t take people surfing,” he said, with such a dead-serious expression that she looked away and pretended to scan the water.

  When her wave came, it took everything she had to concentrate, especially because she knew that he was watching her. She got to her feet at just the right moment and stood, one foot in front of the other, her arms straight out, with her gaze on the swiftly approaching shore. Luckily she didn’t fall. And as her board flew over the water, she thought, I really don’t want this day to end. I want to be riding this wave for the rest of my life.

  Back on the beach she unzipped her wet suit and dried herself off with one of the beach towels Mike had in his car. Gulls squawked overhead. It had to be after three by now. She thought of Darwin and Thayer picking at their Georgica salads, scanning the patio for her arrival. She tried to imagine either of those girls sitting here with a guy like this. At Ditch Plains, no less.

  She watched Mike ride his wave in, curving the board back and forth. He was definitely good. Better than any of the guys at school.

  He walked up the beach when he was done, threw his board on the sand, and sat down on the towel. “So how does a lobster roll sound?” he asked.“If you still have some time.”

  “I have some time,” she said, trying to sound casual. “And I love lobster.”

  “Good.” He leaned toward her. She leaned into him, expecting a kiss, but he only grabbed an extra towel he’d left next to her and dried off his hair. “Let’s go then,” he said.

  “Uh, sure,” she said, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  At the car he held a towel at his waist as he changed out of his wet suit. She tried not to look. But at one point, she turned her head just as the towel fell an inch or so, enough to give her a thrilling view of the skin below his navel. She got inside the car before she started to stare
. Why was she being so weird around this guy? It was as if she’d never been around a member of the opposite sex.

  Her phone chimed softly from within her bag. Thayer had texted her:

  WHERE R U??

  Isabel smiled and put the phone back in her purse.

  Mike opened the car door. “So where are we going?” she asked.

  “Buford’s,” he said, sliding in behind the wheel in a white T-shirt and shorts. He smelled like fresh laundry. “You’ve been there before, right?”

  “Actually, I haven’t.”

  “You’re kidding,” he said, leaning close to her as he shifted into reverse. “How is that possible?”

  Because my mom thinks it’s a dump, she wanted to say, but didn’t. All she did was shrug and give him her best mysterious smile.

  They drove down the highway until the faded pink walls of Buford’s Lobster Shack came into view. Buford’s looked like it belonged on a back road in Jamaica or some other Caribbean island, not just outside a preppy summer town. Mike pulled into the small, crowded lot, right next to two twentyish surfers getting out of an old van with boards strapped to the roof. She recognized them from the water.

  “Hey, Mike!” one of them yelled as they got out of the car. “Your lady can shred!” The guy had a shaved head and wore a T-shirt with the F word printed loudly across the chest.

  “I know,” Mike said proudly. “Did you guys meet Isabel? This is Brad and Matt.”

  “Hi,” she said, suddenly shy.

  Brad, the one who’d spoken, gave Mike an approving look. “See ya inside, man,” Brad said.

  As they walked through the lot, Mike waved to two more surfer guys, and then two more when they joined the line waiting to order.

  “You must come here a lot,” she murmured.

  “Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “It’s one of my places.”

  Mike stepped up to order, but instead reached out and grasped the hand of a grizzled-looking man in his fifties behind the counter. “Wassup, bro?”