by Nikki Godwin
“Is it just the three of them?” I ask Emily as I stretch out on Kale’s towel. The sand is thick and clumpy like cheap mascara.
“No, Topher and Jace are working,” she says. “Topher works at Drenaline Surf because his brother owns it, and Jace works at the music store by the hotel. These are the bums of the group.”
Miles shouts that he heard that, and Theo says he’s not a bum, just an alcoholic. Kale doesn’t say a word. The guys offer to give Noah surf lessons, and for half a second, I think he’s going to take them up on it.
“Are you even qualified to teach me these things?” Noah asks, glancing out at the water.
Jagged rocks protrude from the ocean, sloshing waves around like a bad sea storm. Emily explains that the rocks are why the Hooligans are so territorial – they naturally create good waves. It makes sense, but I’m not quite sure I’d want to be in that water, aside from the fact that it’s murky and disgusting.
“I’m a professional surfer,” Miles says, almost offended. He runs back over toward us and grabs the surfboard next to Emily’s towel. “See that? Drenaline Surf? Ocean Blast Energy? Those are my sponsors. Those are endorsements.”
Noah follows Miles to where Emily and I sit. “Professional surfer? As in pro athlete?” he asks, as if he can’t believe it.
Miles nods, and Noah laughs manically and loudly, like he’s already drunk from the one beer he drank.
“Dude, you need to chill,” Miles says. “You’re creeping me the fuck out.”
Noah drops to his knees on the chunky sand. “He’s not Shaq or Kobe, but he counts,” he tells me. “He’s your pro athlete. We found one.”
I feel like I’ve told this story a zillion times already, but the “what-the-fuck” expression on Miles’s face is enough to know I need to explain it again – fast. There’s no way I can ask for a selfie with him without an explanation. I quickly tell him, his girlfriend, and the Hooligans about my botched spring break plans, my bucket list, and how I never thought I’d be able to pull off half of the things on there.
Emily asks to see my list, so I retrieve it from my bag. She takes the list from my hand and scans the items. While she does that, Noah snaps a picture of me with Miles. At least that one can go on Instagram now.
“Who knew you’d be able to check off the celebrity thing, huh?” she says. Then she nods toward Noah. “That’s definitely an A-list celebrity, if you ask me.”
She did know. I think I can hang with this Emily girl. Miles and Theo both say they don’t care because they’re clearly not into boybands, but Kale asks for an autograph and a selfie with a promise not to post it online for a week so Noah can enjoy his vacation. I’m amused, especially when Noah agrees.
“So, do guys in boybands play volleyball?” Theo calls out, motioning to the net down the beach.
Noah shrugs. “They do now,” he says.
An hour later, my hands are sore, Noah’s shirtless, and Theo is drunk. Team Noah-Marisol-Kale wins yet another game because Theo can’t quite serve the ball properly.
“I quit!” Miles shouts. “This is why I didn’t want you on my team.”
Noah tackles me with a hug. Specks of sand linger on his body, and I want to volunteer to help him clean them off, but that’d be way too awkward with Kale staring us down. I’m not sure if he’s more interested in flirting with me or hanging out with Noah. He’s star-struck. I guess he doesn’t consider Miles’s athletic status to be all that famous.
“This was fun,” Noah says, pushing my hair back over my shoulders. “Just hanging out with normal people. I’m glad we came. Plus, you crossed something off the list.”
He’s right – item number one. Meet a pro athlete. Done.
Theo throws away his beer bottles while Emily gathers up her things to take to her car. I wasn’t so sure about Horn Island, but now, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to leave. The sun starts to burn out and fall into the ocean in a heap of bright red light. I stand on the shoreline, watching the sea water bubble and foam up against the sand when the tide brings it in and sucks it back out.
“What’s the deal with the pier?” I ask, pointing out at the collapsed pier in the distance.
“What about it?” Kale asks. He shields his eyes and stares. “It’s just part of Horn Island.”
“So a pier just randomly collapsed into the ocean, and no one bothered to haul away the pieces?” I ask. “Everyone just thought it’d be okay to leave half a pier standing? Isn’t that dangerous or harmful to the ocean or something?”
Miles steps forward. “Horn Island ain’t exactly Crescent Cove, if you didn’t notice,” he snaps. “So yeah, our pier collapsed a few years ago. It wasn’t the strongest, and the water wore away at the wood, and BAM. Fucking collapsed one day.”
I definitely shouldn’t have asked about the pier. I regret it, totally and completely regret it. I want to interrupt and apologize, but I’m too scared to speak up. Now I can see why he’s a Hooligan. The name fits. I would not want to get on his bad side.
“And no, we don’t bother to haul it away because Shark McAllister was going to do that, but he died before he could,” Miles says. “And I’ll tell you right now, not a damn person in Horn Island goes against what Shark McAllister wanted, got it?”
Emily rushes back into the scream fest and pushes her boyfriend back, reminding him that we’re not from here and that I was just asking a question. Miles apologizes – more to Emily than to us – and Noah interjects with a question to change the subject.
“Are there any piers in Crescent Cove that you can actually jump off of?” he asks, secretly bringing up item number ten on my list.
Kale laughs. “There’s only one pier anywhere around here that you could jump off of without going to jail, and you’re looking at it,” he says.
Theo stumbles back down toward us, the beer in his bottle sloshing around with his wobbly steps. “Shark was going to keep that wood,” he says, looking at the pier. “I don’t know what the fuck he was going to do with it, but he wanted it because that was our pier. He always said it was a piece of Horn Island history.”
We all stand in awkward silence for a while before Emily asks the obvious question. “You have to jump off a pier for your list, don’t you?”
“Item number ten,” I reply. “My former friend said she knew of some places in LA where we could jump. I’m sure hers were intact, though.”
Theo steps ahead of us. “Well there’s only one thing left to do. We gotta fucking jump,” he says.
Miles agrees, but Emily pulls him back, arguing about his sponsorship and how he can’t risk injury. He concedes, against his will. Kale agrees to stay back with him, but his reason is simply because he doesn’t want to mangle his face.
“I’m jumping,” Theo says, forcing his beer bottle into Kale’s hand.
“Are you sure?” Noah asks. “You seem a little, you know, drunk.”
Theo shakes his head. “I can’t get drunk enough,” he says. “Trust me. I can drink myself to death, and I’d still see the things I’m running from.”
I glance at Miles and Emily, hoping one of them can talk some sense into him, but there are clearly circumstances I know nothing about. This time, I’m not about to ask.
“Alright then,” I say. “Let’s go climb this broken thing before the sun is completely gone. Has anyone, by chance, been on this thing since it collapsed?”
Miles shakes his head. “Shark was the last one,” he says. “It was already prohibited before it went down. But he was rebellious and all that shit. He did whatever he wanted. That’s why he was Shark McAllister.”
Shark McAllister. Why does that sound so freaking familiar? I know I haven’t heard of anyone named Shark or else I’d remember that one.
“Oh my God,” I say, clicking pieces of the puzzle together in my head. “Was he a photographer?”
“You know his work?” Miles asks.
I shake my head. “The boating place. And Drenaline Surf. They had shark photos
by some guy. Something McAllister?”
“Jake,” Theo says. “His name was Jake, but everyone called him Shark. He built Drenaline Surf. He built that place from the ground up. Then he died because…things happened. Are we jumping or not? That sunset won’t last forever.”
“We’re jumping,” I confirm. I empty my pockets and hand my cell phone to Emily for safekeeping. Noah does the same.
“I need documentation,” I tell her. Emily says she’ll film our jump.
With that, Theo and Noah walk with me toward the pier. Theo offers to go up first, pulling himself up on the pile of wooden planks. This is so far from safe. We probably won’t even make it to the edge of the pier to actually jump because the floor will fall through. We may be joining Shark McAllister on the other side before this is all over, and the scary part is that I don’t think Theo cares.
Once the Hooligan is a few steps up, he reaches back for my hand. His eyes hold a recklessness that only comes from pain or tragedy, the kind that says he’ll laugh in Death’s face because he literally has nothing to lose. If he weren’t so drunk, it’d be incredibly hot. He hauls me up onto the section of wood, and Noah follows right behind me, not letting me get more than two steps ahead of him.
Theo walks ahead, making sure what’s left of the flooring can hold us. Then he motions for us to follow. We walk single-file along the side, holding on to what used to be the railing of the pier, until we reach the highest point. Theo crawls over onto the outer side of the pier and looks over the water.
“This is it,” he says. “Climb over.”
We do exactly as he says. On the other side, I feel like I’m in that scene from Titanic where Rose is standing on the back of the ship, about to jump into the freezing cold water to end all that’s holding her back. Of course, this isn’t a luxury cruise-liner, and I’m hovering over the wrong ocean. But I get it – that need to throw yourself into the sea and forget all the things that are holding you back.
“Okay, we’re really going to do this,” Theo says. “We’re going to do it for Shark.”
And in that moment, I realize, maybe Theo needs to throw himself away more than I do. Maybe there are bigger things that he needs to forget, bigger things holding him back.
“For Shark,” I say. I grab his hand and then I grab Noah’s.
“Ah, what the hell,” Noah says. “Let’s do it. Let’s do it for Shark.”
“On three,” Theo says. He tightens his grip and inhales deeply. “One… two…”
Then on three, we fall from the sky, plunging toward the dirtiest water on the grossest beach in California under the light of a blood red sunset. And in those two seconds between leaving the pier and hitting the water, Theo screams, “For Sharrrrrrk!” and I swear, I’ve become a part of Horn Island’s history.
Chapter Eight
There are much better things to do in Crescent Cove on a Monday morning than visit the music store. I’m not sure what those better things actually are, but I’m certain they exist. I’m even up for a visit back to Horn Island. We hung out with our newfound friends until late last night when Kale finally brought us back to the hotel. Noah made a huge deal out of how we were totally okay without Big Tony hovering over us, even though our wet clothes said differently. The only real complaint came from Aralie, who was disappointed that she wasted her night in Crescent Cove while we hung out with ‘much cooler people.’
My saving grace this morning is that Nat tagged along. He’ll give me someone to talk to while Noah gets all musical over things. Isn’t this supposed to be a vacation for him? A break from all the music and fame and lights and fangirls?
Big Tony stayed behind, since we were just walking next door, and I’m thankful for that. Strings and Starlight is pretty much dead, aside from the guy behind the cash register strumming a guitar. He immediately looks up when we walk in.
“Hey, can I help you?” he asks.
“Uh, yeah,” Noah says. “I’m looking for Jace. Kale sent me.”
“Ahh. So you’re the boyband guy,” the guy says. “Jace Hudson. Nice to meet you.”
Noah tells Jace that we’re with him, and then he ditches us to talk to the clean-cut brunette about drums and indie bands that I’ve never heard of.
Nat circles the room, pretending to look at the guitars and amps, but he’s a failure at faking interest in these things. He finally settles in against the wall and watches his brother talk with this Jace guy.
“He’s hot,” Nat says, never taking his eyes off Jace. “I bet he’s one of those nice guy types with a dominant side. Like he’ll shake your hand and ‘yes sir, yes ma’am’ you in public, but then you lock the bedroom door, and he throws you on the bed.”
“Wow,” I say, leaning back and studying the specimen. “You got all that out of his T-shirt and jeans? You really know how to read them.”
Nat folds his arms and shoots me this sassy glare. “You of all people should know better, Miss Fashionista,” he says. “One, he plays guitar, so you know he’s creative and passionate. Two, you know he’s good with his hands. And three, anyone who hangs out with those freaks you met but looks clean cut like him obviously has a wild side hidden underneath.”
“Damn,” I say, nodding along with him. “I can’t even dream up a comeback for that one.”
Nat shrugs. “Unfortunately, he’s straighter than a fifty yard line,” he says. “Sort of looks like the jock type too. You know, if he wanted to be anyway.”
“Hmm,” I say. “So, who’s hotter? Jace or Benji.”
Nat rolls his eyes and looks at me like I just asked if he’d rather eat candy or dirt.
“Oh my God,” Nat says, throwing his hands out all dramatically. “How can you even compare Mr. Clean Cut Guitarist to the perfection that is messy haired, voice of an angel, eyes of the ocean Benji Baccarini?”
I completely crack up and draw the attention of Noah and Jace. I motion to Noah that we’re going to step outside. I push through the door, and Nat follows.
“I get it. No one can stand in the same room as Benji,” I say. Then I face Nat, in all seriousness. “But aren’t you setting yourself up to get hurt?”
Nat looks away, across the street to The Strip and the ocean, like he’s hoping a tidal wave will wash in and take this conversation with it.
“I just call them like I see them,” he says. He looks me in the eye. “Here’s my theory – No guy in his position, with that kind of fame and money and power, is going to sit back and let management deprive him of all the beautiful girls who want to bang him. Unless, you know, he doesn’t want a girl to bang him.”
For Nat’s sake, I don’t want to agree because I don’t want to give him false hope. But he’s right – what in the hell is up with that? What kind of guy who has everything in the world rolls over for management? He should be having all the sex he wants with every pretty girl he wants. Slutty, maybe. Immoral, sure. But not even being allowed to be photographed with a girl? No dancing with a girl in a club or sitting too closely to any girl other than the Branson sisters?
“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” I say, reminding myself of my mother. “But you’re right. I don’t know why he lets them run him over that way. No guy in his right mind would agree to that, even for his career.”
“No straight guy,” Nat corrects me. “He’s bisexual, at best. He’s not straight.”
“Have you asked him about it?” I know better than to dig, but Noah isn’t going to talk about it, so I have to go to the Winters brother who will.
Nat shrugs. “I’ve tried, but he dodges the question, which is a definite sign that he’s gotta be, right? I mean, refusing to talk about it means something, right?”
His eyes plead with me, like he’s hoping I’ll magically bring Benji out of whatever closet he’s hiding his sexuality in, but I can’t speak on something I know nothing about. For all I know, Benji is playing along with management because they’re paying him off or promising him a solo career or Saturn only knows what. There
could be all kinds of secret skeletons hiding in that closet that have absolutely nothing to do with Benji’s sexuality.
I just shrug and shake my head. “I don’t know, Nat. I don’t know what it means,” I admit.
Noah bursts through the door of Strings and Starlight, and we completely shut up about Benji and closets.
“I got us plans for Wednesday night,” he announces. “Jace’s band is playing – Sapphires and Sunsets, another S-A-S – and we’re going to see them.”
Number six: See a local band play live.
Back in room 413, I lounge on Noah’s bed while Nat fixes his hair in the mirror before leaving to go harass Benji some more. As Nat exits the room, Aralie pushes her way inside.
“So what’s up for tonight? You losers aren’t leaving me here watching Jules and Tate play video games again,” she says before she plops herself down on Nat’s bed. “And I’ll tell you another damn thing, Noah Winters – you leave me to babysit Darby again, and I will castrate you.”
Noah ignores her, like he’s heard this speech a thousand times before. However, if Darby is as band-obsessed as I think she is, I don’t blame Aralie. She seems to be the most fun one of the group. I don’t know why Noah doesn’t hang out with her more – but I want to.
“We’re thinking about crashing a yacht club party,” I say, pushing myself up. “This dickwad smarted off at us the other night, and apparently he’s some big shot chiropractor in the area.”
“Seriously?” Aralie asks. “Where the hell have you been all of Noah’s life? Or at least since lockdown ended anyway.”
That’s when I start spilling – the night club, the Hooligans, the party tonight, and how I can’t shake the idea of actually crashing it all because of my stupid list. The more I read off the details from the website hyping the event, the more I just can’t not do it.
“So let’s do it,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like we don’t have bail money, and if the paparazzi get wind of it, who cares? It’ll be bumped off the tabloids in a week.”