Someone Else's Summer

by Rachel Bateman

  “Oh, don’t be like that.”

  He smiles for real now. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

  “You could’ve let me drive! Why didn’t you just relax and get some sleep?”

  “Because if I let you drive in that traffic, I’m pretty sure the transmission would be lying back on the highway dead and beaten.”

  “Shut up!” I nudge him again. “I’m not that bad.”

  “If you say so.” He laughs and throws an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close to his side. It feels a little forced, but at least he’s trying. I tuck into his armpit like a little kid, and he squeezes. “Let’s just get me some food, and I’ll be better,” he says, releasing me.

  “Food is always a good idea,” I agree. I loop my arm around his. “Where to, sailor?”

  Directly in front of us is a rundown hot-dog stand with only three people standing in line. He nods toward it. “That looks good to me.”

  I’m not as sure as he is. “I dunno. It looks a little…”

  “Ghetto?”

  “Exactly. And, like, nobody is eating there. Now, what does that tell you?”

  “That it’s the best food on the boardwalk,” he says.

  “I don’t follow.”

  Waving an arm in an arc, he says, “Look around. All the shiny, clean places with huge lines? What do you notice about the people in those lines?”

  “Um, that they are about to get delicious, E. coli–free food?”

  “No. They are all fancied up in sleek dresses and too-cool-for-school shorts. They have makeup on and sparkles on their flip-flops.”

  “Your point?”

  “They look like they just stepped off the beach and threw something over their swimsuits, but they are trying too hard. Now”—we step closer to the dingy hot-dog stand, and he points at the people in line there—“look at them.”

  Crowded around the stand are two girls and a guy. They look about our age, maybe a little older. College students, probably. The boy’s khaki shorts are frayed at the bottom and his flip-flops are so dirty the tan strap is almost black. The girl on the left wears a simple sundress, green and slightly wrinkled. Her black hair is in a messy ponytail that falls down her back. The other girl is in cutoff denim shorts and a gray tank top. Wet spots bleed onto her shirt from the bikini top below. She’s laughing loudly, her whole face lit.

  “And?” I say.

  “Locals,” Cameron whispers. “They are here because it’s where they belong, and they know where the best food is. Ergo, we’ll eat here.”

  Laughing, I say, “Did you seriously just say ergo?”

  “You know you love it.”

  “You’re a nerd.”

  The group in front of us steps to the side as we approach, and the man behind the counter calls out to us, “Hey, what can I grab y’all?” He’s young and ridiculously handsome. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “What’s good?” Cameron asks.

  “You really think I’m going to say any of my grub’s bad, man? It’s all good.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll take a long dog with onions and cheese.” Cameron turns to me. “And whatever Anna wants.”

  “Um,” I say, searching the board behind the man’s head. “I dunno. Surprise me.”

  “You sure you wanna do that?”

  I nod. “Give me your favorite,” I tell him.

  “Whatever you say, little lady.” He winks.

  Cameron laughs softly, quickly covering his mouth and coughing. He looks down at me with one eyebrow cocked. He doesn’t have to say it for me to know what he’s thinking. Did he seriously just call me “little lady”?

  “Hey,” the girl around the side of the cart, the one with the wet tank top, says, “you’ll want to add a cone of fries to that. I promise.” As if to prove her point, she pops one of her own fries into her mouth and chews it emphatically.

  “I guess we need some fries, too,” Cameron tells Cart Guy. Turning to the girl, he says, “Thanks.”

  “M’hmm,” she mumbles then turns to stare at me. “You’re really pretty,” she says bluntly.

  I pull my hair around my shoulder and force myself not to braid it. “Um, thanks,” I say.

  They are all staring at us now, and I feel like I should be behind a display case in a museum. Thankfully, before things get any more awkward, Cart Man hands a fry cone across the counter to us. I pop one in my mouth.

  “Holy crap!” I exclaim. “These things are amazing!”

  “Told ya,” Tank-Top Girl says. “Miguel makes the best food. What’s your names?”

  “I’m Anna.” I lean against Cam’s arm and nod toward him. “And this is Cam.”

  “How long have you two been together?”

  Cameron chokes on a fry and launches into a coughing fit.

  “Oh, we aren’t,” I say.

  “Well, you totally should be. You look great together.”

  “Thanks, I think.” I pause, then ask, “What’s your name?”

  The girl’s face brightens, and she says, “I’m Sabine, and this is Nina and Courtland.”

  “Court,” the guy says. “Just Court.”

  “Well, Just Court,” I say, “it’s good to meet you. You, too, Nina.”

  Nina waves at me, holding a sloppy hot dog to her mouth with her other hand. Finally, Miguel passes our food to us. I get a red checked cardboard boat piled high with beans, coleslaw, and some sort of red sauce.

  “Southern Dog,” Court says. “I hope you have an iron gut, girl.”

  “There’s a hot dog under there?” I say at the same time Cameron says, “No worries there. Anna can eat an overweight construction worker under the table.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say.

  “That’s a good thing,” Cameron insists. “Guys like a girl who can eat.”

  “Especially those overweight construction workers,” Nina says. Her voice has a slight accent that I can’t quite place. “You two want to come eat with us?”

  I throw a quick look at Cameron; he shrugs, so I nod and we follow Nina, Court, and Sabine across the boardwalk to a miraculously empty table.

  We say nothing while we eat—the dogs are messy and take all our concentration. My Southern Dog is the most disgustingly amazing thing I’ve ever eaten. The beans are tart, the coleslaw sweet. And the red sauce is some sort of hot sauce—not Tabasco, but something similar. It adds just enough heat to make my nose drip.

  When I finish, I wipe my face and lean back in my chair. Sabine says, “What brings you to Virgo Beach?”

  “You’re doing it again,” Nina says.

  “Am not.”

  “Please. You should be a politician. You’re totally doing it.”

  “Doing what?” Cameron asks, his mouth full of fries.

  “Sabine has taken it upon herself to be Virgo Beach’s official welcoming committee,” Court says. “After you tell her what brings you here, she’ll ask how long you’ll stay. Then if you need a map or for someone to show you around.”

  Cameron laughs. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but we’ll probably only be here for tonight.” He looks at me, eyebrows raised, as if asking for confirmation. I shrug, give a slight nod. This isn’t the right place to continue the list.

  “Any plans for tonight?” Nina asks.

  Cameron and I shake our heads.

  Suddenly, Nina is shouting so loud I almost fall out of my seat. “Eh, Miguel!” He turns, facing us, but says nothing. “Where’s the party tonight?”

  He yells back, just as loud. “Bonfire at my house.”

  Nina looks down at her phone and says, “Look, we gotta go, but meet us back here at nine if you want to come with, okay?”

  “Oh, you totally want to come,” Sabine says. “Miguel throws the best parties.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I say. “We’ll think about it.”

  With waves and murmured good-byes, the trio leaves, and it’s just me and Cameron again, staring at the boardwalk.

  “You’re seriously not coming
?” I’m standing in the tiny bathroom of our tiny hotel room, trying to work my hair into submission. I’ve braided and unbraided it about three times, to no avail. Finally, I pull it into a messy topknot. It’s as good as it’s getting tonight.

  When I step into the room, Cameron is lying on the bed, flipping through channels on the appropriately tiny TV. “Did you hear me?”

  “Of course I heard you,” he says. “You were standing fifteen inches from me.”

  “And?”

  “And I answered the first four times you asked, so I figured I didn’t really need to answer this time.”

  “Humor me,” I say.

  “Fine. Yes, Anna, I’m really, really not coming.”

  I drop onto the bed next to him, crossing my legs at my ankles. Taking the remote from his hand, I turn off the TV and whine. “Come on, Cameron, it could be fun.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “You’re eighteen, in Virgo Beach with no parentals to be seen, invited to a party—by a couple hotties, I might add—and you are going to sit in the smallest hotel room known to mankind and do what? Watch Duck Dynasty?”

  “I was actually thinking of giving Project Runway a shot.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Yes, I am. Now, give me that.” Cameron dives for the remote, and I hold it as far off the edge of the bed as I can. My hand hits the wall. Cameron’s hand wraps around the remote, just above my fingers, and he pulls. I refuse to let go.

  Tugging back with my remote hand, I snake my other hand up his side and into his armpit, tickling him. He jerks back, fast. So fast that his elbow cracks me in the jaw. I pull my own hand back to my face, forgetting about the remote until the buttons smash into my cheek. I cry out and the remote clatters to the ground.

  “Oh man, are you okay?” Cameron sits up and leans over me.

  My eyes fill with water, blurring my vision. “Ow,” I moan.

  “I am so, so sorry.”

  I wave him off. “I know. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” To prove my point, I sit up and face him, smiling.

  Cameron’s face runs white. “Oh man.”

  “It’s nothing,” I say again.

  “It’s something,” he says. “The whole side of your face is red.”

  Shrugging, I say, “It’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

  Cameron picks at his fingernails, looking up at me every few seconds, guilt etched on his face. My jaw throbs. I just hope it doesn’t leave a bruise. He clears his throat as I smooth the front of my tank top.

  “Fine,” he eventually says.

  “Fine what?”

  “I’ll go with you. Get your shoes on.”

  I squeal like a little girl and throw my arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, thank you! I really didn’t want to be a loner tonight.”

  “Whatever,” he says. “If this is lame, though, I fully reserve the right to bail on you. Swollen jaw or no.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Chapter 18

  Nina and Court are sitting on the table when we arrive, five minutes after nine.

  “Sorry we’re a bit late,” I call to them.

  “No worries,” Nina says, hopping to her feet. “Five minutes doesn’t constitute as late in anyone’s book around here.”

  “Cool. Where’s Sabine?”

  Court stands. “She’s already up at the house.”

  “Trying to get into my brother’s pants,” Nina adds.

  “Is… Miguel?”

  She nods. “Sabine doesn’t like him. She tells me all the time.” Nina rolls her eyes. “But get a couple drinks in her, and she seems to forget all about that.”

  “You guys ready?” Court asks.

  Cameron nods, reluctantly, and I say, “Show us the way.”

  The walk is not a long one, just straight down to the beach and then a few hundred yards south. I can see the light of the bonfire as soon as we step onto the sand. Noise follows directly on its heels. Loud music, bass pounding through the night. Laughs and screams mixing together to form a typical party soundtrack. The ocean crashes to our left, its steady rhythm keeping pace with our steps, and I find myself drifting toward it—it calling me to its embrace.

  Flip-flops in hand, I make my way across the beach until I hit cool, compacted sand. Three steps later, water tickles the edge of my feet, caressing my skin with its cool touch. By the time we reach the party, I’m walking midcalf deep, soaking in as much of the power of the ocean as I can, relishing the mist on my face and the salt air curling around me.

  We stop a few yards short of the fire, and Nina and Court break off to talk to some friends. It’s only now that I realize Cameron is in the water with me, his jeans rolled up over his shins, one leg higher than the other. His flip-flops are shoved into his back pockets. In the flickering light of the fire, I can see where the water has glued his hair to his legs.

  “You ready?” I ask him.

  “We could just stay out here,” he answers.

  It’s tempting. I can’t imagine anything in that house being better than the feel of the ocean rolling over my feet. But Sabine’s spotted us and is emphatically waving us over.

  “Let’s go up,” I say. “Sabine might dislocate a shoulder if we don’t.”

  When we get to her, she’s yelling, “You made it!” She throws her arms around me, hugging me tight. She smells strongly of citrus and alcohol. When she lets go, she immediately pulls Cameron into an equally tight hug. “You guys want a drink? Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.”

  Sabine traipses up the beach toward the house and, with a shrug, Cameron follows. I fall into step after one more glance at the ocean.

  “How many do you think she’s had?” he asks.

  “I dunno,” I say. “That greeting didn’t actually seem like much of a departure from this afternoon.”

  “I can hear you,” Sabine singsongs. “I’m not drunk at all.” She belches.

  While it seems like every person in Virgo Beach is at the bonfire, the house is practically barren. A couple people flow through the living room and a girl pounds on the door of what I assume is the bathroom, but the kitchen is empty. The sink is full of ice with cans and bottles of beer poking through, a random hard cider peeking out from one side. Bottles of hard liquor crowd the counter, red plastic cups stacked in between.

  Sabine says, “How drunk do y’all wanna get? We’ve got the lightweights in the sink and the heavy hitters on the counter.”

  “Water?” Cam asks.

  “No can do, handsome.” She grabs a Miller Lite from the sink and tosses it to him. “This is as close as we can get to that.”

  “Uh, thanks.” He wipes the can on his pants and cracks it open. I notice he doesn’t drink.

  She turns to me. “What about you?”

  “I don’t care. Something good.”

  Her face lights up and she sets to work at the counter, pouring liquids into a cup at lightning speed. Twice, she holds the concoction to her nose and takes a deep sniff before adding more booze. With a final splash of something clear, she spins, sloshing some of my drink onto the floor.

  “Madam,” she says, “your drink.”

  It’s a vicious color, one I imagine is usually reserved for toxic waste. The smell is intense, burning my nose. Sabine is staring, so I put it to my lips and take a tiny sip.

  “Oh my gosh! That’s insane.” The drink tastes exactly like Sour Patch Kids.

  “Right? It’s my favorite.”

  “I could drink this all week long,” I say and pull another swig. I don’t know how she did it, but the alcohol has no bite. It’s just sweet and sour and green and delicious. I drink more.

  Half a cup later, the room is spinning. “Whoa,” I say, “this stuff is strong.”

  Cameron grabs my arm and tugs me gently toward the door, leaving his full beer can on the counter. “Let’s get outside so you can have some fresh air.”

  The fire is even bigger than it was before, and I watch as a huge gu
y in jeans and a plaid shirt throws another pallet into the blaze. The crowd cheers, and Sabine skips up to him.

  “Clem, you gotta meet my new friends,” she slurs, pointing in our general direction. “This is Anna and Christopher.”

  “Cameron,” I correct. Cameron says nothing.

  “Hey, man,” Clem says, clapping Cameron on the shoulder. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine.”

  “Chris isn’t a big talker,” Sabine slurs. “Hey, have you seen Miguel?”

  Clem guffaws deep and low then takes a swig of his drink. Foam clings to his mustache. “Lover boy went down to the water. Something about skinny dipping. Run, princess. This may be your only chance to see him in the buff.”

  “Shut up,” she laughs, but takes off toward the ocean.

  My mind is buzzing, stuck on those two words: skinny dipping. Can it really be this easy? I squint against the brightness of the fire and look down to the edge of the beach. Five or six shadows run and spin near the water, and soft laughter drifts to my ears.

  A hand waves in front of my face. “Earth to Anna,” Clem says. I ignore him, turning to Cameron. “Number six,” I say.

  He stares at me.

  “The list.” How could he have forgotten? This is the whole purpose of our trip. “The list, Cameron! Number six: Go skinny dipping.”

  He looks to the ocean then back to me, slowly. “Now?”

  “Why not?” I’m already walking toward the water. “Don’t you see—it’s fate.”

  He scrambles to keep up with me. “Fate, Anna? You’re drunk. Let’s just do this another time, okay?”

  I kick my shoes off as soon as I hit the compacted sand. It feels cooler now than it did on the way to the party. Cameron grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop. “Anna, come on.”

  I tear out of his grip and spin to face him. “No, you come on. This is why we’re here, Cam. To complete the list.” I pull my tank top over my head in one fluid movement and drop it to the ground at my feet. Cameron stares at the sand to my left as I step out of my shorts. Standing in only my bra and panties, the cool ocean breeze plucks up goose bumps on my skin.

  “Last chance,” I tell him. “You in or out?”