by Inda Herwood
I’m thinking of destroying the painting I made her for her upcoming birthday in retaliation when the door opens, the size of it causing a sucking air pocket that makes me stumble backward, nearly dropping the stupid pan I came over here for.
“You don’t take hints very well, do you?” Beckham says, looking down on me with a brutish, tight-lipped frown, his hand still holding the door, like he’s considering slamming it in my face. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, gray T-shirt all wrinkled and his sweatpants hanging on for dear life on his hips, showing off the waistband of his Calvin Kleins.
I’m definitely shredding that painting.
“Do you want your pan or not?” I ask, not bothering to pretend to be nice anymore; holding out the dish for him to take. I doubt he even heard me, what with those giant headphones on. They look like the noise cancelling type.
He slowly slips them off his head and lets them hang around his neck, his curls indented where they once sat. He has a sort of smirk on his face that I don’t like when he looks at it. “A pan? You came over to return a pan?”
“Yes, now take it. It’s heavy.” I’m not kidding. Holding this thing out with one hand for so long is giving me a cramp.
Seeing this and taking surprising mercy on me, he wraps his large, warm hand around the ceramic, his fingers grazing mine for only a quarter of a second, but I feel their burn all the way down to my toes. I quickly retreat my hand, ready to make a run for it before I can embarrass myself any more than I already have.
But before I can take one step away from the house, the big golden retriever I saw at Mr. Lyons’ art store comes bounding out onto the deck, wagging his tail and attacking me in doggy kisses after he sniffs me and deems that I’m okay. “Hi, big guy. What’s your name?” I ask through a chuckle, ruffling the soft fur around his neck; his big doggy mouth appearing to smile at me in delight.
“That’s Goldie Hawn. But we all call him Hawn for short,” Beckham tells me, sounding embarrassed as he does.
I look at him, barely retaining a laugh. “Goldie Hawn?”
He rolls his eyes. “Catcher thought it’d be funny because he’s a golden retriever, and since no one else could come up with anything better, it stuck.”
“Well I think it’s adorable, yes I do. You’re just a sweetheart, aren’t you?” I tell the pup, who’s now on his back and begging for a belly rub, tail flying everywhere.
“Jeez, at least try to play hard to get, dude,” Beckham tells him, a slight smile on his face as I continue to pet his dog.
Standing back up, Hawn gives me one more wag of his tail before he bounds back into the house, his nails clicking on the hardwood floors as he disappears again.
Still smiling at the encounter, I ask Beckham, “Tell everyone I said hi, and that my family loved the banana bread. I’m sure my mom will be over for the recipe any day now.” I doubt he’ll do any of it, but I figured it was worth a shot.
When he doesn’t respond, I start to step off the porch, deciding that one small smile from him is as close as I’m going to get to a positive response. And I think that was more aimed at the dog than me.
“What do you do up there?” I hear his voice ask as I take my first steps to freedom. But his words effectively stop me from making any further progress.
Without turning around, I ask him, “What do you mean?”
I hear him release a deep, bothered sigh, finally making me turn back around to face him again. He actually looks pissed at himself for asking the question. “The turret. You’re up there every day. What do you do?”
Hmm… “If I’m not wrong, you would have to be staring at me to know this, right?” I can’t help but dig in the fact. He’s caught me staring once on accident, but apparently, he’s been making this a regular hobby of his. Talk about calling the kettle black.
It also shouldn’t give me a sick sense of satisfaction to know I’ve made him curious, but it does.
He narrows those Caribbean blue eyes, leaning against the doorframe, the picture of ease. But I see the way his jaw ticks, the little furrow in his brow. “It’s not staring, but noticing.” A pause extends between us before he says, “So, are you going to answer the question?”
I take a minute to decide, and ultimately land on, “No.”
It appears I’ve taken him by surprise. His eyes turn into little slits of annoyance.
My smile widens.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs his shoulders, but I can tell it bothers him.
Good. He deserves it after the way he’s been treating me.
He goes to shut the door without so much as a “Thank you for giving me my pan back” or a “Goodbye.” But before it’s closed all the way, a manicured hand is stopping it, and then slamming it open again. Leigha is smiling at me from the other side, looking cute and put together as usual in a white bikini with her dark hair up in a bun. I would kill for her long legs that practically glisten with her tan.
“You’re back!” she says excitedly, not able to read the tension between me and her cousin. Or maybe she’s just pretending it’s not there.
“I wanted to give you your pan back,” I tell her, pointing at a frowning Beckham.
She looks him over, smirking when she sees the small pan sitting in his large hand. “That’s lucky. I was just about to come over and invite you to some swim lessons.”
I swallow hard, feeling my face pale at the words, “Swim lessons?”
She nods while Beckham reads my true expression, his lips turning into a sick smile at my discomfort. “Yeah. Catcher and I are teaching Theo how to swim this summer, and since you said you didn’t know how to either, I thought maybe you’d like to learn with us.”
I take an unintended step backwards, holding up my hands to say, “No, that’s okay. It’s really not –”
“Wait,” Beckham says, cutting me off. “You moved to a beachfront house, and you don’t know how to swim? How is that possible? Everyone knows how to swim.”
“She lived her whole life in a city, remember?” Leigha tells him, swatting his arm with the back of her hand. Leaning up on her tip toes, she whispers to him, but not low enough that I can’t hear what she says. “I told you to be nice.”
He whispers back, keeping one eye on me, “And I never said I would be.”
She huffs, pushing him out of the doorway with both hands. Once he’s no longer blocking my entrance, she steps onto the porch and drags me inside, shutting the door behind us. I can tell by the expression on his face that even Beckham wasn’t expecting such determination from his cousin.
“Forget about Mr. Moody here. He hasn’t had his caffeine yet,” Leigha explains, giving him another dirty look.
“Hey! My Witchy Woman is finally here.” Catcher comes bounding around the corner, a wide smile on his face when he sees me. He has on a pair of swim trunks that match his eyes and nothing else. My mouth instantly goes dry at the sight of his impressive six pack, and his wide swimmer’s shoulders.
His older brother grunts next to me.
Without any pretense, Catcher grabs me around the middle and swings me in a circle, my legs easily coming off the ground. I’m still giggling when he sets me back on my feet, feeling slightly dizzy, but amused by his antics. Getting my bearings, I ask him, “Witchy Woman?”
He shrugs. “You know, like Blair Witch Project, mixed with the Cromwell’s from Halloweentown, equals my Witchy Woman.” He clucks me under the chin, and I grin, pushing his hand away.
“Very clever,” I tell him, all while his brother drills a hole in me with his eyes, lips in an angry line. Hate is coming off of him in the form of a suffocating cloud.
Jeez, what’s his problem now?
“So, I take it my cousin was successful in her mission?” Catcher says, looking between us expectantly.
“What mission?”
“To have you learn how to swim with us.”
Oh, that. “I don’t think so.” I’m about to explain the whole bread pan story when he start
s shaking his head.
“I’m afraid no is not an answer to us,” he says, sounding completely serious. “Everyone should learn how to swim. It’s helpful in emergency situations, like if you ever fall off a boat.”
“But I don’t plan to be on any boats.” Ever. “And if I was, wouldn’t I be wearing a life jacket?”
I swear I hear Beckham snicker behind me, but when I turn to give him a glare, he’s gone. I look around, trying to see where he could have disappeared to, but find no trace of him. I also see no trace of the party that was here the day before. It looks as clean as any house I’ve ever seen. The wood floors are spotless, and the kitchen is practically sparkling. You’d never guess over a hundred people were here only hours ago.
“Either way, swimming is a good skill to learn, life jackets or not,” Leigha says, nodding her head at her own sage advice.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Catcher says, nudging my shoulder with his own. “Theo will be with us. We won’t venture outside of three feet of water.”
“But my swimming suit is still in the wash.” I took it off last night and threw it in the laundry room, figuring I probably wouldn’t be wearing it again, let alone so soon.
“I have a hundred you can pick from,” Leigha offers, officially ending my line of justifications for not learning how to swim. I have nothing left in my arsenal.
Knowing I’ll regret this, I say anyway, “I’ll do it on one condition.”
Catcher asks, lips smiling victoriously, “And what’s that?”
“I’m going to require floaties. Lots of them.”
Catcher laughs, thinking I’m joking until I raise my brows at him. He cuts himself off after that, schooling his expression only partly. He’s still smiling like he finds me a funny mystery.
With a clap of her hands and a ridiculously happy smile, Leigha says, “Of course! We have extras for Theo, so there’ll be more than enough. Come on, let’s go get you a suit.” Taking my hand and leaving Catcher behind, she drags me through the house, up the stairs, and down the wide hall of the second floor. We bypass door after closed door before we enter her room, a pretty space made up of white walls, cream-colored linens, and a mahogany floor that matches the furniture. Her windows overlook a sliver of the ocean from this side of the house.
“How long have you been spending your summers here?” I ask when she dives into her walk-in closet, searching her suits for one that might fit me. I fear anything she picks will have me swimming in it, pun intended. Where I’m short and a little too skinny to be called curvy, Leigha is tall like her cousins and with the shape of a grown woman to boot. She has the kind of body that makes magazine covers and floods Instagram everywhere you look.
“It’s hard to remember. It’s been a tradition for so long, it feels like I’ve always been here. Ah! This one might work.” Leigha walks back out of the closet, holding up a dark blue one-piece that has a bunch of cutouts on the sides, making it look like the suit is made of rope; covering just enough of what it needs to.
It makes my bikini look like a parka.
I shake my head at her choice before she even opens her mouth. But she insists, “I think this might be the only one I have. I bought it a few years ago in a smaller size, thinking I’d lose some weight. But then I remembered my love for donuts, and that notion went right out the door.” Dancing the excuse for a swimsuit in front of me, she says, “Trust me, you have the body for this. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“If that were coming from Catcher, I’d believe it,” I say with a chuckle, knowing he’d give it to me straight. When she flashes me those sad puppy dog eyes, begging me to go with it, I say on a sigh, “This isn’t going to be good.”
“That’s the spirit!” she says with enthusiasm, making me shake my head, wondering what I just got myself into.
I change in the closet, feeling skittish when I step in front of her mirror, seeing my reflection. My favorite thing about the suit is the color. The deep blue matches my eyes, making them appear smokier than usual, and less brown. Though I’m a thin girl, it makes it seem as if I have actual curves, the lines of fabric showcasing a small waist and putting emphasis on hips that look more pronounced than usual. At least my chest is covered, remaining the same as before. I was afraid that the girls would be popping out, too, but I think we’re good.
Walking back into the room, I face Leigha with a grimace.
“What’s that face for? You look great!” she says, sounding like she means it.
“It looks like I’m trying to be a Kardashian.”
“So what? You look good, and you should be proud of what you’ve got. Honestly, I wish I had a cute little butt like that.” She then inspects her own, frowning at its size, which is considerably larger than mine.
“All I’m saying is that if anyone takes a picture, I’m throwing them in the water,” I tell her, being dead serious. The last thing I need is for my barely covered tush to be immortalized.
She nods. “Got it.” Walking towards the door, she says over her shoulder, “Ready to swim?”
“Nope,” I respond with a smile, to which she laughs before taking my hand again and leading me out of her room.
On our way down the hall, I notice one of the many doors is no longer shut like before. A foot-wide crack is now allowing me a small look into the room, the walls painted dark blue and covered in record covers.
One long body is lounging in the desk chair, head bent low until it sees us walk by.
When Beckham looks at me, our eyes connecting, it’s the first time since our meeting in the window that I don’t feel any animosity from him. All I see and sense is shock. He stares at me, mouth partly open before he quickly shuts it, attempting to go back to indifference.
Leigha stops us in front of his door, telling him, “We’re going down to the pool. You’re welcome to join the lesson if you want.”
He gives me one more look, feeling a lot chillier this time, before answering her. “Don’t count on it.”
She nods, looking disappointed but seeming to accept it all the same.
As we continue down the hall, my mind replays the unfamiliar look he gave me, wondering why he’s so hot and cold all the time. One second he acts like I’m a nuisance, the next he’s asking me what I do in my art room, as though he’d actually like to know. It’s like emotional whiplash.
“I should apologize for him. He’s been going through some stuff lately. But it’s not because of you, believe me,” Leigha says, looking like she hopes I do.
“What kind of stuff?” I have to ask, not knowing if she’ll actually tell me or not.
“I was going to tell you this anyway, because of Theo,” she says, taking a breath before admitting, “Last year Beckham and Theo were in a car accident. They were side swiped by an idiot texting on his phone, and both boys came away with injuries.”
The scars on Beckham’s face suddenly come to mind. I was wondering where he could have gotten them. “Anything serious?”
She shakes her head. “No, but…Theo – Theo hasn’t spoken a word since it happened. He became a selective mute from the trauma, or so the therapist said. And Beckham has been like an open sore ever since. His personality completely changed after everything that happened. He used to be more like Catcher, believe it or not.”
We’re at the bottom of the stairs now, both looking into the backyard where Catcher is already on the pool deck with Theo, attaching his floaties for him. Hawn sits right next to him, wiggling excitedly when Theo pets him behind his ears.
“I’m sorry he’s been so rude to you. He’s not a fan of strangers, and after the accident, he became even more protective of his brothers and me.”
“But it’s not like I’m going to hurt any of you,” I say, wondering why he would think me of all people could be a threat to his family.
“We know that, and I’m sure he does too, on some level. But he’s stubborn, and it’s probably going to take the whole summer for him to accept that you’re not going aw
ay just because he said, ‘Boo’.”
“I had kind of planned to,” I hate to tell her, but it’s the truth. When she looks at me, her eyes a mixture of surprise and hurt, I explain, “It’s mostly because I had some trouble at my last school with friends that turned out to be…well, not so friendly. I’m just tired of being around people that hate me.” I’m shocked at how good it feels to say that out loud. My parents and Nana knew the gist of what happened with my friends, but they didn’t know how much it had really hurt me. And now being around Beckham, who is a stark reminder of those people, makes it feel like I’m going through it all over again.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” Leigha apologizes. “But really, I don’t think my cousin hates you. He’s just guarded is all.”
I can only nod, feeling my throat tighten.
“You know what? Enough with the drama. We’re here to have fun, right?” Smiling again, she leads us towards the double doors to the backyard. “It’s time to learn how to swim so that one day, we can take you on the boat.”
Uh, “Boat? What boat? No one said anything about a boat.” I’m two seconds away from planting my feet in the ground like a tree if she doesn’t explain.
“Our sailboat. It’s awesome. We go out all the time with a picnic basket to fish, swim, and tan. You’ll love it.” She’s opening the doors now, taking us out onto the deck, the harsh sunlight causing me to flinch.
It’s only too late that I realize I should have asked a lot more questions before I agreed to be a part of the Lyons family posse.
CHAPTER 5
Blaire
“Look, Theo. We have another student joining the class today,” Leigha says while greeting him with a pat on the shoulder.
Theo looks up at me, squinting from the bright sun, just like myself.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I say to him, putting my hand over my eyes to stop the burning of my corneas.
He shakes his head no, my heart breaking when I remember what Leigha told me about his muteness.