Pulled Under (Sixteenth Summer) (8 page)

“They don’t look good?” he asks, pointing at the shorts.

“No,” I say with a cough. “They look . . . great.”

“Yeah,” Sophie adds. “Nice trunks.”

The mention of trunks makes him smile, unleashing the dimples again. “I know, I know. I promise I’ll get the hang of it all.”

He is totally oblivious to his current overall hotness factor, which only makes him that much more appealing. He goes back into the fitting room, and the others turn to me and we’re speechless again.

“She’s right,” Nicole finally says. “That’s worth way more than a movie.”

It takes everything we’ve got not to bust out laughing. I can honestly say I have never felt the way I feel at this particular moment. I know it sounds pathetic, but it’s making me a bit dizzy. I’m having trouble processing the whole thing.

By the time we’re done, he’s picked up another pair of board shorts, two Surf Sisters T-shirts, and a pair of inexpensive but comfortable flip-flops.

“Give us some catwalk action,” Sophie says. “Let’s see how it plays.”

Ben goes along with this and walks back and forth in front of the register, accenting it with some goofy fashion poses. When he’s done, he turns to the three of us and asks, “So what do you think?”

“I’d believe he was an islander,” says Nicole.

“It won’t be official until he loses the tan line from his socks,” adds Sophie. “But he’s definitely getting there.”

“I can hardly believe it,” I say.

He takes it to mean that I can’t believe how well he’s got the look down. And while that’s true, it also means that I can’t believe this is happening to me. The cynic in me is waiting for the bubble to burst.

A
fter we leave the shop, we head down to the beach and walk barefoot along the waterline. I point out some shells and a shark’s tooth, but for the moment the lessons are over. I just want to enjoy . . . this.

Whatever “this” is.

It is the most romantic moment in my life, which is a bit of a problem because for all I know I’m just his shopping buddy. I mean, he really seems to like me and we’ve spent the day together, but I don’t know how to know for sure. It would be great if he held my hand as we walk along the beach, but his hands are full because he’s carrying two Surf Sisters shopping bags.

I decide to add a little stop.

“Let me teach you something,” I say. “Stop, look out at the water, and wiggle your feet like this.”

I wiggle my feet side to side and they start to sink into the wet sand. He does the same, and we both settle in about ankle deep.

“I like it,” he says.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” I reply. “I always love to do that when I’m walking along the water’s edge.”

We spend a quiet moment looking out over the ocean. It’s peaceful and nice, but inside my head I’m going a million miles a minute. Finally I snap and blurt out, “So, do you have a girlfriend back home in Wisconsin?”

It is very unsmooth and made worse by the fact that it is not followed with a quick denial. His face looks a little pained, and I wish I could erase the question.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s none of my business.”

“I don’t mind,” he says. “I don’t have a girlfriend . . . anymore. I did for a long time. For over a year. But we broke up during spring break.”

That sounds pretty recent considering they dated for so long. I should stop asking questions, but I can’t help myself. “Did you break up because you were coming here for the summer and she didn’t want to try long distance?”

“That may have been part of it,” he says. “But there were a bunch of little things. I think a lot of it has to do with my parents. I mean, I always thought they were a perfect couple, happy and in love with each other. Then it turned out that they weren’t. It made me realize that things aren’t always how they seem. I started to question what was going on with Beth and me, and eventually I decided that we weren’t right for each other either.”

Beth and Ben
. Ugh. They even sound perfect together.

“I’m sorry. It really isn’t any of my business.”

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “Actually, it’s kind of nice to have someone I can talk to about it. Things were so crazy at home, I didn’t even tell my parents until a month after it happened. And my guy friends were useless. They don’t usually have much to offer when it comes to relationships.”

I have killed the mood and totally lost control of this conversation. I have done the boy-girl version of pearling and it’s my own fault. Yet I can’t seem to make myself pull out of it. I just have to know whom I’m competing with.

“What’s Beth like? I bet she’s pretty.”

“She’s really pretty,” he says, in an automatic way that I could never imagine a guy saying in reference to me. “And smart. And funny. Everyone thought we were perfect together.”

I would like to go on the record here and declare that I completely hate Beth.

“But that’s history,” he says with a trace of melancholy. “She’s in Wisconsin and I’m in Florida.”

Izzy Lucas, door prize.

I really have no idea what to say next, so I just stand there and try to imagine how I can possibly compete with the girl he just described.

“It’s easy to talk to you,” he continues. “You’re the kind of girl I can just be myself with. That’s nice.”

And the final verdict is in.

“Easy to talk to,” “kind of girl,” and “nice” are all codes I know how to decipher. I’m the confidante, the girl he feels comfortable talking to about the girl he really likes. Unfortunately, this falls into the category of “been here, done this.” My heart feels like it’s sinking into my stomach just like my feet sank into the sand.

T
hat’s it?” an exasperated Sophie exclaims when I finish recapping my day with Ben. “That’s the end of the story?”

“That’s it,” I say.

We’re sitting in a booth at Mama Tacos sharing a plate of nachos.

“You bailed too early,” she says.

“I hung in there as long as I could,” I reply.

Nicole has an order of chips and guacamole and slides into the booth next to me.

“I still think he’s totally into you,” Sophie says.

“He sees me the way
every
guy sees me,” I say. “As the one who makes for a really good friend and has a great personality. Besides, I think his parents getting divorced has turned him against the whole concept.”

“The concept of what? Marriage?” Sophie asks. “I’m not saying he wants to settle down for life, but I think he’s interested. And if he is spooked because of what’s going on with his parents, then you’re going to have to be superbrave like my girl Nicole over here.”

She nods toward Nicole right as she chomps down on a huge guac-and-salsa-covered chip.

“What makes Nicole courageous?” Then it hits me. “Wait a second—did you talk to Cody?”

Nicole grins and nods as she finishes the chip.

“I want details!” I say.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she says.

“Liar, liar, skinny jeans on fire,” says Sophie. “It’s a huge deal.”

“Tell me,” I say. “What finally inspired you to break out of your years-long silence?”

She looks me right in the eye and says, “You.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ve never seen you as happy as you looked with Ben,” she says. “I thought maybe that could happen for me. So I just called him up and asked him if he wanted to catch a movie. Just like that. No plan. No script. No stalking.”

My cheeks hurt from how much I’m smiling. “Oh my God! What did he say?”

She almost blushes at the answer. “Yes.”

I really am happy for Nicole. She has liked Cody forever, and it is amazing that she had the courage to ask him out. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that a part of me was dying inside. I inspired her because I looked so happy, but the happiness was all based on hope. Not reality. I was happy because I didn’t know better, and that makes me feel like some tourist who just bought a surfboard for seven hundred dollars.

O
ver the next two weeks I see Ben twice for summer camp. I’m polite, but I try to keep the conversation to a minimum. I just can’t shake the sting of the conversation we had. Normally, I don’t mind being the confidante, but with Ben it’s different. I need more.

At the surfing class he comes up to me before we stretch and asks, “Do you think we can do another lesson this week? I still feel like a fish out of water around here.”

I shrug and tell him, “It’s hard to say. I’ve got a lot going on with my parents this week.”

“Okay,” he replies, sounding a little disappointed. “Maybe next week.”

“Sure, we’ll see.”

I continue using my evasive skills the next week, however, and when he makes a joke about calling something by the wrong name, I just give a halfhearted laugh.

“Right. That’s funny.”

I feel like a total drama queen about it, but it’s just so hard. I like him so much and am utterly embarrassed by my inability to navigate these waters. At the end of the lesson I almost go over to him to talk, but I notice that he’s talking to Kayla and I hear her invite him to a party. I’ve lived here my whole life and have never been invited to one of the cool-kid parties. I take it as the final sign that we belong in different circles and that I should just move along.

That’s what I’m thinking about on the last day of June as I paddle out on my board. It’s early and beautiful and I am safe here, in my special place, with no one around to get in the way. These waters I can navigate perfectly.

The waves are great and it is liberating to ride them one after another. It’s like the surf gods are trying to make up for my heartbreak. My last ride in is perfect, and when it finally dies out, all I have to do is step off the board into the shallow water. I am fully relaxed.

And then I hear clapping.

“I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good.”

I look up at the beach and see Ben sitting there. He stands up, and I have no idea how long he’s been watching me.

“I really think you should compete in some of these contests,” he continues. “I know it’s not your thing but . . . wow.”

“How long were you there?”

“For about forty-five minutes,” he says.

How did I not see him there?
I wonder as I walk up toward him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got seventy-five dollars,” he replies, holding up his wallet. “I want to learn how to surf. I thought you might help me get—what did you call it—a used fish? Is that right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s what it’s called.”

“Great. Where do we find one?”

“You could check online or I can ask around at the shop to see if anyone knows of one for sale.”

He walks right up to me and stops. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks. “Because if I did, I’m sorry.”

“No,” I say curtly. “You’re perfect.”

“Then why are you avoiding me? I thought you were going to teach me about the beach. I don’t want to look online for a surfboard. I want you to help me find one. I want you to teach me how to surf. I want to hang out with you.”

I close my eyes tightly and can feel the burn of the salt water. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . I’m busy. I’ve got work . . . and—”

“I’ll work around your schedule,” he offers. “Besides . . . I thought we were friends.”

“‘Friends,’” I say. “Why does that sound so impersonal? Friends.”

“I take my friendships very seriously,” he replies.

“Of course you do,” I say. “Friends are the kind of people you talk to about other girls, right?”

“Is that what this is about? I’m sorry I talked to you about Beth,” he says. “But if you remember, you were the one who asked me about her. I never would have brought her up, but you asked and I’m not going to lie to you.”

“And what about your new friends, like Kayla?” I ask. “I heard her invite you to a party. Did you go?”

“Yes,” he says. “For about thirty minutes, just to be polite.”

“Is that what this is?” I ask. “You’re being polite?”

“No, this is me trying to figure out why you keep avoiding me. I don’t understand.”

“I know,” I say. “It doesn’t make any sense. I’m really sorry, but I have to head back home so I can go to work. I’m opening the shop today.”

Luckily I’m still dripping wet from the ocean, so he can’t tell that there are tears mixed in with the water on my face. I force a smile and start to walk past him toward my street.

“I knew it was a boogie board,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“When you held it up at camp. I knew it was a boogie board. But I always give a wrong answer so that the kids don’t feel bad if they don’t know something.”

“Then why did you act like you didn’t know later on?”

“I was flustered. I wanted to have an excuse to talk to you,” he says. “I figured if I looked pathetic enough, you might feel sorry for me and help.”

“You were flustered?” I say. “Because of me?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“No. I’m not very good at picking up signs.”

He turns right to me and says, “Let’s see if you can pick up on this one.”

Even though I’m dripping wet and carrying a surfboard, he wraps one arm around my waist and the other around my shoulder and kisses me. To say the least, I’m caught off guard, but I drop my surfboard and start to kiss him back.

It is the first kiss of my life, and on a scale of one to ten I’d have to rate it at least a fifteen. I know I don’t have much to go on, but I have spent a great deal of time thinking about it and it far exceeds my wildest hopes.

There’s a cool breeze coming off the water, the sky is bursting with color and light, and my feet sink into the sand as I lose myself in his lips. I feel like I have caught the longest, sweetest wave, and I want to ride it for as long as possible before it crashes against the shore.

July

I
t’s Tuesday morning and in about fifteen minutes Ben and the summer campers will arrive for their weekly lesson. This will be the first time the kids are going to try to stand up on their boards, and I’ve recruited Nicole and Sophie to help me demonstrate good technique. It will also be the first time I’ve seen Ben since the kiss, so I’m hoping they’ll help me with that, too.

Since we’ve already established that I’m useless at picking up signs, I figure it can’t hurt to have my own signal-deciphering support staff. Of course that means I have to tell them about the kiss, which I haven’t done yet. I drop that bomb while we’re carrying all of the gear down from the shop to the beach.

“By the way,” I say as if early morning romantic encounters on the beach were just part of my every day. “Did I mention the passionate kiss I had with Ben?”

At first they think I’m joking, but then they see the expression on my face.

“Seriously?” Sophie says with total disbelief. “That seriously happened?”

I nod.

“When?” asks Nicole. “This morning? Last night?”

“Yesterday . . .
morning
,” I say sheepishly.

“And we’re only hearing about this now? We were with you all yesterday afternoon. How did it not come up?”

The truth is I didn’t tell them yesterday because I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I’m still not. I know it was awesome and wonderful and the most romantic moment of my life. But it almost feels like it was part of a movie I saw and not something that actually happened to me.

“Details,” Sophie says, more as a demand than a request. “Right now.”

“Okay,” I respond. “But we have to keep setting up. The kids
and Ben
will be here soon.”

I tell them everything as we lay a dozen soft boards out on the sand. After a day to analyze and obsess over every detail, it’s refreshing to actually tell the story. Hearing it aloud reinforces the fact that it really did happen and wasn’t just my imagination. I tell them about catching the last wave and walking up onto the beach. They both eat up the part about Ben sitting in the sand clapping.

“Cute, cute, cute,” Nicole says with a broad smile. “So very cute.”

And although I’m somewhat embarrassed by the melodramatic tone of my conversation with him, I give them an honest recounting of what was said. By the time I get to the kiss, they are eating out of the palm of my hand.

“And . . . ,” Nicole says when I finish.

“And what?” I ask.

“And . . . what happened next?” Sophie asks.

“You heard the part where we kissed, right? That was kind of the big finish.”

They look cheated.

“There’s got to be more!” Sophie claims. “Did he just vanish into thin air? Didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m sure I said something, but my head was spinning way too much for me to remember what it was. I do seem to recall that we were both in a sort of stunned ‘I don’t know what to make of what just happened’ silence during the walk back up from the beach to my house.”

“Was there any sort of follow-up moment?” Nicole asks hopefully

I think about it and nod. “There was a part when I sort of manipulated the situation so that we could kiss again.”

“And yet you left that out?” Sophie asks, frustrated. “You know you’re terrible at telling this story.”

“How did you manipulate it?” asks Nicole.

“When we reached the house, we went around into the backyard and I asked him to help me put my board back on the rack. I told him it had to go on the top pegs but had trouble reaching that high by myself.”

Nicole laughs. “Why did you tell him it needed to be up there?”

I am almost too embarrassed to answer.

“I said it needed to be in direct sunlight to keep any condensation from contracting the foam core.”

They both look at each other and then back at me.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Nicole says. “It’s like you just made up words.”

“I know that and you know that, but he doesn’t know that,” I explain. “It’s not like I could say I wanted him to do it because he’s tall and I was looking for an excuse to brush up against him.”

“Did it work?” asks Sophie. “Did you brush up against him?”

I smile at the memory and nod. “It was electric. I turned and looked up at him, and I was just about to kiss him again when . . .”

“. . . yeah . . . ,” they say eagerly.

“. . . my dad came out from the house to go on his morning run.”

They sag. “Argghhhh.”

“That’s when it got awkward. Dad said something like, ‘Hey Ben, what are you doing here?’ And I sort of panicked.”

“Oh my God,” Sophie gasps. “What did you say?”

“I told him that Ben had stopped by so the two of them could go running together.”

Sophie and Nicole both laugh out loud.

“You did not,” says Sophie.

“No, that’s exactly what I did. Because, you know, I’m so smooth.”

“And Ben went along with it?” asks Nicole.

“He didn’t really have much of a choice. They ran eight miles. By the time they got back, he had to go chaperone the campers on a field trip to the Kennedy Space Center and there was no chance to follow up.”

“So you haven’t seen him since it happened?” asks Nicole.

“The first time will be in a few minutes when he arrives here. I figure it should be a very romantic follow-up. What with all the screaming kids and of course my favorite person on the planet, Kayla McIntyre.”

“Forget about Kayla,” Sophie says. “He’s already picked you over her. She lost. You won. Game over. You’re his summer romance.”

“It was one kiss,” I say, trying to maintain some semblance of reality. “In my world one kiss is a huge deal, but in the regular world I don’t know that it qualifies as a summer romance.”

“Do not sell yourself short,” says Nicole. “You always do that. It was a kiss with purpose.”

“It was a kiss that he had to run eight miles for,” I reply. “How bad is that?”

“No,” she says. “It was a kiss that he thought was worth running eight miles for. How
awesome
is that?”

“The tall girl makes a valid point,” says Sophie. “He likes you. And when you didn’t get the signs he was sending, he built you a billboard.”

“Okay, maybe he does like me,” I concede. “But he’s just broken up with a longtime girlfriend, and he’s all freaked out about his parents’ divorce. I’m not sure he’s looking for a full-fledged summer romance.”

“Well, whatever he’s looking for,” Sophie says, pointing toward the beach access, “we’re about to find out.”

I turn and see Ben marching the kids our way. He’s acting like his normal goofy self, which is a good start, but while he’s wearing his sunglasses I can’t really read his expression.

“Do not sell yourself short,” Nicole reminds me just before they get within earshot. “You are totally worthy of long distance running.”

I appreciate the pep talk, but I’m still in full panic mode right up until the moment he reaches us and flashes that smile. It’s a huge relief. I realize that part of me was worried that he completely regretted what had happened and that he was going to act differently around me. I still don’t know what there is between us, but at least now I know there’s nothing awkward about it, so that’s a big step.

Kayla is her normal self, gorgeous and obnoxious (gorbnoxious?) all at once. She’s got a new bathing suit that truly showcases her (not so) secret weapons, but today I have a secret weapon of my own—Sophie. Wherever Kayla goes, Sophie is right by her side acting like they’re BFFs, roommates, and sorority sisters all rolled into one. This makes it impossible for her to flirt with Ben. When we line up to stretch, Sophie slides in front of Kayla so that she obstructs Ben’s view of her. And when it’s time to pick demonstration partners, Sophie latches on to her arm and exclaims, “We have to be partners, Kayla! We just have to!”

Despite all the subterfuge and mental distractions, the big news of the morning is the lesson. We keep the soft boards—large, padded surfboards—on the sand and practice our paddling and pop-up techniques. Then we hit the water and put them into practice. I can’t express how exciting it is to see the kids’ faces light up the first time they get up on their feet and ride a wave. Even though we’re only in three feet of water, it’s exhilarating for them.

My favorite is Rebecca, the shy girl I noticed the first day. She has continued to come out of her shell a little more each week. Today she stays up on the board the longest of anyone, and I can see in her the same spark I had when I was her age at this camp.

Throughout it all, Ben and I exchange quick glances and whispered comments. Our hands touch a couple of times as we help kids get up on their boards, and once when I’m not looking his way, he uses a boogie board to splash me, which gets a big laugh from everyone. Even with my compromised sign-reading ability, it all seems kind of flirty.

We finally have a brief moment right after the lesson when the kids are taking an orange slice and bottled water break. I look over and see that Kayla is still dealing with Hurricane Sophie, which means she won’t be able to drop in on me again like she usually does.

“They did great today,” I say.

“
You
did great today,” he replies. “The way you love it so much connects with them. They want to feel the same way because it’s so real.”

There’s an awkward pause, so I just jump headfirst into the situation.

“Speaking of real . . . ,” I say, unleashing the worst segue in history, “did that
really
happen yesterday?”

He smiles and nods. “It did. In fact, I think it was maybe going to happen again when we were interrupted.”

“By ‘interrupted’ you mean when you had to take an eight-mile detour with my dad?”

“Kinda, yeah,” he says. “I have to say I did not see that coming. I was hoping that maybe we could talk about it. . . . You know, without so many people around.”

“That can be arranged.”

“How about after work?”

“Sure. My shift ends at six thirty.”

“Great, I’ll meet you at the shop,” he says. “You’re not going to make me go running with your dad again?”

I shake my head. “I promise.”

“Good, ’cause I’m planning on wearing my flip-flops so I blend in with the locals. And those things really make you blister around the three-mile mark.”

Our eyes linger for a moment, and I say, “See you at six thirty.”

“See you then.”

He rushes off to make sure the kids pick up all their orange peels and water bottles, and I start stacking up the surfboards to carry back up to the shop. I see Kayla finally break free of Sophie and head our way, but she’s too late. Today’s score is Dolphin 1, Shark 0. And the dolphin is now in it to win it.

A
lthough Sophie and Nicole seem to think that all the signs they saw on the beach were positive, I’m still approaching the situation with total caution. All I really know is that Ben’s coming to talk with me after work. Maybe he’s planning to say that the kiss was a mistake, or that while he likes me, he doesn’t
like
me like me. It’s all so hard to figure out.

I spend most of the day watching the clock, and at 6:13 I’m in the middle of my “do you see yourself as a shark or a dolphin?” routine with a girl looking for a bikini when Ben comes into the store. He smiles and waves, and since I don’t want to be rude to the customer, I respond on the sly with a half smile and a raised eyebrow that I hope looks cool and not like a nervous twitch.

“Which do you like best?” the girl asks, holding up two swimsuits.

I give her my undivided attention, consider both suits, and point to the one in her left hand. “That one.”

She scrunches up her face. “I think I like the other one better.”

I resist the urge to say, “Then why did you ask me?” and instead go with, “That one looks cute too. Why don’t you try it on?”

She heads for the changing room, and I turn back to look for Ben. Only now he’s gone. I scan the shop and half worry that maybe I’m just imagining him now. (Imaginary boyfriend—that does kind of sound like me.)

Sophie sees my distress as she walks over. “Badger Ben just went out to the garage,” she says, referring to the room where we keep all the surfboards.

“‘Badger’ Ben?”

“You shot down all the dairy nicknames, so I thought I’d try something else. In addition to being America’s Dairy Land, Wisconsin is known as the Badger State. I figure Badger Ben has alliteration and a nice ring to it.”

I don’t pretend to understand what it is with Sophie and nicknames, but I’m a little too anxious at the moment to get into it. “How did he seem?”

“Like he was about to break your heart,” she says. “He’s probably going to tell you that he never wants to see you again and he’s running off to marry Kayla.”

I gasp before I realize she’s joking.

“You might want to turn down the nervous knob,” she says, with a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Listen to the music. I picked this playlist specifically to help you mellow out.”

In the shop we usually play a steady blend of beach, Hawaiian, and reggae music, and after a while you stop hearing it and it disappears into the background of your brain. But now that I listen, I realize that Bob Marley is singing one of my favorite tunes: “Don’t worry about a thing, ’cause every little thing gonna be all right. . . .”

“Okay,” I say after I get the hint, and take a couple of deep breaths. “I’ll calm down.”

“Good, because you’re much better when you’re relaxed. You’re not one of those ‘performs well under pressure’ kind of girls.”

“Gee thanks, Coach. Good to know I can always get a pep talk.”

“I’m just keeping it real.”

“By the way,” I add, “‘Badger Ben’ is a no go.”

She shrugs. “I knew it the second I said it, but you gotta try these things out to be sure.”

Fifteen minutes later my shift is over and the girl has finally decided on a bikini. It goes without saying that she picked the first one I had recommended. I remind myself that it’s important for her to be comfortable with her purchase, so I don’t mind the other five we had to go through before we got back to it.