Riptide (17 page)

twenty-six

console:
to alleviate the grief,
sense of loss, or trouble of
—www.merriam-webster.com

It’s been five days since Grace and I had our spat. Her not explaining whatever is making her so upset, and me throwing Brianna in her face. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s irritating—I can’t fix a problem if I don’t know what it is. Dodging Mr. Parker at the office recently has taken a Herculean effort. It’s not all about me anymore; Hien could get screwed if I mess up. And I’m bummed and stressed about everything. I pick up my cell and text Brianna.

My fingers hover over the keyboard before writing,

Wanna go out tonight?

Ping.
Crap. Fast response. I click on View.

Like on a second date? :)

I hesitate, then write,

You know it.

What time? Seven?

See you then.

I shove my phone in my pocket, annoyed that Grace has taken up such permanent residence in my mind. I deserve somebody like Brianna. Somebody who wants me. Period. Why the heck has it taken me so long to get that? Just realizing it makes me feel stronger, ready to conquer the world. Okay fine, truth is, I’m ecstatic to have an awesome date.

I knock on the door of Brianna’s condo, wondering if her folks are there and what kind of people they are …

A lady answers the door. She’s pretty. A slightly larger, older version of Brianna. She smiles at me. “You must be Ford. I’m Nadine. It’s nice to meet you.”

We shake. I say, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Brianna zips in next to her mom. “Oh no you don’t.” She grins. “If I don’t get you out of here now, Mom will have you on the couch flipping through baby pictures of me in the buff.”

I glance at her mom and kind of smile-shrug, to make sure she’s cool with us heading out.

She nods her approval. “You two have fun. Be back by midnight!”

I say, “Yes ma’am.”

Once we’re in the truck, I check Brianna out as she sits next to me, looking gorgeous. She’s wearing a dark brown top that hugs her chest and then hangs loose. Her jeans hug her thighs. Her long silver earrings dance with her braids as she tilts her head, smiling. She’s really beautiful, but even better than that? She’s smart and she shoots straight. She knows what she wants and I know where I stand with her.

I start Esmerelda and check Brianna out one more time. “All right, ma’am. Let’s roll.”

After we have dinner at a casual sushi bar, I decide to go the romantic route. Once we’re back in the truck, I ask, “You want to hang out at Black’s?”

“Is that a club?”

I laugh. “No, it’s a beach.”

She says, “I guess.”

I crank up the engine. “You ever hung out at the beach at night?”

“No.”

I grin, excited to share it with her. “It’s magic.”

She scoots over to the middle of the bench seat and buckles up, resting her leg against mine. I turn on some Ben Harper and off we go.

When I pull into the parking lot at the glider port, it’s virtually empty. Except for a few lone vehicles.

The sunset is almost complete. “Crap. We better hurry.”

I rush out of the truck while Brianna puts on lip gloss. Then she exits with finesse, no struggle. “Wow,” I say. “I think Esmerelda likes you.”

She pats the truck’s side. “Of course she does.”

I shut the door behind her. “The view from the cliffs is sweet.”

“It’s really pretty out here,” she says.

We head to my favorite patch of grass and sit. Brianna shifts uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She makes a face. “This isn’t exactly the right kind of outfit for sitting in dirt.”

I pat my lap. “I’ll protect you.”

She grins. “Well, okay.” She settles into my lap.

I shift, trying to make sure she’s comfortable. I peek around her, trying to focus on the sunset. It’s a red sliver on the ocean.

“You’re a really cool guy … you know, what you and Hop are doing for his friend. It’s huge.”

Embarrassed to take credit for something I wish I could do more about, I say, “It’s Hollingsworth who’s going to kick ass. We just got them connected. But someday…”

“Someday you’re going to be the one kicking courtroom ass.” Then Brianna turns and whispers in my ear, “It’s a great view.”

I happily agree, looking at the red streak glowing across the sky. “Yeah, it is.”

She nuzzles me. “No. You.”

My face feels hot.

She places her hands on my cheeks. “You’re so cute. Acting all embarrassed.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She leans forward, her minty breath warm on my face. I close my eyes and give in. Heaven. I glance at her, heart pounding. I lean in to kiss her, and she meets me halfway. My pulse pumps like a jackhammer. I kiss her soft and slow, crumbling. Her earrings jingle. I’m trying to rein things in. Use self control. She’s a sweet girl. I haven’t really even made out with anyone before. I’ve been holding out for Grace.

And Grace. Crap. She doesn’t belong here.

I focus on Brianna and lean in for another kiss.

twenty-seven

It is an equal failing to trust
everybody and to trust nobody.
—Thomas Fuller

This past week has been tense. Mom’s been working late hours. My normally clean room looks like someone else lives in it; it’s as disheveled as I feel. Ford and I haven’t made up yet, and I know our argument wasn’t big enough for this. It seems like every time I call or text, he’s busy with work stuff or hanging out with his new friends. I don’t understand why he’s acting like this.
Hello
, the surf comp is in four days and I still haven’t nailed the 360.

Damien should be here any minute. He’s been a lifesaver. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know how I would have made it to the beach so much this week. I snag my cell, throw my duffel over my shoulder, and run for the garage. I can’t stand being late. The screwier things get, the earlier I like to be. Early is on time. On time is barely making it. And being late equals major stress.

Bam. I crash into Dad in the hallway. What the crap?

“Sorry, Dad. I didn’t realize anyone was home. I thought you were at the office this morning.”

He raises the back of his hand and then stops. I flinch. He grits his teeth. “That doesn’t mean you run around wild, crashing into things. You’re going to scrape the paint on our walls. Show some respect.”

The last thing I need is Damien knocking on our front door and hearing Dad yell at me or worse. “Sorry, Dad. I won’t run in the hall anymore. Damien should be here any minute and I didn’t want to make him wait.”

“Get the hell out on the porch and wait for him, then. I’ve got a case to work on. Are your chores finished?”

Is he nuts? It’s seven in the morning. In the summer. Who has their chores finished?

I do the only thing I can do—lie. “I started earlier this morning. I’m almost finished. I’ll have them done by the time you get home this evening.”

I bank on the fact that he needs to get to work and I’m about to leave. Good God, I’m tired of lying. It feels like my entire life is one big lie. Lie to everyone about what a wonderful family I have. Lie to dad about chores. Lie to mom about surfing and college and how I feel about Ford. Lie to Ford about not wanting to date him. That’s the one that makes me feel the worst.

He snarls, “Make sure you do.”

“Yes sir.”

Our zen-sounding door bell chimes. How ironic. I feel anything but calm.

“That’s probably Damien. I should answer the door.” I wait for Dad’s approval, dying that I’m now late.

“Get moving, then. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay, thanks. Bye Daddy.” I speed-walk to the front door and try to shake off the adrenaline rushing through me. It’s all good. I’m going surfing. All I need to do is work on surf skills and keep up with my chores. Then everything will fall into place.

I open the door with my best fake smile. “Hey. Sorry to make you wait.”

Damien takes my duffel bag. “No worries.”

“Thanks.” I punch in the code for the garage and duck underneath the door while it’s still rising. I snag my board and hurry out. Escape. That’s what I want. That’s where I’m headed. I close the door. Damien takes the board.

And then I deflate. “Crap.”

“What?”

“I forgot to fill the jugs with hot water,” I say, tucking my hands in and out of my sleeves. Damien and I have been rinsing off with fresh warm water after our surf sessions. It’s a little thing, but it feels so good.

“Chillax, girl. I’ll get your board strapped in, no rush.”

This is so not the day to go back inside and risk another run-in. But what am I supposed to say to Damien?
We don’t have hot water?
I’m extra-scared of Dad this morning?
Yeah, right. I bite my lip and trudge back to the house. As I step through the front door, I hear cursing come from my bedroom. Shit.

Forget it. Just go, go, go. I rush to the pantry to grab some empty water jugs and fill them up as quickly as possible. Thank God we have an instant hot water tap. I’m working on jug number two when I hear heavy footsteps closing in on me. I’ll play dumb.

“Oh hey, Daddy. I forgot the hot water jugs. I’ll be out of your way in just a minute.” I glance backward to see dirty laundry in his hands.

“‘Almost finished,’ huh? I’d sure as hell hate to see what ‘haven’t even started’ looks like.”

“It’s really not that much. It looks worse than it is.” My pulse quickens and I consider bailing—leaving the jugs on the counter, running and never coming back. Instead I pop the lid onto the jug. Damien will think I’m crazy if I walk out without these things full, and I don’t want to explain any more than I want to face Dad right now.

He slams the laundry on the table. “Then you’ll have no problem showing me what spotless looks like tomorrow morning.”

I cringe. “Yes sir.”

He flings his arm in the air and shoos me toward the door. “Well, what’s wrong with you? You’re making him wait.”

“Yes sir.” I grab the jugs and scramble for the door, but not before getting a hard backhand on my rear on the way out. I guess that’s the only place he can be sure Damien won’t see, if it leaves a mark.

Tears smart my eyes. I won’t cry; he won’t win.

I jerk the Jeep door open and shove the water jugs onto the floorboard, then slam the door, blinking back tears and hoping Damien isn’t looking at me.

“Easy there. I waxed her yesterday. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” My voice comes out raspy, but if
I try to clear my throat it will just make it more obvious. “I guess I’m in a rush.”

Silence lingers for a minute. “The waves’ll be there. What’s with the hurry?”

I swallow hard, trying to clear my throat. “Too much.”

Damien turns to me. “Want to talk about it?”

Please God, start the engine already. We need to go. I need to get out of here.

“Not really,” I say, kicking off my turquoise flip-flops and drawing my knees to my chest.

He eyes Dad’s car in the driveway and nods like he understands. “It’s cool. If you change your mind … I’m here.”

If only he knew. I don’t answer. I stare out the window. I screwed things up with Ford. Our relationship is ruined. He’s got new peeps. I don’t want to do the same with Damien. I mumble, “It’s just the fact that my parents kind of have unrealistic expectations. You know? And sometimes my dad gets fired up when he’s pissed.”

He drives down the street away from our house, and with every foot between me and my dad, I feel a nervous energy pulsing through me. I’m unsure as to whether I’m going to laugh or cry or scream.

Damien stays quiet as we exit the neighborhood and I feel dumb for saying anything. I know better than that. Nobody ever wants the truth, not even close to it. It was a moment of weakness. I lost control of my emotions.

Once Damien gets on the highway he says, “Does that mean what I think it means? Like, he’s physical toward you?”

I squirm like an ant under a magnifying glass in the hot sun, my pulse quickening as a lump the size of a brick fills up my throat. I’m miserable; scraping Grimace Rock was a picnic compared to the humiliation weighing on me like a two-ton elephant.

He runs his right hand back over his dreads and then places it back on the wheel. He sucks in a big breath of air, starts to say something, and then stops.

I’m dying. This is why I never say anything. It’s not like anyone can do anything.

He blows air out his mouth and exits the freeway, where he flies across the frontage and whips into the first parking lot he can turn into. He parks and turns to me, intense. I’m wishing I could disappear.

He says, “You know you don’t have to put up with that. Right? It’s total crap. You know that. C’mon, you’re so freaking smart. Why the hell are you still there?”

And while I agree it’s crap, I’m angry. At my parents, my situation, at not knowing who to trust, at humiliating myself, at Damien’s judgment of me.

Bitter, I vomit words and random thoughts. “Oh, like it’s all that easy. Sure, I’ll just move out of my house. To where? With who? And are they going to love me? Like really love me? And why would they? And what about college? Are they going to pay for my education?”

Damien’s eyes grow big and he places his hand on the console between us. “I’m sorry. I know it’s complicated.”

I turn my head. “It’s more than that, and it’s not out of control. I mean … I can handle it. I got one more year, and then they pay for my college and I’m out of there. For good.”

Damien’s hands shake a little and his voice comes out real quiet. “But at what price?”

“Can we just go? More than anything, I need to surf today. Please? And don’t say anything. Nobody knows.”

“Not even Ford?”

I half whisper, “Not even Ford.”

I. Did. It. I surfed the freaking Point and lived to tell. No scratches.

After that conversation with Damien, I needed to blow off steam. I surfed my ass off today. I avoided the rocks and I surfed the Point. All day. Now I’m laid out on the sand like a wet noodle. Ecstatic. Exhausted. I can’t wait to tell Ford. But I don’t want to go home for anything. Who knows when Mom will be home? And I don’t want another run-in with Dad.

Damien sits beside me looking like a Billabong surfer ad.

I stretch out. “Ugh. I don’t want this day to end.”

“Then don’t let it. Let’s live on the edge.”

“How?” I sit up and grin mischievously at Damien, grateful he let things drop. Glad we had a good day. As far as I’m concerned, I’m going to act like I never said anything and it looks like Damien will do the same.

He pulls back a little, tries to hide his surprise. He taps his chin with his pointer finger like he’s thinking hard. Then he smirks. He snaps his fingers and shrugs. “Guess we’ll have to go shopping … on my old man’s card.”

I laugh, half shocked and completely amused. “No way.”

He stands up and puts my bag over his shoulder like a girl wears a purse. “Yes way. Girl, I can be cray-cray. C’mon,” he wheedles.

He’s so hot, standing there acting stupid. Wearing my bag. So tempting. For a split second I close my eyes. Then I give in. “I’m in. What’s that saying?” I twist around to pop my back. Got it. “Sometimes it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

He holds an arm out. We link elbows. Damien cracks me up. He’s a blast.

We get out of the Jeep in front of Goodwill and I walk on the lawn instead of the sidewalk. Such a stupid little thing, but I feel like such a rebel. Ford would be so proud. Crap. I’ve got to get him out of my head. Today I’m having fun—with Damien. Be gone, Ford Watson.