High Tide

by Alyson Santos

  We’ll just have to agree to disagree, and I nearly drain my glass in a few swallows. When I turn back to the happy couple, a third person has joined them. With his back to me, I have plenty of freedom to grimace and register another regret at agreeing to this. I suck back the rest of my alcohol, hoping some liquid courage will be enough to get me through this encounter. You’re doing it for Harper, I remind myself. It’s just one night. One random stranger I can smile at and forget. Smile. I plaster it on my face for “the friend” who follows her point in my direction.

  My heart stops. No way. No freaking way.

  His own smile cuts through a mass of partiers, flashing lights, and thundering music. The dizzying chaos from a moment ago stills in the wake of the connection when our eyes meet in recognition. Is this a setup? This has to be a setup. My glare turns on Harper as they approach.

  “This is crazy!” she shouts. “I had no idea Christian is Jakub’s best friend!”

  She’s too excited to be fazed by the darts shooting from my eyes. “Really? What a coincidence,” I call back through clenched teeth.

  But with Christian so close, my attention can’t stray long and rests on his lips that just happen to be eye-level with me. Great. I allow my gaze to climb to his, drawn in again by the depth. He says something then, his voice triggering a reaction in my body that my brain refuses to interpret. I smile and nod at whatever he said, and soon he’s leading me out to the dancefloor. Shit, this isn’t good.

  My brain screams warnings that fight to compete with the pounding beat of the DJ’s tracks. My body though, that likes the way he tucks me against him. The firm heat radiating from his skin against mine. Gosh, I hate that it’s him. I love that it’s him. I needed it to be him, and I close my eyes for the briefest of seconds, breathing in a strong shower-fresh scent.

  “I did not know it was you,” he says against my ear.

  I pull him closer, hooking my arms around his shoulders and answering with the weight of my head against his chest. I don’t know why we have this connection, why we don’t need words or time, or anything else my lists require, but here I am, clinging to a complete stranger as if he’s the answer to a question I never asked. Safe. That’s the word settling over me.

  Safe. The opposite of what I should be feeling right now. What the hell are you doing?

  I pull back, paralyzed as I stare up into his confused expression. Confused? Of course he is because he doesn’t know he’s been dancing with a train-wreck list whore.

  “I’m…” What?! I don’t even know! “Just… I have to go.”

  Rushing from the floor, I hold my stomach in check as instinct propels me to the closest exit. I can barely breathe by the time I push through, sucking in the evening air with desperate heaves. Doubled over, I lean my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath and calm the rising panic. What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?

  The door clatters, and I know—I just know—who will be standing there. Again, the mixture of fear and longing sends me back a few steps.

  “Did I do this?” Christian asks, taking a tentative step toward me.

  I shake my head but my body language must be telling a different story.

  “I’m sorry. I thought… Your friend, she said—”

  “I know what she said,” I snap. “I was there.”

  “Wow. Okay.” He stops abruptly and holds up his hands. Everything in me wants to take it back, hates the way I’m hurting him for no reason.

  “Sorry. I mean…” I shake my head. “I’m not like her.”

  “Who?”

  “Harper. My roommate. I’m not like her. I don’t do things like this.”

  His brow lifts, those devastating eyes slicing through my resistance. “What don’t you do?”

  “Hook up with random guys.”

  “Hook up?”

  “Yes. I don’t party with strangers and have sex and—”

  “Whoa.” He steps back again. “I’m not…” He’s clearly struggling for the words and mutters something to himself in a language I don’t recognize. “I’m sorry you think this.”

  He runs a hand through his hair as he turns toward the door, clearly upset. Shit.

  “Christian, wait! Wait.” I jump forward and grab his arm from behind.

  He turns, now guarded. This should come as a relief. I successfully broke our strange connection, but instead my chest burns at the loss.

  “No. I…”

  He waits, careful to keep his distance.

  “I do like you. I mean, I want to like you, but I don’t know you.”

  “Of course. I don’t know you.”

  “Right, so.” I glance around the front of the club and spot a bench half a block away. I take his arm and lead him down the sidewalk. “Can we just talk for now?”

  “Okay.”

  He still seems confused, if not concerned by my strange behavior and he’s not alone. No one is more confused than I am. It’s almost impressive how I can push away a person and regret his absence at the same time. The space between us on the bench seems frigid after knowing what he feels like against me. Sparks climb again at the memory, my blood clearly rebelling against whatever nightmare is going on in my head. Why is he still here? Any other guy would have, should have, run from my mess.

  “So, Slovakia,” I say, dragging my shoe over the gravel on the sidewalk. My brain rushes to index any useful tidbits but comes up blank. “Um, Europe, right?”

  His half-smile draws one from me. Oh my gosh. Harper is right. I become a total idiot.

  “Yes. It’s in Europe.”

  “Where in Slovakia are you from?”

  “Bratislava. I study in university.”

  “English?”

  “Physics.”

  I swallow. “Really. Wow.”

  “This surprises you?”

  “No! I mean, maybe. What brought you here then?”

  He shrugs. “I want to experience.”

  “The beach?”

  “America. The world. There is so much.”

  Yes, and I shudder at the thought of climbing on a plane to fly halfway across the world to the unknown. I won’t even go grocery shopping without a detailed plan. “Did you come by yourself?”

  “Jakub and I come together. He is lifeguard also.”

  “How did you get that job?”

  “Many come from Slovakia and Czech Republic also.”

  Hmm… I hadn’t realized that. Then again, I’d never thought much about the backstories of the people we take for granted.

  “And you?” When his attention turns on me I lose my train of thought. Again, that intensity draws me in. The way, for a split second, he seems to see only me.

  I clear my throat. “I’m from Pennsylvania.”

  Amusement flickers over his face and he shakes his head. “Okay, but what do you study?”

  “Oh.” Thank you, dim lighting. “Psychology. I’m about to start my senior year.”

  He nods, processing my response. “Senior is last year of school?”

  “Yes. But then I plan to continue on to my masters and eventually my Ph.D.”

  That smile again. “That is more school? You must like it?”

  “I do.”

  “Me too, but I need to work soon also.”

  “How many years of school do you have left?”

  “One.”

  “And what do you want to do when you graduate?”

  “Maybe teach? Or maybe I do research.”

  “Harper said you seemed smart,” I mutter.

  His grin makes the slip totally worth it. “Why does she think this?”

  “I have no idea,” I say through a laugh, “but I think she’s right.” We exchange another long look, and I realize the gap between us on the bench has disappeared. Part of me longs to lean closer, maybe even tempt his arm to slip around my shoulders, but I ruined any chance of that with my panicked escape earlier. He must think I’m a nut job.

  “Say something
in Slovak,” I blurt out.

  Shy amusement flashes across his face, and I’m officially hooked. Does he even know how captivating he is? “That’s your language, right?”

  “Yes, but what do you want that I say?” he asks with a laugh.

  “I don’t know. Anything. Surprise me.”

  He shakes his head, considering, and finally, “Myslím, že ste pekná.”

  Is he blushing? How can someone be so sexy and adorable at the same time? “Me sleem… say it again?”

  He repeats it, and my own attempt is painful.

  “Okay slow it down,” I say, determined. “First word?”

  “Myslím.”

  “Me sleem.”

  “Že ste.

  “Ja steh.”

  “Pekná.”

  “Peck nah?”

  Now we’re both laughing.

  “Maybe it’s close?” Nice of him to be polite. I sound like a car engine.

  “What does it mean?” I ask.

  He shrugs, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

  “Tell me!” I cross my arms. “Christian, tell me or I’ll try to pronounce it again.”

  “No! Please no,” he teases, and I bump his shoulder with mine. He draws in a breath and turns to me. “I said, ‘I think you are pretty.’”

  Okay, now who’s blushing?

  “I like that,” I say quietly.

  “What?”

  “Hearing you speak your language.”

  We quiet again, sharing a moment that I don’t want to end. Inside that building is chaos and sex. Out here, peace and possibilities. His fingers rest on his knee, and I imagine them entwined with mine. A strange thought. Definitely not safe for a list.

  “Are you a musician?” I ask.

  “Why you ask?”

  I bite my lip, brave in the darkness. “Your hands,” I say, giving into temptation. Warm and strong, his hand feels heavy in mine when I turn his palm. He lets me trace his skin, watching as I explore.

  “Drums,” he says finally.

  “Yeah? In a band.”

  “Just for fun. Not as job.”

  “I played music too once.”

  “Not now?”

  I shake my head, searching for any reason to change the subject—and still keep touching him. “You have calluses.”

  “What is cal-us?”

  “This.” I rub my thumb over a rough patch of skin.

  “Ah. From playing. Holding stick.”

  “I know.” A different woman sits beside this stranger from another world. This woman laces her fingers with his in a risk that feels natural. So natural that I wonder how different his world really is from mine. What goes on behind those beautiful eyes when he’s staring out over the ocean all day? “What does your family think about you being here?”

  I pull in a breath at the way his gaze darts away. His fingers tighten around mine.

  “Nothing. It is not a problem.”

  Language barrier or avoidance, I don’t know, but I sense I won’t get more by pressing. “Well, I’m glad you came.”

  The words slip out and hang between us, pulling us together, pushing me into something I didn’t think I was. Brave. Spontaneous. Dangerous. I don’t like it.

  “There you are!” A voice shrieks from down the street. Christian and I break apart, even shifting an inch or two from each other on the bench.

  “Should have known you’d be out here chatting like an old couple,” Harper says, jumping in front of us. Jakub follows a few steps behind, a smile growing on his lips. He says something to Christian who flinches and barks back a response. Jakub laughs and makes a gesture that Christian slaps away.

  “What are you two saying?” Harper asks.

  Christian shakes his head and casts a discreet glance at me. Jakub appears much less inhibited when he slings his arm around Harper and pulls her against him.

  “I ask Christian if your friend is asleep from all his talking.”

  “Who, Emma?” Harper laughs. “She’s probably in heaven. Good conversation makes her wet,” she explains to Christian.

  “Harper!” I choke out. Oh my gosh. She’s not even drunk.

  “Makes wet?” he asks, confused. Jakub says something in Slovak I wish I could erase from the universe. Christian looks even more embarrassed, a small smile escaping him. He responds, and Jakub laughs.

  “I hate you,” I mouth to Harper who shrugs, unfazed. Funny how every shred of relaxed courage from a moment ago has dissolved into total awkwardness. Introverted, Type-A, List Emma is back with a vengeance, focusing all willpower on not bolting down the street. Lesson learned.

  “Well, I guess we’ll leave you to it. Whatever it is,” Harper says. They take off toward the club, leaving a vacuum of awkward silence in their wake.

  Christian watches their retreat, quiet as something clearly passes through his head. A smile? A frown? I can’t tell where we stand anymore and focus back on the gravel under our feet. Several insects flutter around, landing, lifting, and buzzing to the heavy backbeat of synthetic bass pounding from the club. The air crackles with lost potential.

  “Do you want to go in?” he asks. When I glance over he’s staring straight ahead, clearly lost in his own thoughts. Does he want to? Right now he seems to be regretting following me.

  This whole thing is my fault, so it’s my responsibility to put us out of our misery. “Actually, it’s late and I have homework.”

  “Homework? In summer?”

  “I’m taking a summer class.”

  He nods, but I can’t read his expression. “Okay. Is this why you write so much in your notebook on the beach?”

  He noticed? I search those eyes, finding sincerity and something else. Something deeper and older than the teasing smile he shared with Jakub a minute ago. That twinge in my stomach returns, making me even more eager to escape and regroup. Refocus. Rewind? If only…

  “Yes. Plus I like making lists.”

  “Lists?”

  “Um… rows of words that—”

  “I know what list is,” he says with a smile. “I mean why you do this?”

  I open my mouth to answer. Nothing comes out.

  “You don’t have to tell me.” His tone is gentle, maybe a little empathetic. What doesn’t he want to tell me?

  “It’s not that. It’s just, no one’s asked me that before. I guess… lists make me feel safe.”

  “Safe? How?”

  I shrug. “They give you order which gives you control. Life needs a plan.”

  He looks away again, disappearing to that place in his head.

  “You don’t agree?”

  His silence pulls at something deep inside me, the way his eyes shift over our surroundings. His fingers, absently tapping rhythms on his knees seconds ago, are now clenched in hard fists. My own muscles tighten at the strain of his.

  “Plans are okay,” he says finally. “Until they are traps.”

  A cold rush passes around us. Untold truths.

  He smiles quickly, but I don’t believe it this time. Nor do I believe the casual way he tries to change my mind about extending the night. I especially don’t believe myself when I refuse and convince my brain I’m fine leaving him alone in front of a blaring night club.

  When I look back he’s leaning against the wall, staring at the stars.

  I text Harper on the walk home, updating her on my status and reassuring her that I’m safe. She doesn’t respond until I’m almost at the door, and of course, it’s mostly an ALL CAPS tirade about how stupid I was to ditch my “date.”

  Date. Is that what it was? I’m not convinced as I enter our apartment and drop my clutch on the counter. To be fair, neither of us went into it prepared. If I’d known it would be Christian… What? I would have worn more makeup or less? A heavy sweater or an even shorter skirt? What does he make me feel? Safe and insecure. Nervous and so brave that for a brief moment I caught a glimpse of a woman I didn’t know. He’s dangerous, that much is clear. Dangerous in the way he
smashed through walls others don’t approach. Most people find me rigid, aloof. Fine with me, because the truth is not for them anyway. Even Harper doesn’t know the extent of the shadows lurking beneath my fortress of lists.

  Why do you do this? he’d asked.

  A simple question that cut so deep it’s still sinking into the hidden void.

  I sit at my desk, shaking. My notebook seems so far away as the memories descend. Screaming. So much screaming. I clench my eyes and press my palms to my ears. For some reason it’s always the screaming that rushes in first. Then the pain. Then the loneliness. Then…

  The lists.

  Nights are the worst. For seven years I had a companion in the darkness. The ghosts would come but we could always reach for a hand and fight them together. We had stories and giggles and power. Now, there’s silence. No soft snores of reassurance, no murmurs or whispers. Just. Nothingness.

  My fingers clasp only air as I reach out on instinct. It makes my eyes burn and leak hot drops of liquid that fall quietly to the pillow where they become cold. Cold and dead until they dry up and disappear forever. I clench my lids together and try to imagine her warmth is still beside me. That I can hear steady breaths and twitches of movement. I pretend with all my strength, as if somehow it will be enough to make it real. I need something to be real because none of it makes sense. No matter how many times I relive that moment, I still can’t accept it. That she’s gone and I’m here. That it’s her ghost haunting me tonight. All because I woke up and she didn’t.

  Chapter Four: Vultures and Shipwrecks

  Of course Christian has to be our lifeguard again today. He smiles over when we take our place, and I manage an awkward wave back. I force away the flutter in my stomach and absolutely do not give in to the temptation to study his perfect, tan body. But my best friend is Harper Benson.

  “Christian’s looking good today,” she says in that too-loud voice.

  “He looks the same as every day.”

  “Fine. Then he looks hot every day.”

  “Fine.” I drop to my chair.

  “Come on, the date couldn’t have been that bad. It seemed like you two were having a good time.”