A couple hours later, Ian drops off our loot at his truck, and then we walk down A1A in our new sundresses—Courtney in red, and me in pale yellow. Ian walks between us, and then drapes his arms over our shoulders. “You know what?”
“What?” Courtney asks.
“I’m one hellava’ lucky guy.”
“Yeah, you got that right!”
Courtney turns toward him, taking all of his attention, and then I am alone, walking on the edge of the sidewalk. Cars whiz by me—like everyone’s in a rush to get to the next place, coming and going, never stopping for that long. And that was me. I kept going to basketball practice, parties, and out with Mike, never thinking about what was happening around me. I kept going, and going, until Friday night. Then everything stopped, and I couldn’t do anything but face the truth. Well, I faced it alright; then I ran from it and landed at the beach.
“Hey, let’s grab some lunch,” Ian says, thumbing at a burger joint. “I’m starving.”
We duck into the restaurant—one that does not enforce the standard rule: “No shirt. No shoes. No service.” Shirtless guys and bikini-clad girls mill around the place, and the floor, covered with sticky soda and sand, glues my flip-flops into place. When we reach the counter, Ian buys our lunch; then we find a booth near the back.
“Thanks for the food,” I say before I sink my teeth into a grease-dripping burger.
“No problem.”
As Courtney leans in and kisses his cheek, a girl, dressed in a silver bikini top and frayed jean shorts, walks up to our table. “What’s up, Ian?”
“Not much, Vicki. What’s up with you?”
“Just on my way down to the jetty.” She rests a hand at the end of our table. “Haven’t seen you ’round much this summer.”
“Been busy.”
Vicki eyes Courtney. “Yeah, I can see.” Then she tucks a strand of bleached blonde hair behind her ear. “So—where’s Ryan?”
My heart alights at the mention of his name, but I pretend not to care. Instead I focus on eating, one catsup-drenched fry at a time.
“I dunno,” Ian returns.
“Oh, c’mon. I know you talk to him.”
“So?”
“So—” she begins with a whine, “tell him to call me.”
“If I see him, I’ll tell him.” Ian returns, and I eye Vicki—blonde and voluptuous—and wonder if Ryan likes girls like her. Or girls like me. I dip a fry in my ketchup and swirl it around, thinking she would probably win that contest. Sluts always do.
I pop the fry into my mouth and look back up at her. “Chris Hendrick’s parents left on vacation this morning, you know? So—that’ll be the place to party all week.”
“Yeah? Where does he live?” Ian wonders.
Vicki starts lining up an empty fry box and the salt and pepper shaker. “He lives at the other end of Ponce—right between the pink house and that huge one that just went up for sale.” She lifts the fry box, which represents the huge house, and I feel like I’m listening to a toddler tell a story.
Ian nods. “Yeah, I know which one it is.” He flicks his head at Courtney. “Her place is just up the road from there.”
“You live on the beach?” Vicki asks.
“Yeah, we have a place here,” Courtney pauses, loving to expose her family’s net worth, “but we live in Riverside.”
“Yeah, I dated a guy from Richside once.” Her eyes float upward. “Total jerk.” She tells us his name, but it doesn’t register with either of us. “So—I’ll see you at Chris’s house then.” Vicki looks at Ian. “But don’t come without Ryan, and tell him I’ll make sure he has a really, really good time.” She turns and bounces off, and then Ian shakes his head. “I don’t know what girls see in that boy.” Then he eyes me. “Do you?”
My eyes widen. “Um, what…who?”
“Ryan…that guy you met this morning?”
“W-w-what about him?”
Ian’s broad smile cuts into his cheeks.
“What?” I ask.
Ian just leans back, his hands behind his head, resting in the satisfaction pose. “Callie likes Ryan.”
“No, I don’t,” I reply.
“Okay.” He leans in with a smile. “I’ll tell him.”
“No, don’t tell him that.”
Ian rests his elbows on the table. “Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because I don’t even know the guy.”
“But it only takes a few seconds to make a first impression. What was your first impression?”
“Of you? I thought you were nice. Of course first impressions can be very wrong.”
“You’re changing the subject.” He smirks. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him, but I’m sure he can figure it out for himself.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.”
“Yeah…uh-huh.” He leans back, teasing.
I toss a fry at him, one, then another, until he crosses his arms in self-defense. He begins to laugh and Courtney answers her cell.
Ian leans in. “If you like him…” My mouth pops open, ready to dismiss his statement, but Ian just holds up a hand. “You’ll have to get him to open up.” Ian pauses, like he has to select his words carefully. “He’s been through a lot.” He leans back. “But that’s all I should say.”
I nod, wondering if someone could say the same thing about me, or any of us. Being a teenager only looks fun on those ridiculous Disney shows. Reality is this: Having fun is just temporary relief from the incessant pain.
We finish up lunch, and then we waste an hour down on the strip and out on the boardwalk, mingling with the tourists. We stop to take some candids on our phones before heading back to the beach house. Ian leaves for work, but Courtney and I change into our new swimsuits and take up residence on the beach, lying out until the ocean swallows the sun.
*****
The Secrets We Keep Page 8
