Something I'm Good At: A Sol del Mar High Novel

by Caroline Andrus

  He laughs and unchains his bike. “Don’t tell my friends, it’s a secret.”

  “I’ve got a question,” I say, as he mounts the bike.

  “Shoot.”

  “Do all your shirts feature food puns?”

  He glances down at his t-shirt—which reads “Don’t Go Bacon My Heart”—then beams at me. “Only my favorites.”

  I shake my head and climb on the handlebars, wearing my backpack on my chest like last time. “Remember, you break me, I kill you.”

  “It would be a crime to break someone like you, Summer.”

  A feeling of warmth erupts in my stomach, and even though he can’t see my face, I try not to smile.

  Kane keeps his daredevil ways in check as he pedals away from school. I ask him for a hint, but he tells me it’s top secret. When he finally stops the bike, we’re at the beach.

  “Um…” I say, climbing down from the handlebars and looking around. “This is the really cool thing you wanted to show me?” It looks exactly the same as it had on Saturday, except with fewer people crowding the boardwalk and beach.

  “This is just part one.” He chains his bike to the rack and takes my hand in his. I stare for a moment at our intertwined fingers, his warm hand so much larger than mine. His tan skin is a stark contrast to my own complexion, which has paled from avoiding the sun as much as possible since spring.

  I know I should stop this, end things now before we get in too deep...But it’s been so long since I’ve let anyone in. And it feels nice. So I let him hold my hand, and I try to convince myself it means nothing; I can stop this at any time. But I have butterflies in my stomach, and I think deep down I know I’m lying to myself.

  Kane gives my hand a squeeze and leads me down the boardwalk. I look around, anywhere but at him. The guilt is gnawing at me for allowing myself this little piece of happiness, when I know it will only end in heartbreak for him. I’m irreparably broken, and he doesn’t know what he’s getting into.

  But I do.

  My gaze is fixed on the rhythmic crashing of the waves on the sand, when Kane stops. I look to the other side of the boardwalk and realize we’ve stopped in front of one of those cheesy tourist kiosks selling airbrushed t-shirts and hats.

  “Is this the really cool thing?” I ask skeptically. As a kid, I begged my parents for an airbrushed t-shirt with my name on it. They gave in, and after only a couple of times wearing it, it lay forgotten in the bottom of my dresser drawer.

  “Shh,” he says, grinning at me. He turns his attention to the guy sitting behind the kiosk and whispers something in his ear.

  The guy laughs and nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Do what?” I ask, stepping closer to watch. The guy grabs a plain white t-shirt from under the kiosk and sets up to begin airbrushing. I watch, fascinated, as an image comes to life before us. I laugh when I realize it’s a taco. Kane nudges me with his elbow, and I look up at him and grin. When the guy is done with the shirt, there’s an image of a sad cartoon taco and the words, “I Don’t Wanna Taco ‘Bout It” in cheesy black and purple airbrush writing.

  “What do you think?” Kane asks, gesturing to the shirt.

  I inspect the work of art; it’s hilarious. “I don’t think it’ll fit you,” I finally say.

  He laughs. “That’s okay. It’s for you.”

  My mouth falls open. “For me?”

  He nods. “I think you need to experience the joys of food pun t-shirts. What better way than to start with an airbrushed taco pun?”

  I shake my head, but I’m grinning as Kane pays the man, who says to come back in about a half hour to pick up the shirt.

  Kane takes my hand in his again, and we continue down the boardwalk. We reach the end, near the rocky cliff where we sat and ate ice cream just days ago. Kane leads me off the boardwalk, where the sand turns to rock.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see when we get there. You’ll love it.”

  “Love it more than my very own taco shirt?”

  “Dang, I knew that would be a tough act to follow.”

  I laugh. Talking to Kane is easy…too easy. After a few minutes of walking, he leads me down a rocky slope.

  I eye the slope skeptically; It’s steep and littered with loose rocks. I’m tired from my sleepless night, the long day of school, and the walk this far. But I force myself to push forward. I want to see what the big secret is.

  We pick our way carefully across the terrain, but I step on a loose rock and my sneaker slides. Kane reacts quickly, grasping my arm in his uninjured hand before I can slide more than a couple inches. For as accident prone as Kane seems to be, he has good reflexes—at least as far as my safety is concerned.

  “Thanks.” I brush my hair from my face and try to slow my heart, racing from the near fall or his close proximity I can’t say.

  “I told you I wouldn’t break you,” he says. His face is serious. It's rare to see this side of Kane. I like the goofy Kane but seeing this side of him is a rare moment to be treasured.

  “We’re almost there.” He releases his grip on my arm and takes my hand. We continue carefully down the slope and come out on a stretch of perfect, white sand beach next to a lagoon. The turquoise water glints in the sunlight, and I feel like we’ve been transported to a private, tropical island. I’ve never seen anything this beautiful before.

  “Wow.” I’m breathless, and not just from trying not to slide down the steep incline. “I’ve been to this beach a thousand times, but I never even knew this place existed.” I try to memorize every detail of this tiny slice of paradise, from the glittering sand beneath our feet littered in shells and the occasional piece of sea glass, to the stretch of blue beyond, shifting from turquoise to cerulean to cobalt and every shade in between.

  “Most people don’t look past the cliffside, they seem to think the beach ends there. And those who do look, most aren’t brave enough to make that climb down.” From the corner of my eye, I notice him studying me, as if I’m more interesting than the beautiful scene spread around us.

  “You’re definitely not most people,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

  “Hey, Summer?”

  “Hmm?” I give him my full attention and realize he’s only inches away from me.

  “Thanks for letting me show you this place.”

  “No, thank you.”

  He smiles again, and I feel the corners of my mouth tug up in return. And then he’s coming closer, his face slowly moving toward mine, angling just a bit to the side, and I freeze.

  I know what’s coming, and I know I should stop it, but I don’t. Stopping him would ruin this beautiful, perfect moment. So I let him come closer, and when his lips meet mine, the butterflies I felt earlier take flight, and I wonder why I ever doubted this.

  I kiss him back.

  I allow myself to forget about all my problems. For just this moment, I’m a normal seventeen-year-old girl being kissed by the boy she likes.

  15

  Kane

  Summer’s lips are soft and warm against mine. I’m so glad I took the chance and kissed her. For a second, I think she might push me away, but she doesn’t. I can feel the exact moment when she leans into the kiss, the barrier between us crumbling. It’s better than the time I finally nailed my first ollie on my skateboard.

  When we separate, I can’t help but grin like the Cheshire Cat. I just kissed Summer Swanson. And, even better, she kissed me back.

  She looks down at our feet, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and tries to hide her own smile. I’m not fooled. She likes me. Summer Swanson actually likes me.

  “So,” I say. “Are you ready to pick up your shirt, or should we stay a little longer.” I cross my fingers behind my back and silently chant, stay, stay, stay.

  She swallows but remains silent for a beat. Finally, she says, “Let’s stay.”

  She doesn’t have to say it twice. I take her hand and tug gently so that we’re both sitting in the
soft sand, the cliffside casting shade over us. I don’t release her hand, letting our fingers twine together, and I gently squeeze. I can’t stop the smile that’s fixed on my face, and why would I? I’m so happy right now, I want to shout it from the rooftops.

  Except, now I don’t know what to say to her. Only Summer has the power to shut me up. I’ve never been at a loss for words, ask anyone.

  Fortunately, Summer breaks the silence. “Now what?” she asks. Her voice is soft and hesitant.

  “What do you mean?” I turn my head and face her. She’s staring out at the ocean.

  She shrugs and remains silent. The hand that isn’t holding mine scoops a handful of sand and lets it trickle through her fingers.

  I furrow my brow, my smile fading. Is she having second thoughts? “Well,” I begin, then pause while I figure out exactly what to say. “I like you, Summer. I want to get to know you better.” Unable to help myself, I add, “And I wouldn’t mind kissing you again.”

  Her hand stills, half submerged in the sand, and a small smile forms on her lips. She shakes her head slowly, and I’m afraid she’s going to tell me this was a mistake. That she never should have kissed me back. That we should forget it ever happened.

  But she doesn’t. She turns her head and looks me in the eye. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” I know my voice is far too eager, but I can’t help it. My gaze locks on her beautiful blue eyes, willing this to be reality.

  “Okay,” she confirms. “Let’s give this a try.”

  I pump my fist in a nailed it gesture and fall back in the sand. Summer laughs, then lays back beside me.

  “Want to go to the homecoming dance with me?” I ask her.

  She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, lost in thought. Hesitantly, she says, “Okay.”

  “Cool. And would it be okay for me to kiss you again?”

  She shakes her head, laughing, and says, “You ask the second time, but not the first?”

  “If I’d asked the first time you might have said no. The moment was perfect, I didn’t want to ruin it.” I pause, studying her expression. “Did I just ruin this moment?”

  She doesn’t use her words, instead she sits up and leans down toward me, closing the gap between us. She presses her lips to mine, and when we part, she lays down again, and I slip my arm under her head, pulling her close. I shut my eyes and grin.

  “Best day ever,” I mutter under my breath. Her body shakes with silent laughter beside me.

  We stay like that for a while, listening to the calming melody of the ocean lapping the shore and feeling the salty sea breeze caress our skin. I’d be happy to stay like this forever, nestled in the soft, warm bed of sand with Summer in my arms, but I know I need to get her home.

  “I bet that shirt is ready,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence we’ve been laying in.

  “I bet that shirt has been ready for an hour,” she agrees. She shifts, preparing to push herself to sitting. I quickly sit up and position myself so I’m hovering half above her, my face inches away, blocking her from moving.

  “Before I let you up, are you going to let me take you to dinner and a movie?” I ask. I keep my expression sincere, hoping she realizes I’m serious about this.

  “What if I say no?” Her expression is blank, face unreadable, and I really hope she’s messing with me right now.

  “I’ll have to hold your new shirt hostage until you agree.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” The corner of her lip twitches up, and a wave of relief washes over me. She was messing with me.

  “No, we can’t. I shelled out the big bucks for you to enter the wonderful world of food pun t-shirts.”

  “Are you sure I’m ready?” Her voice is saturated in mock sincerity, but the wide grin on her face gives her away. It’s the smile I love seeing, the one she doesn’t show nearly enough. She’s holding nothing back now, and I’m falling more in love with her every time she opens her mouth to speak.

  “I have faith in you, Grasshopper.” I quickly lean down and give her a peck on the lips, then sit up. I offer her my non-cast-covered hand and help her stand. Still holding hands, we hike up the steep incline, then down the rocky path back to the boardwalk.

  We stop by the kiosk and grab the shirt, which despite my insistence, she refuses to put on. I carry the bag for her as we walk back toward my bike. This isn’t the first time I’ve held her hand, but this time feels different—better—now that she’s agreed to go out with me.

  We near the volleyball nets, and Rachel approaches us.

  “Hey, Summer,” she says. Her voice is hesitant, and I wonder why. Her gaze lingers on Summer’s hand in mine, and she adds, “Hey, Kane.”

  Summer is frozen beside me, still silent as the dead. I step in and say, “Hey, how’s it going?”

  “Good,” she says, brushing a strand of black hair behind her ear. “Nice night for the beach, right?” Her gaze darts to my and Summer’s hands again, then back to our faces.

  I’m suddenly very aware of Summer’s hand in mine; she's squeezing so tight I'm losing feeling. Why hasn’t she said anything? I swear I’ve seen these two in the halls together in the past. I thought they were friends.

  “Sure,” I say. Summer remains a statue beside me.

  Rachel nods, looking between the two of us. “Anyway…I just wanted to say hi.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then casts a glance over her shoulder. The same group of girls from Ocean View Market are watching from a distance.

  “Bye.” The one word from Summer is as icy as winter in Antarctica. I’m stunned. What could have happened between these girls for Summer to be so cold?

  Rachel mutters a goodbye and retreats to the safety of her waiting friends. I glance at Summer, trying to read her expression and figure out what she’s feeling and what’s going through her head right now.

  “Come on,” I say, pumping my voice full of enthusiasm. I want to get her mind off this strange encounter and cheer her up. I gently squeeze her hand. She looks at our claspsed hands in surprise, finally relaxing her fingers. Could it be that she hadn’t even realized how tight her grip was?

  I take a step, and she follows my lead. When we reach the bike rack, I tell her, “I know. If I break you, you kill me.”

  She finally smiles again, but it’s fainter than before, as though the brief conversation with Rachel has drained her. I mount the bike, slipping the bag with her shirt onto one handlebar, and she climbs aboard. The ride to her house is slow and quiet, the only conversation is her telling me where to turn. When we arrive and she climbs off, I lean my bike against her garage door and walk her to the front door.

  “See you tomorrow?”

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  I quickly duck my head forward and give her our fourth kiss, a quick peck on the lips.

  When I pull back there’s a small smile on her face. It’s clear the Rachel thing—whatever that was—is still bothering her, but at least she’s smiling again.

  I don’t think I’ve ever ridden my bike so fast in my life. I’m sure I would have set records—if such records existed—crossing the distance from Summer’s house to Abigail’s.

  “Seriously?” Abigail’s voice is saturated with incredulity when I tell her and Mark about my amazing afternoon with Summer. I left out the weird Rachel encounter toward the end, I'm still not sure what to make of that.

  If I wasn’t so ecstatic, Abigail’s reaction might annoy me.

  “Yes, seriously.” I flop back on her bed and try to relive every millisecond of the afternoon on the beach with Summer.

  “You really shouldn’t kiss and tell,” Mark says. He’s staring at his phone.

  “If I don’t talk to you guys about this I might explode.”

  “Yeah, Mark,” Abigail says. “He might explode.”

  Mark smiles and shakes his head, his eyes never leaving his screen.

  “And I for one don't want to have to clean pieces of Kane off my bedroom walls,
” she adds.

  “It was my bedroom first.” I snatch a pillow from the bed and hurl it at her. She catches it and throws it back, laughing when it whacks me in the head. I join in her laughter, glad it was just a pillow I threw and not something that could actually cause damage.

  “So, you kissed the girl, now what?” Abigail asks.

  “Now she’s letting me take her out for dinner and a movie…” I trail off before delivering the coupe de grâce. “...and the homecoming dance.”

  “Nice.” Abigail high-fives me. “I hope this works out for you.”

  “Oh, it will,” I say. I’m confident that there’s nothing that will come between us now. I can already see our future; college, marriage, and someday kids.

  Mark and Abigail exchange a skeptical look, but I ignore them.

  “You’re not going to make us go to the dance too, are you?” Abigail asks, her lip curled up in disgust.

  I grin. “It’ll be fun. You can be each other’s dates.”

  Mark smirks. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

  Abigail groans, and kicks us out soon after, insisting she needs to study. I ride home, still on cloud nine.

  I beat Summer to foods class. Our paths haven’t crossed yet. It sucks. I wonder where she was at lunch, but I know not to ask questions. She’ll tell me if and when she’s ready. I just have to be patient.

  I watch the door, waiting for her to enter. When she does, a wide grin spreads across my face. Over a long sleeved, light blue top, she’s wearing the shirt I got her, in all its airbrushed glory.

  “That’s a nice shirt,” I say as she draws closer.

  She sets her bag down and slides into her seat. Shrugging she says, “Some guy at the beach bought it for me.”

  “Was he hot?” I ask.

  She laughs, and a snort escapes, as she tries to muffle it. Her face grows pink, and she lets her hair fall forward to conceal it. Could this girl get any cuter?

  “I’m still waiting…” I hedge. She likes me enough to kiss me and agree to go out with me, but I really do wonder if she thinks I’m hot, or at least cute.