Summer Love

by Jill Santopolo

  Tasha lies back in the chaise lounge. “Yeah,” she says. “I don’t know, either.” She looks down at her fingers. “Do you want to give me a manicure?” she asks. “And when mine dries, I’ll give you one.”

  “Sure,” you tell her. “What color do you want?”

  She leans over and rummages around in the tote bag on the right side of her chair. “Yellow,” she says, handing you a bottle of metallic polish. “Perfect for summer.”

  You scooch your chaise lounge closer to hers and start carefully polishing Tasha’s nails. Her eyes are closed again, and her chin is tipped up so she won’t get a neck-crease tan line.

  “I think tonight we should go somewhere to find boys,” she says sleepily. “Maybe they’ll be intelligent and loyal and . . . what where the other ones?”

  “Sexy and passionate,” you tell her.

  “Yeah, those.”

  “Are you falling asleep?” you ask her, as you finish polishing her pinky.

  “Mm, maybe,” she says.

  “I’m not polishing your nails if you’re sleeping,” you tell her. “That’s too weird.”

  Tasha’s eyes snap open. “I’m up!” she says. “But I’m tired.” She looks at her nails. You’ve done one coat of yellow on all of them. “Maybe stop there,” she says, sheepishly. “I can do a second coat later. We got up really early this morning. Would it be all right if I took a nap?”

  You smile at your cousin. “Go for it,” you say. “I’ll wake you if anything superexciting happens.”

  You shove your chaise lounge back to its original position and start to read the rest of Tasha’s Teen Vogue. You haven’t gotten all that far, though, when you hear a dog barking. At first you ignore it, but the dog won’t stop. And it sounds as if it’s getting closer. Could the dog have run away? Does it need rescuing? You decide to investigate, so you get up off your chair, pull on your cover-up, and walk down the path along the side of the house until you reach the gate that separates the front yard of the house from the road beyond it. And then you see him.

  There’s a dog, sure, a supercute Dalmatian who’s barking his head off. But also a tall, broad-shouldered guy with dark wavy hair and sideburns. He’s wearing a white V-neck T-shirt and plaid shorts that are half cool and half dorky. And he’s got leather flip-flops on his feet.

  You clear your throat, and he looks at you. “Is everything okay?” you ask. “I mean, with your dog?”

  Sideburns smiles and looks a little embarrassed. “Sorry. Gonzo’s a little crazy. He barks at cars. Always. It makes walking him a huge pain in the butt. But I love him anyway.”

  He bends down and rubs Gonzo’s head. “Don’t I love you, boy?” he asks. The dog barks in response.

  “Barking at cars,” you say. “That’s some talent.”

  Sideburns laughs. “Seems like he’s got another one, too.”

  “Oh yeah?” you ask. “What’s that?”

  He scratches the back of his head, and you think maybe his cheeks are turning a little pink, but it’s hard to tell. “Finding pretty girls?” he says, almost as if it’s a question.

  You can’t help but laugh.

  “Lame line,” he says, definitely blushing this time. “I know.”

  Somehow the lame pickup line has made him even more endearing. You stick your hand through the wide space between the rails of the gate and introduce yourself.

  He slides his hand into yours and shakes it. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Nikhil. But most people call me Nik.”

  His hand is warm and soft—big, too.

  “Are you here for the summer?” he asks.

  He lets go of your hand, and you shake your head. “Just for the weekend,” you tell him. “My cousin Tasha’s going to be here all summer, though. This is her parents’ house. She’s asleep back there by the pool.”

  “Ah,” he answers. Then a car drives by, and Gonzo starts barking like a lunatic again.

  “Listen,” Nik says. “I should probably keep walking Gonzo. But, um, if you want, you can come with us. I mean, if your cousin is sleeping and all, and you want some company. I mean, I wouldn’t mind the company. Because Gonzo, well, he’s kind of nuts.”

  You smile at Nik and his invite. Then you look back at the house, where Tasha is asleep by the pool.

  Click here if you agree to go on a walk with Nik and Gonzo.

  - - - - -

  Click here if you decide to stay by the pool.

  Click here to go back to changing at the house.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to heading back to the house.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to eating a chocolate chip cookie with Tasha.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to deciding where to go with Tasha.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.

  YOU look out at the pool in the backyard. It’s surrounded by a brick patio and tons of shrubs and flowers and one medium-tall fig tree. Your uncle Ted is very into figs. But what you don’t see out there are boys. Not even half a boy. Not even a quarter.

  “How about I wash my face and brush my hair and we head to the beach?” you say to Tasha.

  She squeezes your shoulder. “I was hoping that’s what you were going to say.”

  You put on your red polka-dot bikini, wash your face, reapply waterproof mascara, and brush your hair into a sleek ponytail. Then you walk over to Tasha’s room with a tube of sunscreen in your hand.

  “Can you help?” you ask her.

  She nods, tying the final string of her bright yellow bikini. “Then you’ll do me?”

  “Sure,” you say, handing over the lotion.

  She slathers it all over your back and you do the same for her. Then you both make sure your arms and legs and stomachs and faces are covered.

  “Don’t forget your ears,” Tasha says. “Or the tops of your feet. No one wants a flip-flop tan.”

  You think that you actually might like a flip-flop tan, but you follow her advice and rub some lotion on your feet, too.

  Click here to continue.

  Click here to go back to changing at the house.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.

  YOU take your bag to the changing room, put on your bathing suit, and grab a chaise lounge next to Tasha. Jade is on her other side, looking through her bag for something.

  “So,” Tasha says to you, “Jade and I need some help. What’s your opinion on posters?”

  “Posters?” you ask.

  Tasha nods. “You know, things some people hang on their walls to decorate them.”

  Oh no. They’ve roped you into their dorm room decorating debate now, and you’re not sure what the right answer is here. “I know what a poster is,” you tell Tasha. “Is there an opinion to have about them? I mean, they’re posters.”

  Tasha puts her hand to her heart as if you’ve mortally wounded her. “Are you sure we’re related?” she asks.

  “Found it!” Jade says, pulling a catalog from her bag. “This one has some great decorating ideas.”

  “What does our being related have to do with posters?” you ask Tasha, genuinely curious now.

  “I hate them,” Tasha says. “I think they’re a sad imitation of art.”

  You never thought of a poster that way before, but, come to think of it, maybe she’s right. . . .

  “Of course they are,” Jade says. “But it’s not like we’re going to bring your parents’ Kandinsky with us to college. If you want art on the wall, it has to be posters. Otherwise, the place won’t have any personality.”

  “What about photographs?” you offer. “Maybe you could do something with those? Frame them?”

  “We’re related after
all!” Tasha says triumphantly. “That’s just what I suggested!”

  Jade rubs her forehead. “But how do we choose the photographs? And what if some of the people we end up posting pictures of turn into doinks in college and then we’re stuck with framed pictures of them on our wall?”

  Before Tasha can respond in what you’re pretty certain is a rehash of a conversation they’ve had a million times already, you ask Jade something you’ve been wondering about since lunch. “What’s a doink, exactly?”

  Jade looks at you, at a loss for words. “I’m, um, it’s a doink, you know? Just what it sounds like.”

  It doesn’t really sound like much to you.

  “It’s, like, someone who’s kind of nuts,” Tasha says.

  “Like someone who’s nuts, but also kind of dorky,” Jade clarifies. “A nutty dork is a doink.”

  “Got it,” you tell them. You wonder how many other words they’ve created. And you wonder if they’re all as lame as doink.

  Jade opens up the catalog she found in her bag and spreads it out on Tasha’s chair. There’s a page showing bedding with a maroon, navy, and hunter green pattern on it. “What do you think?” she asks Tasha. “I thought maybe this would go with our color scheme. We can figure out wall hangings later.”

  Tasha starts to respond, and you stop paying attention. If they want your opinion again, you know they’ll ask. Besides, there might be some cute boys up here at the pool for you to flirt with.

  You check out the other chaise lounges, but most of the people on them look as if they’re about your parents’ age. There are a few kids, too. And maybe some grandparents. No one flirt-age-appropriate. You check out the two lifeguards on duty who are both very cute, but decide to pass because they seem to be eyeing each other and smiling when they’re not watching the pool. You wouldn’t be surprised if they were dating.

  Then you spot him. A guy who looks to be about your age, wrangling a set of triplets and having a hard time of it. He’s got his shirt off, and his abs are kind of incredible, but the killer abs don’t seem to be helping him with the triplets.

  “Come on, Sloanie,” he’s saying to the girl who’s wrapped around his leg. “You love swimming lessons!”

  “No, I hate them,” she responds, sliding down so she’s sitting on his foot, making it impossible for him to move.

  “Remember how much fun you had last time?” he pleads. “You blew bubbles!”

  “I blew bubbles, too,” one of the boys says.

  “And me,” says the other boy.

  “You totally did, guys,” Abs tells them. “You were awesome. Just like Sloane.”

  “I was awesomer than Sloane,” the first boy declares, “because she didn’t put her head under.”

  “I put my head under for longer than you,” the second boy tells the first.

  You’ve done your fair share of neighborhood babysitting and can see this turning into a complete toddler meltdown in approximately ten seconds. You figure this guy can handle it, if he’s been watching these kids for a while, but you wonder for a moment if you should offer to help. If you were in his situation, you would absolutely welcome some assistance, but it’s hard to know about other people. Sometimes folks get a little touchy about help.

  Click here if you get up and offer him a hand.

  - - - - -

  Click here if you decide he can handle it and you’d rather slather yourself in sunscreen than toddler tears.

  Click here to go back to the country club with Dex, Tasha, and Jade.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to watching your competition play tennis.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.

  “I’LL play,” you say. “Is that okay, Tash? I’ll meet up with you and Jade at the pool later?”

  “Of course it’s okay!” Tasha says, and wiggles her eyebrows. You realize that Tasha has very expressive eyebrows, and you’re pretty sure you know what that wiggle means.

  Since the valet guys know Dex, he doesn’t have a ticket for his car, so he has to walk out with you to grab your stuff.

  “We’ll meet you on the courts,” he tells the tennis group. “Which ones did you reserve?”

  “Four and five,” the guy you’re beginning to think of as Head Tennis Guy says. “See you soon.”

  You follow Dex off the patio and down the steps to the parking lot. He waves at the valet guys. “I just need to grab her bag from my car,” he tells them. “Could you give me the keys?”

  One of the valets heads into a little hut that has keys hanging off nails on the wall, grabs Dex’s set, and tosses them to him. “It’s in the back right corner of the lot,” he says.

  You and Dex head back there. “So really,” Dex says, “how good are you?”

  You’re actually a pretty decent tennis player—you did make varsity your sophomore year—but you shrug. “I’m okay,” you say. “I can hold my own.”

  He pops the trunk of his car, and you rummage through your bag, pulling out sneakers, socks, a tennis skirt, a sports bra, and a white collared shirt and throwing them into your tote. You dig through your clothes a bit more and find your visor and a bikini and cover-up just in case you decide to go to the pool later, then you sling the strap of your racket case across your back, and say, “Okay, ready.”

  Dex eyes the model name emblazoned across your racket case. “That’s a nice one,” he says. “If you’re playing with that racket . . . well . . . how is it that I’ve known you for ten summers and we’ve never played tennis together?”

  You shrug. “You never asked?”

  He grins. “Well, I’m glad I did this year. I have a feeling we’re going to kick some butt on the court.”

  *

  AFTER you’ve changed, you meet Dex’s friends on courts four and five and they all introduce themselves. You learn that you and Dex are going to be playing best two out of three against Head Tennis Guy, whose name turns out to be Mitch, and his twin sister, Mila. Then the winner of your match will play the winner of the doubles match on court five.

  “You want to start up at the net or at the baseline?” Dex asks you.

  “Up,” you tell him. Your net game is strong, and you figure you should put your best foot forward here so the group won’t regret asking you to join.

  After a little warm-up, Dex serves for the first point in the game, and the twins can’t even get their rackets on the ball.

  “Nice shot!” you tell him. He’s even better than you remember.

  He smiles at you briefly, but then his face goes back to intense concentration mode. You know you should watch the court, but it’s hard to take your eyes off him when he looks that way—his brow furrowed, his top teeth biting his bottom lip ever so slightly. You can’t help but wonder what that lip would feel like pressed against yours. Then he tosses the ball high, stretches out his racket, and whacks the ball across the court. Another ace.

  “No fair!” Mila says. “You’re going to bagel us! If you guys win six games and we win zero, I’m so not going to be happy.”

  “Want me to slow it down?” Dex asks.

  “Yes!” Mila says, just as Mitch says, “No!”

  Mitch is looking at you as he says, “We can take it. We’re tough.” Then he grins. Is he flirting with you?

  Mila glares at her brother. “Fine. We can take it.”

  Dex smiles and serves again. This time the ball is a little slower, but you’re not sure if it’s by design or if it just happened that way. Mitch gets his racket on the ball and slams it back. You reach out for a volley and punch the ball back over the net with a ton of backspin, stopping the ball’s momentum so it hardly bounces. A perfect drop shot.

  “Forty–love,” Dex says. “Nice one.”

  You smile at him.

  “I don’t think t
hese teams are fair,” Mila says to Mitch. “They’re both really good.”

  Mitch looks over at you, then back at his sister. “So are you saying you think we should swap partners?”

  Click here if you offer to switch partners and play with Mitch.

  - - - - -

  Click here if you say no way and keep playing with Dex.

  Click here to go back to the country club with Dex, Tasha, and Jade.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.

  EVEN though the lifeguard is pretty hot and has secrets in his eyes, and even though he just rescued someone’s dog from drowning, you’re not quite sure if he’s right for you. He seems like a bit of a Boy Scout, almost too responsible—more like a best-friend type than a boyfriend type.

  Instead, you mound the sand underneath your towel into a decent-size pillow and lay your head back so you can read. You get so absorbed in the bug book that the noise of the beach disappears and it’s just you and Kafka and Gregor Samsa out there on the blanket. A couple of chapters later you decide to flip over so you don’t end up with one of those tans that’s on only one half of your body.

  You look around for Tasha, wishing she’d materialize so she could reapply the sunscreen to your back, but instead of Tasha you find a guy wearing retro glasses and reading The Iliad a few towels over. He’s smiling at something going on in the book and has a dimple in his left cheek. You look down at The Metamorphosis and decide he would not share Tasha’s view of appropriate beach books. In fact, you’re pretty sure he would think it was cool you were reading Kafka at the beach. His book seems even more serious than yours.

  You think about Tasha’s challenge and wonder if this guy might be the one to flirt with. You look at the sunscreen on your blanket. Could he perhaps help you apply it? But that might be too much, right off the bat. Maybe you could talk about books first . . . or maybe it’s better to stay where you are.