Summer Love

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Summer Love Page 11

by Jill Santopolo


  “How about the spot by the lifeguard stand?” Tasha asks.

  You look up at the lifeguard. There’s definite flirt potential there. “Looks good to me,” you say.

  You and Tasha lay out your towels side by side and stick your flip-flops and bags in strategic spots to stop the towels from blowing away in the wind. Your eyes keep zipping up to the lifeguard, but his eyes are on the ocean. He’s clearly a very responsible guy. Usually, that would be a mark in his favor, but not when it keeps him from noticing you!

  You rummage around in your bag and pull out your book. It’s one that’s on your summer reading list for school, but it’s not half bad. It’s about this guy who wakes up one morning and he’s a bug.

  Tasha looks over at you. “You’re reading The Metamorphosis at the beach?” she asks.

  You shrug. “Good a place as any to read it.”

  “Beach books are supposed to be, you know, about summer and friendships and weddings and things like that. See?” She pulls a book out of her bag with an ocean and sand and a beach chair on the cover. “This is a beach book.”

  You look around at the other people on their towels. You point to a man about your dad’s age about four spots over to your left. “That guy’s reading a very fat book that looks like it’s nonfiction,” you say. “About wars.”

  “Guys are different,” she tells you.

  You shake your head. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m reading my bug book at the beach.”

  She sighs. “I think I’m going to go swimming.”

  “Because I won’t stop reading my bug book?” you ask.

  She tightens her ponytail. “No, because the ocean looks beautiful, and it’s hotter than Grandpa’s barbecue sauce out here.” She pauses, probably thinking about your shared grandpa’s barbecue sauce, which totally once gave someone a lip blister. “But you and the bug book aren’t giving me a reason to stay on this towel.”

  You roll your eyes. “Go swim in the ocean. My bug book and I will be fine here on this towel all alone.”

  Tasha heads toward the ocean, and you get back to reading. But before you’ve even finished a chapter, the lifeguard behind you blows his whistle and then comes flying off his chair. A woman down by the shoreline starts screaming. You follow the lifeguard with your eyes and see him dive into the ocean. He takes a few steady strokes, goes under, and comes up with something under his arm. You stand up to see if it’s a person. It looks as if maybe it is. A smallish person. With long hair.

  You can’t believe the lifeguard just rescued someone in front of your eyes! Except as he gets closer you realize it’s not a person. It’s a golden retriever. The cute, responsible lifeguard just rescued someone’s dog. This makes you like him even more.

  You watch as he returns the dog to an older woman who looks as if she maybe could be some-one’s grandma. She grabs onto the dog’s collar and starts shouting at it. Then she’s hugging it. And then she’s hugging the lifeguard. You take a few steps back to your towel and sit down, watching people slap the lifeguard on the back and high-five him as he heads back to his chair.

  While he’s walking, you notice how ripped he is. Amazing pecs. Really cut arms and legs. You know it takes a lot to be an ocean guard, and this guy looks as if he’s more than strong enough.

  You let your gaze travel up to his eyes and you find them looking right at you. Coffee-bean dark and deep, like there are secrets in those eyes. He smiles. You smile back. Then he keeps walking and climbs up on his chair.

  You look at the bug book in front of you. Then you look over to the lifeguard stand. After a look like that, you wonder if you should go over and see if he wants to talk—or flirt.

  Click here if you decide to get back to reading The Metamorphosis.

  - - - - -

  Click here if you decide to walk over to the lifeguard stand and say hello.

  Click here to go back to putting on sunscreen with Tasha.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to arriving at the house.

  - - - - -

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

  AS much fun as it would be to get prettied up by Jade, the boys at the beach seem like a more exciting way to spend your birthday weekend. And since Dex is nowhere to be found, you and Tasha call a cab to come take you home.

  “I so wish I had my car out here,” Tasha says, as she pays the cabby and steps out onto her parents’ pebbled driveway.

  “We could’ve driven,” you say, shrugging. “I said I would be your map reader and iPod manager.”

  “And get stuck in all that traffic?” She shakes her head. “We made the right choice. More vacation time this way. But I still wish I had my car here.”

  You drop your big bag on the floor in the kitchen and pull out a tote to pack up. You are so ready for the beach.

  Click here to continue.

  Click here to go back to putting outfits together with Jade and Tasha.

  - - - - -

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

  “GUYS are jerks,” she says, flopping down on her towel and wringing salt water from her hair.

  “What happened?” you ask, sitting down cross-legged next to her.

  “So I met this adorable guy in the water,” she says, “and we got into a splash fight, and then we were dunking each other, and he took, like, every opportunity possible to touch me, and then just now, like, so long into the whole flirty business, he mentions his effing girlfriend. Who does that? Who meets a new girl in the ocean and plays around with her and then has an effing girlfriend!”

  “A jerk,” you say. “A total jerk.”

  “A total complete one hundred percent effing jerk.” Tasha leans back so the sun can hit her body directly and dry her suit. “How was your time on the towel?”

  You shrug. “Not too eventful. But on the plus side, I didn’t flirt with any guys who have girlfriends.”

  Tasha groans. Then she says, “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

  You take a moment to take stock of things. “Not really,” you say. “But I’ll take a walk with you if you want to get something.”

  “Oh good!” Tasha says. “Let me grab flip-flops and a cover-up, and we can go to the food trucks in the parking lot.”

  “I thought you weren’t into food made in a moving vehicle,” you say. Tasha has had a thing against food trucks since they started inundating the city you both live in. You don’t share her opinion and happen to like a bunch of them, especially the one that makes waffles.

  “I’m not usually,” Tasha says, as you both start heading over to the parking lot, “but Jade said that the guy who runs the lobster-roll truck is adorable and really sweet. And my love of adorable non-jerky guys is stronger than my dislike of kitchens on wheels.”

  “Fair enough,” you say.

  You get to the parking lot and see four food trucks—the lobster-roll one, a fro-yo one, a hot-dog one, and traditional Mister Softee. If you got any-thing, you’d get that. A swirl of soft-serve chocolate rolled in chocolate sprinkles. But you’re a good cousin, so you stand with Tasha in the lobster-roll line.

  “Did you see the menu?” she asks. “There are, like, seven different options! I thought there was only one kind of lobster roll.”

  “I knew about two,” you say. “The one with mayo, and the one with butter.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” Tasha says. But she’s clearly focused on the menu and not you.

  Your eyes start to wander, and you notice the guy working the lobster-roll truck. He is all kinds of adorable with freckles and spiked hair and eyes the color of blueberries. You also see one of those chalkboard signs with two sides to it. The side facing you says, NEW! SURF SCHOOL! JEAN PAUL FROM BIARRITZ WILL TEACH YOU TO SURF! You are very intrigued.

  “Did Jade mention anything about
the new surf school?” you ask Tasha.

  She shakes her head. “But Jade isn’t so much into swimming in the ocean, so she might’ve ignored it.”

  “How could she ignore it if there’s a French instructor from Biarritz named Jean Paul?”

  Tasha laughs. “True. If she’d seen that, I bet she would’ve explored and been able to give us a full report.”

  The lobster-roll line moves, and you take a couple of steps forward. There are about five people between you and Mr. Blueberry Eyes now. He looks up briefly, as if he’s checking out the length of the line, and his eyes catch yours. Your gazes lock, and he smiles for a millisecond before getting back to work.

  “You should explore,” Tasha says, elbowing you. “Maybe Jean Paul is your birthday kiss!”

  “Just flirt,” you remind her. “Not necessarily a kiss. And I thought we were here to check out the lobster-roll guy, who, by the way, just smiled at me.”

  Tasha raises both eyebrows. “So many boys, so little time!”

  Click here if you decide to wait in line to get a lobster roll.

  - - - - -

  Click here to sign up for surf school.

  Click here to go back to looking for Tasha.

  - - - - -

  Click here to go back to looking for Tasha on the beach.

  - - - - -

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

  YOU look at Marco one last time, and decide that a point on the flirting challenge is enough for now. Besides, you realize that Tasha has been gone for a big chunk of the afternoon, and you’re starting to get a little worried.

  “Thanks,” you say, “but I think I should probably go find my cousin and make sure she’s okay. I haven’t seen her for hours, which is actually a little concerning, come to think of it.”

  Marco nods. “I totally understand,” he says. “But if you change your mind, I’ll be over here with Homer.” He taps his book and you smile. Then you head back to your towel and start to scan the ocean for Tasha’s bright yellow bikini. Just as soon as you do, though, you see her walking out of the ocean, making a beeline for you.

  Click here to continue.

  Click here to go back to talking books with Marco.

  - - - - -

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

  YOU decide food might be the way to go. Maybe a small snack. Or at least a cold bottle of water.

  “Let’s check out the food,” you say, grabbing your wallet.

  You get to the parking lot and see four food trucks—a lobster-roll one, a fro-yo one, a hot-dog one, and the traditional Mister Softee. If you got anything, you’d get that. A swirl of soft-serve chocolate rolled in chocolate sprinkles. But you’re a good cousin, so you stand in line with Tasha, who has decided she wants a lobster roll.

  “Did you see the menu?” she asks. “There are, like, seven different options! I thought there was only one kind of lobster roll.”

  “I know about two,” you say. “The one with mayo, and the one with butter.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” Tasha says. But she’s clearly focused on the menu and not you.

  Your eyes start to wander, and you notice the guy working the lobster-roll truck. He is all kinds of adorable with freckles and spiked hair and eyes the color of blueberries. All of a sudden you’re in the mood for blueberry pancakes. But there aren’t any of those trucks around.

  The lobster-roll line moves, and you take a couple of steps forward. There are about five people between you and Lobster Roll Guy now. He looks up briefly, as if he’s checking out the length of the line, and his eyes catch yours. Your gazes lock, and he smiles for a millisecond before getting back to work.

  “Someone likes you!” Tasha says. “And he looks tasty.”

  You roll your eyes. “He was just figuring out how many customers he has.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Tasha answers.

  You decide to ignore her.

  Click here to continue.

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

  - - - - -

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

  FRISBEE Guy stops and turns around. “Are you sure? Anything I can do to get you to play?” he says.

  “I don’t even know your name,” you tell him.

  “Rafe,” he answers, holding out his hand for you to shake.

  You shake it and tell him your name.

  “So,” Rafe says, “you coming?”

  As he says it, he rakes his fingers through his hair, and you see his biceps bulge. For a second, all you can think about is wrapping your hand around those muscles and feeling them move beneath your fingertips. He smiles at you, and you feel your stomach flip. That clinches it.

  “Sure,” you say. “I’ll come.”

  You toss a sweatshirt over your bag and Tasha’s, but you figure no one is really going to steal anything from a spot right beneath a lifeguard on a private beach anyway.

  “Race you?” Rafe asks, looking as if he’s about to take off down the beach.

  “Deal,” you answer, landing lightly on the sand as you run.

  You sprint as fast as you can without your running shoes on, and Rafe matches you stride for stride. After a few steps in synch, you realize he’s not really racing you at all. He’s running completely by your side.

  When you get to his group of friends, he stops and so do you.

  “It’s a tie!” he says, barely breathing hard.

  “You totally could’ve beaten me,” you tell him, trying to catch your breath.

  His honey-colored eyes twinkle. “Well, we’ll have to try again later, won’t we?”

  He smiles, and you smile back, that stomach flip happening again. Then he turns to his friends and introduces you. “She’s got a great arm,” he adds.

  Rafe and another guy named Jonah are captains, and Rafe chooses you on his first pick. Jonah chooses another girl who’s way taller and buffer than you are. One by one, everyone gets a spot on a team, and then Jonah paces in one direction while Rafe paces in the other, and they make themselves an Ultimate Frisbee field, outlining it with grooves in the sand.

  “You know the rules?” one of your other teammates asks.

  You nod, feeling thankful that your neighbor twisted your arm into playing on his team so often. You’re not fantastic, but you’re not an embarrassment, either.

  “We play one-on-one,” he says. “And the girl who’s not here today usually covers Crystal.” He’s pointing to the buff girl from before. You take a deep breath. You can totally take her. Maybe.

  When Rafe and Jonah finish making the field, the two teams split up and the game starts. Rafe tosses the Frisbee from your side of the field to Jonah’s team, and then they start running and tossing, trying to get to the end zone back where Rafe started. You shadow Crystal, but the Frisbee doesn’t come her way until you all get close to the end zone. One of the guys on the team throws it to her and you leap with her into the air, but she’s so much taller than you that she grabs the Frisbee before your hand is even close.

  You both land, and you see that she’s looking toward the end zone, trying to find someone to toss it to. You know she has only ten seconds, so you quickly try to see where she might throw it. Everyone seems to be covered in the end zone, and then you notice that Jonah’s not there. He’s behind Crystal and to her left! You realize this just as she does, and go racing toward him just as she throws the Frisbee, hoping you’ll be able to stop it once it gets closer to him. Your legs are pumping and your eye is on the white plastic disc as it flies through the air. You can tell you’re going to get there in time and catapult yourself up into the air to reach for the Frisbee.

  You don’t realize, though, that Rafe, who was covering Jonah, is heading for the Frisbee, too. You do
n’t see each other at all, in fact, and both of you fly toward the white disc, both get a hand on it, and then both fall to the ground, the Frisbee between you.

  “Oof,” you say as you roll toward him.

  “‘Oof’ is right,” he says, his nose less than two inches from yours. “But we caught it.”

  You laugh. You’re so close to Rafe that you feel as if you have to whisper. “Good for us,” you say quietly.

  “Yeah,” he whispers back, and you see his breath move the sand between you just the tiniest bit.

  All of a sudden the air feels electric, and Rafe’s eyes are locked onto yours. You feel certain that right there, on the sand, in the middle of an Ultimate game, Rafe is going to kiss you.

  But then someone in the end zone yells, “Get up already!” and the lock between your eyes breaks. You let go of the Frisbee, and Rafe stands up holding it. Then he leans down and offers you his hand to help you up. You grab it and feel a tingle start in your fingers and work its way through your body. Once you’re on your feet he says quietly, “Let’s finish that later.”

  You try to not to smile too much while you say, “Absolutely.”

  He winks at you. “But first, we have a game to win.”

  So you focus on winning a game of Ultimate while imagining what will happen afterward . . . and decide that getting hit on the head with a Frisbee might have been the best thing to happen to you all day. Well, until Rafe kisses you, that is.

  CONGRATULATIONS!

  YOU’VE FOUND YOUR HAPPY ENDING!

  Click here to go back to talking to Frisbee Guy.

  - - - - -

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

 

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