by Anna Cruise
My thoughts drifted to what I knew waited for me at home. I tried to think of something else but I couldn't. The memories sucked me back in. I couldn't go back there, to that suffocating place that reeked of misery, that threatened to swallow me whole. I couldn't face that closed bedroom door, knowing what hid behind it. A broken, drowning woman.
“Megan.”
I looked up. Jada and Case both stared at me. “What?”
“We're ready.” Jada said. “To go.”
How long had it been since Carter and Logan had left? It felt like it had only been a few minutes. “What?”
“We're ready,” she repeated. She flipped her hair off her shoulders and reached for her discarded sandals. “Case is going to drive us home, remember?”
I wasn't ready to go home. I couldn't. Not then, at least. “Um, I think I'm going to stay.”
“By yourself? Meg.” Jada's voice was filled with disapproval.
“I don't want to go home.” I spoke softly, my voice lowered, trying to keep the conversation between me and her.
“So don't. Spend the night at my house. My parents won't care.”
But they would. A planned sleepover was one thing but me showing up unannounced late at night? That was not something that would be well-received, at least not by her parents.
“No.”
Case spoke up. “She's right, you know.”
“What?”
He nodded toward Jada. “You don't wanna be down here alone.”
“How would you know?” It wasn't like he'd lived here all his life like I had.
“I'm just saying.” He ran his fingers over his hair. “It's late. It's dark. You'll be alone. Not a good combo.”
Jada stood up, her arms crossed, and nodded her head in agreement.
“I'll be fine,” I snapped.
He stared at me and said nothing.
“I'm staying.”
Case exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep from saying something. Something he knew I wouldn't like. “OK.” He turned to Jada. “She wants to stay.”
She tried to get my attention but I refused to look at her. I didn't want her convincing me I was being reckless or persuading me to go somewhere I didn't want to be.
Jada's sigh was loud, exaggerated. “Fine. Call me in the morning so I know you made it home alive.”
“I will.”
“Be careful,” Case said. It sounded like an order.
She glared at me one final time and they left. I watched as the embers in the fire pit turned to ash, grayish-white in the moonlight. The surf crashed in front of me, a deafening, rhythmic roar that complemented my quiet solitude. I sat for a long time, torn between staying on the beach and going home. I didn't want to do either. I should have gone with Jada because, more than anything, I realized I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to give my thoughts and memories a chance to breathe and grow. I couldn't let the sadness and hopelessness consume me like it did my mother.
I stood, brushing off the sand clinging to my legs as I tried to dislodge the thoughts haunting my mind. I picked up the blanket and, after giving it a firm shake, folded it into a crooked square. I tucked it under my arm, grabbed my sandals and shuffled toward the steps that led up to the boardwalk, burying my feet in the cool sand as I walked.
The boardwalk was mostly empty. Off to the left, a group of guys huddled on a bench under the dim, salt-encrusted street lamp. Two of them held cigarettes and the tips danced in the dark like red fireflies. A couple walked by, an older man with graying hair holding hands with a much younger woman. I thought of my dad and my stomach knotted up. I looked away.
I wiped my feet on a small patch of grass and bent down to put my sandals on.
“Megan? Megan Calloway?” A boy's voice. An unfamiliar voice.
I looked up, startled, into the face of Aidan Westwood, a senior from my school. I didn't know him but I knew of him. It was hard not to. A part of the surfer crowd, guys who spent more time on the beach than they ever did at school. They were like brothers—most of them blond-haired and tanned, all of them lean and muscled from hours in the water.
I couldn't find my voice.
His expression was puzzled, friendly. “What are you doing here?”
I swallowed. “Having a bonfire.”
He looked around at the empty boardwalk. “By yourself? Or with them?” He nodded his head toward the guys on the bench.
“No, with some friends.” I was flustered. “They left a while ago. I...I wasn't ready to go home.”
He lit a cigarette. “And you're ready now?”
I stared at him. I couldn't help it. None of my friends smoked. “I guess.”
He took a long drag and exhaled, blowing the smoke away from me. “OK.” He paused. “Well...see you at school.”
He turned to go.
“Wait,” I said. “Where are you going?”
Aidan motioned to the beach. “Back down. Just needed to grab some smokes.”
I scanned the mostly empty beach and noticed two bonfires still blazing orange. “Who are you here with?”
He shrugged. “A few people from school.” He took another drag as he studied me. “You wanna come?”
I hesitated. Aidan Westwood was not a friend. We didn't know each other. In a high school with almost two thousand kids, our paths had crossed only once, a P.E. class my freshman year.
He dropped his cigarette and ground it into the sidewalk. “Well?”
I made my decision. “Sure.”
FOUR
I followed him back down the steps to the beach, past where I'd been sitting with Jada and Case. There was another bonfire further up, closer to the pier. I squinted my eyes as we approached and tried to identify the people huddled around it. Most of the faces I saw were familiar in a vague sort of way; in a pinch, I could assign the right names to those faces, I thought. We moved closer and I noticed the empty beer cans that littered the blankets. A curtain of smoke hung suspended above the fire.
Aidan sat down and patted the spot next to him. “Sit,” he said. He shoved the guy next to him. “Make room for Megan, asshole.”
The guy laughed and shifted off the blanket. He was older, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Aidan dug around inside a battered blue cooler and handed me a can. “Here.”
A Budweiser. I held it with my thumb and forefinger and examined it.
He smirked. He'd already cracked his open. “What? You don't drink?”
No, I didn't drink. I didn't smoke either, and I didn't make a habit of hanging out at bonfires with a group of strangers. But tonight was different. Any place was better than home. Even this. I pulled back the tab and brought the can to my lips. It was lukewarm and bitter but I took a long drink anyway, forcing myself to swallow it down.
He laughed. “Good girl.”
I made myself finish it, gulping huge mouthfuls of the foul-tasting liquid. There were conversations all around me and I hoped no one noticed the way I winced each time I swallowed. I placed the empty can next to me and breathed a sigh of relief.
Aidan offered me another. I shook my head.
“Lightweight,” he teased. He opened it himself and took a drink.
I felt myself relax. My stomach was heavy, like I'd just swallowed a bowling ball, but I felt lighter than I had in ages. I tried to remember the sinking depression that had threatened to drown me only an hour earlier, but it had disappeared. I smiled for no reason, a wide grin that stretched across my face.
Aidan leaned close to me. “Are you drunk?”
“I don't know,” I stage-whispered back, stifling a giggle.
He grinned at me then and I noticed—really noticed—how gorgeous he was. I picked at my nails so I wouldn't be tempted to reach out and touch his thick, white-blond hair. I looked away from his blue eyes so I wouldn't be caught staring at him like some love-sick puppy. I couldn't believe I was sitting with Aidan Westwood. Not just sitting with him. Drinking a beer with him, hangin
g out.
“Shit.” He swore under his breath.
I did look up then. “What?”
“Cops. On the stairs.” He rummaged in his shorts pocket and pressed something into my hand. “Chew this and swallow. And follow my lead. Got it?”
I nodded. With shaking hands, I unwrapped the piece of gum and brought it to my mouth. I bit my cheek twice as I chewed it. Two flashlights bobbed across the darkened beach, drawing closer. I watched the people I was sitting with. I overheard snippets of conversation and noisy shouts of laughter. Maybe no one else knew the cops were closing in. Or maybe they didn't care.
The flames from the fire cast flickering shadows, blurring the faces of the men who bore down on us. One was heavier, stuffed into his uniform, and the other was tall and thin. Younger, I thought.
“Looks like you've got yourselves a party.” The stern voice remained anonymous behind the glaring beam of light. The tall one scanned our faces and the sand, lingering on the empty cans surrounding us.
“Whose are these?”
A couple people spoke up—no one I knew—offering various responses. IDs were produced and inspected by both officers.
The flashlight blinded me once again. “You. How old are you?”
My voice squeaked as I spoke. “Fifteen.”
“It's past curfew. Your folks know where you are?”
Aidan spoke. “She's with me. She's my sister.” He fished out his own wallet and handed over his license.
“Sister?” The light moved to Aidan and the younger cop studied him. In the dimmed light, his face was suddenly visible and he didn't look much older than the people I was sitting with. The light bobbed from Aidan's almost-white head to my dirty blond ponytail. “Right.”
Aidan's voice was calm, steady. “Our folks are out of town. Dad didn't want her home alone. Boyfriend situation, if you know what I mean. So I'm stuck with her tonight.” He offered a believable sigh of frustration.
The cop turned his steely gaze on me. “Is that the truth?”
I couldn't look at him and lie. I focused on the sand instead. “Yes.”
“Look at me,” he commanded and I raised my eyes. “Is this your brother?”
I stared past the flashlight, into his eyes, and willed myself to say the word again. “Yes.”
“You have ID?” he asked me.
I shook my head, hoping that would be the last question he had for me.
But he wasn't done. “Have you been drinking? Any of these yours?” He shone the light on the empty cans.
Aidan's leg pressed into mine. “No,” I said.
It was the cop's turn to sigh. “Get her home,” he instructed Aidan. “Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
A couple people reached into the cooler and poured out the contents of the remaining beer cans. Seemingly satisfied, the two officers left.
I sat ramrod straight until the flashlights disappeared down the beach. They weaved up and down as they made their way over to the only other bonfire. Once I was sure they were gone, that they weren't coming back for me, I sagged against Aidan, limp with relief.
“What a buzz kill,” he muttered. “God, I hate cops.” He straightened me then, his hands on my shoulders. “You did good.”
I didn't think lying to a police officer was something to be proud of but I didn't say this. Instead, I just stared at him, directly into his frank, assessing eyes.
His voice dropped. “You sure are cute when you're scared.”
“I am?”
His slow, easy grin made my heart beat a little faster. “Uh-huh. I kind of get this overwhelming urge to protect you.”
I didn't feel protected at all with him. “Protect me? How?”
“I was hoping you'd ask.” He bent closer and kissed me, a soft kiss that tasted of beer and cigarettes.
I didn't care. I kissed him back. He slid his hands from my shoulders to my face, cupping my cheeks as his lips moved against mine, forcing my mouth open.
“...going in for the kill...”
“Get a room.”
Aidan pulled back. “Shut up,” he said good-naturedly to his friends. To me, he said, “Come on.”
I was still reeling from his kiss. It wasn't my first. Kevin Dawson had relieved me of that stigma the summer before my freshman year. He was Jada's cousin, blond and gangly, visiting from Texas. I'd spent days anticipating it. Unfortunately, it sucked. Being kissed by him had felt like being attacked by a St. Bernard. I'd pushed him away, wiped the drool from my face and decided never to kiss him again.
Aidan's kiss was different—heated, expert, thorough. I couldn't think about anything else.
Aidan nudged me. “Come on,” he repeated.
“Where are we going?”
“I'm taking you home,” he said. “I promised. Remember?”
He held out his hand and helped me up. He didn't let go, not as we walked across the sand and back up the stairs to the boardwalk, and not as he led me to his black Volkswagen bug, an ancient car whose engine sputtered to life under the greatest of protest.
“You didn't need a ride,” he said as he pulled up in front of my house two minutes later. He shifted the car into neutral and let it idle.
“I know. I told you, I could have walked.”
“Right,” he said, a smile on his face. “But then we wouldn't have been able to do this.”
He reached for me and, before I could think or respond, he kissed me, his lips open, his tongue touching mine. I closed my eyes and everything fell away—everything except the feel of his lips, hot and urgent, and the taste of his tongue, that foreign cocktail of smoke and beer.
My arms slid around his neck, drawing him closer just as he slid his hands under my shirt, his fingers trailing lightly along my ribs, inching higher to cover my breasts, caressing them through the lacy fabric of my bra. I shrank back but he laughed against my mouth and pulled me to him.
“You are so sweet,” he whispered as his hands sought me out again.
This time, his fingers slipped under my bra and this time, I didn't shirk away. I let him kiss me and touch me, reveling in the feel of his lips and hands. And, moments later, when one of his hands trailed gently down my stomach, whispering down my leg and back up again, gliding along my inner thigh, pulling my underwear just off-center, I didn't stop him.
“Touch me,” he urged, guiding my hand to his crotch. His fingers moved inside of me. “God, I want you.”
It took a minute to register what he was doing, what was happening. I reached for his hand and stopped him, this time for good.
“I need to go,” I said, squirming away from him.
His breathing was heavy, labored. “Now? You're leaving now? But –?”
“My mom.” I tried to catch my breath, to swallow down the heat that radiated inside, that threatened to take on a life of its own. “She's probably waiting up for me.”
There was nothing further from the truth but I had to get away. I was afraid of what might happen if I stayed, of what I would let him do to me.
“Megan.” His voice was raw, his expression harsh. “You're really gonna leave me like this?”
I hesitated before nodding. “I have to...I have to go.”
He shifted his hands to the steering wheel and gripped it hard. “OK, good girl.” His breathing had evened out. “Next weekend, then. Can I see you next weekend?”
“I don't know.” I just wanted to get away. Home, despite the misery housed there, seemed awfully appealing at the moment. Safe.
“I'll find you,” he said as I stepped on to the sidewalk. “Monday. I'm not letting you off that easy.”
I didn't say anything, just hopped out of the car and slammed the door shut. I raced up the steps and into my house and let the darkness envelop me. I closed the door and sank against it, sliding down to the floor. What the hell had I just done?
I cradled my knees, holding them tight to my chest, and sat still for a moment. The tile floor was cool and my skin puckered with goosebu
mps. I rubbed at them, trying to warm myself before standing up and making my way down the hall to my room. I paused, glancing at the closed door a few steps away. My mother's room. Dark. Silent. What was she doing in there? Did she wonder about me—did she think about me at all? I didn't think so—she was too wrapped up in herself, too consumed by her own sadness and despair to be concerned with mine.
I sprawled across my bed and closed my eyes. The images from my evening played like a movie in my mind. I had gotten drunk for the first time, lied—not once, but twice—to a police officer, and gone to third base with a guy I barely knew. I grabbed my pillow and covered my face with it, willing it to snuff out the images, hoping it would smother all of the reasons why I had just done the things I'd done.
FIVE
Aidan kept his promise and cornered me at lunch on Monday. I was making my way to the bench I usually sat at with Jada when I saw him. His eyes focused on me and I felt the butterflies rise up in my stomach as he sauntered toward me. I gripped my lunch bag with one hand and pulled on the bottom of my shirt with the other as he moved closer. My hand drifted to my hair and, of its own accord, raked through the tangles, fluffing out the back.
“Hey, good girl.”
Stripped of his vices from the weekend, he looked innocent, his blond hair and blue eyes painting an almost cherubic image. My stomach did a little somersault.
“Hi.”
I was only steps away from Jada, far enough so that I couldn't sit down but close enough so she could hear everything. She watched us, a bewildered expression clouding her face. I hadn't mentioned how I'd spent the remainder of my Friday evening.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So. I want to see you again. This weekend.”
I studied a crack in the pavement.
“Megan.” His voice was soft, pleading. “Please? Go out with me.”
I looked up then, at his tousled hair and smiling face. I thought of the last moments we'd spent together on Friday night and I swallowed back the butterflies that tickled the back of my throat. He rocked back and forth on his heels while he waited for me to respond.
“I don't know,” I faltered.
