“Hey there.” He stands next to me, shoulder to shoulder, so that we can watch Austin and the twins from a distance. Though the air is cool today, my skin flushes with warmth when I glance up at Lincoln.
“Hi.” My right foot rests on my skateboard, pushing it back and forth across the pavement, an idle movement, like how I sometimes play with the zipper on my wet suit, sliding it down a few inches and then back up.
“You’re here early,” Lincoln says.
I nod. “I am.”
“Is it because I asked you to come?”
I clear my throat, ignoring the heat flushing my cheeks. “It’s a nice day,” I say.
He leans in close, a teasing flicker in his eyes. “It’s not that you couldn’t wait to see my adorable dimple?”
Of course he’s aware of his dimple and its effect on those attracted to males. How could he not be? That dimple is like a goddamn superpower. And yet I don’t want to fuel his already fired-up ego, so I tease, “Dimple or deformity?”
As soon as the word leaves my lips, the blood drains from my face.
Holy fuck.
I just said deformity to a guy with one arm. I am officially the most awful—no, most cruel—human being on the planet. “Oh—fuck…I mean, shit…I mean, sorry…” I stumble for an apology, but before I can form a string of coherent words, Lincoln smiles at me, like really smiles, like he’s entertained by my repulsive comment.
“You should see your face right now,” he says. “Very adorable. Possibly even more adorable than my dimple.”
“Lincoln—” In my moment of embarrassment, I realize this is the first time I’ve ever said his name and how much I like the feel of those two syllables passing through my lips, “I am so sorry. Seriously. That was awful and—”
He places his hand on my shoulder. The touch drains some of my panic, redirecting my focus toward the feeling of those smooth calluses on my bare skin. “Dude, seriously, it’s okay. The only uncomfortable thing you’re doing right now is making it a thing. I know that’s not what you meant, but yeah, you know, next time maybe—”
“Speak before I think?” I smack my head. “Oh god, I mean, think before I speak.”
He grins. “Exactly.” His hand lingers for a second longer, then drops away. I watch as his long fingers curl by his side, relaxed yet controlled. “And you know, if you’re really torn up about it, you can make it up to me.”
I narrow my eyes. “Make it up to you how?”
“Go on an adventure with me.”
“An adventure? Here?” I ask. “Is that even possible?” Besides the skate park, all I’ve seen of Nebraska are mini-malls, fields of dry grass, and suburb after suburb. And of course, the hospital. Not exactly a hot spot for a good time.
“Oh, most definitely,” Lincoln says. “As someone who has lived in his fair share of these United States, I can attest adventure can be found anywhere.”
Lincoln is only a year older than me. How many places has he lived? “As promising as that sounds,” I respond, “I can’t exactly leave my cousins alone at the park.”
“Ah, but that’s where my true genius comes in. You have a twelve-year-old cousin, and I have a twelve-year-old brother. Put them together, and I think we’re looking at a fine set of babysitters.”
Part of me knows he’s right. But the other part of me doesn’t want to leave Emery alone when, even if she’s not saying it, she might need me around. So I say, “I don’t doubt Emery and Austin’s abilities, but I can see the headlines now: beautiful park destroyed by twin boys due to ridiculously irresponsible older cousin. You were the one who called them the disastrous duo.”
“Come on, Anise. Think about it. Also, Austin is first aid certified.”
“He is?” I bite my lip.
“And he babysits all the time—”
“He does?” An image of goth-punk Austin playing Monopoly Junior with two J. Crew toddlers pops into my head.
“You deserve a little fun,” Lincoln continues. “Especially after getting your ass kicked yesterday.”
“Your powers of persuasion are miraculous.”
“I’d like to think so.” Lincoln smiles that cocky-ass smile. The thing is, he really is persuasive. All my days are starting to meld into cousins, park, park, cousins, and mix in a little hospital time for seasoning. I could use a break from the routine, do something for me. And the thought of doing something with Lincoln isn’t exactly unappealing. “Come on,” Lincoln continues. “At least ask Emery and see if she minds. I know Austin will mostly handle the boys. He sometimes likes when I’m not here so he can be the older, cool kid.”
I stall, pushing my skateboard back and forth with one foot and contemplating my options: I can stay here all morning tiptoeing around Emery in the slight chance she wants to open up to me and making sure the twins don’t destroy property or I can go on an adventure with Lincoln.
And Lincoln’s dimple.
“Okay. If Emery agrees to it, then okay.”
• • •
Emery agrees, which more worries than relieves me. She’d rather take care of her brothers than hang out with her friends? Two more days. I’ll give her two days to tell me what happened until I give her the ultimatum: tell me or I’m telling your mom.
After I make her promise to send pictures of the boys every hour on the hour or text if she wants me to come back and then also get approval from Dad that it’s fine to leave them at the park for a bit, I feel slightly more comfortable about the whole “abandoning my cousins to hang out with a hot guy” thing. I leave them the majority of the food stash, keeping a few sandwiches and water bottles in my backpack for Lincoln and myself. I have no idea if this adventure will include food, and I want to be on the safe side.
“Ready to go?” Lincoln asks after we go over the stay-safe instructions one more time.
“I guess so…” I feel anxious about leaving my cousins. I mean, they’re nine and twelve. Nine- and twelve-year-olds stay by themselves all the time. But these aren’t any nine- and twelve-year-olds—these are my nine- and twelve-year-olds.
I turn toward Emery. I must have the most expressive face on the planet because she says, “Anise. Seriously. We’re fine. Go.”
And she looks fine, content with her phone. And the boys look fine too, already ignoring me and trailing Austin around the park like he’s a world famous skater.
“Are you fine?” Lincoln asks, his hand brushing against my shoulder again. It feels natural, and I wish it lasted more than a half second.
“Yeah. I’m good. Okay, let’s adventure. Where are we adventuring to?”
“That’s a surprise of course.” Lincoln shoots me a scheming grin. “Part of the adventure.”
• • •
“Downhill coming up!” Lincoln shouts.
I brace down, knees locked, blood pulsing, eyes fastened on the giant decline in front of me. Lincoln took me through some practice runs on a smaller hill before we started our journey, but it didn’t fully prepare me for these steep gradients. On the first hill, I backed out halfway through, grinding my board to a clumsy halt. On the second hill, I made it to the bottom, but my stomach wouldn’t stop churning at the thought of my imminent death. This time, I’m going to treat it like any towering wave and conquer it with confidence instead of submitting with fear. This time I’m going to enjoy it.
Lincoln flies down the road, body angled, board swerving back and forth in calculated cuts, as if looping around invisible traffic cones. The hill is monstrous, the grade as deep, if not deeper, than the hundreds of overhead waves I’ve ridden over the years. The wind rushes past me as my board picks up speed, gaining enough momentum that the wheels shake beneath me, rattling over every pebble and crack in the road.
And yet—despite the rattling, despite the knowledge that one wrong move and I could crash, a thousand tiny lacerations shr
edding my skin—I feel no fear. Because this unfiltered adrenaline, this surrender to the wind and the ride, this is my comfort, and this is my love.
As the hill tapers off into flat ground, the tension eases from my shoulders and knees, leaving me a bit disappointed. I’d rather feel scared than bored. Lincoln breaks in front of me, almost coming to a full stop before hopping onto the sidewalk in one fluid motion. I follow his move, managing to do so without falling or even stumbling.
“How was that?” Lincoln asks.
We’re both breathing heavily. My body already aches, and we’re not even to our destination yet, which according to Lincoln is six miles from the skate park. But I’m grinning. “Not bad.” I pause. “Okay, kind of awesome.”
“Thought you’d like it—a little more exciting than flat turf.”
I bend down to relace my sneakers, and as I do, the hot sun bites at my neck. “Crap,” I mutter, rubbing the exposed skin, already feeling the telltale signs of sunburn. “I really should’ve brought some sunscreen.”
“Here, use mine.” Lincoln digs through the pockets of his jean shorts and pulls out a tiny bottle. He tosses it to me, and I catch it—and then I stare at the bottle, and then at Lincoln, and then back at the bottle. He sighs and shakes his head. “Quick black people lesson: we get skin cancer too.”
“Oh,” I say. “Right. Of course. I knew that.” But actually I didn’t, probably because Cassie is my only black friend, and she spends her days slathering on tanning oil for optimum color.
Before I can embarrass myself further, I pop open the cap and coat my arms, legs, and face as quickly as possible.
“Hey, leave some for me,” Lincoln says.
I look up when he speaks, because that’s what normal people do, look up when someone is talking to them. But the thing is, at that exact moment, Lincoln is unbuttoning his sleeveless plaid shirt and stuffing it in his bag, his defined abs on display. I am doing very little to keep from staring at said abs; as in, I’m literally staring, and there might be the tiniest bit of drool dripping from the corner of my mouth.
Then my vision shifts, and I follow his chest up to his left shoulder. Even though Lincoln wears sleeveless shirts, I’ve never had a full view of his left arm. The sight unsettles me for a moment, kind of like taking a sip of water to find it’s ginger ale. It’s not bad, just different. I force my gaze away from his nub, which means back to his abs.
Lincoln smirks. “I’d think you’d be used to shirtless guys, living on the beach and all.”
I blush (blame it on the sunburn) and toss him the sunscreen. I’m tempted to ask about his arm—his lack of arm—but I struggle to form words in my mind that don’t sound rude, so instead I say, “Hurry up with that sunscreen. If I have to burn out here much longer, I’m going to give up on our adventure.”
He catches my eye, and my stomach does that twisty, fluttering thing it likes doing around him. “Trust me, surfer girl, you don’t want to give up on this.”
• • •
About fifteen minutes later, I follow Lincoln as he turns right onto a beaten concrete road, down a hill, and into a gravel parking lot. There are a few cars, mostly Jeep Wranglers and Ford trucks. My skateboard struggles against the textured terrain, and giving up, I grind to a halt.
“Umm, where are we?” Woods surround the gravel lot. The only breaks in the trees are the access road we just came in on and a small opening to a trail. The woods emit an earthy scent of damp soil and foliage. It’s not the salted air I’m used to, and yet as I take a deep breath, it’s just as fresh and soothing.
“Dodge Park,” Lincoln answers, taking off his glasses to quickly wipe them clean. “Well, part of it. The whole thing is about fifty acres.”
“A park.” I pause. “You realize we were just at a park, right? You had us skate six miles to go from one park to another park?”
Lincoln smiles. “Ah, but this is a special park.”
“Uh-huh. What makes it so special?”
“Follow me to find out. Unfortunately, we’ll have to go on foot from here. I know you’re disappointed about that.”
“Unimaginably so.”
But the truth is, I will miss the board beneath my feet. There’s something satisfying about going faster than you can on the legs you were born with.
We both pick up our boards, and I follow Lincoln on the small path. I trust Lincoln, but going into a secluded spot with someone I barely know goes against just about every stranger danger warning I’ve ever heard, so I slip my phone out of my pocket to make sure I still have service. I do. I also have a text message from Emery showing me a picture of the boys sitting on their skateboards and chowing down on the fruit. Parker’s flipped one of the orange peels inside out and stuffed it between his lips to create a giant cartoon smile. She even sent some emojis with the picture. Emojis are a good sign. I send three laughing-tears smiles back, then put my phone away and relax.
The woods are dense, filled with moss-covered trails, ivy crawling over trunks of towering trees, and scattered logs and branches we carefully maneuver around. Sunlight filters through the canopy, spreading an early day golden light over everything, glinting off the dew-dropped grass and illuminating our path in dappled shadows. The land is startling in its beauty. I had no idea that Nebraska was hiding all of this, lush nature.
As we walk, Lincoln points out different plants. He seems to know the name for every bush, tree, and flower. “This is one of my favorites.” He bends down in front of a nettle of green stalks peppered with magenta flowers. “The purple poppy mallow.”
I bend down next to him, watching as his fingers skim over the fragile petals. “Why is it a favorite?” I ask.
He glances at me, grinning. “Are you kidding? Purple poppy mallow? Can’t beat that name.” He repeats it like it’s a tongue twister as we stand and continue down the trail.
A minute later, he stops short again, and I almost bump into him. Again. “Hey, careful—” I start to say, but stop when he spins around and places a finger to his lips.
He has really nice lips.
He whispers, “Look over here. Walk gently.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me forward and then down so that we’re both crouching in front of a cluster of lavender and white flowers sprouting from a knot of spiky green stalks. The flowers have long, skinny petals. Two yellow and black butterflies flit around them, the patterned shapes in their wings reminding me of stained-glass windows.
“Wild bergamot,” Lincoln informs me. “Butterflies love it, and—” he drops my hand and reaches forward to carefully pluck off a couple of the green leaves “—these brew some pretty mean mint tea.”
“Um, Lincoln?” I ask, still crouched by the bergamot, watching the butterflies flutter back and forth and deciding on a scale of one to very how much I like holding Lincoln’s hand. “How do you know all this stuff?”
He shrugs. “You know how I want to hike the PCT?”
I nod.
“I’ve had a thing for nature since I was little. We moved around a lot for my mom’s job, so there was always somewhere new to explore, and I guess my thing for nature turned into a rather sturdy obsession with nature.” He plucks off a few more bergamot leaves and tucks them into his pocket. “Hopefully I’ll get into a college with a good biology or sustainability program and then maybe work for the national parks or some job that lets me travel all over the country, see all the wild bergamot and purple poppy mallow I want.”
“That sounds awesome.” And it does—even if his plan is so different than mine. He wants to travel the world, and I basically never want to leave home again.
“It definitely would be.” He nudges my shoulder. “Come on, time for your adventure.”
“So this Lincoln-guided nature walk wasn’t my adventure?”
He grins. “Just an added bonus of my lovely company. The real adventure still
awaits.”
• • •
I hear voices first, cheerful shouts and laughs. But then—the splash of water. My skin tingles. My pulse accelerates. “Is that…”
We walk through another cluster of trees, and the world opens up. I find myself standing on top of a cliff over a large, streaming river. The river flows into a small gulf where people are splashing in the water and sunning on the muddy banks. “Welcome to our little slice of the Missouri River,” Lincoln says. “It’s no Pacific Ocean, but I figured it’d do the trick for today.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or just strip down and jump in the water. For all my complaining, I don’t think I fully comprehended how much I missed home until this moment, until this sight of breathtaking water rushing beneath me. And the fact that Lincoln brought me here? He couldn’t have taken me anywhere better.
And I have a feeling he knows it.
Another splash catches my attention. Down in the swimming hole people are cheering and laughing and craning their necks upward. I follow their gazes to an opening, bunkered by more trees, a short distance away from Lincoln and me.
“What are they doing?” I ask.
“Just watch,” Lincoln says.
A few seconds later, someone on the cliff runs forward, grabs a rope hanging from one of the trees, and flings themselves out into the air, releasing the rope, dropping about fifteen feet into the water, and landing with a giant splash. “Oh my god,” I say. “I have to do that. I have to do that now. Let’s go.”
Lincoln laughs at me, and I laugh back. I’m sure there’s a little wild in my eyes right now. “I had a feeling you’d enjoy this,” he says and grabs my hand again, tugging me back into the woods toward the rope swing. I’m going to be in water, even if it’s only freshwater.
We get to the clearing, and there are a few people standing by the long rope. They wave at us and say hey, then continue to jump off one by one. We get in line behind them, and I shift from foot to foot. “Crap, what do we do with our stuff?” I ask Lincoln.
“You go first. I’ll watch everything.”
At this point, a nice person would say, oh no, you go, and I’ll wait. But the thing is, I’m not always a nice person, and I want to be in that water. Like now. “Okay, sounds good to me.”
Girl Out of Water Page 12
