Girl Out of Water

by Laura Silverman

“Anise?” he prompts. “You okay?”

  “Umm, yeah.” I scratch behind my ear. And then I scratch my forehead. And then I scratch my arm. “I have a question. I know the answer is probably no, or definitely no, but canLincolnandIdrivetoSurfBreaktogether?”

  Dad picks up the knife and continues to slice vegetables, the sharp chop against the wooden cutting board synching with the thumps in my rib cage. I expected him to say no. I was okay with no. Of course it’s a no. I’m asking to abandon my responsibilities and to go off, chaperone-free, with a guy for days. But I wasn’t expecting silence.

  I disappointed him. It was selfish of me to even ask.

  I’m about to apologize when the chopping stops and Dad says, “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay you can drive to Surf Break with Lincoln.”

  “Oh,” I say. And then it sinks in. “Oh.” A week from now I’ll be back in Santa Cruz, back to the waves, back to my friends, back home. And then it sinks in further. “Wait, why?”

  Dad wipes his hands on a dishcloth. “I was thinking about letting you go back early anyway. Jacks is healing faster than expected. We’ll be able to manage fine without you, and you deserve it. You sacrificed a lot this summer.”

  I know I should feel happy. And I do. But I also feel guilty, like I’m getting a reward for helping my family.

  “Not to mention,” Dad continues. “I’m happy you’re doing something out of your comfort zone, going on a road trip, seeing some new places. You’re such a thrill seeker—you always have been, ever since you were a little kid, going for the biggest wave, always ready to challenge anyone. But, I was getting worried you’d be too scared to leave home.”

  I twist the bottom of my shirt. “I’m not home now.”

  Dad sighs. “You know what I mean. I’m happy you’re opening yourself to new things.”

  I don’t tell Dad that the main reason I want to go on this trip is to get back to the familiar, to get back home. I want ocean sunrises. I want Tess’s quilt. I want my surfboard.

  I’m thinking that’s the end of the conversation, but then Dad continues, “Now, I’m trusting you and Lincoln to make responsible sexual decisions and be safe, okay?”

  My cheeks flame. Sometimes I really hate how comfortable Dad is with communication. Any other father would get fidgety and horrified at discussing sex with his teenage daughter, but not Dad. He gave me the condom and birth control talk in excruciating detail when I was fourteen. Thankfully we’ve avoided the topic since then, but I guess going on a road trip with a guy you’ve been sucking face with all summer justifies a second round of the talk.

  I clear my throat and focus on breathing. “Yep, sure. Absolutely.” I want to escape the kitchen and this conversation, but damn Dad’s cooking smells good.

  “Not so fast,” Dad says. He points to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit.”

  “Dad, look I’m not planning to…you know.” My cheeks burn even more. Thank God no one else is around to hear this conversation. “Look, I can’t even say the word, so if that’s not a clear enough indication that I’m not planning on, well, doing it, then I don’t know what is.”

  “That’s fine,” Dad says. “And I believe you. But teenagers change their minds very quickly. So we’re going to go over safe sex practices one more time, just in case.”

  I groan. “That’s really not necessary.”

  “Neither is letting you go to Surf Break.”

  We stare at each other, but we both know he’s won and I’m just postponing the inevitable. I place my head on the table. “All right then,” I say. “Get on with it. But I deserve an extra large serving of those veggie fajitas.”

  “Yes, you do.” He turns back to the stove. “Now when you’re picking out condoms, it’s important to remember…”

  • • •

  When I call Tess to tell her I’ll be at Surf Break, I’m pretty sure she squeals for two minutes straight. We then launch into a mass of exciting details.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Tess interrupts me midsentence. “We? As in you and Lincoln?”

  “Well, yeah,” I say. Tess and I have been so out of touch that she only knows the bare minimum of my new…whatever-ship. I told her about our first kiss and something after that, but I haven’t updated her thoroughly. And although she mentioned she’s met a summer fling, I don’t even know his name. “If we split gas, it’ll be cheaper than me flying, and well, you know…”

  “So, like, you two are banging? Holy shit! Dude, you were supposed to tell me when you had sex so I could send you a you had sex congratulations card. I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

  “Why does everyone think we’re having sex?” I ask. “Tess, we are not banging.” I pause. “We are making out on a somewhat regular and enthusiastic basis.”

  “And you’re only telling me this now? Darling, best friend, you’ve got to keep me updated. And you’re going to drive halfway across the country together? Alone?” She pauses, and even though we’re miles apart, I can see her eyes narrow as the gears of her mind turn. She doesn’t know Lincoln like I do. He’s not driving halfway across the country to have sex with me. He’s driving halfway across the country because he likes adventure. He won’t stop talking about how excited he is to be on the road again and to visit his friend Wendy from middle school. Apparently their parents were friends too. Wendy’s mom is Vietnamese, and she used to have “best bánh mì” competitions with Lincoln’s dad.

  “So um, what are you going to tell Eric?” she asks.

  “What?”

  “Eric, your other best friend, whose face you made out with before ditching us all for Nebraska?”

  The words sting. Everything stings more when it comes from your best friend. “I didn’t ditch you guys,” I mutter, my throat tight. “I came to help my family. You know that.”

  “You’re right.” She breathes out. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ve just barely heard from you. I miss you.” She pauses, and those gears turn again. “But you’re finally coming back, and Eric will see you toting some hot piece of man along with your luggage. Where did you guys leave things? We haven’t really talked about that either.”

  Probably because Eric and I haven’t talked about it. I don’t know where we left things. After that first text message, we haven’t mentioned the kiss at all. When I think of the kiss, I remember liking it more than I actually remember it. I’m with Lincoln now. And Eric is a best friend from back home. I haven’t told him about Lincoln, but we haven’t talked at all, so it’s not lying. It’s…well…it’s not lying.

  “Anise?” Tess prods.

  “Yeah…” I say slowly.

  “You made out with your best friend. Okay, your second best friend. And then you started dating another guy without telling him. And now you’re going to bring the new guy home with you. Don’t you think you should give Eric a heads up?”

  “No,” I say, quick and stubborn. “I wouldn’t care if Eric hooked up with someone else. It’s not like we were dating. It was one kiss.” But even as I say those words, I know they’re bullshit. I’d be thrown, maybe even hurt, if he found someone else to wrestle into the water this summer. My cheeks burn as I cast my pride into the flames. “Did he hook up with someone else this summer?”

  “God, Anise, you are truly amazing. No, he did not. You know, he told me you weren’t talking to him. I tried covering for you, said you were busy with family stuff, but I think you hurt him falling off the face of the earth like that.”

  “Well, why didn’t you tell me that?”

  A long pause. Her voice isn’t as solid when she speaks again. “Because you weren’t really talking to me either.” A pause. “I love you Anise, but you’ve been shitty about communicating.”

  I think about the unanswered texts, the missed FaceTime calls. I’ve been blaming it on the distance, the never-end
ing babysitting duties, the time difference. I’ve been blaming it on everything except myself.

  Did I fuck up?

  Did I take off and leave everyone behind?

  Did I—am I—doing exactly what my mom does? Was it inevitable that I’d end up like her, giving zero shits about the people I’m supposed to care about? I’ve spent so much of my life swearing I won’t be like her, and without even realizing it…

  Panic makes me light-headed. When was the last time I called Cassie? Texted Marie? Why didn’t I ever send those postcards from Ashfall? How many unanswered messages do I have online? As the thoughts connect, my breathing strains, like I’m wearing a shrunken wet suit and can’t find the zipper.

  “Anise, you still there?”

  I manage a tight, “Yeah.”

  I’m about to say I’m sorry and ask how I can fix things, when she says, “Look, I’ve got to go. My parents need help with the dinner rush. I’ll keep the Lincoln thing under wraps until you figure it out. I can’t wait to see you, okay? I’m seriously so excited, but I’ve got to go. Bye!”

  I stare at the screen.

  Call ended.

  “Bye.”

  • • •

  “What the hell are you doing?” Emery asks.

  Emery’s standing in the doorway of her room, and I’m standing in a pile of clothes and magazines and hangers. My conversation with Tess unleashed all my anger and frustration. I had to leave my friends behind and spend the summer here, in the home of the woman who abandoned me—and now I can’t help but realize, despite my hatred of everything she is and does, I’m just like her.

  I want my own piece of destruction, a bit of that satisfaction Aunt Jackie felt by ripping my mom’s stuff apart at the seams. So I pulled out drawers and checked for notes taped to the bottom of the old furniture and plowed through the closet, hunting for a loose panel or some piece of my mom I could ruin. But I found nothing.

  She’s never here.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I’ll clean everything up.”

  I pick up clothes and begin to fold them. Emery turns on a Beatles’ album then joins me in cleaning, even though she doesn’t have to. “Seriously, um, what were you doing?”

  I almost laugh. I almost cry.

  “I’m an asshole friend,” I say. “A shitty, terrible, fuckup, asshole piece of crap.” I whip my head toward her. “Don’t curse.”

  She grins. “But you set such a shining example.”

  “I was…well, you know how you said this was my mom’s room?” Emery nods. “I guess I was looking for something of hers.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  I shake my head. Of course I didn’t. She hasn’t lived here for more than two decades. What was I expecting? But I’m exhausted and aggravated and frustrated, at my mom, at myself, and at Emery. And I just need to do something. Emery is making the same mistake I did, putting distance between her and her friends.

  “What’s your problem?” I ask, ditching the tiptoeing tone I’ve used with her for weeks. She spins toward me. I can’t tell if she’s scared or pissed. “No, really,” I continue. “What the hell is going on with you? Everything is fine, and then you go to the lake and come back in this terrible mood. You stop hanging out with your friends. And you won’t tell me why, no matter how many times I ask. And you made me promise not to tell your mom. But here’s the thing—your time is up. Either you tell me what’s going on, or I’m telling your mom and letting her worry about it. Whatever happened, you can’t keep it all bottled up inside or you’ll—”

  “Explode?” Emery asks, eyebrow raised.

  I pause. “If you don’t talk to me, I will talk to your mom.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Watch me.”

  We stare at each other. “I Am the Walrus” plays in soft tones from her computer. Emery sets her jaw. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.” The song switches to “Strawberry Fields Forever.” Emery fiddles with a sweater, toying with its hem. “You’re going to think it’s ridiculous.”

  “Try me.”

  “Like really ridiculous.”

  “Emery, when I was twelve I tried to scale our roof using one of those back massagers as a grappling hook. Seriously, try me.”

  For a second, she looks like she’s going to laugh. But then her face shifts back to anxiousness. “So remember how I was invited to the lake last minute?”

  I’d actually forgotten about that, but now I remember Dad mentioning it. “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Well, apparently everyone else had been invited, like, weeks in advance. I thought I was part of the group, you know? It wasn’t until the end of the weekend that Ashley, who I’m not really friends with, told me the truth. I was basically leftovers. Charlie wanted exactly thirteen girls at her thirteenth birthday party, and when Natalie couldn’t come last minute, Charlie asked me. So basically she only invited me because I was the only person she knew pathetic enough not to already have weekend plans.”

  My stomach sinks. Back home, our group is tight-knit. But this summer I’ve experienced being the odd person out, and it doesn’t feel good. I’m glad the situation isn’t more serious, but I understand why Emery feels as if she can’t show her face around her friends. It’s got to feel miserable to think your friends don’t want you.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “That sounds terrible.” I try to think of something hopeful to say. “But you’re making new friends. You and Austin seem really close.”

  “Yeah…” She still seems tense.

  I’m not sure if our talk has actually changed anything.

  Saying a problem out loud doesn’t fix it…but maybe, just maybe, it starts to help.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” I say.

  She’s quiet for a moment before responding, “It’s okay. You were only trying to help. Hey, after we finish cleaning up your mess, we should stay up and watch as many episodes of The Office as possible so we can finish before you leave town. If you want to or whatever.”

  “Sure.” I smile at her. “You know, whatever.”

  • • •

  The next week rushes by in a blur of planning and packing and overwhelming excitement mixed with more than a tinge of dread. I’m going home. Finally. But Tess’s phone call weighs heavy in my mind. I should text all my friends and apologize for losing touch, but Dad always tells me it’s better to apologize in person, so I ask Tess to let them know I’m coming back for Surf Break. I’ll apologize to them all in person when I’m home.

  Today is my last day in Nebraska, and I’m spending it at the park. As my cousins and I ride down the tree-lined paths I’ve come to know so well, Emery says, “I’m going to go to the basketball courts.”

  I grind my skateboard to a halt. Parker and Nash do the same. “Can we go ahead?” they ask.

  I nod. “Yeah, I’ll meet you guys there in a minute. Be careful.” They rush off down the path, Nash almost knocking into a Great Dane and its owner. I turn my attention back to Emery. “The courts?” I ask. She just told me how cruel her friends were. Why on earth would she want to go back to them?

  She shrugs. “Well, I thought about it some more and realized I don’t know the whole story. I figured I should find out. When I went last time I just stood there and didn’t say anything. Now I’m going to ask why they did that to me.”

  Don’t do it, I want to tell her. I think of the many times I’ve forgiven my mom, how I’ve convinced myself that maybe she did care and maybe she wouldn’t leave. It was always a mistake. I always regretted pushing away that gut feeling of she just doesn’t care.

  But I don’t tell Emery any of this because her friends aren’t my mom. Maybe it was a simple misunderstanding, and Emery is brave enough t
o find out. “Just—I love you, okay?”

  She rolls her eyes and smiles at me. “I know. I love you too. I’ll be okay.” She sticks her tongue out at me and then pedals off. I watch her disappear down the winding paths, and I believe her; no matter what happens with her friends today, or with her mom, or with anything, I know she’ll be okay.

  • • •

  “No more,” I pant. There’s nothing like glorious exhaustion to get your mind off of stress. Sweat drips down my face and trails onto my neck. This is what four hours of nonstop skating will do to you. I collapse onto the concrete and dangle my legs over the edge of the skate bowl.

  Lincoln collapses next to me, our heated bodies pressed close. I lean my head on his shoulder, not caring that his shirt is damp with sweat, and let my pulse return to normal, which is challenging as his fingers trail lightly up and down the bare skin of my thigh. We sit in peaceful silence, watching his friends, our friends, drop into the bowl and land trick after trick. Those hard thwacks that sounded so alien weeks ago are now a comforting clatter.

  “I want to try! Pleaseeeee.” I turn and squint into the sun to find Parker standing over me.

  “Try what?” I ask.

  “The bowl!”

  I’m so used to Nash being the daredevil that I don’t automatically say no. But then my brain kicks in. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.” Aunt Jackie has banned them from the bowl until they turn ten, but tons of kids their age and younger skate in it.

  “Pleeeassssse.” He pouts. “I’ll wear my helmet and kneepads and elbow pads. I’ll even borrow Nash’s pads and wear those too. Pleeeeeasseee.”

  I should listen to my aunt. Their mom. But it is my last day here, and Parker really wants to get in that bowl. Isn’t indulging their want for adventure the least I can do for my cousins? Didn’t I break Dad’s surfing rules a thousand times as a kid and turn out fine? This summer has been tough on everyone in some way, and I have no idea when I’ll be with my cousins and a skate bowl again. Maybe a little rule breaking is exactly what we all need to end our time together on a perfect, exhilarating note.

  I turn to Lincoln and raise my eyebrows. He doesn’t know about Aunt Jackie’s rule. “What do you think?” I ask him.