by Benway,Robin
Oliver’s backyard had gotten weedier and more overgrown in the past two weeks, which was understandable. Who has time to mow the lawn when your son comes home after ten years? I knocked on the back door, three fast knocks that echoed my rapidly beating heart. I squinted a little against the sun, and when Oliver opened it, I sort of took a step back. “Oh,” I said. “Um, hi. Hi.”
“Hi,” he said. “My mom’s not here, she took the twins to get new shoes.” His hair was rumpled, like he had been lying on his bed for too long, and his shirt was a little wrinkled.
“Oh, cool.” Why would that be cool, Emmy? Shoe shopping with four-year-olds is not cool. “No, actually I’m here to see, um, you? My mom and dad thought that maybe we could hang out?” Once the words were out of my mouth I wanted to cram them back in. I sounded ridiculous, like some made-up character in a health class textbook. No, thanks, I don’t want any drugs. Hey, how about we play a board game instead?
“Hang out?” Oliver repeated, but he didn’t sound entirely disinterested. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”
“Okay!” I said, entirely too cheerful. “Cool, yeah! Okay. Cool. I have my car, or you could drive or—”
“I don’t have a license,” he said. “I didn’t really need one in New York.”
“Oh yeah. Right. Okay. Well, then, I guess I’ll drive. Don’t want to do anything illegal, right?” I tried to smile as I realized, I just made a joke about illegal activity to someone who had been kidnapped for ten years. Oh God. Let the trauma begin.
But Oliver just turned around. “Give me a few minutes. Gotta find my keys.” He patted his pockets, like they were hiding somewhere in his jeans.
“Sure!” I said, then went to fire up my car, my jaw tight with embarrassment.
This was all my parents’ fault.
“So,” I said once Oliver was settled in the front seat of my car, “what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “What do you do here?”
“Not a lot,” I admitted. “The movies, coffee, ice cream. Just hang out at the Spectrum, usually.” I paused for a few seconds before adding, “It’s a new shopping center. Well, not new new, but it went up right after . . .”
Right after you were kidnapped.
I needed a subject change, fast. “What did you do in New York?”
“Oh, you know, movies, coffee, ice cream,” he said, then looked over and smiled. That motion made something in my heart seize up for a few seconds. “No, seriously, whatever you want to do,” he said, not realizing what he had done. “It’s cool. I have one question, though.”
“Yeah?” I asked as I backed down the driveway. I could see my parents peeking through the blinds and I ignored them.
He glanced down at the floor. “Why the hell is there so much sand in your minivan?”
I glanced over at Oliver, then back at the blinds, which had quickly snapped back into place. “You really want to know what I do around here?” I asked him. “Because if you do, you cannot tell my parents. They’ll murder me.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Literally?”
“Metaphorically,” I amended. “Which would probably be worse.”
“Deal,” he agreed.
“Cool,” I said. “Do you have swim trunks?”
Oliver hesitated for a few seconds. “Yes?”
“Go get them and then we’ll find Drew.”
Drew lived five minutes away and when we pulled into his massive driveway, he was standing in the garage, surrounded by boxes and a broom. “I’m helping my dad,” he said before I could even ask. “We’re”—he made finger quotes around the words—“bonding. Oh, hey, Oliver. Hey.”
Oliver startled a little but just nodded at Drew. “Hey, man.”
“Drew,” he introduced himself. “I’m Drew.”
“Oh, right,” Oliver said. “Right. Sorry.”
Drew gave me a look that clearly begged to know more, but I ignored him. “Can we borrow your board and wet suit?” I asked him. “I’m going to teach Oliver how to surf.”
“You’re what?” Oliver and Drew both said.
I grinned at them. “You asked me what we did around here,” I said to Oliver. “This is what I do. Just don’t tell my parents, remember?”
“Because they’ll metaphorically kill you,” Oliver repeated dutifully. “Got it.”
“They will,” Drew agreed. “Or send her to Bible camp.”
“My parents don’t even go to church!” I said.
“Bible camp is the last refuge of every desperate parent, regardless of religious affiliation,” Drew said, his eyes cutting over to Oliver as he realized what he said. Luckily, Oliver just seemed amused. “C’mon, dude, let’s get you suited up.”
We left a few minutes later, Drew’s old wet suit and board shoved next to mine in the back of the minivan. “So when did you learn to surf?” Oliver asked as we waited at a light, the ocean shimmering down the hill below us.
“A few years ago,” I admitted. “Drew’s older brother, Kane, taught me when I was fourteen. It was the summer before he went to college and he had already taught Drew and it was just . . .” I searched for a word that didn’t exist. “It just felt like I discovered something that made me feel different than I had felt before. It made me different. I didn’t think I’d like it at first, but I loved it. I still love it.” I adjusted my sunglasses as the sun came pouring in through the windshield, the afternoon bright and warm. “Drew goes out a lot with me, but Caro doesn’t like it too much. She hates the seaweed.”
Look at me, conversing with Oliver! I thought to myself. And no one’s been traumatized yet!
“Got it.” Oliver had his elbow resting against the open window, the air blowing his hair back and forth across his forehead. “So how long has Drew been gay?”
I bristled immediately, my voice sharp. “Um, since he was conceived?”
“No, I meant—sorry, that’s not what I meant at all. I meant, when did he come out? Or—has he yet?”
Stand down, tiger. I told myself. Just some innocent questions.
“He came out to his parents last year,” I said, my spine relaxing. “But we’ve known for, like, ever. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but I think Drew’s parents were a little surprised. They were cool with it but . . .”
“But not really?” Oliver offered.
“They say they love him all the time,” I told him, remembering how Drew’s voice had shaken when he told Caro and me about that. “But I think they have to learn to love a different version of him than the one they were expecting. Which is silly, because Drew is just Drew. He’s not different, you know? It’s just the way they’re looking at him that’s changed.”
Oliver nodded, his lips pursed as he thought about that. “Sometimes love isn’t something you say, it’s something you do,” he finally said. “Or, I don’t know, at least that’s what it seems like.”
I glanced at Oliver and wondered whose parents we were discussing now.
“Agreed,” I said, then decided to take a risk. “I’m sorry people are being such creeps at school. It sucks. And that milk carton shit was stupid.”
“Yeah, well, what are you gonna do?” Oliver shrugged. “I’m the star of the month, I guess. My mom and the principal had a meeting about it, which was totally helpful.” The sarcasm practically dripped off his teeth. “Don’t tell anyone about that, okay? It won’t help.”
“No worries,” I said. “What’d they say, though?”
“That I should see the guidance counselor in addition to a therapist.” Oliver sighed a little, his breath disappearing into the wind as I turned a corner. “Don’t tell anyone about that, either.”
“Well, lucky for you, you are in the perfect car for keeping secrets.” I gestured to the surfboards in the back. “And therapists are the worst,” I added. “If you wanted to talk about things, you’d talk about them, right?”
“You’ve been?”
I realized my mistake too late. “Yeah, well, after you
. . . you know.”
“After my dad kidnapped me. You can say it.”
“After your dad kidnapped you,” I echoed, but the words sounded a lot sadder coming out of his mouth than they did coming out of mine. “Me and Caro and Drew, we all went, but then one of them made Drew cry—I don’t remember what he said, exactly, but he said something—and so Caro kicked the therapist and then I kicked him and we didn’t have to go anymore.”
“Why’d you kick him?”
“Because I,” I said, placing my hand over my heart, “am a very loyal friend, Oliver.”
He startled a little again, even as he laughed. “Good to know. So you’re saying I should kick my therapist?”
“You have a real gift for reading between the lines,” I said, then pulled the car into a parking space and clapped my hands down on top of the steering wheel. “Now then. Are you ready for the best surfing lesson of your life?”
“You mean first and maybe only surfing lesson?”
“Possibly.”
“Absolutely,” he said, and we climbed out of the car.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Oliver was terrible. I mean, I thought Caro was bad when Kane first taught us that day on the beach, but Oliver made her look like Laird Hamilton.
“Okay,” I said when we carried our boards down to the beach, trying not to trip on the steep wooden steps. “First, suit up.” I pointed at Drew’s wet suit. “Zipper goes in the back. You want it to be tight but not so tight that you can’t move your arms or legs. You don’t want to look like a penguin.”
“I didn’t think the first rule in a surfing lesson would be ‘don’t look like a penguin,’” Oliver said, trying not to fall as he stepped into the legs of the suit.
“Hey,” I shrugged. “You get what you pay for.” I had never taught anyone how to surf, but I remembered my first lesson with Kane like it had just happened a few hours earlier, rather than three years ago. What could go wrong?
Oliver stumbled a little and I moved so he could hold on to my shoulder. I still hadn’t taken off my dress and I realized that I was about to be standing in front of my childhood friend in a bathing suit for the first time in ten years.
Real smart, Emmy. You’re a genius. Definitely apply for that Fulbright scholarship as soon as you get a chance.
I waited until Oliver was busy trying to pull up the zipper on the back of his suit, then turned around and quickly slipped my dress over my head before stepping into the wet suit. I always felt better when I had my wet suit on, like all the feelings and thoughts I had could be contained, like they had a safe place to be. “It’s your second skin,” Caro had once laughed, but she was right. It was. I just wished it fit better. It was secondhand from Craigslist. It sagged in the legs and arms, and I fantasized about buying a brand-new one that fit perfectly, but babysitting money only went so far.
“Okay, lie flat on the board,” I said once we were outfitted and I checked to make sure that the neck closure on Oliver’s suit was Velcroed into place. “Palms on the front of the board. You want to be right in the middle so you don’t lose your balance on the water.”
“Got it,” he said, grunting a little as he got into position. He was squinting against the afternoon sun’s rays reflecting on the water, tiny little diamond glints of light. “Am I surfing now?”
“Not quite.” I laughed and then moved his hands a little bit. They were warmer than mine. “Did you ever see the movie Point Break?”
“About a million times. It was on cable a lot when I was home alone.”
“Well, I’m Patrick Swayze and you’re Keanu Reeves.”
“Righteous,” Oliver said, and we grinned at each other. “When do we rob the banks?”
We practiced popping up for a few minutes. He was pretty good at this part, but everyone is. Surfing is a lot easier when you’re not in the water.
After I thought he was ready (which, it turned out, was a slight miscalculation on my part), we walked down to the water, dragging our boards behind us in the sand, the leashes attached to our ankle. “You ready?” I asked him, wishing I had remembered to wear sunscreen. The sun was hot and it always feels warmer when you’re encased in a rubber suit.
“Quick question,” Oliver said as he scanned the horizon. “What is the shark population like around here?”
I blinked at him. “Are you being serious right now?”
“I don’t know.” He laughed nervously. “No. Yes. Maybe? Sharks?”
I sighed. “There are no sharks here.”
“Do you mean ‘here’ as in the ‘Pacific Ocean’ or . . . ?”
“Okay, yes, there are sharks in the Pacific Ocean somewhere but I don’t think—”
“Could you be a little more specific about the word somewhere?”
“Oliver,” I said. There was the flinch again. “If Patrick Swayze saw a shark, what do you think he would have done?”
“I also didn’t foresee this surf lesson involving that question.”
“Patrick Swayze would punch that shark in the nose,” I answered for him. “And that’s what I will do for you, okay?”
“For me?” He put his hand to his chest and pretended to be flattered.
“I told you, I’m a loyal friend. Kicking therapists, punching sharks, whatever it takes.”
“Okay,” he finally said. “Let’s do this.”
“Great,” I said. “Now let’s see what you’re made of.”
“I bet that’s what the sharks are saying right now,” Oliver muttered, but he paddled out behind me.
He had strong arms, it turned out, and the waves were flat enough that it wasn’t too hard to get past them and out to a few bigger swells. “What do you do if the waves are big when you’re paddling out?” he asked when I pointed that out.
“You turtle,” I replied, then held on to the sides of my boards and flipped it over just as a slightly bigger wave crashed over me. The board protected me from the wave and I waited until I felt the whoosh of the water recede before I turned over and came back up. “See?” I sputtered, wiping my hair out of my eyes. “Like a turtle. Your board becomes a shell to protect you.”
“Pretty cool,” Oliver said. He looked impressed.
“Lucky for you, these are baby waves.” We continued to paddle out and when we were far enough, I hopped off my board and went to swim next to him. “Do you remember what we practiced on the shore?”
“Yeah, it happened, like, three minutes ago.”
I just smiled. “It’s amazing what you can forget when a giant force of nature is rushing toward you.”
“That’s . . . really reassuring, thanks.”
“I like to provide a dose of realism,” I said, then watched as a wave started to build about fifty feet away from us. “You see this wave?”
Oliver craned his neck to look over his shoulder. “What wave? Is that even a wave?”
“It will be. And it’s going to be your wave.”
Oliver just looked at me. “You’re serious.”
“Like a heart attack. I’ll give you a shove. Now, just before the wave hits you, start paddling. Paddle like”—I had a burst of genius—“like a shark is after you, all right? Just go until you feel the wave pick up the board, then use your arms to pop up. Easy peasy.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “Tell me again why you do this for fun?”
“Because it’s awesome!” I told him as the wave came closer. “Are you ready?”
“No! Yes!”
“Go go go go go GO!” I gave the tail of his board a shove just as the wave started to crest, and Oliver began to paddle furiously, his hands going in and out of the water at an impressive speed. “Faster!” I yelled as he started to cruise away from me. “You can do it! Stand up, stand up!”
“What?” I heard him yell, but then he let out a shout, like a battle cry or a victory sound, and I
watched as Oliver . . . did nothing.
“Stand up!” I yelled. “You can do it!”
I heard him yell something but I couldn’t hear him this time, and I climbed back up on my board just so I could see a little better. He was laughing at least, his hair wet across his forehead as he literally lay on top of his board until it ground into the shore and got stuck in the sand. I caught the next wave, taking advantage of the white water so I wouldn’t have to paddle too much and wear myself out, and rode it in to meet up with Oliver.
“That was so cool!” he yelled when he saw me.
“You didn’t even try!” I laughed, falling off my board and righting myself before I was completely submerged. “You just stayed there!”
“No, what you just did. You made it look easy!”
I wiped the salt water out of my eyes (Visine was my friend, lest my parents think that my red eyes were a part of a raging pot-smoking habit) and looked at him. “What happened? There was no actual surfing!” I teased.
“I decided to take it easy my first time,” he said. “Also, that shit is hard.”
I grinned at him. “Round two?”
“Race you.”
We paddled back out.
Three tries later, Oliver managed to get to his knees, but wouldn’t let go of the edges of the board. By the fifth time, he was standing. “YEAAAHH!!!” I screamed as I rode in just behind him. “You did it!”
“I fell, like, two seconds later,” he said, but I could tell he was proud. His cheeks were flushed, and whether it was from pride, embarrassment, the cold water, or the hot sun, I couldn’t tell.
“But it counts!” I said. “You surfed!”
Oliver was hanging on to the edge of his board, his legs dangling in the water, and I circled back to meet him. “What’s wrong?” I said. “Need a break?”
