Girl Out of Water(16)

“I’m Lincoln,” he says and offers me his right hand, because he doesn’t have a left one, or because people shake with their right hands. One or the other, or both I guess.

I train my eyes away from what isn’t there and lean forward to shake his hand. “Anise,” I say.

“My parents aren’t weird or anything.”

“What?” My gaze keeps flicking back to his missing arm. I wish someone would squirt me with a fucking spray bottle or something.

“You know, naming me Lincoln and living in Nebraska. We aren’t from Nebraska.”

I give him a blank look. I have no idea what he’s talking about; maybe it’s impossible to think in this apocalyptic summer heat. “Huh?”

“You know, Lincoln, Nebraska? The capital?”

Now that he says it, the name sounds familiar. I think Detective Dana solved a murder there. “Right,” I say. “Sorry. I’m not from around here. I’m visiting from Santa Cruz.”

“Ah, Cali life. I’m going to hike the Pacific Crest Trail next year.” When he smiles again, I notice a particularly dimply dimple on his right cheek. I have a weird urge to reach out and touch it. But that’s probably just the heat again. “What brings you to this fine state?” he asks.

“Umm, family stuff,” I say. And right then I realize I’ve been asleep for who knows how long, and there are three little people I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on. “Shit.” I rise to my feet and step around Lincoln to scan the skate park. I find relief before my heart launches into full-on racing mode. Parker and Nash are at a set of low rails, trying to jump and skid on them. Thank God I made them wear helmets. I slip my phone out of my pocket and find a message from Emery:

Btw tell me when you want to leave and I’ll meet you at the entrance :)

No messages from Dad. My stomach tightens. What if Aunt Jackie’s surgery isn’t going well? He would text, right? Would he have the time? I quickly send off a message, and within seconds he texts back: so far so good, still in surgery.

“Everything okay?” Lincoln asks.

I whip back around to find that I’m very close to Lincoln and Lincoln’s dimple. I have to look up to meet his dark eyes behind his chunky, black-framed glasses. Since I’m five ten, it’s rare for me to ever have to look up at anyone. For a second, I think of Eric and our perfectly level eyes and our perfectly level lips. “Fine.” My face flushes, and I take a step back. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

He smiles. Again. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You were only sleeping for like ten minutes tops.”

This statement sets off all kinds of alarms. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“No!” He looks away for a second, clearing his throat. “I was just aware that you…aware of you…and your eyes were closed.” He stops again, takes a breath, and seems to regain his confidence. “I wasn’t watching you sleep. I’ve only seen Parker and Nash here with their mom, so I noticed you were new. I noticed you. I didn’t watch you. Very big difference.”

“Very,” I agree.

Two guys skate past us. “Yo, Lincoln!”

Lincoln turns and salutes them. He calls out, “Jason, remember to look where you’re skating. We don’t want another Wildcat incident!”

“Roger that!” one of the guys calls back.

“Anyway.” Lincoln turns to face me again. “What was I saying?”

“Something about not being a creepy stalker who watches people sleep.”

“Right. Definitely not a stalker.” He runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. “You have cool eyes by the way. Very green. Like seaweed.”

“Really not helping your not-a-creepy-stalker campaign,” I say. And yet, I’m flattered. I think.

“Right,” he says. “Fair point.”

Another voice calls out from behind us. “Hey! Lincoln! Come show me that varial again!”

Lincoln doesn’t turn around this time. Instead he cocks his head back and yells. “One sec!” Then he steps toward me and turns so we’re standing next to each other and facing the action of the skate park. His right arm brushes against mine, and even though he’s a stranger, the touch feels oddly comfortable. “That’s my younger brother,” he says, pointing at the guy who just called out; he’s dressed in head-to-toe black with chunky silver chains looped through his pants.

And he’s white.

Like white, white. Like whiter than me at the end of winter when my wet suit hasn’t come off in months.

“Um, cool,” I say.

Lincoln must sense what I’m thinking because he says, “We’re both adopted. And our dad’s Vietnamese. Makes for very interesting Christmas cards.” Before I have a chance to comment, he jumps on the skateboard resting by his feet and kicks off toward his brother, calling out, “I’ll see you later, Anise,” as he rides away.

“Right. See you, Lincoln.”

I lie down on the bench, intent on falling back asleep, but as I close my eyes a warm buzzing in my mind keeps me wide awake.

? ? ?

The twins are skateboarding zombies as we wait for Emery at the entrance to the park. They trail back and forth across the concrete path, their heads dipping in exhaustion. Honestly I’m surprised they’re still standing. After resting on the sidelines for another half hour, I went and joined them at the rails, cheering them on as they attempted to ride the full length without falling. The task looked markedly less impressive than surfing, but it was still fun to watch my cousins slowly accomplish their goal as the hot sun pressed overhead. Obsessive athleticism must run in the family.