Girl Out of Water(4)

“—Aunt Jackie was in a car accident earlier today.”

Oh. Oh. A confusing mixture of relief and anxiety floods through me. “Honey, are you okay?” Dad asks.

“Umm, yeah.” My fingers tap rapid beats against my legs. I need out of my wet suit. The tight fabric constricts. I jump from the counter and peel it off. “What happened? Was it serious? Is she okay?”

“She’ll be okay,” Dad says. “But it was serious. Both her legs were crushed. Severely. She’ll be in the hospital for weeks for surgery and recovery and then in a wheelchair when she comes home.”

“Fuck,” I breathe out the word slowly. Dad doesn’t mind when I curse. He says if his teenage daughter is going to have one vice, it might as well be a sailor’s mouth. “That sucks. Shit, that sucks.”

And it really does. I’m closer to Aunt Jackie, my shit-excuse-for-a-mom’s sister, than I am to my actual shit-excuse-for-a-mom. I sure as hell see a lot more of her. She has three young kids—twin boys and a girl—and every summer they scavenge up the cheapest tickets they can find and come stay with us at the beach for a couple of weeks. Money is tight for them because Aunt Jackie’s husband passed away about six years ago from a heart attack, but they always make the summer trip a priority.

Even though it interrupts my summer surf time, I love having my little cousins around. We trail up and down the beach, hunt for seashells, build sandcastles, and ride boogie boards. Since they only come once a year, the ocean is still magical to them. I love seeing it through their eyes as opposed to the eyes of Santa Cruz locals.

“Is she okay?” I ask. “Like awake and stuff? Can I call her or should I wait until tomorrow? How’s Emery? And the boys? Do you have her number? I always forget to save it in my phone.”

Dad doesn’t answer right away. Oh god, what if the kids were involved? Dread knots my stomach. “Honey,” he continues, “you know how I said Aunt Jackie will be in a hospital and then a wheelchair?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, it’s summer, so your cousins are home. And Jacks will be in the hospital for a few weeks and then in a wheelchair for even longer. She won’t be able to take care of them on her own.”

“Oh,” I say. “Oh…”

“We’re going to spend the summer in Nebraska helping out your cousins and Aunt Jackie. I’m going to have to pick up some work while I’m there, so I’ll need your help with the kids during the day.”

Spend the summer in Nebraska? I’ve never left California, much less spent weeks away. Why would I, when everything I love—my friends, Dad, the ocean—are all within a half mile of my bedroom? But of course I want to help. Of course I want to be there for my aunt and little cousins, even if the idea of being that far away from home makes me wish I could take my wet suit off a second time.

“O-kay,” I say slowly.

Dad clears his throat. “Sweetheart, when I say we’re going to spend the summer in Nebraska, I mean…all summer.”

“All summer?” I pause. “Like what part of all summer do you mean?”

He rushes out the next words. “We leave tomorrow, and we’ll be back a week before school starts.”

“A week before?”

He nods.

And then it hits me. Coming home a week before school starts means I’ll miss the entire summer. It means I’ll miss Surf Break, my last chance to spend three nonstop days with some of my closest friends. By the time I get back home to start my senior year, half of my friends will already be on their way out of town.

I stare down at my wet suit. It’s crumpled in a pile on the kitchen floor. Tomorrow I’ll yank it back on and head out to the surf with the sun rising behind me. Tomorrow I’ll meet up with friends. Catch wave after wave. Make bets on the best ride. Eat veggie burgers and plantain chips at the Shak. Tomorrow I’ll have salt in my hair and sand between my toes.

“You should probably pack tonight,” Dad says, though I can barely hear him. Through the open window, the ocean’s amplified. It’s calling to me. It won’t let me leave. It won’t let this happen. I cannot spend the entire summer in Nebraska. “Flight’s tomorrow morning at eleven.”





Two


I slump in my chair at the kitchen table and stare out the window at the beach. The ocean looks distorted through the old and mottled glass. Before Dad left the room, he promised the summer would be okay—good, even. I want to believe him. After all, this was the man who promised there weren’t any monsters hiding under my bed, and he was right. But the thought of being away from my friends for the entire summer is a lot scarier than hiding monsters.

I pull out my phone and send a mass text:

Code red. Being shipped out to Nebraska tomorrow for ENTIRE SUMMER. Meet at the Litchfield Dunes at midnight.

The Litchfield Dunes are half a mile from my house, behind the Litchfield Estate, which has been empty for five years now due to a case of rich people spending money they don’t have, making it a particularly excellent spot for us to gather late at night. My stomach twists with anxiety or hunger or both. I’ve only left Santa Cruz a handful of times, excursions including the sorry your mom is trash, let’s go to Disneyland trip when I was eight and the sorry your mom is still trash, let’s go surfing in San Diego trip when I was eleven. I didn’t even go to my uncle’s funeral because I had my first serious surfing injuries at the time—a broken arm and a sliced leg that needed a dozen stitches.