Girl Out of Water(59)

“So you came to tell me my phone won’t shut up, but you didn’t actually bring me my phone?”

“Yup.” She shrugs and then leaves the room.

“Right,” I mutter. “Thanks so much.”

I shove away from the table and head into the living room. I have about ten million messages from friends informing me that a slew of famous surfers have been added to the Surf Break roster last minute and that if I don’t make it home, I’m basically the worst person ever.

We know you’ve wanted to get that poster of Fitzgibbons signed since you were like eleven

Hey stranger! If you stay in Nebraska any longer, you’re going to turn into a cattle herder (okay, still not sure what exactly is in Nebraska)

Wright is going to be there! Wright AND his abs!

Where the hell have you been? Get back NOW

Literally I don’t care if you have to hitchhike—you’d better be here

As I scroll through the many messages, I spot three from Eric.

Did you hear about the new roster?

Are you going to make it?

Hope your summer is going well…

Those three dots cut deep. Eric’s been one of my best friends for seventeen years, and we haven’t spoken for weeks. Unless you count the occasional like on Instagram and Facebook. It’s been so long I’m not sure what to say. At first there wasn’t anything interesting to share about my trip, and now the stretched silence feels awkward. Plus, there’s Lincoln. Do I tell Eric about him? Would it hurt him? What would I even say?

But Eric’s image, the image that was so grainy before, flashes sharp and clear. Blond curls falling into his always-squinting eyes because he refuses to wear sunglasses like a normal person. Strong arms that pick me up and toss me into the water with ease. That smooth, easy laugh.

This is what leaving home does—rips you from your friends, your life. Forces you to start new.

My phone beeps again with a message from Tess:

Dear best friend who fell off the face of the earth, are you planning on coming home to me?

Like ever?

Please send proof of your existence.

If you’d asked me a year ago—no, even three months ago—if I’d ever go a single day without texting Tess, I would have laughed. But as I scroll through our most recent messages, I see that most recent equates to more than two weeks ago.

Dad and I are scheduled to fly home in three weeks.

But in three more weeks, will it even feel like home?

I start to type a response but stop because for the first time ever in our friendship, I don’t know what to say.

? ? ?

It’s too hot for the park today, so Lincoln and Austin come over, which has become a somewhat regular event. We all play an endless game of Monopoly. Aunt Jackie wheels herself out of the guest bedroom and sits at the folding table we put in the living room so she can play with us. She sneaks money from Emery’s stash and gets caught on purpose, probably because she enjoys that loud gasp of, “Mom!” every time she does it.

I sit at the end of the table, watching instead of playing, toying with my phone. The unanswered messages sit heavy in my palm. All I want to do is assure my friends I’ll be home in time for Surf Break. But of course, I won’t. And the longer I wait to reply, the longer I can postpone that reality.

Lincoln nudges me. He went bankrupt early on from buying Nash’s Park Place card for an outrageous price. “You okay?” he mouths.

I shrug my shoulders.

He stares at me for a second longer, drumming his fingers in quick raps against his leg, and then stands and tugs my hand. “Come with me.”

“Why?” I ask, a little louder than I meant. Everyone looks over, but their attention is drawn back to the game when Parker pulls a Community Chest card and gets to collect fifty dollars from every player.

We head into the kitchen. Lincoln sits at the table, but I stand, pressing my back against the kitchen bar. “Obviously you’re not okay,” Lincoln says. “What’s going on?”

I hesitate. It’s probably rude to tell Lincoln how badly I wish I could be in Santa Cruz, like saying I’d rather have it than him. But the thing is, as much as I like Lincoln—like skating with him, laughing with him, kissing him, especially that spot on his neck, right beneath his jaw that always produces this little gasp—I know I’ll have to give him up soon. Even if I weren’t going back to Santa Cruz, it’s not like we could stay together forever. He wants to travel, and I refuse to spend my life not knowing when he’ll come back.

“Anise?” he asks again.

“I—” I pause to string the words together first. “You know that Surf Break thing I was telling you about?” Lincoln nods. “Well, this morning, a bunch of amazing surfers were added to roster last minute, and so now I want to go more than ever.”

“So why don’t you go?”

I eye him, confused. “What?”

“Just go.”

“Umm, first of all, plane fare is expensive as—”

“So we’ll drive.”

We. “And I have to help watch my cousins.”

“They seem fine to me. And your aunt is doing great.”

“I mean, I guess—but there’s no way my dad would be okay with this.”

Lincoln shrugs. “Can’t hurt to ask.”