Girl Out of Water(63)

? ? ?

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 to 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.

“Oh, no,” he says. “You’re not putting any Sutter blood on my hands. This is your decision.”

“How old was Austin when he started in the bowl?” I ask.

Lincoln glances up at Parker with a sly smile, sunlight reflecting off his glasses. “Younger than him.”

? ? ?

I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life, but today I discovered there’s a difference between making a bad decision that only affects me (like eating an entire carton of ice cream before getting into the water) and a bad decision that affects others. A big difference.

After about thirty minutes of Parker learning to ride in the bowl, there was a sharp crack followed by the most gut-wrenching scream I’ve ever heard. It was worse than when I found Nash in the pool. Time stopped as I rushed into the concrete pit. Parker was crying and screaming and clutching his arm, which was definitely at a weird angle. Then time sped up, and we were all at the hospital once again, only this time without Aunt Jackie. Dad met us there and kept her updated on the phone amid all the chaos—Parker crying in pain, me crying at Parker crying, Nash and Emery crying in laughter when Austin impersonated the doctor’s squeaky, rubber duck voice.

By the time we get home, everyone is exhausted, especially Parker who is doped up on low-grade painkillers and wearing a green, pink, and blue striped cast from his shoulder to his wrist because he just couldn’t choose a color.