Girl Out of Water(81)

“No, you’re not allowed. At this rate you’ll be better than me by then end of the weekend.”

“I’ve seen you out there. We both know that’s not true. Come on.” He reaches for the board, and I step away. He follows, and I step back again. Then he gets this look in his eyes, and he smiles, that dimple popping out.

“What are you—”

He leaps forward, and I yelp, struggling to get full control of the board while turning and breaking into a sprint down the damp shore, feet pounding on the packed sand, little splashes of water kicking up behind me. “I’m faster than you!” Lincoln yells.

I’m not sure if that’s true, but he’s definitely faster than me when I have a heavy surfboard in my arms. He gently tackles me from behind, and we both fly to the ground, the surfboard cast to the side as Lincoln pins me, his body flush against mine. “Hi there,” he says.

“I hate you,” I say.

“Okay,” he says.

And then he kisses me.

? ? ?

Five hours later, I’m lying on the beach between Lincoln and Tess, our backs pressed into damp towels, the early evening sun stalking us between scattered clouds. I know I’m home because with closed eyes I can identify each familiar sound.

Bark, a dog racing down the coast.

Crash, the waves rolling onto the shore.

Squawk, the seagulls circling overhead.

The sounds mingle with each other, and yet I can pick out each distinct one. My fingers twist idly in the sand, every so often brushing up and against the warm skin of Lincoln’s nub and then away again. He sleeps soundly next to me. Surfing exhausted him. Teaching him surfing exhausted me because I ended up competing more than teaching.

Tess is on my other side, a paperback open across her stomach, sunglasses over her probably closed eyes. Even asleep, her presence is unspeakably comforting. I wish I could freeze this moment. I wish Lincoln wasn’t going back to Nebraska, wish Tess wasn’t going to leave in a year. I wish here and now would just stay here and now.

? ? ?

Later that evening, while Lincoln naps more and before Tess comes over, I’m organizing my room because, somehow, it’s already a giant mess. I move my tote bag to sort a pile of unfolded clothing, but then I pause. The weight doesn’t feel right. I rifle through the bag until I find my copy of Detective Dana’s The Last Stop on the Train. A sticky note from Emery is on the cover.

Found this after we cleaned up your mess. Didn’t want you to forget it.

But I don’t remember bringing this to—I glance up at my bookshelf. I have the same exact book there. This isn’t mine. Unless I have two copies. But I don’t think so…

My fingers tremble as I open the book. There’s a signature and a personalized note from the author to my mom.

May your travels take you further than the last stop.

Aunt Jackie’s words echo in my mind. “Your mom was terrified to end up like our mother, to live and die in the same place without seeing the world…so she left.”

It’s odd. My mom was terrified of ending up like her mom, so she left home, and I’m terrified of ending up like my mom, so I was scared to leave home.

And in an hour I’ll discover if my fear was justified.

I hear the front door open. “Anise!” Tess calls out.

My heart races. This entire summer, I was so eager to discover something of my mom’s, but now it feels like I’m about to get caught with contraband. I stuff the book and thoughts of my mom in the back of a drawer. When Tess bursts into my room moments later, she declares we’re going to go all out for Motel/Hotel tonight. She drops a pile of neon and spandex clothing on my bed. Where and when she acquired all of this clothing is beyond me; she’s definitely never worn a bright orange spandex jumpsuit to school.

After picking through all the clothing, Tess ends up in a black tube skirt and multi-colored neon midriff shirt, and I end up in neon purple leggings and a bright aqua sports bra. Lincoln, with limited wardrobe available, wears his trusty jean shorts and borrows a tie-dye T-shirt from Dad’s collection. It’s not exactly the right fit for an EDM show but decidedly better than his dark flannels.

After getting dressed, we spend a half hour tracing our skin with neon and glitter paint. Lincoln seems more fascinated by the paint than Tess or me, and he spends a solid twenty minutes in front of the mirror perfecting the swirling neon mask around his eyes.

“I didn’t know you had an artistic streak,” I say.

He puts down a tube of glitter and wraps his arm around me. “I have an everything streak.”

I roll my eyes. “My turn. Stop hogging the mirror.”

However, my own attempts at the paint are so terrible that both Tess and Lincoln have to fix it for me. We then crack glow sticks and slide them on our wrists and necks. “All right, all right,” I finally say. “We’re properly decorated. Can we go now?” My nerves have kicked into high gear. I just want to see my friends and get whatever will happen over with.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Tess says. She opens the freezer door and pulls out a bottle of chilled liquor she must have put in there this morning. “Shots!”

I wince. I hate shots. When I do occasionally drink, I mostly stick to beer. However, before I can mention this, Lincoln says, “Hell yes,” and sidles up next to Tess at the counter.