When Everything Is Blue(6)

“Bet you hated that.” Chris would probably surf naked if it was legal.

“Yeah, couldn’t show off my abs.” He rubs his belly with one hand, lifting his shirt a little to offer me a glimpse. I chuckle at his vanity. His abs are amazing—all grooved and chiseled all the way down to his dips, which he’s always showing off because he wears his board shorts super low on his hips. So tempting. And he doesn’t even have to work at it. Dick.

“I met a girl,” he says then, a little quieter.

I go still at the mention of a girl—my fugue state.

“On the beach,” Chris continues. “We messed around some one night when we were at a party.”

“Oh yeah?” I manage to choke out like I’m interested, though I’d rather not hear about it. I’ve seen Chris make out with girls before, and it’s not my favorite pastime. I’m not sure if he wants me to ask about her. I usually don’t have to, which is part of the problem.

“How about you?” he says after a moment. “Hook up with anyone this summer?”

“Nope.” I’ve never lied to Chris, except for my growing attraction to him. I’ve thought about coming clean, but that would change everything. Not that he’d care if I like guys, but he might care that I like him. Talk about awkward. Things would be way too weird between us. Losing him as a friend would be the absolute worst.

“No one?” he says. “Seems like girls are always asking me about you.”

I make some noise in the back of my throat that suggests I don’t believe him.

“For real. I was talking to Ryanne last night. She asked me if you were coming out today.”

First question: why was he talking to Ryanne? Second question: why did my name come up at all? I chew on my lower lip and stare out the window, wondering if this can get any more difficult. The silence seems to suck all the air out of the car.

“Ryanne’s an older woman, you know,” he teases. “You want me to say something to her?”

“No,” I say too quickly. Ryanne is cool, but as I’ve said, not exactly my type.

“I know you’re shy and all….” He glances over at me with brotherly affection, eyes searching mine. Being shy is the least of my problems.

“Don’t say anything,” I say again, and then with a little less intensity, “I’m not looking for a girlfriend.” Technically true. Alone is my default setting. I’m fine with it.

He shakes his head like he’s disappointed. “Handsome guy like you. The girls wouldn’t know what hit them.”

I manage a weak smile and mumble something in agreement while thinking The only person I ever want is you.

Dumbass.




THERE ARE a few surf rats already out on the beach when we arrive. The sun is still low on the horizon, a melting blob of butter in the sky. The waves are rolling in like a pack of excited puppies, and the beach has a freshness that only a new day can bring. This spot we’re at, Monster Hole, is mostly surfers who know how to take care of the beach, so there’s no litter or trash anywhere. We know some of the people already. Surfers are a tribe of nomads in the sense that they’re usually chasing the same waves up and down the coast. Whenever there’s a hurricane or tropical depression, we end up crowded in the same campsites and cheap hotels, getting drunk on whatever we can get the locals to buy for us. Chris is a favorite among the girls. I bet he’ll have some cute blonde on his lap by the end of the night.

And I’ll be doing everything I can to ignore it.

We unload our boards and greet the few surfers who’ve already gathered. After getting an update on the day’s surf report, we paddle out to test the waves. The water’s still a little chilly, but the sun is coming up fast, spreading its warmth like a hug from a fat, happy god. Lady Macbeth gives me a hard time, or maybe it’s me who’s rusty. I spend more time underwater than I do on the board, but after a couple hours, the waves calm down and smooth out so I’m able to catch longer rides.

Every so often I glance over to see Chris cutting it up on his new board. They’ve become fast friends, which means now he’ll have to name her. He’s a powerful surfer. And fearless. When photographers come out, all the cameras angle toward him to capture his perfect blend of style and charisma. At the moment he’s working on his alley-oop, trying to get as much air as he can while still finishing on his board. His muscular legs pump the board for max speed, and he lifts off the waves like a surf angel before bouncing back down and being swallowed up by whitewater.

My stomach starts to rumble, so I come out to the shore for a spell. Ryanne is there as promised, and we say hello. Her eyes kind of linger on my chest, and I wonder if she likes what she sees. I never know what to do with that. Should I look at her boobs or something to return the favor? More often than not, I look at my feet.

“Haven’t seen you around much this summer,” Ryanne says with an easy smile. Not like she’s flirting, just being conversational, which I appreciate. I suck at small talk.

“Yeah, I got a job. Saving up for a car and all.” I run a hand through my wet hair and try to tame it down a little.

“What kind of car are you looking for?” She squints up at me, shading her eyes from the sun.

“Something that’s good on gas and not too expensive. And doesn’t need fixing.” I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I tell her, “I don’t know much about cars.”