“Me too. Thanks, Lilly.”
“Of course.”
***
Sunlight streams through the window, hitting my face and blinding me. Not my window. Not my bed. I shoot up and almost smack my head on the ceiling. Then it hits me. It all comes crashing back through my brain. I flop back onto Lilly’s top bunk and pull the covers over my face.I want Julian.A sob bubbles up in my throat. My eyes sting.
He’s not even Julian, my mind screams.
This is what I get for thinking life can be like the books. In eight months, I’d gone from a virgin who’d never kissed a guy to living with one, thinking he’s some real-life Prince Charming sent to earth for me alone. That he was perfect. That we were perfect. And I don’t even know his real name. Is the story he told me bullshit? Some of it must be. His first girlfriend isn’t dead like he said. I saw her. She called him Jayce. Not Julian. Another lie. Another sob erupts on a shaky breath.
What the actual fuck is happening?
“Chica? You awake?” Lilly’s voice penetrates my rabbit hole spiral.
“Yeah, barely.” I fling the covers off my head, tucking away my looming meltdown as she comes around the corner into the tiny bedroom.
“I got the whole weekend free. What are we doing? Drinking? Double homicide? I gotta know what to wear?” Classic Lilly pulls a smile to my lips.
It doesn’t reach my eyes though. I want to laugh, but my heart stops it cold. The pressure is back behind my eyes. I’m fighting to keep it at bay, which makes me instantly furious. I’m not doing this. I’m not wallowing. I’m tough. A military brat. I let this supposed fairy tale make me weak, vulnerable. This is why I don’t let myself depend on people. People leave, lie, hurt you. My about-face comes quickly. Myresolve locks in. Whatever the fuck—whoever the fuck they are . . . I can’t finish that thought. I won’t let myself picture him. Her. Them.Just no!“I’m hanging on by a thread here. Can we just pretend I’m here for a friendly visit, ignore my drama for now and have some fun?”
“Hell, yeah, we can. I got you, girl. Let’s go surfing.”
“Wait. You surf? Lill, I can’t surf.”
She’s already throwing off pajamas and digging through drawers for a change of clothes. She throws a pair of shorts and a hoodie at me. “Don’t worry. I got an extra wetsuit, and we’ll ask Noah and Seth to bring you a board.”
“Great. So it’s all figured out then.” My sarcasm is impossible to miss.
She ignores it. “Exactly. Let’s go, Davis. Move your ass. Negative ions, baby.”
***
Pismo Beach is everything I need right now. And apparently fall and winter is peak weather—especially for surfing. Seth Koa, Noah (and Lilly’s) new bestie, is an excellent surfer. Growing up on the island of Molokai, he’s been surfing since he could walk, and it shows. Pismo waves are hardly a challenge for him, but it’s a great beach for beginners. Noah has taken to the new sport . . . like a fish to water. My punny assessment raises the corners of my mouth for a hot second. Seth is a thing of beauty though. I wish I had my phone to capture what my eyes are seeing. But I’ve left it off so I can pretend—for now—that I can disappear from things Ican’t wrap my head around. I’ll have to face it all eventually. But not today. Not right now.
Seth is walking in from the shore, his board tucked under his arm. Lilly and Noah are floating on their boards just beyond the break.
“You ready to give it a try, Davis?” He sets his board down and unzips his wetsuit, peeling the top half from his body to leave it dangling around his waist. The water droplets on his cinnamon skin are glistening in the morning sun, his pecs and biceps jacked from the wave he rode in. Even someone dead inside like I am right now can’t miss it. This specimen of a man is smiling at me with perfect, straight white teeth and full pouty lips. I can see the draw and appreciate the simple earthy beauty in a detached way.
I lick my lips and squint up into his face, shielding my eyes from the sun with a hand to my forehead. “I think I’ll be the spectator of the sport.”
“Aw, c’mon. Pismo’s perfect for beginners. Trust me. I got you.”
His words transport me back. I feel the contents of my stomach, only coffee so far this morning, rising in my esophagus. I quickly roll onto all fours and crawl a couple feet before I hurl it onto the sand.
“Oh, shit.”
I hear his words behind me as I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth. Twisting and planting my butt back in the sand, next to my vomit, I use my hand to swish sand over it. “Okay, that’s embarrassing.” I take a couple deep breaths through my mouth, not looking at him. “You know what, fuck it. Let’s go surfing.” I stand and reach behind me for the zipper on my borrowed wetsuit and pull. I look up then and meet his eyes—like melted chocolate with gold flecks that seem to sparkle in the sun.
He’s nodding and smiling like he’s proud of me.
That transports me too and pisses me off. I turn away and focus on the extra board lying next to his. It’s big. And blue.Like his eyes.I shake my head to lose the image. Standing next to Seth in the wet sand, I ask, “Can we just practice the paddling part? I don’t think I wanna try to actually stand up. I just . . . want to be in the water.”
“Totally. I got you. Attach the leash right here.” He motions to the line attached to the end of my board. “And we’ll take the boards out about waist deep.”
I nod, bend and attach mine like he demonstrates.
On the ten-minute drive here, Lilly told me Seth teaches surfing to tourists, which helps him pay for college. He’s a good instructor, patient, thorough. I briefly wonder if he’ll end up teaching for a living. He’d be perfect. Dr. Franklin’s face pops into my head—my favorite teacher from Oak Valley, though not a teacher, a counselor. Still, she probably taught me more than anyone there. Maybe my brain is taking me back to when things felt simple, easy.
