Girl Out of Water Page 18

  I hesitate. My heart races again, this time with a different type of adrenaline. I should probably still be pissed at Lincoln for throwing this mini-party, but of the many things I feel right now, anger is not one of them.

  I scan the yard to make sure my cousins are still occupied and safe. When I respond, the words sound louder than they should. “Okay, sure.”

  • • •

  We scavenge through dusty boxes that fill most of the two-car garage, finding an elbow pad here and a kneepad there, all of which are too small for me. My heart jolts every time I see a box with worn-out tape, and I wonder if something of my mom’s is inside. But nothing ever is.

  Eventually I give up, exhaustion hitting me hard and fast after the past twenty-four hours. I sit down on the small flight of stairs that leads into the house. After digging through a few more boxes and coming up empty, Lincoln walks over and joins me.

  His shoulder touches mine. I wonder if he’s thinking about my shoulder touching his.

  He breaks the silence. “This place is wild.”

  “What place?”

  “This garage. There’s so much stuff. Years and years and years of stuff.”

  “Aren’t most garages like that? Mine sure as hell is.” I think of the generations of beach gear, decades and decades piled on top of each other.

  “I guess we move around too much to collect many things.” His arm rests behind my back. And though he’s not touching me, I can almost feel his fingers, close to the exposed skin below my tank top.

  “I can’t imagine what it’s like moving around all the time like you guys did. I’ve lived in the same place my entire life.”

  Lincoln laughs. “Yeah, it shows.”

  I look at him, narrowing my eyes. “It does?”

  “That first day I met you the park. It was so obvious that you were out of place.” He shoots me a goofy grin. “A literal fish out of water.”

  He lifts his arm, scratching his neck, then lowers it again, I swear this time even closer to my back. “That’s why I like skateboarding so much. Before I developed my spectacular social skills, it was really hard to make new friends. But once I started skating, I realized wherever we moved, I could always find some kind of skate park, some kind of community.”

  I try to imagine what life must have been like for Lincoln. Moving so many times. Always having to make new friends. It must have been doubly hard since he looks different. But his personality—okay, and his looks—are infectious. It’s impossible not to gravitate to him.

  I think that’s what I like the most about him. His confidence in his own skin. Like he carries his home with him.

  The silence stretches between us for a few long moments. “Lincoln?” I say.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “You’re going to wh—”

  I answer by leaning forward and pressing my lips to his.

  He responds immediately. And then my body starts working two steps ahead of my thoughts. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, letting my hands explore the top of his strong back. As he presses against me, I nip the bottom of his lip. He inhales sharply, pumping my body with more adrenaline than any wave or skate bowl out there.

  Kissing Lincoln makes me wonder why I’ve never kissed Lincoln before.

  For the last month, I’ve been searching for some relief from this taxing summer, and here it was, right in front of me—a pair of soft and skilled lips.

  My hands wander down the hard muscle of his back and up again, his heat escaping through the thin cotton of his shirt. As my hands continue to wander, I brush against his nub.

  I startle and break away. “Crap, sorry.” His eyes stay shut for a long second.

  Dread washes through me. Why did I freak out like that?

  He opens his eyes and meets my gaze. “Anise.” His voice is soft, yet solid. “I only have one arm. You know that, right?”

  “Umm, yes,” I say, voice meek.

  “And the other side—it’s just the beginning of an arm, mostly shoulder really.” He pauses and reaches for my hand, holding it in his. “Does this weird you out?”

  His touch does the opposite; it calms the ebb of dread, restores my pulse to stasis.

  “No.”

  “Okay, so this shouldn’t either.” He takes my hand and raises it to that rounded end below his shoulder. “It’s just another part of me.”

  The skin is soft, warm. I trail my hand along it slowly and then up to his collarbone, his neck, and then his cheek, and then brush my fingers across his lips for just a second, his eyes flicking quickly to mine when I do.

  I blush. “Sorry. I just…umm…got distracted.”

  Lincoln grins. “I’ve been told I can be quite distracting.”

  In that moment I realize I’m probably not the first person to kiss Lincoln. And more likely, not even close to first. There’s probably a connect-the-dots line of people all over the country who have kissed Lincoln. And that sparks my competitive nature.

  “Anise?” Lincoln narrows his eyes. “Why do you have that look on your—”

  Before he can finish speaking, I move (okay, lunge) toward him because the thing is, if I can’t be the only person to kiss Lincoln Puk, I’m sure as hell going to be the best.

  • • •

  Everyone heads home (or to cooler parties with alcohol) around eleven o’clock, so then it’s my cousins, Austin, Lincoln, and me sitting together at the bottom of the empty pool. It’s a cool night, and as I lie on my back against rough cement, pressed close to Lincoln, the breeze ruffles over me, tickling my skin in an oddly comforting way, like if I closed my eyes I could smell the sharp salt of the ocean breeze.

  I tilt my head to peek at Emery and Austin sitting next to each other, their hands splayed on the cement, their fingers centimeters from each other, and I think of my first crush—the way I was aware of every eyelash, every freckle running up and down his arms, the way he’d always brush back his shaggy hair before speaking. Every detail about him memorized in innocent, yet obsessive, infatuation.

  My feelings for Lincoln are different, broader.

  It’s not the way he pumps his fist every time Austin lands a trick but the fact that he triumphs in his brother’s victories.

  It’s not so much his deep dimple but the way it pops out whenever he sees me.

  “Watch out!” Nash shouts. I pull my arm out of the way, escaping the crush of Nash’s sneaker as he and Parker sprint around the pool, pretending to be on skateboards, calling out the names of tricks as they jump into the air with full force energy and no fear. Their gleeful shouts relax me, like a raucous thunderstorm comforts after a long drought.

  “Whatchya thinking about?” Lincoln asks. We both tilt our heads toward each other. Just a few inches closer and I could brush my lips against his.

  Instead, I say, “You.”

  “I was thinking about me too.” He grins.

  I roll my eyes. “Ha-ha.”

  “You look tired.”

  “What a charmer.”

  “Maybe I should tuck you into bed.”

  I eye him with suspicion. Is Lincoln the type of guy who thinks one quick (okay, rather long and heated) make out session equates to me jumping into bed with him? I’ve never had sex before, and although I’m not against the idea in theory, I’m sure as hell not about to after one kiss.

  Lincoln, probably noticing my look of distaste, continues, “That wasn’t supposed to be a come-on. I literally want to tuck you into bed. You look like hell, surfer girl. I’m thinking you could use some sleep.”

  “Really, your flattery skills are top-notch.”

  “Come on.” He stands and stretches in the way that only lean, six-foot-three boys can, and then offers me his hand. “Let’s get the heathens in bed too.”


  We all caravan upstairs, a weird, patchwork family. Austin brings the boys to their room and Emery slips into ours. I stand in the dark hallway with Lincoln. He takes my hand and leans close, so my back presses against the wooden edge of the doorframe. “Sweet dreams,” he says and grins as he leans in to kiss me.

  I return the kiss, long and languid and warm.

  As he breaks away, he whispers, “Okay, and maybe a little savory too.”

  I give him a soft shove. My hand lingers on his chest. “You’re so weird.”

  He grins and closes his hand around mine. “You love it.”

  Thirteen

  The next couple of weeks fly by with disconcerting speed. Dad landed back in Nebraska the day after the party. He might have noticed a couple red Solo cups in the backyard, but he didn’t say anything. He also didn’t mention my mom or the note I left for her in Santa Cruz, and since Dad likes hashing out feelings, I’m assuming it’s because he didn’t see her or the note. Aunt Jackie came home from the hospital a couple of days after that, and from there, time has melted by in a never-ending rotation of park visits, skateboarding, and games of Monopoly and Scrabble. And Lincoln. And Lincoln’s kisses—snuck behind trees at the park, in the living room late at night while everyone else is asleep, at the riverbed after jumping off the rope swing, in the dark outside his house after dinner with his family.

  We haven’t talked about us, our relationship, or even called it a relationship. Sometimes, after spending a long day with Lincoln, my thoughts will flick to Eric, and I’ll wonder if he’s also found someone else. My communication with friends has stalled because every time I pick up my phone to message them, I see evidence of the memories they’re creating without me. Sometimes I think the day I left home that universe closed behind me, and everyone and everything there continued to exist as if I were never there in the first place. The thought makes my stomach twist, so I push it away.

  Thinking about us with Lincoln makes my stomach twist too because I know it can’t last. I’m going back to Santa Cruz and staying there, and Lincoln is going to hike the PCT and then explore the rest of the world after college. Putting a name to what we have will only make me more aware that I won’t always have it.

  I tell myself not to think about it because I see him at the park every day. And when I tug his hand, his lips press against mine. For now, that’s enough.

  “Anise, your phone won’t shut up,” Emery says, entering the kitchen, where I’m eating a bowl of Cap’n Lucky Puffs. She’s started to warm up to me—barely—but freezer burn is better than frostbite. Her mood lifted when Aunt Jackie came home again, but she joins us at the skate park every day instead of going to see her friends. Much to the twins’ annoyance, Austin takes frequent skating breaks to hang out with her.

  I’m still tempted to say something to Aunt Jackie, but I’m keeping a careful eye on Emery, and she seems a bit happier each day. We restarted our nightly binge of The Office routine, and she doesn’t even roll her eyes at me when I say, “Oh my god, you’re going to laugh so hard at this prank!”

  “Can I have it?” I ask.

  “It’s in the living room.”

  “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?” Linc
oln 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.”

  • • •

  I can’t sleep that night. All these weeks and I still haven’t adjusted to the stillness of Nebraska—no hum of the ocean to smooth out the world’s creases. Emery’s light snores help cut the quiet, but then they remind me she’s getting rest while I’m wide awake. Sighing, I push off my covers and climb out of bed, being careful not to wake Emery.

  I make my way downstairs. The kitchen light is on, and there’s a faint chopping sound. I find Dad slicing thin strips of peppers and onions. “Umm, Dad?” I ask. “You know it’s like three in the morning, right?”

  He turns to me and shrugs. “I have trouble sleeping some nights. Too silent.” Oh, of course. If it’s hard for me, it must be even worse for him. The ocean has lulled him asleep for forty years now. “Making some veggie fajitas. Want some?”

  “At three in the morning?”

  He grins at me. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  As Dad prepares the food with calm and measured hands, I drift back to my earlier conversation with Lincoln—Surf Break.

  My nerves tighten despite all logic. This is Dad, the person I’m most comfortable with on the planet. The person who made me chocolate chip pancakes when I lost my first surfing competition. The person who slathered me with oatmeal and calamine lotion when I had the chicken pox. The person who let me skip school that one time because the surf forecast looked that good.