Girl Out of Water Page 7

  “Want some fries, Mom?” Emery asks.

  “Well, I had surgery on my legs, not my heart, so I think that’s probably okay.” Aunt Jackie smiles. “Bring ’em over.”

  I wonder if, when you have children, your DNA mutates so that you’ll do anything to make your kids happy. Because I know Aunt Jackie is nauseous, and I know scarfing down McDonald’s french fries won’t ease that discomfort. And yet, Aunt Jackie isn’t going to say no to Emery’s proffered fries because rejecting the fries would basically be like rejecting her daughter.

  I wonder if my mom’s DNA forgot to mutate.

  “Come on,” Aunt Jackie repeats, patting the bed. “There’s room.”

  All three kids climb on cautiously. The boys sit at the foot, and Emery sits at the head, scooting in right next to Aunt Jackie. Then Emery opens the bag, and the golden fried scent fills the room. For a few minutes the only sounds are munching and licking of salt off fingers. Dad and I move to the periphery of the room, giving them space for what seems like a McDonald’s-fry-eating family ritual.

  Emery seems more comfortable now, less scared. Her mom is still here, still the same person she was before the accident. She was in trouble, but now she’s okay. I want to tell Emery how lucky she is that her mom loves her and will do everything in her power to stick around as long as possible. Aunt Jackie would sacrifice anything and everything for her. But the thing is, I think Emery already knows that. And that’s probably why she’s so scared of losing her.

  “What’s this?” Aunt Jackie asks Emery, tapping the magazine with a fry.

  “Just a magazine. Seventeen,” Emery says.

  “Ah, but you’re only twelve.”

  “Almost thirteen,” Emery protests.

  “Which, correct me if I’m wrong, is still four years away from seventeen.” Aunt Jackie smiles and nudges Emery in the shoulder. “Read some to me.”

  Emery hesitates. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Emery glances around the room, as if expecting one of us to protest, but no one does. So she flips open the magazine to a random page and starts reading about “Seven Summer Fruits Guaranteed to Give You a Healthy Boost.” As she reads in a smooth voice, calm envelops the room. Aunt Jackie slowly leans into Emery, and the boys slowly lean into each other, and across the room I slowly lean into Dad.

  Maybe hospitals have McDonald’s for one simple reason: fries stitch families back together.

  • • •

  The next few days pass in molasses torture as the reality of my summer sinks in. With Aunt Jackie in the hospital and Dad working full days on the new city hall, my cousins continue to be my sole responsibility during the mornings and afternoons, a responsibility I’m struggling to get used to. Besides the odd summer job helping out at Tess’s family’s restaurant or teaching the rare surfing lesson, I’ve never had any obligations but homework and keeping myself occupied. Now I have three trailing shadows.

  We go to the park almost every day, but the sweltering heat usually sends us back home dripping with sweat within a couple of hours. Every time we go, I keep my eyes alert for Lincoln, but I haven’t seen him since that first day when he said my eyes were seaweed-green.

  This morning I’m sitting in the kitchen, staring at wave forecasts on my phone because I like torturing myself, contemplating whether to throw together lunch or pray that Dad gets off early and makes us something edible with actual nutrients and vitamins and whatever, when my phone rings—a FaceTime from Tess.

  I answer and am greeted with a sun-glared smile.

  “Hey, stranger!” she says. She must be lying on her stomach, because behind her tanned face I can just make out the edge of the beach and the lapping water. I turn the volume all the way up to catch the sounds of the crashing waves and seagulls. The sight of her face and the sounds of the ocean make the wooden chair I’m sitting on suddenly very uncomfortable. I should be pressed against the warm sand or floating in the cool water. I should be with my friends. I can’t believe how many days have passed since my feet have been firmly planted on a surfboard, since I’ve spent hours unwinding next to Tess, sharing headphones as she sketches seagulls and swells.

  “Hey, stranger,” I say back. “How are you?”

  “Good!” she says. “Parents let me off work early yesterday, and we set off some fireworks that Spinner not-so-legally acquired. We missed you.”

  Back home, I never would’ve missed out on a night like that. I have flashes of memories I don’t possess—fireworks lighting up the sky over the dunes, smoke ghosting over the water, shadows flickering over my friends’ laughing faces.

  “How goes life in Nebraska?” Tess asks. “How’s your aunt?”

  “Okay…” I say. “Everything is okay…”

  I’m trying to think of something interesting to tell her, something she can share with the rest of our friends, make sure they’re all still thinking of me, like the boys singing Survivor at the hospital or—Tess cuts off my train of thought. “Oh, I have some very exciting news!”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Okay, so you know how they never finalize the band lineup for Surf Break until last minute?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well, guess who they just added?” Tess doesn’t give me a chance to guess. “Fucking Motel/Hotel! Can you believe it? Right here in Santa Cruz!”

  My stomach drops. I can’t believe it. Motel/Hotel. Our favorite electronica band. Possibly our favorite band flat-out. They’re really small and almost never tour too far from their hometown of Athens, Georgia. This will definitely be their first time in Santa Cruz. And I’m going to miss it. One more thing my friends will experience without me. One more thing that separates their lives from mine.

  So instead of smiling, instead of squealing and cheering and flipping the fuck out, all I can do is gnaw on a hangnail that’s been bugging me for the past few days. Because I won’t get to see Motel/Hotel. Because my friends will talk about the show for months to come, and every time they do, what has always been an us thing will suddenly be a them thing.

  Tess, either sensing my lack of excitement or a bad connection, leans closer to the screen. “Earth to Anise Sawyer! You there? Did you hear me?”

  “Yep,” I say. “And maybe you can figure out why I’m not excited.” I don’t mean to snark at her. Tess is my best friend. We don’t snark at each other. We snark at other people together. But I can’t help it. This is one more nail in the coffin of my shit summer. More proof of what I always knew because of my mom but never experienced personally: when you lose a place you lose its people too.

  “Dude, but wait. If you tell your dad what a big deal it is, he’ll probably let you come home early. I mean seriously, your flight is, like, a week later, right? Would he really mind?”

  “Tess, I told you this before. He’s planned everything out. We’re flying home the day after Aunt Jackie is supposed to be out of her wheelchair. Trust me. He knows how much I love Surf Break. If he could have booked us earlier, he would have.”

  “I know, but what if you—”

  “Look, can we talk about something else? I love you, and when I see your face I want to be in a happy mood, not in a life-is-the-worst mood. So let’s change the subject, okay?”

  Tess looks like she’s going to protest, but then she nods. “Okay. Right, you’re right. Sorry, Anise. Oh, Eric says hi by the way! He’s out in the water, but I’m sure he’d looovve to talk to you.”

  Eric. We’ve barely communicated since I got here. We were texting while watching the same YouTube surfing tutorial yesterday, but then Nash decided to see what happens if you put bubble bath in the washing machine, and I completely forgot to message him back. And even that conversation was stilted. Our relationship has always been immediate, tangible. This distance has made everything difficult; plus, we haven’t brought up the kiss again. I want to want him,
but I can’t wrap my mind around wanting someone who isn’t here, and he probably feels the same way about me. Maybe that first kiss would have led to many more. But now I’m gone all summer, so maybe that first kiss was our last.

  “He hasn’t hooked up with anyone else yet, by the way,” Tess continues. Relief comes, but only a little. The word yet lingers in my ears. “I think he’s hung up on you. God knows why. I mean you have absolutely zero attractive qualities.”

  “Thanks, jerk,” I say. “Love you too.”

  I think of Eric—his blond curls, blue eyes, sculpted shoulders—but the image that comes to mind is out of focus, like when you have a bad connection and a picture won’t load properly. I know I like him, like how he encourages my competitiveness instead of being turned off by it, like how without saying a word, he’s always there with extra support when my mom skips town. I know our kiss made my heart race and skin tingle. And yet, part of me wishes the kiss never happened. Because now when I think of us, I only see a giant question mark.

  I’m gathering the nerve to ask Tess to grab him when Parker and Nash bounce into the kitchen. “Let’s go to the park!” Nash shouts.

  “Yeah, please,” Parker says.

  “Please, please, please.”

  Their pleas make it almost impossible to hear Tess. “I think that’s my cue to go,” she says, laughing. “Have fun at the park. Love you!”

  “Thanks, love you too,” I say. “Talk soon, okay?”

  “Definitely,” Tess agrees before signing off.

  The screen goes blank. No more Tess. No more ocean. I’m sad yet grateful. I really do need to clarify things with Eric, but there’s no harm in putting it off a little longer. Right? My throat feels tight as I ask the boys, “Do we really want to go to the park again? Don’t you want to, like, rot your brains on video games or something? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s very hot outside.”

  “Pleeeasssseee,” Parker says. “I want to learn this new trick, the crooked grind, and Austin, you know Lincoln’s brother, said he’d help me with it today.”

  Lincoln’s brother. That means Lincoln will also be at the park. Probably. Not that I’d go to the park just because Lincoln is going to be there. I’d go because Parker wants to learn this grind trick. Parker and Nash both cheer while I go change in a room that isn’t mine. Dad never said no when I wanted to learn something new. Once he even worked twelve-hour days all week and still came out with me at the crack of dawn on a Saturday because I wouldn’t shut up about learning a frontside bottom turn. I have no desire to deny my cousins the same opportunity. If I can’t enjoy my summer, I’m damn sure going to help them enjoy theirs.

  • • •

  The park paths are emptier than usual today, undoubtedly because the temperature is already breaching the ninety-degree mark. Most kids are probably down at the public pool, splashing around in lukewarm water, their parents hunting for shade in the handful of umbrellas. Apparently it’s rare for the temperature to climb this high in Nebraska; apparently the scorching sun showed up special for me.

  Emery waves good-bye and heads for the basketball courts again. She seems happier since Aunt Jackie’s successful surgery. Part of me wants to follow her to get a closer look at these friends of hers. But I remind myself that although I’m not her parent, I am her quasi-guardian-cousin, and my presence might embarrass the hell out of her.

  Instead I follow Parker and Nash to the skate park. They rush off toward the same cluster of short rails, where they high five and bump fists with a few kids. I hope Parker learns his new trick today. I hope he learns it, and then another trick, and then another. I hope the thought of skateboarding wakes him up each day with clawing excitement. I hope when he closes his eyes at night he only sees the grit of asphalt and hears spinning wheels. The thrill of learning something new out in the water has never left me, and through Parker, maybe I can snatch a shred of that adrenaline rush.

  After watching them for a few moments, I scan the rest of the park and spot Lincoln and his brother by the edge of the giant bowl. The pair couldn’t look more different, and not because of their physical differences. Lincoln looks like some kind of redneck-meets-hipster with his jean shorts and sleeveless flannel shirt and chunky black-framed glasses and his brother looks like he Googled punk-goth and bought the first clothes he saw.

  Lincoln looks up and catches my gaze. I hate getting caught staring. The whole appeal of watching someone is ruined if they watch you back. He leans over, says something to Austin, then jumps on his skateboard and glides over to me. The move is so fluid that for half a second, skateboarding impresses me. It’s not as beautiful as slicing down the coastline as water trundles beneath you, but for solid ground, I guess it’s not as pathetic of a sport as I’ve always thought.

  “Hey,” he says and slides to an easy stop in front of me. He remains on his skateboard, popping it back and forth, lifting each side a couple inches off the ground and then dropping it back with a sharp rattle. It’s like the action is more natural to him than standing still.

  “Hey,” I say back. He’s even more attractive than I remembered—tall with broad shoulders, dark eyes, and smooth skin completely unmarred by scruff or acne.

  He gestures to his skateboard. “You ever try one of these?”

  I shake my head. “Not my sport. I’m a surfer actually.” I’m not sure why I divulge this information. Something about Lincoln makes me feel comfortable despite the unfamiliar terrain.

  He adjusts his glasses, tilts his head, and appraises me. “A surfer. You must hate it here.”

  “Unless there’s an ocean hiding under these great plains, I’m pretty much destined for a summer of torture.”

  “All summer?” Lincoln asks. Instead of popping up his skateboard, he starts riding back and forth in a semicircle around me. His hand jingles by his side. He might have more excess energy than the twins. “Why all summer?”

  “Well, you know Parker and Nash, right?” Lincoln nods, and I continue. “Their mom, my aunt, got into a pretty bad car accident, so my dad and I flew here for the summer to help while she recovers.”

  “Ah, that’s why the disastrous duo disappeared for a few days. Poor guys.” Lincoln glances at the twins and then back to me. “Hope your aunt’s doing okay.”

  “She is, thanks.” I pause. “Disastrous duo?”

  Lincoln nods. “Oh, yeah, that’s what everyone calls them. A few weeks ago, there was an ice cream truck situation involving some neighborhood dogs, a clown from a kid’s birthday party, and—actually, it’s kind of a long story. I won’t get into it. But let’s just say they’ve been the source of many fiascoes.”

  I make a mental note to be on guard around ice cream trucks and clowns for the rest of summer. “Do you, like…hang out with them?” I ask.

  Isn’t it weird to hang out with younger kids? I don’t ask.

  “Yeah, you know, we all do. Kind of a skate park thing, I guess. If you hang out here enough, you get to know everyone. Our own little four-wheeled family.”

  I think of my surfing family back home—Cassie with her infallible energy, Marie with a work ethic even more intense than mine, Spinner with his ability to laugh off even his most outrageous fuckups.

  “So you want to try?” Lincoln asks, snapping my attention back to him.

  “Try what?”

  He kicks up the skateboard with one quick stomp of his foot and offers it to me. “Skating.”

  “No thanks,” I say.

  “Why not?” The board hangs there between us. “Look, I know I’m pretty great looking and everything, but there’s no need to impress me. I promise I won’t judge when you fall on your ass.”

  “Um, who said anything about you being good-looking?”

  “Great looking,” Lincoln corrects. “And it’s kind of a known fact. Lincoln is great looking. Lincoln has one arm. And Lincoln is better
at skating than Anise.”

  “You remembered my name,” I say.

  “Memory of steel, another one of my many amazing talents.”

  “Your modesty is overwhelming.”

  “So is my smile.” He grins and his dimple pops out once more. “Come on, give it a try.”

  I’m about to refuse again when I notice Parker and Nash skating toward us, like two puppies hunting down a whiff of leftovers.

  “What’s up?” they ask in unison after skidding to stops at the exact same time.

  “You guys plan that, right?” I ask.

  “Plan what?” they respond.

  I stare them down. “That twin timing.”

  “Nope.” They both grin.

  “Hey, guys,” Lincoln interrupts. “Don’t you want to see Anise try to ride a skateboard for the first time?”

  “Try?” I ask.

  “Yes!” Parker and Nash shout.

  “Me too,” Lincoln says. “Come on then.” He offers me the skateboard again, and I look at it with distrust. There has to be a catch. I can’t comprehend what could possibly be entertaining about watching me roll around on a slab of wood for a couple of minutes.

  But also I can’t think of a legitimate reason for saying no besides the obvious I don’t want to. “Fine. One ride and then I’m done.”

  “Excellent.” Lincoln smiles. I eye his dimple with suspicion, wondering if it has powers to persuade people into doing things they most definitely don’t want to do. “Follow me, please.”

  I follow him over to an empty part of the skate park. Parker and Nash trail behind us, giggling and poking each other in the sides like this is the most entertaining thing that’s ever happened to them.

  “All right,” Lincoln says. “First you step up with your—”

  “I don’t need how-to instructions,” I say. This already feels absurd enough. I don’t need Lincoln guiding my movements with his hand like we’re in some cheesy made-for-TV movie. Okay, maybe I am a little curious what his hand would feel like, pressed into my back, adjusting my stance, but I’m sure that’s just the dimple talking. “I’ve been surfing since I was seven. I think I’ve pretty much mastered the whole plant-feet-on-board-stay-standing-thing.”