Cross Me Off Your List (2 page)

When we reach the elevator and I press the
button, I secretly hope to run into Noah, but then again, I hope I
don’t because Erin would kill me if she knew I met a hot guy and
didn’t tell her about it. I scan the lobby when we get downstairs,
but only a few grandparent-like figures hang around the continental
breakfast. It’s definitely too early for the party boys of 413 to
be up.

Most of what Crescent Cove has to offer sits
right here around Crescent Inn. I’m sure they have to have back
roads and a Wal-Mart somewhere around here, but the tourist traps
are strategically placed in a string along the beach, accordingly
called The Strip.

A mom-and-pop music shop is next to the
hotel, and a pizzeria is within walking distance. We make our way
down the sidewalk to the crosswalk and venture to the other side of
the street, where the beach and The Strip await us.

I shouldn’t hate on Crescent Cove. It’s a
gorgeous little place – white sand, the bluest water I’ve ever
seen, and enough palm trees to make you feel like you had
sufficient scenery if you’re here on a beach vacation. But when
your heart was set on Los Angeles and Rodeo Drive, you can’t quite
appreciate racks of sunglasses, fresh fruit stands, and
Strickland’s Boating.

Erin glides over, ungracefully, to a small
vendor selling shell jewelry. She pushes her sunglasses up into her
blonde curls to examine the jewelry more closely. Maybe I can check
off item number eight – buy a charm bracelet.

I slip into the space between Erin and the
edge of the sidewalk to examine a different rack of jewelry – minus
shells. These aren’t the kind of charm bracelets I’d imagined when
we made the list. I envisioned a slinky silver chain that would
jingle against my skin while I walked over to Keanu Reeves’s star
on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I’d even dreamed up the charms – a
star fish, a coffee cup, a mini diamond ring with a cute little
rhinestone, and something beachy, maybe a palm tree or
seashell.

But these bracelets are less than the sparkly
glam I’d intended on buying. Leather and suede cords replace the
slinky silver chain from my daydreams. The charms are knotted into
the small ropes, centering them in the cords. The charms literally
hold the bracelets together. Chic? Maybe not. But I like the
edginess. Plus, they’re unlike anything my friends in LA are buying
right about now.

Erin settles on the purple braided leather
with a rhinestone owl charm. I turn to ask her opinion on my
narrowed-down choices, but she strolls away after paying for her
bracelet and finds a seat on the edge of the sidewalk.

I turn my gaze back to the starfish charm.
It’s cute and symbolizes our trip here in Crescent Cove. It has
beach written all over it. It has Marisol Cruz written all over it.
Yet everything in me wants the black suede bracelet with the anchor
charm. I need an anchor right now. I need something to hold me to
the planet. I need gravity.

So it’s settled. I quickly pay and clasp the
anchor around my wrist. It may not be literal, and I’m sure it
won’t hold me to this glistening white sand, but the symbolism is
what matters.

I take a seat next to Erin and pull my
sunglasses from my bag. The beach is cluttered with families and
surfers. A mom wrestles a toddler back into her arms to apply more
sunscreen. Guys flirt with girls in bikinis that don’t leave much
to the imagination. And on the shoreline, a Hispanic guy screams
something about ‘that asshole Pittman.’

“Alright. Documentation time,” I announce,
pulling my cell phone from my bag as well. I ease closer to Erin,
have her cross her arm over mine, and I snap a bracelet selfie. I
quickly upload the picture to Instagram so our friends in LA will
see it and know we’re still tackling this list without them. “Where
to next? You want to keep going down The Strip and see what kind of
tourist traps we can get sucked into?” I ask.

Erin hangs her head and kicks at the sand
with her good foot. “Can you just go without me?” she asks. “Not to
be a pain or anything but it really hurts to walk. I can wait here
and soak up the sun, though.”

I want to be a compassionate, understanding
friend, but I also do not want to stroll along The Strip in a
foreign town where I know absolutely no one and gawk at souvenirs
like a tourist. The pink piece of paper burns into my soul, though,
and I can’t ignore it. I came here with a mission, and I’m not
bailing on it because Erin doesn’t know how to act her age and not
jump on beds.

“Well, I wish you’d go with me, but I
understand,” I say against my will. I try to add some sadness to my
voice so she’ll feel guilty and come along, but it doesn’t seem to
be working. “Okay then. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m just
going to skim The Strip’s offerings.”

With that, I force myself up from the
sidewalk, dust off my clothes, and push forward although this
anchor bracelet really wants to hold me back where it’s safe. At
least there are tons of people out today to hear me scream if
someone mugs me.

Most of the vendors bleed into the next –
jewelry, T-shirts, sunglasses, fresh fruits, and snowcones. I
debate going into the surf shop, Drenaline Surf, but it looks like
one of those places where a friendly cashier will instantly
approach me offering assistance. Whoever it is, I’m sparing them.
No need to take out my frustrations with Erin on a Drenaline Surf
employee.

Once I’ve walked the length of The Strip, I
turn back and take my precious time. Erin texts me once asking if
I’ve found anything and again to ask why I’m not replying. I drop
my phone back into my bag. I’ll pretend I never saw them. I know
she means well, but right now, every bit of hope I had for this
week has been sucked out of my body by the ocean breeze and carried
out to sea.

I dodge the incoming traffic of tourists and
nearly collide into the Hispanic guy from earlier. He walks with a
guy with blonde dreadlocks. A woman pulls her young son closer to
her when the guys walk by. Way to stereotype, lady. Sure, they look
pretty rough around the edges but damn.

An epic eye roll later, I spin back around
from my brewing disgust and see exactly what I was looking for –
scarves. Layers and layers of silk scarves. Hello number fourteen!
I smile a bit too excitedly at the vendor while I browse through
the selection. I want something loud, something pink and orange and
brighter than a beach’s sunset.

Instead, my hand lands on a scarf that fades
from white to light blue to deep turquoise to an ocean green. It’s
everything I didn’t think I wanted and everything I think I must
have. It reminds me of a mermaid. I trust my instincts, as I did
with the anchor bracelet, and cross off number fourteen on the
spring break bucket list all on my own.

“Took you long enough,” Erin says with a
groan. “I texted you and you never answered.”

“Oh,” I say, reaching into my bag. “Sorry. I
was looking at things and didn’t want to risk dropping my phone or
leaving it somewhere.”

She pushes herself up, wipes the sand off her
butt, and balances herself with a hand on my shoulder.

“I just want to go back to the hotel,” she
says, heaving herself forward with a wince. “I’m not up for much
walking around today.”

Clearly. I bite down on my lip to keep from
spewing out how irritated I am. I know, I know. It was an accident.
But it’s one hell of a dent in our plans. We only get our senior
year’s spring break once. This trip was my second chance to make
something of it. I can’t spend a week sitting in a hotel watching
reruns of Keeping Up With The Kardashians while Erin ices her ankle
and rambles about how she wishes
she
was a Kardashian
sister.

We walk – slowly, of course – in silence back
to the hotel. As soon as we’re back in the confines of room 322,
Erin begins packing the clothes she just unpacked yesterday.

“What are you doing?” I ask, unraveling my
new scarf to take in all its wonder.

“Packing,” she says. “Leaving. I have to get
home and do something about this. I’m not going to be able to walk,
and I can’t sit here a block from the beach knowing I can’t even
step onto the sand. It’s unfair.”

Yes, it’s very unfair. To both of us.

“Erin, we came in your car,” I remind
her.

She sighs and looks at me with pity in her
big brown eyes. “I know. I’m sorry,” she says. “Do you want me to
take you home? I don’t want to leave you stranded, but I seriously
have to go.”

That’s the line in the sand. I either have to
stay here alone without a vehicle to complete a silly bucket list
that is impossible to even cross off because of where I am or I can
pack my things and lounge around an empty house back home while my
parents have more fun than me on their cruise.

“Go home,” I say. “Take care of your ankle.
You probably need a doctor. That’s your first priority. I’ll get a
rental car or something. I’ll figure it out.”

And that’s it – I drop my anchor right here
in Crescent Cove, California.

In the name of being a good friend, I help
Erin load everything into her car and wave her off while putting on
my best bummed face. But once her car is out of sight, I dash back
into the hotel and to the elevator. I have a decision to make – I
can hit the number three, return to 322, and call about a car
rental or I can hit the number four and dare to venture to the
world of room 413.

Ah, the hell with it. You only have senior
year spring break once. I press the number four.

I lean back against the elevator wall and
hope a good opening line comes to me before I make it to his hotel
room door. I really hope the invite was legit…and that he was
sober. God, I’ll feel like the biggest fool in California if he was
buzzed and doesn’t even remember the girl with the ice bucket.

The elevator door dings on the fourth floor,
and I stare at my flip flops, willing them to move but not let me
trip.

“Well, look who decided to join the party,” a
guy says.

In a romantic comedy, I’d look up and lock
eyes with Noah’s pretty greens, and my face would flush and I’d bat
my eyelashes while he told me he’s happy to see me.

Instead, I look directly over his shoulder at
the wrestler of a dude with him. He’s scruffy and blonde with dark
brown eyes. He doesn’t smile either.

“You caught me,” I say to Noah. “I figured
I’d see if 413 was as awesome as you made it out to be.”

He motions me into the elevator with them.
“We were actually about to head downtown to meet up with some
friends. Want to tag along?”

We stop on the third floor so I can grab my
bag. Noah follows me down to 322, but his friend stays behind,
looking around suspiciously at the end of the hallway.

“Who’s the guy?” I ask, nodding back down the
hall while I swipe my key.

“Oh, just a friend of mine,” Noah says. “We
call him Big Tony. He doesn’t say much.” He leans out the door and
nods back at his friend. “He’s going downstairs to get the car. We
can meet him outside.”

I make sure my cell phone and wallet are in
the bag before throwing it over my shoulder. I also grab the silk
scarf I bought on The Strip and loop it through my belt loops over
my actual belt – much more fashion forward.

“So, um, are you here alone?” Noah asks,
noticing Erin’s freshly-made bed.

“A friend of mine was with me, but she had an
emergency and had to leave, so I’m stranded here alone because I
refused to spend spring break sitting at home,” I say. I grab the
room key off my bed and tuck it into my wallet.

“I knew you were going to be cool,” Noah
says. “You ready?”

“Almost,” I say. Then I ask the embarrassing
question. “Can you, um, take a picture of me? Wearing this?”

Noah stares at me like he didn’t quite
understand the question. “You want me to take a picture of you
wearing a scarf as a belt?” he asks.

I force my phone into his hands. “My friend
back home has a silk scarf obsession,” I lie. “She wants to see
what I bought, and she’s texted me like four times already asking
for a picture. I figured you could do a better job than an awkward
mirror selfie.”

He takes the photo. I upload it for Hilary’s
viewing pleasure, and then we’re off.

A black car with super-tinted windows sits
outside of the hotel door. It’s a freaking nice car, at that. Noah
opens the back door and holds his arm out.

“After you,” he says.

I hesitate for just a moment because I don’t
understand how this guy can afford the penthouse level
and
a
tricked out car. But it’s spring break. The hell with logic.

“So what are you? Like a drug dealer or
something?” I ask, peering out the dark window. It’s like he’s
hiding from the world and rolling in the riches.

Noah laughs beside me. “Not exactly, although
some people have said they’re addicted to me. It’s a never-ending
craving.”

I elbow him and shake my head. He’s not
hurting in the self-esteem apartment. Then again, with arms like
that – and tattoos to decorate them – I can’t blame him. I bet his
has a pretty little girlfriend back home waiting for him to return
from his vacation, oblivious to what he’s actually doing in sleepy
little Crescent Cove.

His friend Big Tony drives past The Strip and
into a somewhat residential area before turning onto a side street.
A fancy building sits on the corner. The purple sign reads Azalea
Living Center. I guess nursing homes are better near the beach.

Noah calls someone named Nat to see where he
is while the downtown life of Crescent Cove comes into view. I knew
there had to be more to this town than The Strip. A street sign
announces the turn for a local community college before we drive
into civilization.

Noah instantly notices the zebra-striped
tattoo shop. It looks a little grungy, a little rock and roll. I
could see Noah getting inked there. Maybe he’ll go with me to check
off the second item on the bucket list – get a tattoo. I figure
Hilary and the girls will get fake tats, but I’m going all the way
with it.