Cross Me Off Your List (7 page)

Floor-to-ceiling windows decorate the front
of the building. They’re strategically decorated with flyers
advertising rental prices for jet skis, sailboats, and other water
equipment. Noah pushes through the entrance door, and we’re
welcomed by any and everything a boater could possibly want or
need. Maybe these Strickland people were on to something. It’s
pretty much the perfect location for this sort of place.

A guy meets us halfway across the room,
knocking his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes. Does everyone
around here have surfer hair?

“Can I help you guys with anything?” he
asks.

I start to tell him no, but Noah dives in
head first asking about what there is to do around here. The guy –
Reed, according to his name tag – rattles off what is probably a
typical sales pitch about what they can offer and what deals they
have going on.

My eyes focus on the huge black and white
photo of a Great White shark behind the sales counter. What a
buzzkill! Why anyone would get in the ocean after seeing that is
beyond me. Is he not aware that it’s bad for business? I walk
closer to get a better look at it. A silver logo on the bottom
corner reads
Jake McAllister Photography
. Well, Jake
McAllister, you are one brave freaking soul.

I hurry back over to Noah, hook my arm around
his, and nonchalantly try to hint that we need to get out of here.
I don’t care how famous he is – I’m not getting in the ocean. Reed
hands him a brochure and tells us that if we change our minds to
swing back by because he’ll hook us up. Oh, I’m sure he will.

“Not one for jet skiing?” Noah asks when we
step outside onto the sidewalk. “Do you know how many of these
things we could check off on a jet ski?”

I don’t even answer that question. I didn’t
realize I was such a shoreline girl, but maybe I am. I just know I
can’t step foot in the ocean while the Great White is embedded in
my brain.

“Moving on,” Noah says, defeated. “Surf shop.
You may not want to go in here, but I never get to go places like
this. Besides, the wave demands we go in.”

An aqua wave shoots from the roof of
Drenaline Surf, dangling over the store. A silver surfboard,
painted like a shark with the Drenaline Surf logo, is positioned in
the center of the wave over the arched entranceway.

“Nice,” Noah says, looking at the wave frozen
above us. “I already like this place.”

Living in California my entire life, I’ve
seen my fair share of surf shops. I’ve seen everything from
Quiksilver to the family-owned stores. Drenaline Surf doesn’t
really impress me. The main room has the basics – surf gear and
accessories, sunglasses, clothing, beach towels, souvenirs, and
jewelry. The room to the side has a ton of surfboards. Typical.

“Hey, welcome to Drenaline Surf,” the guy
behind the counter calls out. More shark photography decorates the
wall behind him. “If you need any help, just let me know.”

At least he’s not eager or pushy. He pretty
much ignores us and goes back to talking to his friends, but I’m
more interested in who his friends are than buying Drenaline Surf
merch. Two guys stand on the opposite side of the cash register –
the blonde with dreadlocks and the guy he picked up from Lights Out
last night. This must be a super tiny town.

“I wasn’t even that drunk,” the guy from last
night says. “I think they’re just looking for a reason to fire me.
They hate me anyway.”

“So you have all week off?” the guy behind
the counter asks. “You should just go work part time with Jace.
He’d get you on at the music store, and you’d make more part time
than you do full time lifeguarding anyway.”

“Yeah, because you’re always suspended,” the
blonde says. “Fuck them. Let’s go surf.”

“Language!” the guy behind the counter
shouts. He looks over at me. “I’m so sorry. My friends are
idiots.”

His friends immediately look my way, about
the same time Noah looks toward them. There’s an awkward pause, and
I hate it. But then…

“You’re the dude from last night,” the other
guy says. “The one Dr. Richardson was giving hell, right?”

Noah nods, and the guy from last night
introduces himself as Theo. Then he introduces his friends – Miles,
the dreadlocked blonde, and Topher, the guy working at Drenaline
Surf.

“Spring break or vacation?” Theo asks.

“Spring break,” Noah answers quickly. I think
it’s obvious that these guys have no clue who he is, and Noah tends
to enjoy that. “Anything cool happening around here?”

Theo shrugs. “Crescent Cove is boring as
hell,” he says. “We’re headed back to Horn Island. We just came to
see Topher, but as usual, nothing’s happening here.”

“You know, Dr. Richardson’s yacht club party
is tomorrow night,” Miles adds. “It’s one of those big shot things
– doctors, lawyers, rich dudes. Basically a bunch of assholes get
together and celebrate owning the city. You should crash it.”

It surprises me that no one interjects or
tries to convince us otherwise. Instead, Theo invites us to go back
to Horn Island with them, and much to my surprise, Noah
accepts.

Big Tony follows Miles and Theo back to Horn
Island, questioning Noah repeatedly about if this is a good idea.
The bodyguard seems way more concerned about these ‘surf thugs’
than Noah does, though.

“You know how you have those cities where, if
you turn left, you’re in the rich downtown areas but if you turn
right, you’re in the ghetto?” I ask, peering out the window.
“That’s about the different in Crescent Cove and Horn Island. The
cove is rich, and this place is the ghetto.”

Noah laughs but defends Horn Island by
calling it ‘real,’ unlike the rest of his world. If he wanted real,
I could’ve taken him back to my house – with high school drama,
busy parents, and a ‘fend for yourself’ lifestyle.

“I think these guys will be okay,” Noah says,
reassuring Big Tony more than anyone else. “They don’t even know
who I am. It’s almost like pre-Saturn.”

Earlier this morning, before we headed out to
The Strip, Noah told me that Big Tony wouldn’t get in our way. He’s
the newest member of the security team, and he’s the least thrilled
to be here. Noah’s theory is that he’s only here for the money.
Noah says he’s okay with that, but I think he secretly wishes his
bodyguard was more like Tank or Tate’s Jersey-bred bodyguard Axel.
As long as Big Tony doesn’t crash my plans this week, I really
don’t care if he’s here or not.

We follow the locals into a parking lot near
the beach. A boating ramp sits off to the side. A concrete-ish
building with showers and bathrooms (that I’d prefer to never use)
is planted next to the sidewalk. A mural is painted on the side
wall. Sorry, Horn Island, but that dark red painted sunset doesn’t
do much to brighten up this place.

This place definitely isn’t a tourist
attraction either. Two people – literally two beings – sit on the
beach. They glance back upon hearing car doors. The girl is
probably close to my age. She wears a halter bikini top and
high-waisted swim shorts, like a pinup girl from the 40s or 50s.
She’s sort of classy rock star, if I had to label her style. The
guy with her has a deep tan, long black hair, and a smile bigger
than Horn Island should have to offer. He’s cute in a
Taylor-Lautner-before-the-werewolf-days kind of way.

The girl jumps up and rushes toward us all
too happily, and I wonder for a second if she recognizes Noah…until
she leaps into Miles’s arms and completely ignores his newfound
friends. Noah seems rather pleased that she ran to the dreadlocked
blonde instead of him, like it’s the rarest and most amazing thing
in the world.

“So, um, that’s Emily,” Theo says. “She’s
Miles’s girlfriend, obviously, and that guy down there is Kale.
He’s a friend of ours.”

Emily glances at us and whispers something to
Miles. If she has any clue at all, she’s playing it super cool.
Noah steps aside and talks to Big Tony alone, while Theo tells me
that he and his friends surf here and no one bothers them because
they “beat the fuck outta anyone who tries.” For some reason, it
doesn’t shock me at all.

After officially meeting everyone and
learning about their surf gang, the West Coast Hooligans, I’m
pretty certain we’ve found the right people to hang with.

“They’re not as bad as they look,” Emily
explains. “The term ‘surf gang’ is a bit much too. They’re just
territorial.”

The boys crack open a few beers from Kale’s
cooler and engage Noah in conversation about the best alcohols and
how Theo is suspended from work for showing up with a hangover.
Noah chugs a beer, probably celebrating the fact that he actually
talked Big Tony into leaving us here alone. That in itself is a
small victory.

“Is it just the three of them?” I ask Emily
as I stretch out on Kale’s towel. The sand is thick and clumpy like
cheap mascara.

“No, Topher and Jace are working,” she says.
“Topher works at Drenaline Surf because his brother owns it, and
Jace works at the music store by the hotel. These are the bums of
the group.”

Miles shouts that he heard that, and Theo
says he’s not a bum, just an alcoholic. Kale doesn’t say a word.
The guys offer to give Noah surf lessons, and for half a second, I
think he’s going to take them up on it.

“Are you even qualified to teach me these
things?” Noah asks, glancing out at the water.

Jagged rocks protrude from the ocean,
sloshing waves around like a bad sea storm. Emily explains that the
rocks are why the Hooligans are so territorial – they naturally
create good waves. It makes sense, but I’m not quite sure I’d want
to be in that water, aside from the fact that it’s murky and
disgusting.

“I’m a professional surfer,” Miles says,
almost offended. He runs back over toward us and grabs the
surfboard next to Emily’s towel. “See that? Drenaline Surf? Ocean
Blast Energy? Those are my sponsors. Those are endorsements.”

Noah follows Miles to where Emily and I sit.
“Professional surfer? As in pro athlete?” he asks, as if he can’t
believe it.

Miles nods, and Noah laughs manically and
loudly, like he’s already drunk from the one beer he drank.

“Dude, you need to chill,” Miles says.
“You’re creeping me the fuck out.”

Noah drops to his knees on the chunky sand.
“He’s not Shaq or Kobe, but he counts,” he tells me. “He’s your pro
athlete. We found one.”

I feel like I’ve told this story a zillion
times already, but the “what-the-fuck” expression on Miles’s face
is enough to know I need to explain it again – fast. There’s no way
I can ask for a selfie with him without an explanation. I quickly
tell him, his girlfriend, and the Hooligans about my botched spring
break plans, my bucket list, and how I never thought I’d be able to
pull off half of the things on there.

Emily asks to see my list, so I retrieve it
from my bag. She takes the list from my hand and scans the items.
While she does that, Noah snaps a picture of me with Miles. At
least that one can go on Instagram now.

“Who knew you’d be able to check off the
celebrity thing, huh?” she says. Then she nods toward Noah. “That’s
definitely an A-list celebrity, if you ask me.”

She
did
know. I think I can hang with
this Emily girl. Miles and Theo both say they don’t care because
they’re clearly not into boybands, but Kale asks for an autograph
and a selfie with a promise not to post it online for a week so
Noah can enjoy his vacation. I’m amused, especially when Noah
agrees.

“So, do guys in boybands play volleyball?”
Theo calls out, motioning to the net down the beach.

Noah shrugs. “They do now,” he says.

An hour later, my hands are sore, Noah’s
shirtless, and Theo is drunk. Team Noah-Marisol-Kale wins yet
another game because Theo can’t quite serve the ball properly.

“I quit!” Miles shouts. “This is why I didn’t
want you on my team.”

Noah tackles me with a hug. Specks of sand
linger on his body, and I want to volunteer to help him clean them
off, but that’d be way too awkward with Kale staring us down. I’m
not sure if he’s more interested in flirting with me or hanging out
with Noah. He’s star-struck. I guess he doesn’t consider Miles’s
athletic status to be all that famous.

“This was fun,” Noah says, pushing my hair
back over my shoulders. “Just hanging out with normal people. I’m
glad we came. Plus, you crossed something off the list.”

He’s right – item number one. Meet a pro
athlete. Done.

Theo throws away his beer bottles while Emily
gathers up her things to take to her car. I wasn’t so sure about
Horn Island, but now, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to leave. The
sun starts to burn out and fall into the ocean in a heap of bright
red light. I stand on the shoreline, watching the sea water bubble
and foam up against the sand when the tide brings it in and sucks
it back out.

“What’s the deal with the pier?” I ask,
pointing out at the collapsed pier in the distance.

“What about it?” Kale asks. He shields his
eyes and stares. “It’s just part of Horn Island.”

“So a pier just randomly collapsed into the
ocean, and no one bothered to haul away the pieces?” I ask.
“Everyone just thought it’d be okay to leave half a pier standing?
Isn’t that dangerous or harmful to the ocean or something?”

Miles steps forward. “Horn Island ain’t
exactly Crescent Cove, if you didn’t notice,” he snaps. “So yeah,
our pier collapsed a few years ago. It wasn’t the strongest, and
the water wore away at the wood, and BAM. Fucking collapsed one
day.”

I definitely shouldn’t have asked about the
pier. I regret it, totally and completely regret it. I want to
interrupt and apologize, but I’m too scared to speak up. Now I can
see why he’s a Hooligan. The name fits. I would not want to get on
his bad side.