Summer of Seventeen (15 page)

She nodded, then stood up and smoothed down the covers where she’d been sitting

“You’re not bad for a little brother, Nicky. When you’re not being a giant pain in my ass.”

“Ditto.”

She smiled and closed the door behind her.

Wow. I guess that’s what you call having a conversation.

Julia was doing better. She’d gone around to see Ben, and she said they talked and decided to take a break for a while. She wasn’t happy about it, but I didn’t think it was such a bad idea. Not that I said that to her. Hell, no! But if she really was bored with Ben, having some more time apart might make her see if she really wanted him or not.

It only took a week before Ben was back with Julia. I guess he’d forgiven her or something. I’d heard her talking on the phone late at night—crying sometimes.

I don’t know what she said to him, but it must have worked. Or maybe he missed her. I guess it was possible.

One morning I woke up, and he was sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee, just like always.

I was actually pretty happy to see the guy. He was calm, and somehow seemed to handle the craziness that was Julia.

I was grateful, too: any more ‘bonding’ time with my sister, and I’d have been joining the crazy train myself. As it was, for the past 10 days, I’d had to listen to her over-analyzing everything Ben had said or not said, done or not done, for hours. I had no idea girls spent so much time talking about guys like that. I really wished she had a girlfriend she could talk to.

And it made me wonder what Yansi was saying to Megan or Esther about me. Nothing good, I guess.

Megan had never liked me all that much, and Esther had liked me
too
much. So it was anyone’s guess what they were saying. All I knew was that Yansi wasn’t talking to
me
. She was refusing to take my calls or return my messages. I was still working for her old man, but I didn’t know how long that would last if she told him what I’d done. Probably less than a second.

I was bored and miserable.

Sean had gone to North Carolina for a week to see his grandparents, and Rob was spending a week in the Bahamas with his family.

So I decided to go for the offer Marcus had made of bussing tables at the Sandbar a couple of evenings a week and on Saturdays if they needed me.

This summer was turning out to be less fun than dental surgery. I wasn’t even sure it was my fault. What happened with Erin, hell, no one could blame me for that. Well, Yansi could. And did.

I showed up the first evening wearing the uniform tee and a clean pair of jeans. They were still slightly damp because I’d forgotten to wash them the day before and they hadn’t had time to dry fully. I’d have been more comfortable in shorts but Steve, the manager, said all the guys had to wear long pants, even though I wouldn’t be serving customers.

My training took all of five minutes: clear tables, stack the dishwasher, press the button, empty the dishwasher, and any of the shit jobs that no one else wanted to do, like cleaning the ashtrays from the patio. I didn’t care much, and even if I did, I could use the money. I got a share of the tips at the end of the night, too.

It was my second evening shift, and I’d been allowed a 15 minute break while it wasn’t busy. I was sitting outside when I told Marcus what had happened with Erin. I was hoping that he’d tell me what to do, or at least have some ideas … because he was older and had a lot of girlfriends, I guess.

But after laughing his ass off, he didn’t seem to think it was important.

“It happened. Either your girl will get over it or she won’t. If she doesn’t believe you, then move on. And it’s a great story—I might have to use that some time.”

“But it’s true!” I complained. “I was wasted. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.”

Marcus laughed again.

“Keep telling yourself that, kid, but from anyone else’s point of view, you fucked some girl who was all over you at a party when your girlfriend wasn’t around. No guy would blame you. But I gotta tell you, I don’t think … what’s her name? Yansi? I don’t think she’s the forgiving type. She’ll be bringing it up in every argument you ever have.”

“Yansi isn’t like that.”

He glanced over, his expression amused.

“They’re
all
like that. They say they’re not, but they are.”

“Not her.”

He grinned as he shook his head, then closed his eyes, sitting back in his chair, face to the setting sun.

“Sure she is. She’s a ball buster. Why do you want to get her back when you could have any chick? Je-zus! You dated her for four months; you work for her old man … before you know it, she’ll have a ring on her finger, a kid on the way, and you’ll be standing in front of her priest saying ‘I do’.”

He shook his head.

“Don’t let them tie you down, kid. That’s a shortcut to being miserable for a very long time.”

He looked at me slyly.

“Emma asked me if you were single.”

“Who?”

“Chick with the rose tattoo on her shoulder.”

I knew who he meant. She was one of the servers and had started at the Sandbar a couple of days before me.

“What did you tell her?”

Marcus smiled. “I said she should ask you herself.”

I frowned. “I’m trying to work things out with Yansi.”

“Then tell her that,” he said, sounding bored. “It’s your life.”

That was Marcus’ answer to pretty much everything.

I wanted to ask him some more, but break time was over.

I went back to bussing tables, clearing glasses from the happy hour rush.

Then Frank walked in with an older guy that I’d seen around but didn’t know. Marcus set them up with a couple of beers without being asked. I got the impression that they stopped by at this time every evening.

They were talking about the crappy surf conditions when a noisy group of girls came in: out-of-towners. From the way they were swaying, I guessed they’d already been partying somewhere else. One of them was wearing a bride’s veil and a tiara. It was pretty clear they were on their way to a bachelorette party. Or maybe this was the party.

Instead of taking a table, they perched on bar stools and fluttered their fake eyelashes at Marcus.

“Four Mojitos, gorgeous, and a Sea Breeze,” said one of them, throwing her American Express card onto the bar.

“Coming up,” said Marcus, smiling easily.

“Anything else coming up?” she giggled.

The girl wearing the veil laughed, sounding a little embarrassed.

“Holly! Leave the poor guy alone. Sorry about her,” she said to Marcus. “She’s just had a bit too much to drink.”

“No problem,” Marcus replied, easily. “I hope you guys have fun tonight.”

But then someone else caught their attention, and they all started laughing their asses off.

“Oh my God! Did you
see
what that woman was wearing?” shrieked one of the others in the party as they all laughed loudly.

“I know! There must be a trailer park around here.”

“Whose idea was it to come here anyway?”

“Think of it as a sort of sociological experiment, Tanya!” laughed the bride

“Who knew you could get BOGOF tattoos?”

“Oh God! Totally!”

Wow, these women were trashed. And loud.

One of them grabbed my ass as I passed with a tray of glasses.

“The scenery isn’t bad though.”

I nearly dropped the tray, and the glasses clinked together dangerously.

“Hey!” I complained.

“Aw, he’s cute!”

She drew out the word in a sickly way.

Marcus raised his eyebrows.

“Sounds like she’s a sure thing, kid.”

I tried to tear myself away from her claws and glanced over my shoulder. The woman winked at me and did this gross thing with her tongue that I guess was supposed to be hot, then she pinched my ass. She looked older than my sister. I shook my head—no freakin’ way.

“Yeah, cute … if you prefer brawn to brains,” snickered the one named Tanya, and I felt my cheeks heat up.

“Who doesn’t?” laughed another.

“Oh my God! You’re such a slut, Libby!”

“I like to be able to at least have a conversation with a guy.”

I couldn’t believe they were talking about me as if I wasn’t standing right there.

“Who needs conversation if the guy looks like him! Come on, you’ve got to admit these surfer-types are hot?”

Marcus came from behind the bar to help me, taking the tray so I could pry their hands off me.

“No molesting the staff, ladies,” he smiled.

“Like minimum wage is such a turn on,” snapped the short one. “Oh, please!”

What a bunch of bitches. I wondered what collective noun my English teacher Mrs. Lord would give them: a pack of bitches? A coven of bitches?

“Is it always like that?” I asked Marcus.

He grinned at me.

“If you can’t handle the heat…”

I was kind of afraid to go near their end of the bar for the rest of the evening.

“Look at those legs,” said Frank, scanning up and down the one who’d grabbed me. “I wonder how far up they go. I wonder how far up them I could go.”

Frank’s buddy shook his head. “No chance, bro. They’re a bunch of stuck up princesses. I fuckin’ hate this time of year.”

Frank shook his head in amazement.

“Are you kidding? It’s when all the talent arrives! Long legs and short skirts. Gotta love summer.”

The older guy snorted. “Vacationers from the city or flying in from NYC, looking down their noses at us, like we’re a bunch of hicks. Prices go up, everywhere is busy, and I can’t park outside my building.”

Then Steve, the Sandbar’s owner joined in.

“Yeah, well summer is the only time most of us make any money. Without visitors this place would be screwed.”

I hadn’t thought about it like that before. But especially since the Shuttle program had wound down, a lot of people had lost their jobs. Transient workers always came to this part of Florida, but more kids than usual had left during Junior year because their parents went to look for work in other towns.

The funny thing about living in a place where people come for their vacation is that you always somehow sort of feel like you’re missing out. Vacationers come with their spending money, all excited because they’re seeing the ocean or the beach, or renting a boogie board for the first time, and it’s stuff that you’ve known your whole life. And they always tell you that you’re lucky to live here. And I guess it’s true, because even though I was brought up in Cocoa Beach, I love to look at the ocean. I love to watch and work out what sort of mood it’s in today.

Is it going to be an easy paddle-out day, or is it going to be a gnarly bitch that chews you up and spits you out? Or is it going to be mirror flat, only the faintest pulse telling you that the waves aren’t dead, they’re just resting.

On the crappy days—what they’d call crappy because there’s no sun, even if there are awesome waves—vacationers head to the city or Disney World or Universal Studios; but on the good days, they all come back to the beach, so all the best days of the year, there’s a bunch of strangers everywhere, and the locals get the leftovers. It makes some people mean, and if they get the chance to piss off a tourist, they will. But all the businesses want tourists because it’s money.

Then there’s all the part-time, seasonal work; not much full-time or even that well paid. Me, I’d be happy working in a surf shop forever, renting out boards or teaching people to catch their first wave. I think that would be a pretty cool. But if you want the kind of job that needs a college degree, you have to quit the beach and head for the city. Mostly.

Or you can be a teacher.

But how many people like school so much they want to spend the rest of their lives in a place that smells of disinfectant and guys who haven’t learned that deodorant is their friend?

Maybe a few jocks and some of the princesses love high school, but it’s hard work being popular.

I get along with most people. I hang with the jocks, smoke with the stoners, and get invited to all the cool parties as well as the slacker parties. I’m kinda second rung popular—maybe because I don’t care about any of it.

Sean’s brothers were all popular, playing on the football team or going out for baseball. I think that’s why his parents give him such a hard time because he only ever wanted to surf or party. But to be first rung popular, you gotta always be ‘on’, like happy, so people want to be around you. You’ve gotta go to all the parties, and make them cool just because you’re there. If you’re a dude, you’ve gotta get Bs or you’ll get kicked off the teams, and you’ve got to sleep with the cheerleaders, even if you think a girl is dumber than dirt. And if you’re a girl, you’ve got to have the looks and the right clothes and sleep with the right guys. Or you gotta be real smart and hot—like Yansi.

God, I missed her.

I’d sent her 23 text messages, seven emails, and had tried to call her twice—one time going straight to voicemail, and the other she cut me off before I could do more than breathe.

The difference between me and my sister: I already knew what I’d lost—I’d never needed or wanted any time to think about it.

But it was kind of cool talking to Julia. More like she thought of me as an adult for a change. I mean, not always: she still nagged me about leaving dirty dishes in my room, but she didn’t seem pissed at me all the time like she used to. Yeah, I liked it.