The Shore (5 page)

“Rude?” Owen scowled at her. “Who are you, my mother? Whoa, loosen up, honey, you need a drink.”

“But I don't—” Polly's protest was cut short by loud catcalls. All around the room the festivities momentarily paused while heads turned toward the front door. Sabrina Morganthal had just entered the house.

Two

It was morning. Lying in bed, Sabrina realized that she had a headache at the same moment that she realized the sun must be up. She opened her left eye a slit and confirmed that the sun was indeed shining on her. The brightness seemed to make her head throb more. She tried to remember the events of the previous night. All that came back to her, though, was being in her new summer rental house and a party going full blast. Hadn't there been some cute guy . . . ?

She opened her eyes wider and momentarily stiffened as she realized she didn't recognize the room. But then she relaxed. Oh, of course, she was in the new house. She wasn't used to the room yet. She winced, the thoughts buzzing inside her brain only making her head pound more loudly.

Her mouth tasted like a gutter, and her stomach felt rocky.
Hangovers suck,
she thought.

An unexpected groan startled her. Sabrina turned her head to find a short mop of unruly brown hair.
A guy? In my bed?
Horrified, Sabrina instantly inched all the way to the edge of the mattress.
What is he doing in my—? No, wait!
She looked around. This wasn't her new room! This room was much smaller than hers and had a yellow comforter instead of the dark blue one she'd brought from home. She slid out of bed, only to realize that she was naked. She yanked the yellow comforter off the bed and wrapped it around herself.

The guy slept through it all, his face partly covered by the pillow, and shoulders bare, but the rest of him tangled in a sheet.
Thank God! Who in the world? What did I do? Think,
she wracked her brain.
Think.
But her head throbbed, and thinking hurt.

She couldn't remember. Oh, this was awful. Completely humiliating. She had to find her clothes and get out of there! But first she had to know who he was. Gingerly, she leaned forward and carefully lifted the pillow off his face. She saw dark, tousled hair, and a strong jaw covered with a little stubble.

Owen? Oh, no! Not Owen!
She remembered a little more of the previous night now.
No! I didn't! I couldn't have! Not with him! Not with one of my roommates!

Just then Owen rolled over lazily and yawned. He opened his eyes slightly and caught sight of her as she was wrapping the blanket around herself more tightly. He grinned.
“Hey, wuzzup? What a night, huh?”

What a night?
Sabrina thought.
Doesn't he mean, what a nightmare!?

She wished she could remember what had happened. She took another look at him. He wasn't bad-looking with his dark hair and hazel eyes—she must have found them attractive the night before. This morning, though, the sight of him was unbearable.

She clutched the blanket tighter. Her head throbbed, but she had to figure a way out of this. She just had to! If she didn't, it would be all over the house in no time. Everyone would be talking. Oh, crap, this was so NOT the way she wanted the summer to start!

Then she had an idea. “What am I doing here?” she asked, pretending to be genuinely puzzled.

“You don't know?” Owen grinned.

“Do you?”

Owen stopped grinning and appeared as puzzled as she was pretending to be. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I just can't remember anything,” she said. “So I'm asking you, what am I doing here? What happened? How did I get here?”

He frowned. And in that frown she saw a glimmer of salvation. A possible way out of this mess.

“Well . . . I . . .” He started fumbling for words. “I mean, you're here, aren't you? And you're not wearing any clothes. And neither am I. So it's got to be obvious, doesn't it?”

“I just don't know,” she said, putting on one of her greatest acts ever. “I can't remember. You don't remember either.
So maybe nothing happened. In fact, I'm pretty sure nothing happened. We were both so drunk, how could anything have happened?”

Owen's eyebrows dipped, and a look of consternation crossed his face. “Hey, what's the big deal? What if something did happen? What's wrong with that?”

Sabrina forced a sympathetic smile onto her face. “I'm so sorry, but what's wrong with it is that one, you're my housemate, and two, I don't do things like that. And even if I ever did, a housemate would be the last person I'd do it with. It's nothing personal. You understand, don't you?”

Owen's face grew harder, and then softer again. He smiled back as if he knew something she didn't know. Sabrina felt herself stiffen with anticipation.

“Well, now that I think of it,” Owen said, “I do seem to recall that you came on to me. Not that you're my type, but I thought, Hey, I wouldn't throw this one out of bed.”

Sabrina went cold. Her con job wasn't working. He was calling her bluff, and that filled her with fury. “Liar,” she shot back.

But he only smiled. “Hey, how do you know? After all, you just said you don't remember anything.”

“I'll tell you what I know,” she said sharply. “I know . . . myself.” But even as she said it, she could feel the doubt creeping in. She didn't know about last night—at least, not for certain. Maybe she had come on to him. Maybe there was a reason they'd woken up together, and naked. The thought made her shudder.
The uneasy feeling of uncertainty flooded into her. She had to get out of this room, now. “Where are my clothes?” she asked, looking around the room.

He shrugged. “Don't ask me.”

She felt herself blush with humiliation and panic and she hated him for it. And hated herself for having given him that power. Clutching the comforter, she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

The second-floor landing was littered with plastic cups, empty bottles, and beer cans. Toilet paper streamers hung from the railing. Sabrina searched for her things. There was a plate with a half-eaten chili dog on the floor, but no clothes.

Where could they be? she wondered. Horrible thoughts came to mind. Were they . . . downstairs? Had she performed some kind of strip? The thought made her feel so ill, she could have barfed right then and there.

She heard a doorknob turn and a door squeak open. Downstairs, a guy with long, blond dreadlocks started to cross the living room. He was wearing a short black wet suit and carrying a red surfboard.

On the second-floor landing Sabrina froze, hoping he wouldn't notice her. She'd never seen him before. But had he seen her last night? How humiliating was this?

Suddenly, as if he could feel her presence, he stopped and looked up at her. Their eyes met, and Sabrina braced herself.

“Surfs up,” he said, then continued on his way.

• • •

Avery sighed as she stared at the kitchen. The place was a wreck, every flat surface littered with empty glasses, cans, bottles, and anything else anyone could find to drink out of. The night before she had spent all but about half an hour of the party upstairs in her room, and now, looking at the aftermath, she was glad she had. She had come down once late in the night to get away from the loud groans coming from Owen's room.
I hope Curt and I don't sound like that,
she'd thought.

The moment she'd come downstairs and joined the party, guys had started hitting on her. Martin, the husky football player friend of Owen's, was particularly annoying. He had made a suggestion about using one of the bedrooms for something “better than dancing.” What he didn't know was that Curt was sitting on the couch, watching and listening. Curt, being fairly drunk by then, had freaked out and several people had had to pull him away from Martin. Avery was glad, since Martin looked like he could have taken Curt apart with a single blow. Avery had convinced Curt to go back upstairs, where listening to the noise from Owen's room might have been annoying but was certainly safer than staying downstairs.

Now in the kitchen with sunlight streaming in, Avery put on the coffee, pulled a trash bag from under the counter, and started to clean. After a while she heard one of the upstairs doors open and Curt staggering bleary-eyed down the stairs. He took a seat at one of the barstools on the far side of the
kitchen counter, pointed to the coffeepot, and grunted, “Fresh?”

Avery nodded. She'd already started it, anticipating that there would be a lot of hungover people in need. She found a clean mug in a cupboard and filled it with steaming java, adding just a touch of cream the way he liked.

Curt accepted the mug without a word and took a sip. He then pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one up. Smoke curled around his head.

“Breakfast?” she asked.

He gestured at the coffee cup with the cigarette, as though saying that was all the breakfast he needed. Avery turned away, determined not to say anything and be accused of mothering him.

“You like being pawed at?” he asked, suddenly behind her.

“Excuse me?”

“That jerk Martin last night.”

She had been through his jealous interrogations before and she was in no mood for it. “You
know
I didn't like it.”

“Then why'd you talk to him?”

“He seemed harmless. At least at first.”

“Guys are never harmless around a hot girl.”

She smiled. He rarely complimented her outright, just made generalities like that and assumed she would know that he thought she was pretty. It was usually enough, though.

“I'm worried about money,” he said, changing the subject. “I know it sucks, but I'm gonna have to find a job.”

“What about the band?” Avery asked.

“We'll rehearse when I'm not working.”

She froze.
The whole point of this summer was to spend more time with each other. Between the band and a job, I'll never see him.
“I have a better idea. Why don't I get a job? I'm sure I can make enough for both of us. That way you can practice with the band while I'm working and we'll have the rest of the time to spend together.”

“You're sure?” he asked.

“Absolutely. It will be fine.”

“You're the best, Ave,” he said.

Before she could say anything more, Polly came out of her downstairs bedroom wearing a big T-shirt with a palm tree on it and matching palm tree shorts. Her red hair was slightly disheveled, and she looked pale and bleary-eyed. Avery understood. Being in one of the downstairs bedrooms, Polly had been at ground zero for the party last night. It looked like she hadn't managed to get much sleep.

Polly went into the downstairs bathroom, then came back out quickly and ran up the stairs to the second floor. Avery watched her. “I wonder what that's about?” she whispered to Curt.

Curt shrugged as if he didn't care and downed the rest of his coffee and held the mug out for more. Avery refilled his mug and handed it back to him. A few moments later, Polly came back down the stairs and entered the kitchen.

“We'd better call Fred,” she said, coughing and looking pointedly at Curt's cigarette.

“Something wrong?” Avery asked.

Polly nodded, coughing some more. “The downstairs bathroom.”

Curt gave Polly a wicked grin. “Well, ma'am, not much can be done about that. You know the plumbing round here's no darn good.”

Polly blushed. Avery stared at the two of them, feeling bewildered. Clearly there was some inside joke she was not aware of.

“Is it the sink?” Avery asked.

“No, the toilet.”

“There's a plunger upstairs. I can go get it,” Avery offered.

Polly winced. “I think this goes beyond anything that we can fix, or would want to.”

“I don't know, I'm usually pretty good at fixing stuff,” Avery said.

“Not like this. Someone did . . . something . . . to the toilet. I wouldn't go in there, if I were you.”

“Better call Fred, then, and confirm his worst nightmares,” Curt advised. “Tell him we burned down his house. When he figures out it's not true, he'll be so grateful, he won't care what we do the rest of the summer.”

“I can't do that,” Polly said, looking horrified.

“Then give me the number and I'll do it,” Curt said,
reaching for his cell phone while putting out the cigarette.

“No! I've got it,” Polly said. She looked at the piece of paper tacked to the refrigerator that had Fred's phone number on it before picking up the phone and dialing. “Um, hi, Fred. This is Polly, one of your renters. Oh, I'm glad you remember me. Listen, there seems to be a problem with the downstairs bathroom. Yeah. No, I think it's going to take a plumber, or maybe a team of them. Thanks. Bye.” She hung up and turned to Avery and Curt. “So, we really should try to get everyone together this morning to talk about the rules.”

“Let me guess,” Curt said. “Rules on how to go to the bathroom?”

Avery shot him a look that said, “Behave yourself.”

“Rules on being considerate and not making a mess,” Polly said.

“That mess could have been made by someone who doesn't even live here,” Curt said.

“Then we need rules about that, too,” Polly said in an exasperated voice.

Another second-floor door opened, and they looked up to see April emerging from her room. This morning she had traded the tight, black skirt and shirt for black jeans and a black tank top.

“Look who came out of her coffin,” Curt mumbled.

April walked down the stairs slowly. The house stank of cigarette smoke. Totally gross first thing in the morning.
Several of her new roommates were standing in the kitchen staring at her. Their eyes were probing. She recognized the pretty, brown-haired girl and the preppy redhead from the day before. The good-looking, hungover guy with the messy black hair was new to her.