The Shore (7 page)

The eyes now left Owen and focused on Sabrina, who groaned inwardly. If she was going to have to spend the rest of the summer associated with this idiot, she'd pack her bags and leave right now.

There was nothing Owen enjoyed more than a big entrance with all eyes on him. Even better, he could tell from their reactions that word of his previous night's conquest had already spread near and far. While the Avery chick was definitely pretty, there was no doubt in his mind that hot-body Sabrina was the prize catch of the house. And he'd succeeded on his very first night. Life couldn't get better than this.

“So what are we voting on?” Owen asked.

“Whether or not to allow smoking in the house,” Polly answered. “We're up to Avery.”

All eyes turned toward Avery. Owen had been there last night when Curt and Martin almost went at it, so he knew Curt was Avery's boyfriend. This vote meant that she was basically being asked to vote for or against her boyfriend.

“For the sake of the others in the house, I say keep it outside,” Avery said.

“Gee, thanks,” Curt grumbled.

“I'm not saying you can't smoke,” Avery said. “Just not in the house.”

In the meantime, Owen found himself sneaking a peak at Sabrina. Despite the humiliation she was facing, she held her head high and proud and he couldn't help admiring her for that.
No wait, what am I thinking? After the way she acted this morning, I can't believe I'd admire her for anything!

To get his thoughts away from Sabrina, Owen looked at the one girl in the room he hadn't met. The one dressed in black. “Hey, where you been hiding?” he asked.

April held her hand up to him, palm facing his direction, as if saying, “Don't even try to go there,” and didn't utter a word. Owen took the rebuff and was annoyed to see Sabrina looking so smug.

“So, Owen, what do you think about smoking?” Polly asked him.

A lot of Owen's friends smoked, and he had no problem with it. Actually, the idea of setting up nonsmoking rules in the house seemed like a bummer. Who wanted to party when you couldn't smoke? And if he agreed to ban smoking, who knew what else they'd decide to ban?

“I don't know, what do you think, Sabrina?” he asked. Maybe if he voted with her it would be like a peace offering or something.

She gazed up at the ceiling and said nothing. “She abstained,” Polly said after a minute.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he had it on good authority that she didn't abstain. Owen knew it would get a laugh. Normally he'd just blurt it out, but this morning something made him choke the comment back. Sabrina would not appreciate sexual barbs aimed at her.

Owen said, “I'll abstain too.” He glanced at Sabrina out of the corner of his eye. She seemed not to care. Even hungover and moody, she looked hot.

“It's official, then,” Polly said brightly. “This is a nonsmoking house. Now we can talk about parties. I think we shouldn't throw one without everyone agreeing.”

Owen winced. “Whoa! Wait a minute! This is getting out of hand. All we need is one person to always say no and there'll never be another party.”

“So?” April asked.

Owen knew it. “You'll be the one, right?”

“Maybe,” April replied.

Owen turned to the others, almost pleadingly. “Come on, guys, what do you want from me? If I knew I was going to need permission to throw parties, I would have stayed with my grandparents this summer.”

“All in favor of getting permission for parties, raise your hand,” Polly said. She and April raised their hands. “All against getting permission, raise your hand.” Owen raised his hand quickly and was gratified that Curt and Sabrina did the same. Even with Lucas and Avery abstaining, those against asking permission succeeded.

“Okay, so I guess that didn't work.” Undaunted, Polly continued. “Let's move on to chores. We have to divide up the work. There's trash to be taken out, vacuuming to be done, scrubbing of bathrooms and kitchens, and shopping for food.”

Owen may not have had a headache before, but he was starting to get one now. This was summer vacation. Who wanted to think about all this crap? Luckily, he was not alone.

“Get real,” Sabrina said, displaying her hands. “You're looking at a fifty-dollar manicure. These hands don't scrub toilets.”

“Look, we all have to pitch in,” Polly said.

“I'm sorry, but who put you in charge?” Sabrina asked haughtily. It was clear to Owen that she'd had enough. Again, he found himself feeling a grudging admiration. Sabrina certainly had no trouble voicing her opinions. He watched as she hopped down from the perch she had made for herself on the kitchen counter and went back upstairs.

“I'm just trying to help,” Polly said in a small voice.

“Yeah, well, no thanks,” Curt said. “I'm outta here too. Come on, Avery.”

Avery started toward the door after Curt, then hesitated and patted Polly's arm. “I appreciate the effort. It'll be okay. Everyone's just tired from the party. Maybe we can try again when everyone's gotten a chance to know one another better.”

Polly looked disappointed, and Owen was surprised to find himself feeling bad for her. After all, she was trying, and maybe in a way she was right. He might love to party, but he also
liked a refrigerator with food in it and a bathroom you could use without worrying about catching some infectious disease. The others started to drift away, and Polly looked crushed, her shoulders slumped and her eyes cast down at the floor. Owen had an idea and instantly hated it, but at least it might make her feel better.

“Hey, you know what might bring everyone together?” he said after the others had left and he and Polly were alone in the kitchen. “Maybe we should have a clambake or something.”

Polly instantly perked up. “That would be great! Just fantastic! Oh, Owen, I knew you were a good guy.”

Owen groaned to himself. Now he almost wished he hadn't made the suggestion. Good guy?
There goes my image,
he thought.
A second ago I was top stud, now I'm Mr. Sensitive Fix Your Problems!

“One thing?” he quickly added. “Let's pretend it was your idea, not mine.”

“Why?” Polly asked.

“Just do it, okay?” Owen said. “It's no biggie.”

Before Polly could press further, Lucas returned to the kitchen in shorts and a T-shirt, having ditched the wet suit.

“Clambake tonight at six thirty?” Polly asked.

“Great, I'll be here,” Lucas said. “But right now, I've got to book.”

Owen needed to leave too, to get to work. Today was his first day on the parasailing boat and he had to get checked out
on the equipment. He and Lucas left the house at the same time. Personally, Owen didn't get the dreadlock thing on blond white guys. But Lucas gave off an aura of confident self-assurance that Owen inwardly wished he possessed.

They went through the front door together, into the morning sunlight. “Need a ride?” Owen asked.

“No, thanks,” Lucas said. “I can walk.”

“What? I've got cooties?” Owen joked.

Lucas grinned. “Okay.”

The sun was already hot and heating the air. Owen squinted in the brightness and felt a stab of pain in his skull—a sign of the hangover he'd been trying to avoid all morning. He put his hand up to shield his eyes.

“You all right?” Lucas asked.

“The sun, it hurts us,” Owen said in his best Golem impression.

Lucas chuckled. Owen smiled back. The smell of the surf was in the air. There were other scents as well, most of them sweet and sugary and sure to be coming from the boardwalk.

Owen could hear laughter and playful screaming from the direction of the beach. He pictured some girl squealing as a guy splashed her with water. His thoughts slipped back to Sabrina. Why did she have to be so bitchy that morning? It didn't make sense. Usually he was the one who woke up disgusted, not the girl. There was something about her that was different, though. He had woken up half a dozen times before she did and just
lain there and stared at her. Her beautiful blond hair fanning out around her face on the pillow. He'd wanted to reach out and—

“Uh, Owen, your car?” Lucas asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Owen shook himself out of the daydream and pointed down the street to a red Mustang convertible. A minute later they were in the car and Owen relaxed into the familiar black leather seats. “So, where do you work?” he asked Lucas as he put the car in gear.

“Surf shop,” Lucas said.

“Down on Main Street?” Owen started to steer in that direction.

“Yeah, but I'm not going there now. If you could drop me downtown I'd appreciate it.”

“Sure, anyplace in particular?” Owen asked.

“Nah, anywhere'll be fine,” Lucas said. “So what are you doing this summer?” It was a subtle change of subject, but Owen wasn't going to push it. If Lucas didn't feel like telling him why he wanted to go downtown, that was his business.

“The parasailing boat,” Owen said.

“Never tried it,” Lucas said. “Is it fun?”

“The chicks are,” Owen said. “It's a great way to meet them. You meet a lot of chicks at the surf shop?”

“A few,” Lucas replied noncommittally. “You can drop me here.”

Owen pulled the car over to the curb. They were on a block with a bunch of storefronts—a deli, a check-cashing place, a nail salon—not exactly high rent.
Why here?
he wondered.

“Thanks for the ride,” Lucas said, and got out.

Three

Later that afternoon as he left his and Avery's room on the second floor, Curt heard a guitar being strummed and a girl singing softly. For a moment he thought it was a radio, but then he realized it was coming from one of the rooms down the hall. He paused for a moment. It wasn't coming from Sabrina's room. Polly's room was downstairs. That left April.

He could relate to April's preference for black clothes, but didn't go for the excessive eye makeup. He just didn't get why she'd want to look like some character from a Tim Burton movie. He stepped closer to her door, trying to make out the words she was singing. She had a surprisingly good voice, kind of low and throaty. Her playing wasn't half bad, either, even if it was sort of minimalistic. But it was some moody folk ballad. He hated that kind of crap, so he surprised himself when, after another minute, he knocked on her door.

The singing ceased abruptly, and there was a moment's silence before April asked, “Who is it?”

“Curt.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

Good question.
He wasn't exactly sure himself, so he made up the first thing that came to his mind. “I want to apologize for being a dick about the smoking thing.”

Another moment of silence passed. Then he heard bedsprings, as if she was getting up. Next the door opened a crack, and one of her heavily mascaraed eyes peeked out.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Yeah, it was uncool. You've got a right to breathe.”

He thought he almost detected a smile, but wasn't quite sure. “Thank you, apology accepted,” she said, and started to close the door.

“Wait,” he said.

She stopped and frowned.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Why?”

“I don't know. Talk. One musician to another. I heard you playing. You sounded . . . good.” It wasn't entirely a lie. He might not have liked the style, but her playing and voice weren't bad.

She stared at him for a minute before stepping back and opening the door. He walked in and was instantly struck by how small and dark her room was. The bed was wedged against one wall, and clothes were hung on a pole that ran the length of the room. It took him a minute to realize that there were no
windows. It wasn't even a room, just a big closet. An old Yamaha acoustic was propped in the corner. Piece of junk.

“Cozy,” he said.

She bristled suspiciously. “I thought you wanted to talk about music?”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

April shrugged and sat on her bed, picking up one of her pillows and clutching it to her stomach. The neck of her T-shirt opened out, and Curt caught a glimpse of her milky-white cleavage.

“At least it's mine,” she said.

“I get that,” Curt said. “I had to share a room with my brother till he went to college.”

“Bites.”

“Tell me about it,” he said. “Made it worse when he would sneak girls in and kick me out. I'd spend the night in his car so Dad didn't catch me sleeping on the couch. Freeze my butt off.”

“Doubly bites,” she noted.

Curt dropped his eyes and studied his hands for a minute. “I don't know why I just told you that,” he admitted. “I've never told anyone, not even Avery.”

“Sometimes it's easier to tell painful things to a stranger than to someone you care about.”

“It's not that painful,” he protested.

“Yes, it is,” she said. “It's written all over your face.”

“What are you, a mind reader?” he asked with a grin.

She didn't smile back. “So, you want to talk music?”

Curt wasn't sure what he wanted to talk about. He was intrigued. There was something deep about her that he connected to.
It's like she gets it,
he thought.
Weird to know someone just a few minutes and to feel like we have a connection. Maybe it was the music.

“I heard you singing.”

She gave him an impatient look. “Yeah, I know. You said that.”

In a weird way he liked that she was suspicious and reluctant. It made her sort of challenging. And then there was her enticingly pale, smooth skin.

“You sounded pretty good. Played pretty good too, I guess, if you like that sort of music.”

“I take it you don't?” she said, only the twitch in her left eye revealing that the criticism bothered her at all.