The Shore (5 page)

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.

Being shy, she wasn’t looking forward to meeting them. Some people thought she was antisocial. But for her it was easier to let people stare than to have to talk to them. She knew she sometimes came off as remote, but her privacy was worth it. The only reason she was in this rental house was because she didn’t want to be with her mom, helping to take care of her grandmother and living three generations in a tiny vacation condo barely larger than her bedroom. She’d figured in a big house with lots of strangers she could slip unnoticed through the cracks. It might have sounded strange, but it was easier to be alone in a big group than a small one.

As she stared at the group in the kitchen, she thought about just heading out the front door, but she was dying for some coffee and decided to brave the kitchen and her new roomies. After all, it was inevitable that there was going to be some contact.

“Hi, I’m Polly,” the red-haired girl said as April approached.

“April.”

“Yes, we got that much yesterday,” the brown-haired girl said with an easy smile. “I’m Avery. This is my boyfriend, Curt.”

The good-looking guy nodded, taking April in from head to
toe. He might have been Avery’s boyfriend, but his eyes implied that at least part of him was still on the prowl.

“Want some coffee?” Avery asked.

“Love some,” April replied. Avery handed her a mug, and she sipped the steaming brew cautiously. “Thanks.”

April sensed that the red-headed girl, Polly, seemed agitated. She kept staring toward one of the rooms off the living room.

“Problem?” April asked cautiously.

Polly nodded vigorously. “Just thought you should know. Don’t go near the downstairs bathroom. Something exploded in there . . . I think.”

April grimaced. “Thanks for the warning.”

Curt lit a new cigarette. April stared at the butt smoldering in an ashtray, its dying smoke drifting upward to join with the smoke of its replacement. Have you never heard of lung cancer? she thought. A cloud of smoke hung motionless in the kitchen. April set the mug down abruptly and began to cough. Or the hazards of secondhand smoke?

“Can we talk about smoking in the house?” Polly asked, also coughing.

“Do you really have to smoke in here?” April wheezed.

Curt sighed loudly.

“I mean, it can’t come as a surprise,” Polly said. “It’s practically banned everywhere.”

“I agree. No spreading carcinogens in the house,” April said.

“Big word.” Curt smirked.

April glanced at Avery, wondering how she felt about her boyfriend being so obnoxious. Caught in the middle, Avery stepped back as if to avoid taking sides. At the same time, April had a sudden vivid memory of watching her grandfather in the hospital, dying of lung cancer, and still begging the nurses for a smoke. “You don’t like big words, how about this: I don’t want to get lung cancer because of you,” she said.

Curt turned abruptly, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Avery called.

“To be with friends. Like I should have been all along.” He slammed the door. The sound reverberated through the house. Suddenly feeling terrible, April glanced at Avery, whose shoulders were slumped when her boyfriend stormed out.

“Sorry,” she muttered to Avery.

Avery looked distressed but forced a smile, anyway. “It’s not your fault. You have a right not to have smoke in your house. Curt just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. He’s under a lot of stress right now.”