Twenty Boy Summer (11 page)

Then
I get mad at myself for getting mad at myself and remember that I, too, prefer the natural look.

See? This is exactly why I don't want to get involved with anyone.

"Where's Jake?" Frankie asks, trying to sound as if she doesn't care. I make a kissy face across the table when Sam isn't looking. She
totally
cares.

"He's teaching today. We're supposed to meet up in an hour. Come with me." He nods as though it's already settled. "We thought you ditched us."

I want to set the record straight. "Frankie had a --"

"Anna," Frankie cuts in, shooting a severe stare my way. "You don't have to report our whereabouts to him."

"Let me guess," Sam says. "Sunburn?" He laughs, thankfully impervious to her attitude. I imagine he's seen his share of girls like Frankie. Most guys dismiss the less appealing parts of her external personality in favor of the much more appealing parts of her body, but every once in a while there's a guy like Sam. To Frankie, it's truly vexing.

"It's a
base,
" she announces. "Anyway, we had other plans."

"Right, Pinkie," Sam says. "I wasn't really asking. Just pointing out that you ditched us."

Frankie opens her mouth to rebut, but Sam's too quick. He tells us about the stretch of beach where we're meeting Jake, and how the water's a little rougher there than at the alcove, but it's close enough to the public part of the beach that the lifeguards can still get to you in an emergency.

"Don't worry," he says. "I have a feeling you two can handle it."

Back in Frankie's good graces, Sam clears our table and drops his apron behind the counter. "Let's go," he says, holding the door for us.

Outside, he grabs his body board from where he stashed it behind the restaurant and leads us about ten minutes farther down the beach.

The spot where we meet Jake is on the outer edge of the touristy part. It's more open than the alcove, so there are a few other surfers in the water, but we have plenty of room to spread out.

Jake is near the water, waxing his board. When he sees us coming, he runs up to Frankie and picks her up in just the sort of attention-doling hug Frankie expects.

"Damn, girl!" he says as he sets her down. "Did you fall asleep in the sun?"

"It's a -- you know what? Yes," Frankie says. "I fell asleep in the sun. Can we move on now?"

I toss Frankie a bottle of sunblock as we get ready for Surfing, Part Deux. This time we kneel on the boards and ride a few waves to the shore with Sam and Jake close behind. The water is much choppier than the alcove -- mostly because of the speedboats racing through just a few hundred yards away. I half expect Frankie to fake an undertow incident, just so she can be gallantly rescued, but she's so focused on Jake and surfing and laughing with her mouth open and head thrown back that she all but forgets most of her standard Frankie tricks. I even catch a few glimpses of the old Frankie. Sure, she still exudes the confidence of a girl who could attract a swarm of lifeguards and medical personnel with a broken nail, but she's not doing it on purpose.

Unfortunately for me, by the end of our lesson, Sam has gotten neither less attractive nor less attentive. Against my better judgment, which seems to be conspicuously absent these days, I accept the hard reality that I maybe might possibly be just the slightest tiniest littlest bit kinda sorta interested in him.

Which means of course that he's hereby
off
the list of contenders for Last Boy to See My Virginity Alive. I certainly can't endure the kind of impossible embarrassment required during the ditching of one's albatross with someone I might actually
like.

We have to meet up with Red and Jayne for lunch but agree to find Sam and Jake again tomorrow.

Tomorrow quickly turns into the next day, which turns into the next one, and the next one after that. Soon, Frankie and I are running back and forth every day between morning and afternoon surf sessions for long lunches with Uncle Red and Aunt Jayne. I think Frankie's parents appreciate the time alone, but it's also important that we don't give them any reason not to trust our daily reports about the nonexistent, really friendly local girls that we supposedly hang out with all day, just down the beach.

By the end of the first week, we settle into a routine. Meals and other random activities with Red and Jayne, as required of the good daughter and her angelic best friend, and mornings and late afternoons with Sam and Jake. In our short time together, the four of us become the kind of impossibly close that only happens with people you barely know -- people who live hundreds of miles and entire states away from you.

People who don't know your secrets.

Frankie and Jake are all over each other in a sickening sort of way that makes old married people visibly uncomfortable. The only thing keeping them from venturing into the final frontier -- Johan-soccer-field-style -- is lack of opportunity. Even with Frankie's penchant for public spaces, daylight hours on the beach are just too crowded.

Sam wants to kiss me, I can feel it. It's that look he gives me sometimes -- a look I've seen before, and one I'm not sure I'm ready to see again -- not wholly. My body is composed of various parts and nerve endings that would love to see it again. But thankfully, my logical side keeps winning out, reminding me how good ideas can quickly turn bad, helping me change the subject or turn away whenever that look starts to creep into Sam's eyes.

Frankie thinks I'm crazy.

"I don't get you, Anna. I really don't," she says at the end of our first week with Sam and Jake. We watch them do tricks in the water as we lie on our blanket in the hot sand. "Don't you like him?"

"Yeah, but..."

"But what? Don't you want to ditch the A.A.?" She looks concerned, as though my response might impact the outcome of her entire life.

"I guess, but..."

"You
guess
?"

"Frankie, I really do like Sam." I keep my voice low so he can't hear. "It's just not something you can force."

She stares at me. "Then I can't help you, Anna. You're going to have to lose your virginity all by yourself."

I look at her and laugh. "If only it were that simple."

Sam and Jake join us on the blanket, dripping cold water on our legs. Before Sam can ask if I want a soda from his cooler, Frankie and Jake are locked at the mouth.

"Prisoners of lust," Sam says, handing me a Coke.

Prisoners -- oh, no!

"Frankie, shit! Alcatraz!" We totally forgot that we promised Uncle Red we'd take the afternoon tour. According to Sam's watch, we're already twenty minutes late.

"Shit!" Frankie unsticks herself from Jake and ties up her sarong.

We say quick goodbyes, shove all of our stuff into our bags, and take off down the beach, running through the sweaty, undulating mob of tourists on the stretch between Smoothie Shack and our rental house.

We show up for the Alcatraz outing forty minutes after the previously agreed upon meeting time, apologetic and out of breath. Red and Jayne are sitting at the kitchen table, keys in hand, camera bag packed, waiting. Frankie makes up some story about having lunch with "Jackie" and "Samantha" at Jackie's beach house and totally losing track of time, which was easy to do considering both our cell phones sat idly on the bedside table all morning. My face burns as she expertly weaves our tale. I focus on my pink toenail polish, waiting for Red and Jayne to tell us how worried they've been and how disappointed they are that we've taken advantage of their leniency on this trip.

They don't, though. They just kind of shrug, tell us we can still make it, and ask us next time to try to stick to the plans. I would have preferred the standard parent lecture about learning to be young adults and proving our capacity for responsibility and why do we pay for cell phones if you're not going to carry them? -- the one my parents wrote many years ago and have relied on throughout the difficult teenage years. But Red and Jayne seem genuinely okay with it.

"Don't worry about it, girls," Aunt Jayne says. "We're glad you're making friends on this trip."

Because somehow that means everything is going to be okay.
"But I wouldn't mind spending some girl time alone with you two tomorrow, if that's okay," Jayne says. "That is, if you don't mind being seen on the beach with an old fossil!"

"Sure," we say, smiling like the little cherubs we are, making a simultaneous mental note to notify Jackie and Samantha that they don't exist, that we don't exist, and, should they discover us lounging around with aforementioned old fossil on the beach tomorrow, they should just keep on walking as though we've never met.

We apologize again, change into shorts, pile into the car for Alcatraz, and promise Red that next time, we'll stick to the plans.

Of course, Uncle Red's plans don't include the part about his two little Twinkies making a break for it as soon as he and Jayne are asleep, but come eleven o'clock tonight, that's the only plan on our agenda.

sixteen

"It's time." Frankie tiptoes into our room from her recon mission down the hall. "They're totally out."

As the longtime and only voice of reason in this operation, I'm compelled to resist. "Are you sure we should do this?" I ask. "What if we get caught? What if we get all the way out there and they're not even there?"

"Anna, they told us they hang out there every night. Besides, we're not gonna get caught. Mom and Dad sleep like rocks, especially after being out in the sun all day."

"They might wake up for water or something."

"Don't be ridiculous. Even if they do, they won't come in here. Just do what I do."

Frankie pulls the extra pillows and blankets from the closet in our room and stuffs half of them under her blankets, motioning for me to do the same.

"Even if they open the door, they'll think we're sound asleep."

Voice of Reason tries to chirp up again, but when I think of Sam hanging out on the beach at night in front of a campfire, Voice of Reason, along with his close cousin, Voice of Logic, go hoarse.

"Okay," I say. "Let's do it."

Frankie does one more recon and gives the thumbs-up from outside Red and Jayne's door. We tiptoe down the stairs, avoiding the third one that always creaks, and go, leaving the door unlocked for our return.

Meet me out back again later, okay?
Matt pulled me into the hall closet before anyone else could see us.

What if my parents hear?

Anna, we've been doing this every night for weeks. They're not going to hear. Besides, I can't wait another twelve hours to see you.

His mouth was hot on mine, sealing our promise before I could think of any more excuses.

Okay, I'll be there. Better be.

"Anna, you with me?"

The memory of my last sneak-out attempt with Matt fades into the salty sea air.

"Huh?" I look at Frankie, trying to read her expression in the dark. We can't turn the flashlight on until we're down the stairs, safely out of visual range from Red and Jayne's bedroom.

"I said, watch out for rocks in the grass. You're totally spacing out."

"No, I'm with you. Come on." I grab her hand and lead us down the stairs, watching our steps carefully. Once we're on the beach, it's easy to navigate our way down the shore. The sound of water stays solid on our left, and the beach is glowing with the lights of roaring campfires. We can still faintly smell the hot dogs and cocoa butter from the afternoon sunbathers, but now it's mixed with cigarettes and beer and the gentle melodies of random acoustic guitars -- under age base camp. Every other gang whistles and yells as we pass, inviting us to sit by the fire and stay for a drink. Frankie loves the attention, waving and smiling at everyone, taking random video shots, but we're on a Sam and Jake mission, not to be dissuaded from our course.

The boys are hanging out in front of the Shack, just like they said they'd be when we rushed through our goodbyes earlier this afternoon. Like the other groups, Jake and Sam have a fire going and a small cooler of beer. My stomach goes a little fizzy when Sam smiles at me. "Missed you," he says, handing me a bottle. "We didn't know if you'd actually risk it."

"I had to convince her," Frankie says. "Anna can be sort of a baby sometimes."

I try to choke her to death with my eyes, but she throws her arm around me and laughs. "We love her anyway," she says.

The four of us stand around sipping the beers and digging holes in the sand with our toes. We tell them about our trip to Alcatraz with Red and Jayne.

"That's actually a pretty cool tour," Jake says. "I took my little sister there last year."

"You have a sister?" I ask, suddenly realizing that in all of our lengthy discussions on best and worst school subjects, potential careers, favorite foods, and music, we haven't talked much about family.

"Three, actually," he says. "Katie is thirteen. And I have twin older sisters, Marisa and Carrie. They're in North Carolina for college. You?"

I tell them I'm an only child and realize with a sharp tingle in my stomach that I've just set up a perfectly awkward and agonizing moment. I look at Frankie and make a quick scrunched-up face that hopefully conveys how stupid I feel for getting us into this territory.

"Me, too," Frankie says, setting down her empty bottle in the cooler. "Jake, let's go in the water." She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and turns toward the ocean.

"Are you crazy?" he asks. "We can't see anything."

"Exactly." Frankie takes off her shirt to reveal her bikini and throws it in the sand by the cooler, settling the "to swim or not to swim" debate once and for all.

"In the water we go!" Jake hands his beer to Sam and tosses his T-shirt on top of Frankie's, chasing her along the shore.

The space of our conversation goes quiet in their absence, but not empty. The fire is warm and so is the air around us.

"Frankie is, um, a
fun
girl." Sam shakes a red-and-white-striped blanket out and spreads it on the sand.

"She used to be really shy, believe it or not." I join him on the blanket, glad to have something to do besides pretend to like beer.

"Why, was she fat or something?"

I laugh at the idea. "Fat? God, no. She -- well, her -- you know, let's not talk about Frankie now." There's no reason for me to invite Matt here tonight. Frankie said she didn't want to bring that piece of her life to the beach this summer, and so far, despite my close call with the sibling conversation, she hasn't. It's her tragedy, and whatever thoughts torment my head, I have no right to conjure him up at my whim.

"That's cool." Sam slips off his sandals and leans back on the blanket with his hands behind his head. "Lie back," he says. "Trust me."

I kick off my flip-flops and lie on my back like Sam, keeping a good foot and a half between us, lest a stray toe touch a stray leg and spontaneously combust. Unfortunately (or fortunately, I'm not sure), he turns to face me. I keep my face pointed up, focused on the stars. I'm
not
thinking about him. I'm not measuring the super-charged particles of air between us, willing them to become smaller and closer. I can't smell the boy-soap and sea salt on his skin. I can't hear his soft, measured breaths, or the beating of his heart, opposite mine.

"What do you see?" he asks.

I tell him about the shapes I find in the stars, the all-encompassing blackness of the sky. A gray, smoky wisp of clouds backlit by the halo of the moon.

"Mmm," he says softly. "Now close your eyes." His palm is over my face, fingers closing my eyelids. Heat falls in waves off his hand and onto my skin, simultaneously frightening and exhilarating.

"Okay." He resumes his position on his back, leaving cold in the spaces where he touched me. "Focus on all the things you
can't
see with your eyes."

I take a deep breath and try to concentrate on the task at hand. I don't want to disappoint him. I don't want him to mistake my childish nerves for shallowness.

"
Now
tell me what you see," he whispers.

"Well, there's a fascinating view of my eyelids."

"That's not what I mean, Anna Abby," he says, his breath crossing the space between us to reach my ear. "Tell me again."

I take and hold another deep breath.

In the darkness, I see the way the breeze floats over my skin. I see every grain of sand pressing into my back beneath the blanket. The crackling sparks of the fires, sputtering and fading around us. The music drifting into my ears and into my heart from a cluster of people farther down the beach, playing guitars and singing and laughing. And I see the ocean, the sounds of the waves rushing up against the shore, only to fall back down again -- a never-ending race.

My heart is full, but I'm shivering. I open my eyes and look toward Sam. He's staring at me with such intensity that my whole body reacts to it like a magnet to iron, no choice but the natural order of things, moving closer, surprising me. I'm afraid. Afraid something will break his stare. Afraid something won't.

Frankie and Jake have disappeared down the shore, the faint line of Frankie's laughter trailing behind them like breadcrumbs in the air. I hear her far away, but it doesn't fully register. Nothing registers. I want to say something, but my lips can't seem to remember how to make words.

"Anna, you're shivering," Sam says, breaking the trance. "Here." He sits up partway to pull off his hooded red sweatshirt and hands it to me.

I sit up and pull it over my head, grateful for the soft fabric against the bare skin of my arms. As I pull it on, I'm instantly and uncontrollably overwhelmed. It's like Sam has wrapped himself around me, close and warm and safe. It's
him,
the smell of his skin and something clean and the smoky campfire, hot and familiar inside as though he's in here with me.

Everything stops mattering. The cold is gone. Time is gone. The ocean stops whispering. I turn my face to his, his eyes unmoving, and everything around me stops, suspended. Sam grabs hold of the front of his sweatshirt with me inside and pulls it to him. My arms move around him, his around me, and he kisses me, so hot and severe that I feel it all the way in my toes. We fall back to the blanket and I'm outside of myself, twisting my legs with his to get closer, closer, closer. He moves on top of me, the weight of his body pressing me into the sand, kissing my lips, my neck, his hands tangled in my hair, then reaching under my shirt, and I'm floating, all the old, tired heartsickness evaporating. My whole entire heart evaporating.

"Anna Abby from New Yawk," he whispers. He's shaking, still on top of me. I move to unzip the sweatshirt and let him in, wrapping us both up, pushing him over and draping an arm and leg over him lazily. My head rests tight in the groove between his chin and shoulder. I breathe in his skin and hold him there, right in my lungs, where nothing can get to him.

My whole life can end right now and nothing else will ever matter, not now and not again.

Moments later, Frankie and Jake walk up the shore and Sam and I untangle. That's when I feel it. Like trying to hold water; that old slipping away. The cold air on my skin where he pressed against me just moments ago. The smell of his hair fading from my breath. The gentleness of his hands, gone. Sadness rolls over me like a wave, but Sam is still next to me, smiling. His eyes are content. His hand reaches to brush against mine. Frankie and Jake run up from the water, breathless and laughing. Sam moves a stray curl out of my eyes and kisses my eyebrow.

I can't stop thinking about what he felt like against my body, against my lips. I can't remember anything else, anything before that. And I realize in this moment that I've finally done it. That horrible, awful thing I swore I would never do.

The frosting. The cigarettes. The blue glass triangle. The shooting stars. The taste of his mouth on mine in the hall closet.

Gone.

All I can think about is Sam. Matt is -- erased. My whole body is warm and buzzing.

Sam is smiling next to me,
because
of me.

And I've never felt so lonely in all my life.

seventeen

Dear Matt,

What is the statute of limitations on feeling guilty for cheating on a ghost?

The words are black and messy like ants in my journal and look about as ridiculous as they sound. It's been almost twenty-four hours, and I can't shake the hot, prickly feeling that's settled in my stomach. It's not so much that I kissed him -- romantic night on the beach, stars, campfire, beer -- these things happen, according to Frankie.

It's that I want it to happen
again.

We didn't see them today. We promised to spend the morning with Jayne on the beach, which quickly turned into lunch, then dinner, then game night with Uncle Red. By then it was too late to go back to the beach -- the sun was down, and somehow we'd managed to spend the whole day with Frankie's parents doing wholesome family vacation things involving neither boys nor guilt nor things that shiver in the night.