I shrug. “Not really. He’s not insecure and well, I guess we’ve kind of got an understanding.”
Again, they share a look, but I’m not particularly fluent in girl-code so I ignore it.
“Why would Justin care?” Jessica asks. “Like you’d need anything more than that amazing body and face.” Her eyes dart to me. “I mean that in a totally not creepy way. Those guys…they’re just legends around here and the fact you landed one of them? That’s pretty impressive.”
“Right.” I smile at Jessica. “Thanks again for the help.”
She hands me the bag. “Maybe we’ll see you guys around.”
“I’m sure we will, Ocean Beach is a pretty small place.”
“So small,” she agrees. Isabel returns to her magazine, flipping to the next page. “Let us know if you have any problems.”
“Or if you ever want to double date,” Isabel mutters, then flashes me a not-so-innocent smile. “Kidding.”
She’s definitely not kidding.
I leave the store feeling a weird mix of nerves. Jessica seems nice. Isabel aloof. The Whit thing wasn’t that strange. He is gorgeous and it’s no surprise other girls look at him. I’m just a little flustered having to answer questions about the two of them. I’d just decided that keeping our relationships quiet was a good idea, but Isabel’s interest in Whit makes me realize why not staking my claim publicly could be an issue.
All of this is something I’ll have to consider as we get used to living in the same small town. Until then, I’ll stick with the plan—as long as I can.
10
Nick
My athletic shoes hit the hard-packed sand with a consistent beat that matches the music in my ears. It’s mid-afternoon—low-tide and in late May not too terribly hot. You wouldn’t know it, though; I’m drenched in sweat, my T-shirt tucked in the back of my shorts. The island is four miles long, which means twice a week I run the length of the beach and back at low tide. Coach gave us a strict workout and nutrition regimen.
I started at the pier and slow my jog when I reach the shady area underneath, my calves and thighs tremble from exertion. I kick off my shoes and leave them in the sand before wading into the water.
My heartbeat has finally slowed when I hear my name. Whit, in his surf school shirt and shorts, joins me knee deep.
“Good run?” he asks.
“Yeah, I need the low-tide to shift earlier or later though. It’s getting hot.”
“I’m on a fifteen-minute break between classes.”
“Let’s get a drink.”
I use my shirt to wipe my face and tuck it back in my shorts. Whit and I walk back up the wooden stairs to the boardwalk. Under the massive pavilion are a few food stands and I head to the one I always go to—the one I worked at for a few years in high school.
“How are things with your dad?” I ask Whit. I knew he was miserable at school even though he didn’t talk about it. He went through the routines, the hazing and false camaraderie, but I knew him well enough to know he was barely functioning.
“Not since I got back.”
“Not at all?”
He shrugs. “I saw him coming out of the liquor store a few days ago. I didn’t think it was a wise time to stop.”
Whit’s father is a hard-ass. A veteran and extremely conservative. Nothing about Whit’s life had ever made much sense to him. Not the long hair, the tattoos, or the surfing. He thought it was a bunch of hippie shit that corporal punishment, strict rules, and eventually The Citadel would beat out of him.
He may be right, except I’m worried all that will be left of my friend is a shell.
“How’s your mom?” he asks.
“She’s good. Badgering me about getting a girlfriend.”
His eyebrow raises. “So you haven’t told her about Summer.”