If I Can't Have You

“Beats serving cones at the Frosty Dream.” Whitney has a summer job at the local ice cream shop.

“You got that right,” she huffs. “I think sand in my bikini is more appealing than sticky, melted ice cream in my hair.”

I laugh. “So true.”

Whitney stops rummaging and picks up a pair of my undies, turns around and holds t

hem up. “Dude, what’s with all the granny panties? You don’t have one cute pair of underwear in this drawer?” She stretches out the pair of white bikini briefs in her hands. “Haven’t you ever heard of Victoria’s Secret?”

“And what is her secret?” I ask sarcastically.

“She designs cute underwear,” Whit says as she slingshots the underwear at my face.

The panties skim my cheek and I pick them up and toss them over my shoulder. “Whit, you know I like to be comfortable and I can’t be comfortable with some skimpy pair of underwear riding up my crack. Besides, nobody is going to be looking at my underwear.”

She grabs a handful of my skivvy’s and shoves them into my suitcase. “You never know.” She gives me a mischievous wink. “Maybe Drake will decide you’re too hot for your own good this year.”

“I doubt it.”

She opens my bathing suit drawer and frowns. “And you don’t own one cute bathing suit either. Geez Robs. You’ve finally got a rockin’ bod and you never show it off.”

“I don’t feel the need to.”

Whitney picks up two bathing suits and tosses them at me and I fold them and put them in my suitcase. “You can borrow one of my bikinis.” I make a face and she shakes her head, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. Wearing your bff’s bathing suit bottom is still kind of like sharing her underwear. “Chill, babe. It’s brand new. Still has the tag on it and everything.”

There’s a knock on the door. “You guys ready to go?” Dad’s muffled voice wafts through the door.

“Ten minutes,” I tell him.

Dad’s footsteps carry down the hall and I get up, thumbing through my closet, trying to decide what outfits to bring. I pull out a few sundresses and Whit plops down next to my suitcase. “I can’t wait to see this Drake guy in the flesh,” Whitney muses.

I pick up a hot pink halter on a wire hanger and point the hanger at Whitney accusingly. “Don’t you say a word about anything to him. You hear me?”

She holds her hands up like I’m pointing a gun at her. There’s a stick up at the ‘Mason Corral’. I am the outlaw and Whit is the damsel in distress. “Hey, my lips are sealed sister.” She lowers her hands. “But I think this guy should know that you’ve never let another guy hold a candle to him for the last three years.”

I’ve dated a few other guys throughout high school and for some odd reason I always wind up dumping them or comparing them to Drake. I don’t know why I do it.

No. Yes I do. It’s because not one of them has ever made me feel the way he has.

“That’s because no guy our age can hold a candle to him.” I take the pink halter off the hanger and place it in the suitcase. “When you see him, you’ll see.”

Whitney sighs. “My lil Robin is crushing on an older man. It’s very Lolita of you.”

I giggle at her comment and grab some jeans off the shelf in my closet. I wish that Drake would look at me or think of me the way Humbert does Lolita. I know that’s a strange comparison, but that’s how I feel. He’s never looked at me with lust or adoration, but you never know. Maybe this summer will be different. Maybe this summer he’ll actually see me as someone other than the kid he’d saved from drowning once.

When we’d gone back for vacation the following year, I assumed he’d forgotten all about me. I’d gone down to the beach to watch the sunset like I do every year when we first arrive in Paradise and I was surprised to see Drake sitting close to the spot I usually sat in. But… and this was the part that sucked; he was there with another girl. It was the same lifeguard with the black hair I’d watched him kiss the summer before.

They both turned to look at me as I sat down a few feet away like I’d just interrupted some romantic interlude. But I didn’t interrupt anything as far as I was concerned. I came here every year. Sat in the same spot every year. They were mooching on my territory.

For a moment Drake and I locked eyes and the spark of anger in his baby blues cut into me deep, like he was stabbing me with a knife, twisting and carving out my insides. I was a Christmas ham and he was slicing away my layers every second that he kept his gaze on me. It hurt seeing him look at me like that and I felt my tear ducts kick into overdrive. I blanched, looking away so he wouldn’t see me cry.

Then the sound of Drake and the girl’s whispers carried over to me and swelled in my ears. I’d wiped my tears away in a hurry and stared up into the sky. Then I closed my eyes listening to the sound of rushing water and a rustling noise as Drake and the girl he was with gathered up their stuff. Footsteps scuffed against the sand and I kept my eyes closed until the sound of the footsteps stopped. I opened one eye and noticed Drake staring at me. “Kid? Is that you?”

“My name is Robin,” I said gruffly.

“I remember. The singing bird.” He’d left out the beautiful part. I assumed because the girl who was with him would probably be a little upset about that. Either that or he forgot that he said it. But I didn’t. That was the best memory I had of him. I’d replayed the words so many times in my head I thought that by now I’d be sick of it. I wasn’t and never would be.

He turned toward the girl with him and mumbled something. “This is Sydney,” he said introducing me to his girlfriend.