I nod, sitting on the edge of my bed while he goes to Ginny’s. “Don’t leave,” he says. “Don’t lend credence to what Allison says by running off like you’ve done something wrong, because you haven’t.”
“I’m not running off,” I say quietly. “But for whatever reason I seem to create tension for Allison, and this is your weekend with her and neither of you should have to deal with that. It’s just two days.”
“You’re not creating the tension. It was already there, and she wants to blame it on you.”
“How can you be with someone like that?” I ask.
“You’ve seen her at her absolute worst. She can be great. But I haven’t been into it, I think, all year. I wanted to be, because everyone loved her and because it was all so easy, but I just wasn’t.”
“I get the whole thing about trying to make something work, but — all year?” I ask. “How could you have gone with it that long?”
“The problem is that everything at school sucked – going to class, studying, being with her. I couldn’t separate it all out. I don’t think I had any idea how bad it was until I got here.”
“You just needed time apart?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s more like I’d forgotten how it was possible to feel about someone, what it was like to really … crave something, instead of just accept the things you have.” He glances up at me suddenly as if he’s said too much. “I called her last week and said it was over. And that’s why she’s here.”
I manage not to squeal or start jumping gleefully around the room.
“Is that why you’re not showering?” I smile.
He grins. “Maybe? I hadn’t really thought it through, but yeah, I guess this is the first time in my life I’ve gone more than two days in the same clothes.”
“She may be a keeper if she’s willing to put up with you looking like that,” I smile.
“So you’d have kicked me to the curb?” he asks.
I look over at him, tan and shirtless and unshaven and before I can pull it back I just tell him the truth. “No,” I say softly. That catches his attention, and for just a moment something passes between us. “I mean, it is your house after all,” I add lightly.
He stands. “So anyway, don’t run off, okay?”
I nod, all the while wondering why it matters. It’s daytime. He usually seems to wish I was a million miles away.
**
I go shopping for a while, back to the store where Ginny convinced me to buy that dress. I’m finding, more and more, that I really don’t have the right things here. I laughed at Allison this morning, but my own wardrobe isn’t much less uptight.
And I find myself sick of the subtle but constant pressure to appear a certain way. Possibly because it hasn’t done me a bit of good. People are going to believe what they want to believe no matter what I wear, and I want to look like myself. I’m going to dress like a teenager for the first time in my life, which is ironic given that James is so convinced that I’m still a little girl.
I drop the bags in my room and put on one of the two bikinis I bought. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but when I look in the mirror I’m not so sure. It feels impossibly skimpy, as if I’m about to walk through Times Square in a bra and panties. But I can look out the window right now and count ten girls wearing this little. There will be a thousand more when I hit the beach. I take a deep breath and head outside.
The world does not explode. It’s scary, and amazingly freeing. Is it really possible to live like this? To be outside and not worry about who will see you and what they will think? I walk a little farther down the beach than we normally sit. Running from Allison? Absolutely. It’s already a day of firsts … I don’t need to add my first fist fight to the list too.
A lifeguard approaches just as I open my book. He’s the kind of guy I’d find attractive if James hadn’t destroyed my ability to be attracted to other men. He also looks familiar, but between the bar and Max’s parties, pretty much everyone in Rehoboth does.
“I’m Nick The Lifeguard,” he says. “I thought I’d let you know in case you need saving.”
“So is ‘lifeguard’ your last name or is just one long first name?” I smile.
He plops down beside me in the sand. “That is a fantastic idea. I’m totally going to change my name. First name Nick. Last name The Lifeguard.”
“I’m full of good ideas,” I say. “I’m Elle by the way.”
“I knew that already,” he replies. “I’ve seen you at the bar. You live with Max and James, right?”
“Yes,” I say. I look toward the empty lifeguard stand. “Um, aren’t you supposed to be saving lives?” I ask.
He shrugs. “They pretty much save themselves,” he jokes. “Actually, I’m on break.”
“I guess I’d better not swim until you’re back on duty,” I say.
He looks me up and down. “I make it my personal goal to never save a life while I’m on break, but I’d save yours.”
And then, like a sudden storm cloud, a shadow falls over us.
I look toward the sun and make out James approaching, his face grim. “Why are you all the way down here?” he asks, his tone rife with accusation.
“You know why,” I sigh.
“Allison went inside,” he says. “She doesn’t really like the beach.”
“Shocker,” I mutter.
“Hi James,” says my new friend.
“Nick,” says James. It sounds like a warning, not a greeting. “Shouldn’t you be out saving lives?” Unlike mine, his tone is less teasing and more overtly hostile.
“What is it with your household’s concerns with safety?” Nick asks me.
“I guess it’s our thing,” I laugh.
James picks up my bag. “Come sit with us,” he says.
“I’m fine here.”
His jaw grinds. “I think Ginny wants to talk to you,” he says.
“Fine,” I sigh, waving goodbye to Nick.
“Hey! Are you working tonight?” he calls after me, and when I nod he gives me a thumbs up.
James is silent for a moment, and tense, as we pick our way around the towels and umbrellas that line the beach.
“Are you going to go out with him?” he finally asks.
“He hasn’t even asked me out.”
“Yet.”
I shrug. “He seems nice enough.”
“Is that where the bar is set, Elle?” he asks through clenched teeth. “‘Nice enough’ is all you require?”
“‘Nice enough’ is a much higher bar than you’ve set, as far as I can tell,” I retort. “Because I guarantee no one says that about Allison.”
“Here’s what you don’t seem to get: any guy is going to come across as ‘nice enough’ when given incentive.”
I come to a dead stop. “So are you trying to imply that I’m too naive to know the difference between a nice guy and one who’s pretending to be, or that I’ve provided him some kind of ‘incentive’ to do so?”