Breeze
I loved how unforgiving the ocean was. She demanded respect and drew people to her dark depths with beauty. She was terrifying and exhilarating, yet gentle when she wanted to be. My mother used to tell me that the ocean was a woman, and living on the island taught me she was right. Who else could hold life in its murky depths while being a temperamental bitch?
Tonight, instead of an ocean, I felt more like a muddy puddle. Bland, inconvenient, and something people avoided. I never fit in at these parties, nor was I ever popular or memorable enough to be on the invite list. I wasn’t like my best friend, Violet, who was always the vibrant life of the party. And tonight, her house was filled to the brim with people and alcohol. I wanted to spend my night watching surf clips on YouTube, but it was Violet’s eighteenth birthday, and she had begged me to come. Not that she necessarily had to, I wasn’t going to miss her birthday party. I just liked to make her work for it.
Practically everyone on the island was here to drink cheap beer and make poor decisions. Love—or better yet—lust was in the air. February was perfect for finding someone to fuck. The music was thumping, and someone opened all the windows, letting the salty, humid air coat our sweaty skin. There was a smoky haze surrounding me, and I breathed in the skunky smell of pot. A guy with red eyes kept blowing smoke in my direction, laughing at whatever his buddies were saying. People crowded the chairs and couches. Coolers packed with beer lined the walls, and the floors were sticky. A girl wearing tall wedges that made her feet wobbly slumped past me, laughing as trash can punch splashed over the rim of her red cup. Some of it landed on my feet, and I was glad I decided not to dress up.
Back home, hanging in my closet was a sleek, black dress that was gorgeous and revealing. It clung to my slender body, creating the illusion of curves. When I tried it on, it didn’t feel like me. Violet had brought it over earlier, insisting that I wear it. Part of me wanted to, but I changed my mind last minute. When push came to shove, I always preferred comfort over glam—always preferred hiding in the shadows to standing out.
I wore an oversized teal T-shirt and cutoff shorts that showed off my long, tanned legs. My blond, sun-kissed hair fell in natural waves down my back, and I barely brushed on some mascara to frame my deep blue eyes.
Minimal. Effort.
Violet was off somewhere doing a keg stand or making out with her boyfriend. We were complete opposites, and many people didn’t understand our unique friendship, not that we ever cared. She was there for me when my dog, Sally, died. She was there when I got my period in Mrs. Huckey’s geometry class. She helped me study for English and would read books out loud to me when my dyslexia made it difficult to comprehend the jumble of words. And when my dad bought the surf shop on the beach, she made flyers and handed them out to all the hot surfers I was too scared to talk to.
Violet Jones was my best friend and the only reason I begrudgingly attended this party. It wasn’t so bad. I just leaned against the wall, people watching and counting the seconds until I could go home.
“Surprised to see you here, Breeze,” a voice with a low timbre said beside me. I bristled at the tone and turned to look at the handsome face invading my bubble of anonymity. Chase Jones, Violet’s twin brother, was looking me up and down, a smile on his thick lips. Like his sister, Chase was well-known at school. He had the face and body you couldn’t help but worship and stare at. With brown hair that was naturally lightened by the sun and a perfectly symmetrical face, he had his fair share of attention.
I’d had a crush on him since I realized I might like boy cooties. Chase and I were inseparable as children, but as we grew older, we grew apart. Violet became my other half, and he became a boy I was desperately infatuated with. “You know how convincing and relentless Violet can be,” I joked, trying not to let my voice shake. You’d think after fifteen years of sleepovers and friendship, I wouldn’t be nervous around Chase, but old habits die hard.
“What Violet wants, she gets,” Chase replied with a slight smile, the affection he felt for his sister evident in his teasing expression. Chase looked me up and down again, his hazel eyes lingering on my legs for a long moment that made foolish hope build in my gut. “I haven’t seen you around much lately. You used to spend practically every weekend at our house.”
I blushed and tried not to preen at the fact that he’d noticed. “Been busy. I’m working extra hours at the surf shop, and someone’s got to test out all the new merch,” I teased, knowing damn well that it’s not much of a hardship. I’d spend every second of my life in the waves if I could.
Chase smiled, showing off his bright teeth and the dimples in his cheeks.
“You work too hard, bro.”
“It’s a thankless job, but someone has to do it.”
Chase took a sip of his beer before looking around the crowded room. Violet and Chase lived in an ostentatious but empty house on the beach. Their parents were rarely home, and when they were, they pretended like their kids didn’t exist. Though Violet would never admit it, I think the loneliness got to her; it’s why she filled her Saturday nights up with parties and spent them hanging out with me. I had regular, loving, embarrassing parents. I grew up with Allison and Brian Shirley, basically the epitome of love and normalcy. She just really had Chase.
“Have you seen my sister?” he asked while looking around.
“Nope. I’m sure she’s with Kai.” I nearly slapped myself for being stupid. Chase hated Violet’s boyfriend. It was probably the only reason she dated him.
“Of course she is,” Chase replied with a sigh. “Did she just leave you here?” The protectiveness in his tone surprised me, but I didn’t allow myself to think too hard about it.
“I begged her to let me be. You know I don’t do this,” I lamely replied while gesturing around the party by way of explanation. In the distance, there was a couple dry humping against the wall. In the corner, a guy from my English class vomited in a flower vase. Two guys walked through the front door carrying pizzas, and a frenzy of drunk and hangry teens attacked them.
“Right. You’re too cool for lame parties, right, Breezy Baby?” he asked while leaning closer. Chase only called me that when we were alone. I could smell the beer on his breath and the woodsy cologne on his tanned skin. Our exchange was odd but addictive. My inner voice told me that he was just drunk and didn’t realize how close we were standing, but something else had me wishing for more.
“I’m not cool at all, Chase.”
“You don’t know yourself very well.” He was close. So damn close. Another girl would have closed the distance. Another girl would have confidently stroked his arm. Another girl would have giggled at his compliment and brushed a strand of golden-brown hair out of his eyes.
But not me.
I was just about to open my mouth to ask him something mundane about the weather or senior trigonometry when Celeste Borns sauntered up to us. I steeled my spine, preparing for the worst. I didn’t like Celeste. She had wavy hair and round eyes that were framed with fake lashes that were excessively long, like wings on a raven. She was tall and slender, with a confident swagger that couldn’t be matched.
“Chase, baby,” she greeted before slamming her plump pout to his. I watched like a masochist, shame and longing filling me up as she threaded her fingers through his hair and hiked her leg up around his body. I should have left when she moaned into his mouth, but in social situations, I never did or said the right thing. And when they broke apart, I quickly averted my eyes to the floor, pretending to be interested in the pink paint on my toenails.