Cinderella in the Surf Page 7

  "So, really," he says, walking us over to a bench and plopping onto it. "What's the deal? You surf waves but don't like roller coasters? I'm pretty sure one's way more dangerous than the other."

  I don't sit down, and instead jam my hands into the pockets of my white shorts and shrug. "One's on land, and the other's in the water."

  He shakes his head. "I don't get it."

  "You don't have to. Come on, the ferris wheel isn't that far from here."

  "Rachel."

  There's an insistence in his eyes that I haven't seen before, and it's unsettling, a reminder that I don't know him at all, and he doesn't know me. He only has to know what I want him to.

  Not like Alex, who knew everything about me, more than even me, I bet.

  "I'll race you," I tell him, taking my hands out of my pockets and backing away from the bench. "Loser buys hot dogs!"

  And before he can say anything else or try to get me to spill my guts again, I'm gone, running through the amusement park toward the Ferris wheel and a place that feels safe.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I'm standing outside later that night in a white tank top that's tucked into a gold glittery skirt, glaring down at the watch on my left wrist, and wondering how the heck I've managed to get suckered into waiting for Walker twice in one day.

  He'd ended up buying hot dogs with mustard for us an hour after my challenge. He didn't try to get me to talk about why I was so uncomfortable on the roller coaster anymore, and for that, I'm still grateful. It's almost like he somehow sensed it'd be a waste of his time, because I have zero plans to talk about it with him.

  Good.

  It's an embarrassing moment best left in the past.

  After we'd downed the hot dogs, we hit up a few more rides, ones I'd agreed to go on, plus taken the slow train ride that runs through the whole park, before deciding to call it quits for the day.

  But as we were walking out to the parking lot, he'd told me that some of his painting buddies would be at a beach bar later tonight, and I should meet up with him.

  They were going to the Sand Dune, he said, a place near the pizza joint they'd painted the other day, and a place I know well.

  I know it because I used to go to hang out with my friend Luke, the bartender, when nothing else was happening on lazy summer Tuesday nights. And even though I was under eighteen, let alone twenty-one, Luke would sometimes slip me a shot or two of vodka if business was slow.

  So that's how I find myself waiting on the boardwalk with the ocean breeze rustling my hair just before 8:30 on a Thursday night.

  A breathless Walker appears in front of me as if he's materialized out of nowhere. "Sorry! Sorry. I know I'm terrible at being on time today," he says, holding up a hand as if that's going to stop me from complaining that he's not the most punctual dude I've ever met.

  "You're gonna have to work on that," I tell him.

  He nods. "Sorry. I think Petey and Brock are already here. Wanna go in?" A look of horror flashes across his face. "Wait, wait." He reaches out and grabs my shoulder since I've already turned and started walking toward the door to the bar. "You're not 21. How are you going to get in here?"

  I raise an eyebrow. "You're just now thinking of that? I've been here before. The Sand Dune never cards at the door until at least nine."

  "Glad you're on top of things."

  I shake my head and walk into the bar with Walker a step behind me. He scans the room before I watch him nod and lift his hand in greeting to two guys seated at a circular booth in the dimly light corner.

  When we approach, I realize one of them is staring intently at me.

  Great.

  "Sup, man," Walker says, slapping them both on the hands before gesturing over to me. "This is Rachel. She's local." He looks at me. "Petey and Brock. Brock lives here, too, but Petey's from New York."

  Brock is the one I'd first noticed staring at me, and even with the introduction, he still isn't looking away.

  "Don't I know you?" Brock asks me as he and Petey scoot closer toward the middle of the booth, allowing room for Walker and me to squeeze in.

  "I don't think so," I say as the waiter comes over. Walker orders a lite beer I've never heard of, and Petey and Brock both ask for another round of whatever it is they're drinking.

  And I ask for a diet coke. When I look up, I decide not to bother answering their quizzical stares at my drink choice with the obvious explanation.

  "Are you sure?" Brock presses when he realizes I'm not going to follow up on my response.

  "Pretty sure," I say, picking up the tan paper napkin and twisting it between my fingers. "But I've been known to be wrong sometimes."

  "Not often, though," Walker pipes up with a cheeky grin, and I feel the corners of my mouth twitch up.

  "I don't know why you look so familiar then," Brock goes on like we haven't already changed the subject. "I know I recognize you and your name but can't figure out why."

  It's then that a cold, sweeping sense of dread washes over me. There are only two reasons someone in this part of town would recognize me without me knowing them: they've heard my name because I'm (or I was, anyway) a big-time surfer, or because they followed the news reports about Alex's death.

  And quite honestly, neither option is particularly appealing.

  But I'm pretty sure I know which one Brock is thinking about.

  I shrug like I'm not silently sending up prayers that he'll get bored with his line of questioning. "No idea," I chirp. "So, you guys paint with Walker?"

  It's Petey's turn to jump in. "Yep," he says. "It's kinda funny. I came out here to live with my grandpa for the summer after Nana died, and he hooked me up with Walker's uncle."

  I'm not sure what to say, so I opt for polite. "Sorry about your grandma."

  Petey just shrugs. "That's the way it is. You live, then you die, and that's it."

  I blink twice, and don't respond, because what do you say to that? I mean, I know technically he's right, but it just sounds so...so...cavalier about death when all it ever does is leave behind a trail of sadness, and people who'd give anything to change what remains in its wake.

  "Why are y'all sitting inside?" Walker slips his phone into his pocket as he steps into the conversation just as things are starting to feel really awkward and I'm starting to regret giving up my bed and book. "It's nice out. Let's grab a table on the patio."

  We walk outside in the unlikeliest of conga lines and Walker chooses a round table that seats six, not a booth, in the middle of the patio. Colored string lights hang from the outdoor bar, a fire burns in one corner even though it's still in the eighties with tiki torches lining the whole place, and a live band sets up off to the side of the bar.

  It's kind of cheesy, if you want my real opinion, but it's also sort of nice to be somewhere that doesn't feel like home, probably because I never came here with Alex.

  It doesn't feel like somewhere I'm supposed to be missing him.

  We settle into our seats, drinks in front of us, sea breeze floating in off the water, making the warmth from the fire comfortable instead of annoying.

  It has all the ingredients of the perfect summer night.

  "Dude, so much better," Brock says, leaning back in his seat as he brings his beer bottle to his lips.

  I'm sitting in between Walker and Brock with my back to the door leading back inside.

  So that's why I don't see her come in at first.

  I'm looking directly at Petey, who's sitting across from me, when his eyes grow wide and he quickly glances over at Brock, then Walker.

  I can't read the look, but I know something's changed.

  There's a lot of shuffling and readjusting going on at the table. I glance up and catch Walker's eye, and am startled to see he's staring back at me with a worried look on his face.

  What the heck is going on here? What am I missing?

  Petey and Brock have moved their heads in close together and are whispering feverishly. Every now and then, one of t
hem looks up at something behind me, then dives back into the conversation

  Finally, I swing around in my seat and instantly know what's got the two of them so captivated, and why Walker's looking at me like he thinks I'm a ticking time bomb on two feet, and he's just waiting for the inevitable explosion.

  I can't see her face, but I'd know that short blonde hair anywhere.

  Piper Monaghan is standing at the bar with her back to our table, sandwiched between two other girls, waiting to catch Luke's attention for drinks. She's dressed in some obscenely short flowered sundress thing, and it's no real surprise that Petey and Brock are making idiots of themselves fawning all over Piper without even saying a word to her.

  I set my half-finished glass of diet coke down on the table and stand. "I should go."

  My actions barely register on Petey and Brock's radars, which is perfectly fine by me. I haven't come to like either one of them in the last half hour or so, but Walker gets to his feet and leans over to me.

  "Don't," he says, laying a hand on my arm. I look down at it, then back up at him. "Stay."

  "You know who that is," I hiss.

  He shrugs. "Yeah, and?"

  I stare at him through slowly-narrowing eyes and fight the urge to put one hand on my hip. "And?" I repeat, the word coming out of my mouth nice and slow. "So what?"

  "So," he says with an emphasis on the word, "What are you gonna do? Let her ruin your night?"

  "Nope. That's why I'm going home."

  Walker rolls his eyes. "Come on, don't be difficult."

  I pick up my purse and push my chair back from the table. "Look, I had a good time today, but I know me, and I know I don't want to be in the same place as Piper Monaghan."

  Part of me wants, and maybe even hopes, that'll he suggest he leaves with me and we can go somewhere else. After all, it was his idea for me to come hang out tonight.

  But he doesn't.

  "You should stay," he says one more time, but half-heartedly now, like he knows he's lost the battle and doesn't really want to fight one more round.

  This bums me out more than I really feel like admitting.

  I don't say anything else as I walk away as quickly as I can out to the patio, hoping Piper won't interrupt my great escape.

  I don't exhale until I'm safely on the boardwalk outside the Sand Dune.

  I make it about three blocks away when I stop, turn and look out at the ocean.

  What am I doing?

  I don't want to go home right now. I don't want to be away from Walker. And I definitely don't want to let Piper control me like this.

  So why am I leaving?

  It's easy, that's obvious enough.

  But is it right?

  Because we all know easy and right go together.

  Who is Piper to get to come to my town from thousands and thousands of miles away and get me to act the way she thinks I should? I've only bent that way once before in my life, way back in middle school, and the only reason I got out at all was because of Alex.

  He's not here to work me out of another jam. It's on me.

  That's the thing about what happens when someone dies. You've got to figure out how to make all the parts of your life that used to move along so easily work again with them gone.

  You've got to rely on you.

  So I do the only thing I can think to.

  I turn around and walk straight back to the Sand Dune, push my way in the front door and march out to the patio, ready to tell Walker how stupid it was of me to leave like that.

  The table we had all been sitting at is empty. It takes me a second to process this. I haven't given any thought to what I'd do if Walker left, too.

  Only then I hear the laughs.

  The first is high-pitched, girly, feminine and sounds like 100-proof evil.

  But it's the second one that sends chills racing up my spine.

  I swing my head around and zero in on them without any effort at all, like my instincts know exactly where to find him.

  Sure enough, in the corner of the patio by the fireplace, I see Walker leaning up against the railing, beer bottle in hand, talking to Piper, who's clutching a short glass with a wedge of lime on the side, nervously swirling whatever she's drinking with the tiny red straw, and smiling up at him.

  It's enough to make me want to throw up the hot dog he bought me.

  I stand here, rooted to my place, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, unable to move.

  Even though I really don't want to do anything else but run.

  It doesn't matter, though, because I'm too slow. From somewhere behind me -- it sounds far away but I'll find out later it happened just a few feet to my left -- someone crashes into a patio chair, sending the metal falling to the patio brick and startling everyone outside.

  I'm still watching as Walker reacts to the noise. His eyes meet mine before he can figure out what's happening, before I realize I'm too late.

  He knows I've seen him.

  The look of horror that etches itself on his face says it all. I want to turn around and run straight out of here, but it's like I'm standing in quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper.

  Walker says something to Piper, who immediately looks in my direction. She quits playing with her drink as her eyes narrow to tiny little slits.

  He's already walking toward me by the time I realize what's going on.

  I turn to make an exit, but I'm still moving too slowly and there's no escape anyway, and then Walker's in front of me.

  "Rachel," he says, his voice light and airy and fake. "I thought you were leaving."

  And just like that, I no longer feel like I'm stuck in whatever trance I was in.

  "I bet you did."

  He lifts his eyebrows. I've only seen this look of surprise cross his face once before -- today, on the roller coaster, when he realized how freaked out I was.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I came back." He doesn't say anything as he waits for me to keep going. "I just -- I didn't want to let someone else make decisions for me. I wanted to be here, so I came back. Obviously I shouldn't have."

  I can't keep my eyes from wandering back over to Piper when I say this. She's huddling now in the same corner, whispering feverishly with the two girls she walked in with.

  "What?" Walker furrows his brow. "Yeah, you should've. I'm glad you did."

  "Right," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "So sorry I interrupted your time with Piper."

  He blinks once, then says it again. "What?"

  I half-shrug as I let out a low laugh. "Really? You're going to pretend you weren't over there talking to Piper Monaghan?"

  I realize a second too late that I sound way too much like a jealous, overbearing girlfriend than one of his friends.

  And I don't know if I like what that means.

  "No," he says slowly, almost as if he can't believe he has to explain this to me. "I'm not. Brock saw her down at Western the other day, but I just put it all together when he pointed her out again tonight. I didn't know the blonde chick he was talking about was Piper until twenty minutes ago."

  "But you recognized her as soon as she walked in here." I shake my head as if this will help clear the cobwebs.

  Walker nods. "Yeah, but it took a little while for me to figure out it's the same girl Brock's into."

  I pick at the cuticle of my right thumbnail. "So why were you talking to her instead of Brock?"

  Now he just shrugs. "Brock asked me to."

  "That's it?"

  Now there's the beginning of a smile forming on his face. "Why are you so interested in all this?"

  A heat rushes up through me, and I'm positive my cheeks are burning red. I don't know if I like what he's implying.

  "I hate Piper," I reply, trying to keep my head high. "You know that."

  He nods thoughtfully. "Sure. Didn't know that meant I couldn't talk to her, though."

  "It...doesn't."

  Right?

  I mean, I can't tell him who
to talk to. We're not even dating. Even if we were dating, would that make any difference? I'm not so sure.

  But what I do know is that the sight of Walker leaning in to talk to Piper and her straining up toward him like a plant aching for the sun isn't an image I'm going to forget any time soon -- and I don't like the way it makes me feel.

  "So," he says, leaning up against the table and folding his arms across his chest. "You came back, huh?"

  I take this as a cue that he's letting me off the hook from the Piper hole I've been digging deeper and deeper for myself.

  I shrug, hoping to come across as nonchalant. "I, uh, um, yeah, I thought -- I'm not tired yet."

  So much for calm and collected.

  Walker laughs, then turns around and pulls out a chair from under the table he'd been leaning against. He looks over at me and makes an over-the-top sweeping gesture toward the empty seat that makes me smile despite the embarrassment pumping through me now.

  "Stay awhile?" he asks.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I do.

  Check that, we both do.

  Walker and I wind up closing down the Sand Dune tonight, huddled together at our round table until Luke comes over and tells us we have to leave.

  It had felt like ten o'clock when he said it, but a quick glance down at my phone showed it was a little past two in the morning.

  And I have no idea how that happened, but somehow the time had passed quickly as we enveloped ourselves in the buzz of good conversation and the spark of a late summer night on the water.

  Walker insisted on walking me home, muttering something about dark streets and late nights and strangers.

  I'm not sure what he's talking about, exactly, but at the time, I was so excited he wanted to continue the night and was actually going to do the whole gentleman thing that I didn't consider how awkward it would be when we finally arrived at the steps to the bungalow.

  Which brings me to now.

  Because we're here, just standing casually in the sand below the stairs that lead up to my house. I pause for only a second to see if he's going to do anything about this -- like I even know what I want him to do -- before I step onto the first rung.