Next Summer (18 page)

After Kelsi left the insanity at Ahoy, she found herself down at the beach, wandering through the crowd around the bonfire. Kids milled around in packs while adults settled down in folding chairs, armed with martini shakers.

Kelsi looked around, trying to decide what she wanted to do. The summers always seemed to begin and end with a bonfire. Kelsi couldn’t believe she would be headed to college in just a few short weeks. Would college change her? What new discoveries awaited her there? She was nervous, but she couldn’t wait to find out.

When a group of younger kids jostled past her, Kelsi smiled and shook her head. She’d been in what Ella called her Philosophy Zone. Ella claimed that Kelsi always lived inside her head, and as a result, missed out on good stuff happening around her.

Since it was a chilly night, she found herself a spot near the fire. She was about to settle down on the sand when she noticed a familiar group just a few feet away. The same big orange cooler, the same frat boy types, and, most important, the same Tim, standing with them.

Okay. Kelsi knew now. She’d come to the bonfire tonight because she thought there was a really good chance Tim would be here, too. Deep down where all her rationality couldn’t reach, Kelsi couldn’t deny it anymore: She wanted to be with Tim.

She watched him, talking and laughing with his friends. She studied his golden hair and tan skin and slow, easy smile. He left her almost breathless.

Tim looked over then, and their eyes met. His face seemed to freeze, and then his eyes lit up. Then, his usual smirk kicked in. Kelsi had missed seeing that expression so much, she felt an intense heat that she knew had nothing to do with the roaring fire. Tim raised his can of beer in a wordless toast.

Kelsi felt paralyzed for a minute. Her mind was racing.

And then Kelsi thought of Ella again and realized that this was no time to live in her head.

There was a time for subtlety, as Kelsi had taught Ella, and then there was a time for action.

Without a moment of hesitation, Kelsi crossed the distance between them.

Tim looked surprised, then wary as she drew closer. Kelsi
realized with a rush of relief that Tim didn’t look upset with her at all. He’d gotten past their fight. Maybe, as Ella had said, boys
could
put up with a lot.

Kelsi came to a stop in front of Tim and looked up, soaking in his nearness and the sheer
rightness
of this guy.

Then she reached up, took hold of his jaw with one hand, and kissed him.

No words. Just her mouth across his.

Tim was still for a heartbeat, and then he kissed her back, his arms going around her waist to pull her in tight against him.

And then she stopped all that thinking completely.

“Just follow my hands,” George said in Beth’s ear. “You don’t have to look. Just close your eyes and feel.”

They were stuck midway down the lattice. George was directly behind her, their bodies pressed close in a way that Beth would have loved if she hadn’t been paralyzed with fear.

“I’m trying,” she whispered. But she was holding on so tight, the wood was cutting into her palms, and she wasn’t sure she was still breathing.

“Come on, Bethy,” George said. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Beth squeezed her eyes shut, pried her hand from the lattice, and let George guide her down.

When they reached the ground, Beth actually rolled over onto her stomach and kissed the pavement.

“You were fine,” George told her. “Except maybe for that middle part. I thought we might have to stay there overnight.”

“We’re too cute to be gnomes,” George said, and laughed.

Beth laughed, too, and climbed to her feet. She could feel George’s iciness dissolving.

“We should probably get out of here before someone calls the cops, like last year,” she said, heading for the street.

“You’re just jealous because my performance drew the cops down here, while yours was so uninspiring that no one bothered to call them,” George was chiding her again, just like it was any other day.

Beth thought he looked perfect, laughing in the dark under the streetlights. But then his laughter slowed a little bit as he looked at her, and his bright eyes started to darken.

“I said I would do anything for you,” Beth said, refusing to break eye contact. “Didn’t I?”

“Beth, I love you,” George told her, his voice husky. “I just don’t know…I can’t stop thinking about you and Adam together. Maybe it’s a guy thing.” He stopped, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Bethy. I’ve thought about it and thought about it, and I just go in circles.”

“I wish I hadn’t fooled around with Adam more than I’ll ever be able to tell you. I know I can’t change what happened but…” She trailed off, trying to find the right words.

George nodded sullenly.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, and then she stepped forward and hugged him.

Beth wrapped her arms around George’s back and nestled
into his neck the way she usually did, when there was no distance between them. George made a small sound, and his body tensed, but then he started to relax. His arms crept around to hold her, and then he was pulling her close, and dropping his head down beside hers. Beth felt warmth on her face and realized she was crying—and he was, too.

“It was always about you,” Beth whispered. “I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. It was because I missed you so much I—”

“Beth,” George whispered, stroking her hair. “I understand.”

“Thanks for saying that.”

“I can’t be without you,” George said simply. “I just can’t.”

“You don’t have to be,” she promised him, and held him tight, as if she’d never let go.

Later, they walked back toward the cottages, holding hands, talking quietly, filling each other in on their separate summers.

George talked about his job, relaying crazy stories about stupid adventures at MIT. Beth bragged about her surfing prowess, claiming she put the cast of
Blue Crush
to shame, and George would be stunned by how great she’d gotten. George said she’d have to show him tomorrow, before he left.

When they got back to the cottage, it was dark.

“Everyone must still be at the bonfire,” Beth said, glancing around.

When she looked at George, his eyes had changed, or
deepened somehow. Beth felt her breath catch as if she were back up on the roof.

He didn’t say anything. Beth felt emotion swell inside her like an enormous wave that she wanted to ride until it crashed upon the shore. Wordlessly, they drew close to each other, and then George took her by the hand and pulled her up the stairs, down the corridor into his room.

George closed the door, and they faced each other. Beth realized she was holding her breath. Everything—all their earlier tension, Adam, the fight, the tears—seemed to disappear in that one instant. All Beth saw and felt was George. As he came closer to her, she reached up and traced his mouth with her finger. Their being together felt so inevitable. So right.

Beth realized that she had been waiting for this moment all summer. If not all her life.

George ran his finger along the side of her face, and swallowed hard. “Bethy,” he murmured, “I love you so much.”

Beth wanted to respond in kind, but found she could barely speak. She let herself fall into George’s arms.

He kissed her, softly, cupping her face in his warm hands as he so often did. Beth sighed into his mouth, thrilling at the feel of his lips on hers. To think she had feared she might never enjoy a delicious George kiss again. The kiss intensified and deepened, and their arms went around each other. Beth could feel how much George wanted her. How much they both wanted…
this.

Still kissing, they walked backward to the bed, and
collapsed together in a tangle of limbs.
Oh, George.
Only he could make her quiver this way.

Beth noticed her hands were trembling when she peeled off George’s T-shirt. Beth couldn’t help but grin when she saw what a summer’s worth of labor had done to his body. George might never be tan, but he was definitely buff.

“Wow,” she whispered, staring.

“You like?” George asked with a grin, flexing his left arm.

Beth giggled, reaching over and squeezing his impressive bicep. “Not half bad.”

This was exactly why she was so in love with George, Beth realized, as she rested her head on his bare chest, and he cradled her in his arms. They could swing from tender to silly and back again in a heartbeat.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” George murmured, reaching down to gently slide Beth’s tank top over her head.

Beth nuzzled his neck, savoring the sensation of her bare skin against his. Then, she drew back and studied George. “You mean, that this is…”

“The Moment.” George nodded, a huge smile creeping over his face.

“Great minds think alike,” Beth said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Are we ready?” George whispered.

“I am if you are,” Beth answered, her voice steady and her eyes on his. Deliberately, she reached down and unbuttoned his cargo shorts.

Slowly, carefully they undressed each other. Beth realized they were both shaking a little, and kept grinning at each other, equally nervous and excited.

“We can still wait if you want,” George whispered, drawing her close to kiss her again.

“I don’t want to wait another second,” Beth murmured.

And so they didn’t.

Much later, they dressed and snuck outside to lie in the hammock and wait for morning. The others had come back from the bonfire, but were all sleeping by then.

“It’s a tradition,” George said, yawning as they cuddled close in the wide hammock.

Beth buried her face in his chest and smiled. She never wanted to leave the safe circle of his arms.

When she heard his breathing change, she glanced up and saw he was sleeping, his lashes resting on his cheeks, and his chest rising and falling. She admired him for a long minute, then rolled over and looked up at the sky. It was the darkest hour—right before dawn—and Beth noticed how the sky was full of stars. She remembered how she’d thought the night looked messy with stars that first evening at Pebble Beach. It had almost been an omen, then. This summer
had
been messy in so many ways.

Soon, dawn started to creep in. The birds chattered and the dew clung to the grass. Frost would be coming soon, and after that, autumn.

Beth felt wonderfully tired, but she wanted to bask in every last second of this summer. So she kept herself awake and held George close, watching as the world finally brightened all around them.

Members will treat fellow members with respect and decorum.

Members will not engage socially with staff.

Members will not smoke on the premises.

Members will leave their pets at home.

Members will not gamble or place any unapproved wagers while on the premises.

Members will wear approved footgear at all times in the dining room.

UNSPOKEN RULES: (By Brooke, Charlotte, and Georgia)

1. Never Underestimate an Entrance.

2. Thou Shalt not Poach Thy Friend’s Love Interest.

3. Sportsmanship, Schmortsmanship…

4. In Case of Rain, Please Convene in the Billiards Room to Watch the Pool Boys Make Jackasses of Themselves, Trying to Play “Pool.”

5. I forget.

6. Don’t Toss Out Anything of Value. Also Stay Away from the Cabana After Certain People Have Used It.

“You guys?” Brooke Farnsworth whispered to her two best friends. “I’ve seen the future, and his name is Marcus Craft. I told you this summer would be killer, didn’t I?”

Brooke huddled with Georgia Palmer and Charlotte von Klaus in the shadows of the cabana entrance, surveying the otherwise deserted pool patio in the bright June morning. There was still a chill in the air—in coastal Connecticut, summer never truly kicked in until July—and she shivered, partly from the breeze, and partly from delight.

Brooke glanced back inside at the terry-cloth robes hanging near the door, freshly washed and waiting, the silver
S O
monograms glinting on each lapel. (Every item of white cloth on the premises of the Silver Oaks Country Club bore the same stitched silver monogram, from the napkins in the dining room to the curtains in the parlor.) Maybe she and Georgia and Charlotte should have worn robes over their bikinis? Nah…

Brooke turned back toward the pool. It was all just as she remembered from last June: the piles of fluffy towels, the empty loungers, the water like a solid block of blue ice. Everything that symbolized the start of another typical Silver Oaks season…everything that is, except for the shaggy blond boy in the lifeguard chair.

“I thought you said this summer would be more of the same old, same old,” Georgia teased.

“Did I?” Brooke whispered back. “Please stop listening to anything I say at school.”

“Let’s just hope he can swim,” Charlotte muttered.

The three girls broke into laughter, but Brooke quickly brought a hand to her glossy lips. She didn’t want Marcus Craft to notice her. Not quite yet. She wanted him to spy her as she strolled over and settled into her usual lounger at the far edge of the patio, the one under the big green umbrella, right next to the ivy-covered fence adjoining the tennis courts. Brooke had been settling into that lounger for as long as she’d been wearing a bikini, and she’d learned how to play it for its full effect.

Brooke was obsessed with entrances.

“Is he looking at me?” Brooke whispered. She brushed a lone strand of shiny black hair out of her hazel eyes, then pulled a tube of sunblock out of her fringed Botkia bag, squeezing a dollop of cream on her shoulders. Thankfully Marcus was too far away to read the 45 SPF label.

Charlotte snickered.

“What?” Brooke said.

“Yes, he’s looking at you,” Georgia groaned. “Who else would he look at?”

“Sweetie, you’re the one who’s tall, blonde, and gorgeous.” Brooke raised her eyebrows at Georgia over her new Marc Jacobs sunglasses. (Props to Mom for the shades: In spite of the woman’s fiendishness, Theresa Farnsworth always came through with the perfect end-of-school-year present.) “And, as far as males are concerned, tall, blond, and gorgeous trumps short, black-haired, and pale every day of the week.”

“You’re
raven
-haired,” Charlotte chided. “You have to remember that, B. You’re not pale; you’re porcelain. You’re not short; you’re petite. Just like I’m
not
an Orphan Annie clone.” Charlotte flipped her long red curls over her shoulder and struck an exaggeratedly seductive pose. “I’m a fiery she-demon. Have I taught you nothing?”

“You did once, I think,” Brooke said dryly. She tucked the sunblock back in her bag. “You taught me how to pad my bra. In the cabana, the summer after seventh grade.”

“I think you taught me that, too,” Georgia told Charlotte.

“I think I taught me that, three,” Charlotte added.

They laughed again, and Brooke glanced toward the lifeguard chair. Remarkably, Marcus
was
looking at her. She felt a tingle of anticipation.

“Hey, Marcus!” Charlotte called suddenly, stepping into the sunshine and waving up to him, high on his lonely perch over the center of the pool. “It’s Marcus, isn’t it? I’m Charlotte, and this is Brooke and Georgia. We know everything there is to know about Silver Oaks—especially the bad stuff. So if you have any questions—you know, questions about things you don’t want to ask anyone else—feel free to ask us.”

“Uh…okay,” Marcus called back. He flashed a puzzled grin, his blue eyes roving over the three of them. Clearly, he had no idea what Charlotte was talking about. But then, few people other than Georgia or Brooke
ever
knew what Charlotte von Klaus was talking about. “Thanks. Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all ours,” Charlotte replied under her breath.

Brooke suppressed a smile as she trailed Charlotte and Georgia across the flagstones toward the opposite side of the pool, their flip-flops slapping in an uneven rhythm. She couldn’t help but steal another peek at the lifeguard as she grabbed a towel. Marcus’s presence was a sign. Definitely. How could it not be? It wasn’t just that she and Charlotte and Georgia were the first to arrive at the pool—per tradition, of course—on the first day of the new season, and therefore the first to spot this new boy. It wasn’t even that he was ridiculously hot, with the square jaw, the blond mane, and the cocoa tan…

It was that he was new.

The last handsome new employee at Silver Oaks had been Ethan Brennan, the twenty-year-old tennis instructor. And that had been two years ago. Plus, Ethan wasn’t hot; he was cute (there
is
a difference) in a sort of crunchy slacker way. And, as a junior at the local community college, he also seemed content to spend the rest of his life at Silver Oaks. Which was fine. But it meant that thirty years from now, he’d still be giving tennis lessons and roaming the grounds making wisecracks, while Brooke, Georgia, and Charlotte discussed their kids’ outrageous college tuition.

Not that Brooke would ever have said any of this out loud. Georgia had briefly dated Ethan last summer, in a rare and direct violation of the Spoken Rules. Worse, Brooke knew Georgia was still wrestling with some lingering feelings for him. But that was a whole other can of worms, and one not worth opening. Ethan Brennan was old news. Brooke could already tell that Marcus was different. How perfect was it that he was a lifeguard? With white sunscreen on his nose, no less! They used to make cheesy
movies
about lifeguards with white sunscreen. One rainy afternoon last summer, after a few G&Ts, Mrs. Farnsworth had forced Brooke and Georgia and Charlotte to watch a “Beach Blanket” movie marathon, starring some horrible-haired guy named Frankie Avalon. (The pastel bathing suits were classic, though. Why were older generations so afraid of skin?) A romance with a new lifeguard was a tradition. Or, rather, it
should
have been at a country club like Silver Oaks. Brooke practically owed it to herself to try it out.

“I can’t
believe
I said this summer was going to be more of the same old, same old,” she murmured. She kicked off her flip-flops and stretched out her legs, sinking into the lounger’s familiar white cushions—all the while pretending to be oblivious to the possibility that Marcus was still staring at her. “I am an idiot.”

“Brooke, you shouldn’t confess so much out in the open,” a gravelly male voice announced.

She sat up and turned around.
Speak of the devil.
Ethan Brennan stood on the other side of the fence, his curly brown hair tousled. He clutched his racket in one hand, trying to clear away the ivy with the other. Not surprisingly, his Silver Oaks-issued tennis whites were just a little less pristine than the robes hanging in the cabana.

“Hey there, Mr. Tennis Pro,” Brooke said. “I was just thinking about you.”

“That’s funny, I was just thinking about me, too,” he replied with a lazy smile.

By the looks of his jawline, he hadn’t shaved in several days. But that was Ethan. He wasn’t trying to cultivate a scruffy image; he’d probably just forgotten. Fortunately for him, he was just sexy enough to get away with a rumpled uniform and scruff.

“Don’t you know better than to listen in on ladies’ conversations, Ethan?” Charlotte quipped, settling into the lounger beside Brooke.

Grinning, Ethan swatted a stray vine out his face and hung on the chain-link fence. “I can’t help it. I get high on eavesdropping. And on trying to scrounge a decent tennis game before the dinosaurs arrive—oops! I mean your parents. G, what do you say to a quick set?”

“I…well, I’m in my bikini,” Georgia stammered. She stood awkwardly, fiddling with her towel. “I have to change.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun. We haven’t played in so long. Seriously. I’m desperate for a good game.”

Georgia glanced at Brooke and Charlotte. The message in her anxious, dark-blue eyes was plain:
Please help make up an excuse for me, you guys. He still calls me “G.” He still jokes around with me. It’s still too weird, even after all this time.

For reasons Brooke couldn’t fathom, Ethan had insisted on remaining friends with Georgia after their breakup. Brooke knew that Georgia wanted to get over him and get on with her life. But there was one problem: She was too nice to blow him off. Literally. Brooke had known Georgia her whole life, and couldn’t remember her friend saying a mean thing about anyone,
ever
. She’d been displeased with people, sure: her parents, Ethan, even Brooke and Charlotte every now and then…but she’s always kept her moods to herself. One day that girl was going to burst.

“We just got here, Ethan,” Brooke piped up. “Besides, you won’t have to wait long for a game. My mom is changing into her new tennis whites as we speak. She spent all of May shopping for the perfect outfit: a conservative version of Venus Williams’s minidresses. You’ll be proud. But the three of us have to catch up. You know, girl stuff.”

He chuckled. “Girl stuff? You guys talk to each other every single day. You go to the same school, don’t you?” His eyes drifted over to the pool. “Hey, have you met the new girl yet? She seems really cool.”

“What new girl?” the three girls all asked at the same time.

Brooke turned. “Where…?” Her voice trailed off.

A tall, cheap-looking blonde had appeared out of nowhere—in a black Versace bikini.
The exact same one Brooke was wearing
. And now she was standing in front of the lifeguard chair, shaking hands with Marcus Craft. And he was trying not to stare her chest. And…okay, she wasn’t so cheap-looking. Far from it. She was Georgia’s height, but skinnier—with flawless skin and a cascade of curls that rivaled Charlotte’s. Except
her
curls were golden, like Cinderella’s.

This was not good. Miss Thing had not only stolen Brooke’s bathing suit (unintentionally, but still), but she’d made contact with the guy Brooke had spotted first. How had
that
happened? She didn’t belong here. Not this early, on the first day of the season. This was Brooke and Georgia and Charlotte’s time.
And look at how she’s flirting,
Brooke fumed. She and Marcus Craft were already making chitchat, like a couple of newly partnered models preparing for a
Vogue
ad. Obviously, the new girl, whoever she was, had figured out the First Unspoken Rule. And she’d made her entrance right under Brooke’s nose.

“…name is Valerie,” Ethan was saying. “She just moved here from New York. Her parents are friends with the Millers, on Old Pond Road. I wonder if
she
plays tennis.”

“Valerie, huh?” Charlotte mumbled. “She’s pretty.”

“She’s really pretty,” Georgia agreed, sounding depressed.

“Please,” Brooke said dismissively, readjusting her shades. She settled back into the lounger with a sigh. “You’re both a thousand times hotter.”

“Ha!” Ethan laughed.

Brooke frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I just love how you three always stick up for each other. You’re like a street gang.” He gestured toward Brooke’s left arm, then Charlotte’s, then Georgia’s. “That’s why you still wear those ratty friendship bracelets, right? It’s like your gang tattoo.”

Brooke glanced down at the bracelet on her wrist. It was pretty ratty, the plaid pattern long faded. Maybe it
was
time to take the damn thing off. But she wasn’t going to be the first to do it. In eighth grade, at a county fair, she, Charlotte, and Georgia had bought matching patterns on a goofy whim, mostly to poke fun at their own obsession with fashion.

“I thought you said we’re like a trio of back-up singers,” Georgia muttered blushing as she avoided Ethan’s gaze.

“He came up with that line when he was in his ‘special place.’” Charlotte brought her thumb and forefinger to her lips and puffed on an imaginary joint.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ethan protested. “I—”

“Don’t smoke pot,” Brooke cut in. She removed her sunglasses and lowered her voice. “But you don’t really think the new girl is all that hot, do you, Brennan?”

“Well, I mean, she—” Ethan bit his full lower lip, his cheeks flushing slightly. “She actually said something about you, Brooke.”

Brooke’s eyes narrowed. “Why? She doesn’t even know me.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” A smile crept across his stubbly face.

“What?” Brooke pressed.

“She thinks
you’re
hot,” he said. “I mean, not like she’s attracted to you or anything. And I know you hate when people say this…”

“What?”

“She said you look like Snow White,” Ethan finished.