The Shore (9 page)

“That's so funny!” Polly gasped. “So the first time, it was totally by accident!”

“Right,” Avery said. “People never want to think that someone with a baby is in high school. The cashier let me buy the stuff
and never carded me. Curt's had me buy beer for him ever since. I always try to find someone I can give the diapers to.”

“That's got to get expensive,” Polly said.

“Yeah. I'm going to need to get a job pretty soon, anyway,” Avery said.

“What do you think you'll do?” Polly asked.

Avery shrugged. “Don't know.”

“I'm a waitress at a restaurant on the pier,” Polly said. “Last I heard, they were still trying to fill a few positions. Maybe you could get a job there.”

“You think?” Avery asked.

“Have any experience?” Polly asked.

“McDonald's?”

“Well, you could try,” Polly said.

“That would be great, thanks.”

“I start there tomorrow,” Polly said. “You want to go with me in the morning?”

“Perfect.”

It
was
perfect, as far as Polly was concerned. Avery was definitely the nicest girl in the house, although to be fair, Polly still didn't know much about April. Still, being Avery's friend could only help. Avery was the kind of girl guys just naturally flocked to. Maybe when they found out she had a boyfriend, a few of them might give Polly a look.

When they reached the house, April was already in the kitchen, pulling a steaming loaf of bread out of the oven. Polly
looked at her in surprise. It never occurred to her that April might like to cook. Avery was quicker to respond.

“Smells great!” she said enthusiastically.

April beamed. “I do one thing well in the kitchen, and one thing only. I bake. So, I figured I could handle the bread.”

Polly was envious of Avery for being so quick on her feet and knowing the right thing to say. And she was glad that April seemed to be getting into the spirit of the party. Avery dumped the clams into the sink.

“Slimy,” April noted.

“You should have tried pawing through them,” Avery said with a laugh.

“I'll leave that part to you guys,” April said. “I have no idea what to do with clams. I've never been to a clambake.”

“Neither has Avery. You two have something in common,” Polly said.

April and Avery looked at each other, and Polly instantly felt like an idiot. It was a dumb thing to say. Like Avery and April were going to bond over the idea of never having been to a clambake before. If Avery always knew the right thing to say, Polly was the exact opposite. She could always count on herself to say the wrong thing.

“Well, well,” someone said, “look at all the cooks in the kitchen.”

It was Sabrina, in a cream skirt and a pink top with a draped neck that, of course, revealed enough to get her arrested in most
Muslim countries. Polly felt the muscles in her shoulders begin to tense. “We're getting ready for the clambake. Want to help?”

“Oh, uh . . .” Sabrina appeared stymied. “I really don't cook.”

“You left that to your mom?” Polly guessed.

“Not really. We've always had cooks.”

“You've got to be kidding,” April said, rolling her eyes.

Even Avery, the model of decorum, looked surprised. They hit an awkward silence. Polly was pretty sure none of them had ever met anyone like Sabrina before. What in the world was she doing sharing a summer house on the Jersey Shore with them? It sounded like she would be more comfortable on the French Riviera.

“You want to learn?” Avery finally asked.

Polly thought for sure that Sabrina was going to make some sort of sarcastic remark. Like cooking was for commoners. Instead, she was surprised when the girl said, “Well, okay, I'll try anything once.”

The remark about trying anything once reminded Polly of finding Sabrina's clothes on the stairs the night before.
No, no, that's not nice,
she told herself, and tried to clear it from her brain.

“We'll start you with something easy,” Avery said.

“How about you tear up the lettuce for the salad? Rip pieces up and dump them in the bowl.”

“Don't you just chop it with a knife?” Sabrina asked.

“You could, but we're not eating right away, and if you tear it instead of cut it, the lettuce stays fresh longer,” Avery answered.

Polly hadn't known that, and from the look on her face, neither had April. Then Polly realized why:
Avery has probably had to do all the cooking for her family since her mother died.

“So, where are the guys hiding?” Sabrina asked as she tore the lettuce.

“Curt's rehearsing with his band,” Avery said.

Polly noticed that April seemed rather flushed, as though the heat from the oven was making her overly warm. But that seemed odd now that she'd taken the bread out.

“And the . . . other guys?” Sabrina asked.

Suddenly Polly had a feeling she knew why Sabrina had agreed to help them prepare the meal.

“Lucas and Owen said they were going to the beach to get the fire started,” April offered.

“I guess that must have been some party last night,” Sabrina said, in what sounded like a complete non sequitur.

“You
really
don't remember?” Polly asked.

Sabrina shook her head. “I think I must have been really tired from moving here and everything. And I hardly had anything to eat. It's just a blank. I mean . . . was it that bad?”

Avery and April smiled at each other, but Polly felt bad for Sabrina. She would have felt sorry for anyone in that position. “No, not really,” she said. “And you know what? I think Owen's a lot nicer than you might think. I know he acted like a jerk last night at the party. But he's got a sensitive side too.”

“Would you agree?” April asked Sabrina.

“How do we cook the clams?” Sabrina asked, avoiding the question.

“We'll steam them by the fire,” said Polly.

“Wait,” said Avery. “Before we totally change the subject. I think that's something Curt and Owen have in common. I mean, they can both come off gruff, but there's another side to them as well.”

“I'll take the clams outside and see how the fire's coming,” April suddenly volunteered, scooping the clams out of the sink and into a bucket and hurrying out to the beach.

Polly watched her go. Neither Avery nor Sabrina appeared to think there was anything odd about April's behavior. But Polly definitely did.

Lugging the clams down to the beach, April was glad to get away from the other girls. She wasn't sure why she'd made the bread, except that she knew she could. She also didn't know why she'd played that song for Curt. But there was something magnetic about him.

Don't get sucked in,
she warned herself.
You're not here to try to steal your roommate's boyfriend.

But she could see that Curt had liked her music. She wondered if Avery appreciated music the way she and Curt did.

The bucket of clams was getting heavy. She glanced around, looking for the fire that the guys were supposed to have built. All she saw were people here and there who'd stayed late on the
beach. Once again, her thoughts went to Curt and she imagined finding him on the beach, strumming a guitar.

Stop!
she told herself.
Stop thinking about someone else's boyfriend. And where are those other guys, anyway?
she thought, getting annoyed. Typical. You do all the work and give the guys one simple job and they can't do it.

Finally she spotted a guy sitting on the sand next to what looked like a pile of driftwood. Sure enough, it was Owen. Polly might have insisted that he had a sensitive side, but from the little April had heard, his only clear goal for the summer seemed to involve sleeping with every girl in their house and then moving on to the girls in the neighboring rentals. April sighed and trudged over, lugging the bucket of clams. At least he'd distract her from thinking about Curt.

Owen sat on the sand, a beer in his hand, and stared at the ocean. The waves weren't as high as they'd been earlier in the day, but they were still impressive, rearing up as they got close to shore and breaking with a roaring crash that sent white foam billowing into the air. There was something both awesome and soothing about the power of the surf as it crashed into the sand.

“Hey,” someone said. He turned and found the girl in black standing by the wood that he'd collected for the fire. A bucket sat on the sand near her feet.

“What's up?” Owen said.

“Where's the fire?” she asked.

“Couldn't get it started. Turns out I'm no Boy Scout.” It was meant to sound funny or flippant but came out self-critical. He sighed and took a gulp of the beer. Why was he always so critical of himself?
How come I can't even start a lousy fire? Lots of guys' dads teach them that kind of stuff. Why couldn't mine?

“What about Lucas?” she asked.

Owen pointed out at a figure on a surfboard out in the waves. “Surfer boy? I don't think he's that interested in fire, just water.”

He took another gulp of beer, aware that the girl was staring at the stacked wood. They'd never actually been formally introduced, but he sensed that she was a strange chick, and he wasn't sure what to make of the dark makeup and black clothes. Definitely not like the party types he usually hung with.

The next thing he knew, she kneeled down beside the pile of driftwood and began to arrange it. “Here, help me start the fire,” she said.

“I don't start fires with women unless I know their names first,” he said.

“April,” she said. “And you're Owen. Now how about a little help. There's not going to be a clambake without a fire.”

Her tone of voice was about as unfriendly as you could be while remaining civil.

And, just like that, the quiet, contemplative Owen was gone and he was back to his usual, competitive, sex-driven self. The
more a female resisted, the more he perceived her as a challenge. He stood up and took a piece of wood from her, intentionally brushing her fingers with his own.

“Hey, forget the stupid fire. Why don't we go have some fun?” he asked.

“Fun?” April repeated with a smirk. “We've barely been here twenty-four hours and you've already been on top of one girl in the house. I think you've met your quota.”

“Not from where I'm standing,” he said, hating himself for saying it. But at the same time, unable to stop himself.

“Grow up.” She shoved a stick at him and it banged against his fingers. He bit his lip to keep from swearing.

“Okay, just what are we trying to do here?” he asked.

“With the fire, or are you determined to be an ass?” April asked.

Owen found himself grinning. “I like a girl with spunk.”

“You don't quit, do you?” April shot back.

“No, I mean it.” Owen raised his hands. “This is hands off. If you insist, I promise I won't put the moves on you for the whole summer. But I still like your attitude.”

She gazed at him and just for a moment he thought he saw the slightest smile pass across her lips. As if she believed him.

“Fine,” she said. “Here's some more of my attitude. Stand the wood up. We want to shape it like a pyramid. Put the smaller stuff in the center of the base.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Owen replied, jesting. “So, uh, how did you learn to do this?”

“My dad used to take me camping,” she said.

“Lucky you,” he said.

She frowned at him, probably thinking he was mocking her. “Yeah, matter of fact I was pretty lucky.”

For a moment he was tempted to explain that he wasn't making fun. He was serious, and envious of anyone who'd managed to have a normal relationship with his or her father. But what was the point? Why would she care about his past? So instead, he helped her pile the firewood.

When they had finished, she straightened up. “You got matches?”

“You mean you're not going to rub two sticks together?” he kidded her.

She held out her hand, palm up.

He pulled some matches out of his pocket. “Can I do it?” he asked.

“Light the small stuff in the center,” she said.

He struck a match and touched it to the end of one of the twigs. But before the kindling caught on fire, an ocean breeze snuffed out the flame. He dropped the match and lit another one. It went out as well.
So typical I can't do anything right.

“Shield the flame with your hands,” April said over his shoulder.

He did as she told him and was gratified to see the small
flame lick at the wood before taking hold. A thin column of white smoke began to rise, growing thicker as the flames rose and crackled. Owen backed away, and they stood together watching the flames rise. It was kind of nice, sharing this moment with a girl and not feeling the need to try to hook up with her.

Avery and Polly were coming down to the beach with bread, salad, and drinks when the fire went up with a roar. April and Owen were standing near it. Avery found herself wondering where Lucas was.

“Good fire,” she said, putting the food down and looking around.

“If you're looking for surfer boy, he's out in the waves,” Owen said as if he'd read her mind. “But that's okay. Turns out nature girl and I didn't need his help.”

Avery's first impulse was to protest that she hadn't been looking for Lucas. But that wasn't true, and she knew that protesting would only draw more attention to the issue. As the others started to steam the clams and spread out the blankets, she turned and stared out at the waves. She could see a surfer close by, but with the sun going down and the light fading, she couldn't tell if it was Lucas. Whoever it was, he looked good, zigzagging across the faces of the waves.

“What you looking at, Ave?”