Trouble from the Start (12 page)

I sat on a sand dune, slowly sipping a beer and watching the large pile of driftwood burn. Jeremy and Kendall were nearby but they were paying more attention to each other's lips than to me. Which was fine. That was how it should be.

A couple of guys and a girl were playing guitars and singing. Some people were dancing, some were playing in the surf. When we'd first gotten here, I'd visited with some girls I knew. Everyone was smiling brightly, laughing, looking like a ton had been lifted off their shoulders.

We'd graduated. We were finished with school. The party should have felt different. Instead it kinda felt the same. I felt the same. Uninteresting, a third wheel.

“We're going for a walk,” Kendall suddenly said. “Want to go with us?”

I knew her well enough to know she was only inviting
me to be polite. “Thanks, but I'm enjoying the music.”

“Will you be okay?”

“I'll be fine.” To prove my point, I took another sip of beer. Not sure why I thought that would prove my point, but I did.

They wandered off, and I just absorbed the roar of the surf, the warm breeze, the full moon dancing over the waves. A guy dropped down in the sand beside me, nearly doing a face-plant. Straightening, he looked up at me with a goofy grin, his blond hair flopping into his eyes.

“Hey, I'm Brett.”

“I'm Avery.”

“I know. I've seen you around school. How did we go through four years and never really meet?” he asked, his words fast then slow, as though he was having trouble keeping up with them. Maybe he was just nervous, although I wasn't sure why he would be.

“Hey, four hundred and fifty kids in our class,” I told him, even though he probably knew that. “Can't meet everybody. But we met now.”

“Yeah. You're pretty.”

“Are you drunk?”

He straightened. “I'm offended.” He leaned toward me slightly. “Are you?”

“I don't think so.” I held up the bottle. “Well, maybe a little.”

For no reason at all my neck began to feel warm, like someone had focused X-rays on it. I glanced around. On the far side of the fire, I saw Fletcher. I wondered when he'd gotten here. More importantly, why was he here? Had things not worked out with Morgan? He was watching me. Or at least it looked like he was. It was hard to be certain. He was standing so still, though, his head aimed in my direction. I turned my attention back to Brett. He was cute in a cuddly puppy kind of way. He seemed like someone who would be fun. Not someone who would be moody. “So where are you going to college?”

That seemed to be the number one question everyone asked these days.

“Community,” he said. “You?”

“Austin.”

“Cool. That's not too far from here. I could come see you.”

I smiled. “You mean like a date?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm not going until August.”

“That's even better. Wanna walk?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He struggled to his feet as the sand shifted beneath him, then held out his hand and helped me up. I did not mean to compare his hand to Fletcher's but I couldn't help it—it wasn't as large, rough, or warm. I had a feeling that
he spent a lot of time playing video games. He seemed just a little awkward as we walked toward the surf, his flip-flops slapping the wet sand. I'd taken mine off. I loved the feel of the beach on my bare feet.

“What are you doing over the summer?” I asked.

“Nothing. Just chilling.”

“No summer job?”

“Don't need to work.”

I probably didn't need to work either, but I didn't want my parents having to pay for everything and I wanted some independence. I was going to work at the Shrimp Hut, a restaurant on the beach not too far from where we were now. I didn't know why I didn't share that with him, why I didn't really want to talk to him. He wasn't creepy or anything. I just didn't feel a connection. I couldn't banter with him, not the way I did with Fletcher.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Why was I suddenly comparing everything to Fletcher?

“Over here,” Brett said, taking my hand and leading me away from the fire.

Enough moonlight and stars were out to guide us.

“Probably shouldn't get too far from the party,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I came with friends. Don't want them getting worried or looking for me.”

He stopped. “I can take you home.”

Something about the way he said it made me feel odd. My dad had always instructed me to trust me instincts. “Nah, I'm good going home with my friends.”

“I can change your mind.”

The next thing I knew his arms were around me, and his mouth was pressing hard against mine, his tongue pushing at the seam between my lips. I shoved him away. He staggered back.

“I heard you were easy,” he said.

“You heard wrong.”

“I just want a kiss.”

“I don't want to kiss you.”

He grabbed my arm—

I kicked him hard between his legs, and with a tortured groan, he crumpled into the sand.

Hearing clapping, I spun around. Fletcher was sauntering toward me. “All right, karate kid. I was just on my way to rescue you.” He stopped beside me, his grin a flash in the moonlight.

“I told you I knew self-defense,” I reminded him. “Just wish I'd had shoes on.” I wasn't going to admit it but my big toe was killing me. I might have bruised it.

“I bet he doesn't.”

He
finally looked up at me. “Bitch.”

“Hey, watch your mouth,” Fletcher said, “or I'll put my fist into it.”

“I just wanted a kiss,” Brett whined. “To celebrate graduating, you know?”

“My six-year-old brother doesn't whine as much as you,” I told him. “Find a girl who wants to kiss you. Let it mean something.”

Shoving himself to his feet, Brett looked over at Fletcher. “I know who you are. You've kissed like a million girls.”

“Not that many.”

“Give me some tips. What do I do so a girl will let me kiss her?”

My interest was piqued. Maybe I'd even be able to figure out why he hadn't kissed me at Scooter's party.

Fletcher shook his head. “You don't want a girl to
let
you kiss her. You want her to
want
to kiss you.”

“How do I make her want to kiss me?”

“Whatever you did tonight? Do the complete opposite.”

“Okay, yeah. I think. Thanks.”

“And apologize to her.”

Brett looked at me. I figured if the sun were out, I would see that he was beet red. “Sorry,” he said with contrition, before staggering away.

“What a jerk,” Fletcher said.

“I think he had too much to drink.”

“If drinking makes him a jerk, he shouldn't drink.”

“You say that as though you speak from experience. Is
that why you drink root beer?”

“I like root beer.”

“And you like me. Equally?”

“I give root beer the edge.”

I laughed. “You could have explained it that way the other night. Makes it really clear. I thought you were going to Scooter's.” My abrupt change in topic didn't seem to faze him.

“Decided it wouldn't be all that much fun with the parents around. Didn't figure there would be any here.”

“Morgan is going to be disappointed.”

“She's pretty resourceful. She'll find someone else.”

I almost asked if he'd find someone else. Was he even looking? Did I want to know? We were semi-friends, that was all. I dug my toes into the sand, looked at the way the moonlight washed provocatively over him, wondered why he was really here. Maybe because he needed a semi-friend, not some girl who was just throwing herself at him, wanting to use him.

“You missed the graduation ceremony,” I said quietly.

“Wasn't invited.”

My heart lurched. He'd tried to keep his voice flat, emotionless, but I heard the fissure of . . . regret, disappointment, sadness. “I'm sorry.”

“No big deal.”

Turning, he looked out over the surf rolling in. I'd
always assumed he was popular, well-liked. Girls constantly stopped in the hallway, guys greeted him. He was invited to all the parties. So why wasn't he surrounded by friends now? Why was he here alone?

“Was it the algebra?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He faced me. “But it's done. Time to move on.” His voice was even, detached, as though he couldn't be bothered to care. Yet I suspected he cared a lot. How could he not? Still it would be unkind to linger on the topic.

“You're right. Last party of senior year. We should probably enjoy it.”

“Or we could go get a burger.”

I smiled brightly. “I like the way you think. I just need to get my shoes.”

As we began trudging back toward the party, I knew it wasn't a date, but still I couldn't help but believe that it was
something
. He could be anywhere with anyone. And here he was with me.

We walked along the water's edge. He'd hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. I wanted to think he'd done it to stop himself from taking my hand, then wondered why I wanted him to take my hand. Besides, I was pretty sure that Fletcher was not a hand-taker.

When we reached the area where the bonfire burned, we trudged over the loose sand to the dune where I'd left my sandals. I bent down to pick them up.

“There you are!” Kendall cried as she and Jeremy rushed over. “Where were you?”

Her eyes widening, she came up short at the sight of Fletcher. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey.”

With a pointed look like she could dig into my brain and retrieve my memories from the last ten minutes, she asked, “Everything okay?”

“Everything's fine,” I assured her. “We're hungry, so we're going to grab a burger.”

“What a coincidence,” she said. “We were just talking about doing the same thing.”

“We were?” Jeremy asked.

She elbowed him playfully. “Yes. Remember?”

He still looked a little dazed when he replied, “Oh, yeah, I remember. B.S.'s right?”

“You can ride with us,” Kendall told me. “Don't want Fletcher to go without a helmet.”

I really wanted to ride with him, but it did make sense for me to go with them. Not that I thought she was at all concerned with Fletcher's skull. She had questions she wanted answered.

“We'll meet you there,” I told Fletcher.

“Okay,” Fletcher said, and walked away.

“So what were you doing with him?” Kendall asked as he disappeared into the darkness and we headed for the car.

“Just walking around.” I wasn't going to tell her the mistake I'd made with Brett. It seemed my ability to judge the good intentions of guys was nonexistent.

By the time we got to the car and were on our way, Fletcher was long gone.

“So how do we play this?” Kendall asked, twisting around in the seat to look at me.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Are you interested in him? Is this like a date? Are you getting serious?”

“No, no, and no. We just want a burger, going to the same place.”

“It seems like there's more, like maybe he did mean something when he said he liked you.”

“It's not more and he didn't mean anything.”

“Then what was he doing at the beach?”

“It was a party. He likes parties.”

“How do you want to sit?” Kendall asked.

“On my butt. What are you talking about?”

“If we get a booth. Do you want to sit by me or Fletcher?”

“I'll sit by Jeremy.”

“What?” she asked.

Jeremy snorted and caught my eye in the rearview mirror. I could tell he thought Kendall's inquisition was as funny as I did.

“You're not taking this seriously,” she said. “What message do you want to convey?”

“That I'm hungry.”

She gave a little growl. “Do you want him to think you like him?”

“Kendall, I love you, but you're really overthinking this.”

“We'll sit at a table,” she said with finality. “But we'll sit across from our guys—I know Fletcher isn't your guy, but I'll sit across from Jeremy so you don't have to worry about any awkward touching.” Reaching over, she squeezed Jeremy's shoulder. “That's okay, isn't it, babe?”

“Yeah, I'm not a fan of awkward touching,” he said.

“You know what I mean. We just need some distance between Avery and Fletcher.”

“We don't need the distance,” I told her. “He's living with my family, for Pete's sake.”

“Which is exactly why you need the distance.”

She was my best friend, someone I really enjoyed being with, but she had control issues. “I'll sit by Fletcher,” I said.

“At a table. Those booths are small. You can't help but touch in those booths.”

The booths were small. I wasn't sure I'd ever really noticed. Fletcher had beaten us to the B.S.—no surprise there—and claimed a booth in a corner. He was sprawled in it, his arm resting along the back. He lifted two fingers
in some sort of salute when we walked in.

“We can grab a table,” Kendall assured me.

“Booth is fine,” I told her, and led our merry little band over. As I approached, Fletcher straightened and moved over slightly. I slid in. My thigh touched his. I was grateful for his jeans and my capris. I worked really hard not to give the impression that I noticed his leg was rock solid.

“So who's going to go place the order?” Kendall asked.

“Fletcher and I will,” Jeremy said.

She gave him a smile of gratitude. “Thanks, babe.”

I told them what I wanted. Then as I stood to let Fletcher out, I reached into my pocket, pulled out a wad of bills, and began to straighten and count them.