High Tide Page 2

  “Here, okay?” Harper asks, spreading her towel. I drop my belongings beside her, the tote noticeably lighter today without my schoolwork.

  “Fine.”

  She squints over at my response. “What’s up your butt today?”

  Great question. You need to chill out, Emma. Not every second of your life has to be a damn philosophical debate.

  “Sorry,” I breathe out. And I mean it.

  She scans me for another moment before pushing up from the towel. “Let’s go,” she says, grabbing my arm.

  “Where are we going?”

  “For a swim.”

  I tug against her grip. “Wait, you? Into the water? With the ‘creepy crawlies and ocean bugs?’” I say, echoing her go-to objection. “You hate the ocean.”

  “I do. But I love you, and I see it on your face. You need all the waves and crap.”

  “But—”

  “Nope. Let’s go.”

  A smile cracks through the sour filter over my brain. This is why I love her. This is why I’ve needed her in my life since the day we met.

  The water only chills for a second as it washes over our feet. Soon the warmth rushes in along with the foamy surf. I step further, past my ankles, continuing until my knees are wet and the tension in my shoulders starts to release. Eyes closed, ears tuned into the sound of violent water curling over itself, I can literally taste the salty tang of Peace.

  With my grades and test scores I could have studied anywhere. When the acceptance letter arrived from Harvard, I thought Gram was going to pass out. Maybe we both almost ended up as puddles on the floor—until reality set in. We had nothing, and at age seventeen I was already working two part-time jobs to help her afford the little we did have. It broke her heart to watch me tuck that letter away, but Deepsilver University offered me a full-ride and a clear conscience. The first time I waded into its neighboring ocean, all regrets and questions vanished. This was where I belonged. The waves, the sun, the freedom of vast nothingness always felt like home to a girl who’s never had much of one. Here I’m special, perched on the cusp of possibility and opportunity I’ve worked so hard to achieve—free of the labels and barriers I work every day to escape.

  The ocean is hope.

  “Ouch!” I wince at the burn that suddenly shoots through my leg.

  “Oh my gosh, Emma!”

  I follow her gaze to the blooming red welt climbing up my skin and wince.

  “Shit. Jellyfish.” I’ve been stung before here. These little guys aren’t the deadly ones from the nature shows, but they still know how to ruin a perfectly good swim.

  I turn and wade out of the water, cringing from the sting that’s begun to throb.

  “Go get that sprayed,” Harper says, following me.

  “It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Emma Andrews! Don’t be stupid. Go see the lifeguard.”

  I glance toward the chair and find him wrapped up in a conversation with an older couple.

  “He’s busy,” I say, moving toward our spot instead.

  Wow, the girl is strong when she wants to be. My best friend yanks me in the other direction. “They’re probably asking him some stupid question about the rental chairs. Go get your damn leg sprayed or so help me…”

  I have to smile at her stern expression and hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m going. Geez.”

  Funny how the burn on my leg starts to relocate to my stomach as I approach the lifeguard stand. When his attention shifts to me, heat blazes through my whole body. Those eyes. I was right; there’s a story. Brown, with flecks of green I notice when he climbs down to meet me, his gaze forces a wave of panic that removes all rational thought.

  “Um…”

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his features molding into concern.

  I shake my head. Words. Come on, Emma. “Jellyfish,” I say, holding out my leg like a five-year-old. He crouches down to examine the welt.

  “Wow, yes. Looks like.” He straightens and reaches for his orange box. Pulling out a spray bottle, he returns and says something.

  I blink. He waits.

  “Dude, turn your ass around so he can spray it,” Harper quips behind me. The heat flares to my cheeks, and I swallow.

  I shift my leg so he can access the wound and suck in a breath as he sprays his magic solution.

  “Vinegar,” he says, holding up the bottle when he finishes. “Helps with that.”

  I nod, already forgetting about the jellyfish. The sun. Air.

  “Thanks,” I manage, turning away and bumping into Harper. She gives me a hard look and motions behind me. She’s not serious… she’s so serious.

  I draw in another deep breath and spin around. He’s returning his bottle to the box and seems surprised, but not entirely displeased, at my reappearance.

  “Do you need more?” he asks, pointing to my leg.

  I shake my head. “It’s fine. Just…” I shove my hand out. “I’m Emma.”

  That deadly smile returns to his face. “Christian.” He takes my hand, and my pulse rushes again.

  “Um, hi. Thanks for the… uh… spray.”

  He nods. “You’re welcome.”

  It’s his job, stupid. I feel Harper’s critique behind me, but this awkwardness is entirely her fault.

  “Where are you from?” I ask.

  “Why? You think not from here?”

  My teeth sink into my lip. Crap. Did I offend him? I think so until his serious expression melts into another smile. Gosh, I could look at that all day.

  “It’s a joke. Um… kidding?”

  I laugh—loudly—so loudly. For the first time in my life I wish I were Harper. This guy must think I’m a lunatic… along with everyone else within earshot.

  “Slovakia,” he says, rescuing me from further humiliation. “You?”

  “Uh, here. I mean, the United States. I’m American.”

  “Oh my god,” Harper mutters behind me. She comes around to the front. “Hi. Harper Benson.” She shoots her own hand out, and Christian shakes it.

  “Christian Lukáč,” he says, that smile cutting through all kinds of potential bullshit.

  “Do you like Dostoevsky?”

  He raises a brow at her. “The author?”

  “Yeah. Writes all that boring crap.” She waves her hand, apparently in a demonstration of what “writing boring crap” looks like.

  He shrugs. “I think his books are not so boring.”

  Harper legit gleams as she shoves my arm. “Toldya,” she says, tapping her head. “Smart.”

  His smile is almost shy this time, and damn if that doesn’t shoot straight to my stomach. Too bad it also erases all words from my head. Why can’t I just be normal for five seconds?

  “Well, look,” Harper continues when I still don’t speak. “Christian, it’s nice to meet you. This is my best friend, Emma Andrews. She’s a brilliant twenty-one-year-old college student who can’t talk to a hot guy to save her life. She finds you attractive and thinks you’re probably a pretty interesting person. So if that information also interests you, please let her know. We’ll be right over there.”

  The vixen points to our gear, and I rein in the urge to bury her in the sand. Permanently. Like, so deep no one will ever find her.

  “Harper!” I snap, shoving her grinning face in the opposite direction. “I’m so sorry,” I direct back to Christian who seems too stunned to react. Maybe his English is bad enough that he didn’t understand any of that. Please, please don’t understand.

  Harper is still chuckling to herself when I succeed in pushing her back to her towel. I can’t bring myself to turn around and test his response.

  “What the heck is wrong with you?” I bark at her. She shrugs and drops back to her towel.

  “What? Just helping you out.”

  “How did that help me?”

  “‘I’m from the United States,’” she mimics with an eye roll. “Please, your IQ drops a hundred points when you’re interested
in someone.”

  “I am not interested in him.”

  “No?”

  “No! I don’t even know him. You’re the one who made me spray that crap on my leg!”

  I could smack her I’m so upset. Instead I start shoving my belongings back in my tote.

  “Aw, come on. It was just a joke,” Harper whines.

  “Well it wasn’t funny. It was humiliating!” I sling the bag over my shoulder and grab my chair.

  “Em… Emma!”

  I turn back to give her a final glare, but it’s a different gaze that stops me in my tracks. Brown with flecks of green, scorching from a lifeguard stand several yards away. I pull away and flee toward the stairs.

  The ride home is tense, to say the least. Harper knows better than to try, and I still haven’t spoken by the time we enter our apartment. I march straight to my room and slam the door. I know she meant well but all she did was reinforce my insecurities and prove them as fact. There it was, laid out bare and mortifying: everything I’m not. Everything I can never be, and spent years convincing myself I didn’t want. Emma Andrews has goals, not silly fantasies, and no intrusive roommate or flutter-inducing stranger is going to change that.

  With a deep breath, I visualize my mantra: focus, clarity, drive. Eyes closed and fists clenched, I repeat it until I breathe it. Letting it stream through my mind until it’s enough to drown out the conflicting emotions from today’s beach fiasco. I don’t need that in my life and I certainly don’t need the humiliation of having my best friend interfere with any attempt. This is what happens when I stray from my lists.

  I sit at my desk and pull out a notebook. Today’s list was a bust, so I scribble more punitive notes to myself. Ripping out the page, I slap it against the bulletin board and shove in a pushpin. Back to the notebook for another furious assembly of action items, and this one gets labeled “Finish by Saturday.” I bend over my book for more, and more, and more, scribbling until my hand is so cramped the pen stops moving in coherent arcs. I release a cry of frustration and shove the pages away, livid that my body gave out too early. Leaning back, I force my gaze to the wall, gripping the edge of the seat. Air starts circling through my lungs with each pass over the rows of pages. My heartrate slows, my breathing steadies.

  It’s going to be okay. It’s okay because there it is, my life, spread out and divided into manageable fragments of order. Achievable goals and crystal clarity that infuse a sense of control back into my chaos. For at least ten minutes, I sit frozen, absorbing the calming effect of my lists, the structure that makes survival seem possible. Ten minutes of painful breathing to conform back to the safety of my shell, and after ten minutes, I see the truth. Harper did me a favor because this is what happens when I stray from the plan.

  This is why I can’t afford temptations like Christian Lukáč.

  At the funeral, I notice the missing before those who are present. Missing: my sister, my mother, my father, and my grandfather. Present: my grandmother, with a scowl so intense, I think she’ll beat her fists on the coffins to show them how much she resents them for dying. My gaze rests on Maddie’s small one longer than the others. I’ve never broken a promise to her before. Even when Leo threatened to beat me senseless if I interfered with his bullying, I stood by her, accepting his blows until a neighbor chased him off. It wasn’t a sacrifice; Maddie was part of me, so I was only defending myself. Which is why leaving her in that smoke-filled room ripped out a chunk of my soul with a savagery I won’t understand for years to come. No, at age seven, my hand locked in the tight grip of a bitter grandmother, all I know is that I’m a liar. That death doesn’t follow the rules and life is the weaker force.

  I learn that losing someone isn’t an event but a transformation, and at seven-years-old I become something else.

  Chapter Three: Wet Conversations and Caterpillar Frauds

  I’ve softened a bit by morning, but have no interest in another adventure to the beach. The thought of encountering Christian again is too much, and I tell Harper I need to get work done for my summer course. It’s not exactly a lie.

  Distracted by essays and journal articles, the day passes drama-free. I don’t realize how quickly until the front door slams in a bluster of activity that can only mean one thing. Sure enough, seconds later my roommate’s face appears in my doorway.

  “Hey. I’m back,” she says, stepping inside.

  I gasp. “No. Really?”

  “Ha. Well at least you’re not grumpy anymore.” She blows a kiss and drops to my bed. “You should have come with me today. Your lifeguard was on duty again.”

  I ignore the gust of butterflies that rushes through my body. “He’s not my lifeguard.”

  “He kept looking over. Bet he was looking for you.”

  I shrug. Was he? The butterflies become downright violent. Stupid. I hate butterflies. Nothing but dirty caterpillar frauds.

  “Anyway, I have news.” The way her hands clap together, I know this is boy-related. At least we’re done with my pathetic love life.

  “You’ve finally chosen a major?”

  “Wow, you really have the bitch-dial turned all the way up today, huh?”

  I shrug again.

  “Well,” she continues, accustomed to my moods. “I took a long walk and guess who I saw two stands up from ours?”

  “A lifeguard? I know, I’m psychic.”

  She throws a pillow at me that I swat away. “Not just any lifeguard. His name is Jakub and he’s single and he likes going to clubs.”

  Harper is sunshine through my storm cloud, and I find myself smiling in spite of myself. “Wow. He sounds amaaazing,” I draw out all pretend-dreamy-like.

  She grunts and jumps up from the bed. “My point is, I have a date.”

  I twist off the cap of my water bottle to keep her in suspense. Yes, it’s fun to tease her, but deep down I’d benefit from half her energy and fearlessness. “Congratulations. When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Oh yeah? Wow.”

  “Yep, we’re meeting at Smother and you’re coming with me.”

  I choke out a cough on the water I just swallowed. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re coming. I told him you needed a night out too.”

  “Why would you do that?” I groan.

  “Because heaven knows you need an evening of drinking and fun to get that stick out of your ass.”

  “Yeah, but crashing your date? You could have signed me up for a pottery class or something.”

  She spins my chair around so I’m facing the wall and wraps her arms around my shoulders from behind. “This,” she says softly, waving over my list-art wall covering, “proves what I feared this morning. I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

  I reach up and squeeze her arm still locked around me. Tension releases from my shoulders the longer we stay connected in the silence. Eyes closed, I finally start to breathe the cadence of relief.

  “What did he say when you insisted on your roommate tagging along?” I manage after a long pause. My fingers tighten on her arm, and she rests her head against mine.

  “He said good. He has a friend who needs a night out as well.”

  “Not like that!” I flinch at the movement of her hand. “Did my son raise you to be stupid?”

  I shake my head, the burn of tears in my eyes. It takes everything I have to keep them from spilling down my cheeks. Crying only makes it worse. She hates crying.

  “Again!”

  She knocks the pile of laundry I’d folded on the floor, and I bend down for a shirt.

  “No! Start with the pants.”

  I look up, confused. I’m sure she said to start with the shirts because of wrinkles.

  “Nine-years-old and can’t fold clothing. Can you do anything?”

  This time I can’t stop the hot liquid from streaking my skin.

  “Stop whining! You’re not a baby anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, running my sleeve over my eyes.

 
“Don’t be sorry, just do as you’re told.”

  I nod and turn back to the pile. A sharp pain stings my cheek when I reach for a pair of pants.

  “Shirts first! What did I just say?”

  We arrive at Smother, seven minutes late according to Harper, but way too early from my perspective. I’m already dreading a night of awkward conversation and lame flirting with some stranger. Iguana-boy waits outside the club and lights up when he spots us. Harper practically squeals in anticipation, and my anxiety fades a bit at the discovery that he’s alone. It appears I’ll be spared the drama of a blind date after all.

  “Jakub, this is my roommate Emma.”

  The guy extends his hand, and I have to admit he’s just as good-looking with clothes than without. Definitely Harper’s type with his longish hair and laidback smile. This guy likes to have a good time, and I have no doubt he’ll make sure Harper is entertained. Good for her. Me? I’m fine making a beeline for the bar and getting lost in my head.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, shaking my hand. I swallow my reaction to his familiar accent. What are the odds? Does he know Christian? Right, because all Europeans know each other.

  “No friend tonight?” Harper asks him, looping her arm through his.

  “Yes. He’s coming. He got home late from gym and will meet us here.”

  “Ooh the gym,” Harper says, waggling her brows at me.

  I roll my eyes. “You kids have fun. I’ll be over at the bar testing the margaritas at this fine establishment.”

  The cute bartender takes my order, and I try to act cool as I wait. Harper had a crush on him until we learned he was serious with his girlfriend. Pretty sure she still has a crush on him, but maybe Jakub will finally be the cure. Sure looks like it the way they’re already groping each other on the dance floor. Once my drink arrives, I settle backwards against the bar so I can watch them enjoy being twenty-one. A smile grows inside me at the way Harper lets herself go. Owns the moment. Carpe diem and all that crap. It’s addicting to watch, terrifying to consider for myself. She’s convinced one day she’ll find the key to unlock me as well. I’m convinced there isn’t one.