After school, Drew’s wet suit and surfboard slung into the back of my car next to mine, my parents texted about my change in plans (“have fun!! Thank u for telling me and BE SAFE!” my mom wrote back), and Oliver in the passenger seat next to me, I peeled out of the school parking lot and headed west.
“So what’d you tell your mom?” I asked him. The windows were down and the wind made it hard to hear, so I just yelled louder instead of rolling them up. The fresh air smelled good, like clean laundry and salt, a reminder that we were only a few minutes away from the ocean.
“I just said I was hanging out with you,” Oliver said. His elbow was resting on the car door, and his hand was cupped against the wind, forcing his fingers apart.
“No, you did not!” I gasped.
“What?”
“Oliver!” I screeched. “My mom talks to your mom, like, every five minutes! If she—”
Oliver grinned wickedly at me. “Kidding.”
I tried to stop a smile as I punched him in the arm. “You have a real violent streak, you know that?” He laughed, trying to block my fist as I socked him again. “Ow! Okay, uncle, I’m sorry.”
“You’re a weenie,” I told him.
“Weenie? Wow, my delicate ears. Ow, okay! Sorry again! Eyes on the road, by the way. You’re operating heavy machinery with me in it. And I asked Rick, not my mom. I just said that Drew and some guys and I were going to the movies.”
I glanced at him. “Is Rick, you know, cool about that?”
“I guess. I don’t know, he’s cooler than my mom sometimes. He doesn’t act like the roof is going to cave in every five minutes.”
I sat back in my seat, putting both hands on the wheel once again. “Do you know what would happen if my mom found out I was at a party?” I asked him.
“Is that rhetorical?”
“Yes. But just so you know, they would lock me in the basement forever.”
“I don’t believe that,” Oliver scoffed, sticking his arm out the window once again. “That’s not even possible.”
“Oh, trust me, it would happen. And then you would feel bad for me.”
“It wouldn’t happen,” Oliver insisted. “You don’t even have a basement.”
“Fine. The attic, then. They would lock me in a cold, dark place and feed me nothing but gruel. Like a mash-up of Jane Eyre and Oliver Twist. My mom was an English major, she could make it happen.”
Oliver looked at me, tucking his hair behind his ears.
“What?” I asked, glancing at him before checking my mirrors and turning right.
“You’re just a weirdo,” he said. “That’s all.” But his voice was soft, probably muted by the wind. He looked at me for a few more seconds before sticking his head out the window like a dog, smiling into the air when I laughed at him.
“Now who’s the weirdo?” I yelled, but either he didn’t hear me or he just agreed, because he smiled again and didn’t say anything more.
Oliver and I had both been right about the swells: they were just baby waves that day, the hot weather and dry wind making the horizon look both still and shimmery at the same time. They were perfect for Oliver.
Unfortunately, he was still a far from perfect surfer.
“Paddle, paddle, paddle, PADDLE!” I screamed, sitting astride my board as I watched him try to get ahead of a wave. His arms moved fast like propellers, but as soon as the wave caught up to him, he planted his feet on the board . . . and immediately fell over.
“Have you considered a different sport?” I asked him, once he had gathered up his board and swum back out to where I was waiting. “Badminton, maybe? You would be great at shuffleboard.”
He grinned and splashed water in my direction. “We can’t all be superhero badass surfers,” he said as I splashed him right back. “Think of it this way: I make you look even better.”
“I don’t need you to make me look good!” I protested, sending a huge amount of water his way. “I looked good before you showed up.”
The double entendre hung between us and I was grateful that the sun was in Oliver’s eyes so that he couldn’t see me blush. “I mean—you know what I mean. Right?”
Before he could answer, though, a round of catcalls started up from the beach. Three guys were walking toward a spot farther down, but all of their heads were turned in our direction. “You don’t need that wet suit, baby!” one of them yelled, sending his friends into a round of hysterics.
I raised my middle finger at them, making them laugh even harder, and if I had been blushing before, now my face was ablaze. “Assholes,” I muttered.
Oliver’s spine was straight, his head turned resolutely toward the shore. “Who are they?” he asked, his voice sharper and harder than before. “Do you know them?”
“No, they’re just tourists.” I waved my hand in their direction as if to sweep them away. “Dudes. Jerks. Whatever. Most guys around here aren’t like that, don’t worry.”
Oliver was still staring at them, though. With his damp hair and Drew’s wet suit just a little too tight on his body, he reminded me of a panther in an old storybook I used to have, poised in the trees and ready to pounce. “Oliver, seriously,” I said. “Ignore them. Please don’t do something stupid like avenge my honor or whatever.”
He finally looked away. “I’m not,” he said. “You can probably avenge yourself much better than I could, anyway.”
I smiled despite myself. “Well, yeah, duh. Your upper body strength is terrible.”
“Does that happen a lot, though?” Oliver said.
“Not really. I mean, once in a while, yeah. But not really.” I ran my fingers back and forth in the water, watching the sand particles and seaweed strands dance between them. “Like, if you’re wearing a wet suit instead of a bikini, they say shit. If you wear a bikini instead of a wet suit, they say shit. But it doesn’t matter. They just do it to make up for the fact that they suck and I’m better than them.”
“How do you know they suck?” Oliver asked.
I gestured to the empty water around us. “Do you see anyone else out here besides us today? These waves are baby waves, everyone good is probably up at Newport.”
Oliver had ducked under the water to smooth back his hair, but came up sputtering, mock-indignant. “Wait, are you saying I suck?” he said. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“No!” I cried. “Wait, don’t—!” But it was too late. He pulled me off my board and straight into the water, me laughing so hard when I went under that I came up coughing, eyes and nose stinging with salt water.
“Is that any way to speak to your teacher?” I gasped, trying to wipe my nose in the most discreet way possible. “Disrespectful!”
Oliver laughed at me trying to push my wet hair out of my face. “You look like you got attacked by seaweed,” he said, then reached over and tried to help me. “Here, sorry. But you had it coming.”
I let him move a lock of wet hair out of my eyes, his thumb just brushing my forehead as he swept it back. I had a comeback on the tip of my tongue, but when he looked at me and smiled again, it melted away in my mouth, leaving nothing but a smile behind.
“I don’t think I’m gonna go to Drew’s party,” he said.
“Wait, what?” The conversation had suddenly taken a drastic turn. “Why? What just happened here?”
“I don’t know.” Oliver shrugged and looked over his shoulder toward, I realized, the same guys who had harassed me a few minutes earlier. “I just . . . I’m not really good at parties. With, you know, other people.”
Realization dawned. “Oliver, how many parties have you been to?”
“Um.”
“That’s what I thought,” I replied. Of course, Oliver hadn’t been going to ragers while his dad kept him hidden from the world. For years, even though he was living in the biggest city in the world, it was probably Oliver and his dad—only Oliver and his dad.
“You have to come tonight,” I told him. “It’ll be fun, and Caro and Drew and I will all be there.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know anyone else.” He scratched at his arm and looked down at his board, avoiding my gaze. “I mean, I barely know them.”
“Well, you’re not going to get to know them if you stay home with your mom and Rick and the twins,” I pointed out. “And they’re great, but I can’t lie, it’s not exactly Social City over at your house.”
Oliver stared out at the horizon.
“Just come on,” I urged. “You said yourself that you didn’t want to be stuck at home with the twins watching you. Look, if you hate it, we can leave. If people are mean to you, I’ll beat them up.” I lifted my arm and flexed my muscle. “See? I’m pretty strong. And intimidating, too.”
“Really.” Oliver seemed both amused and deeply unimpressed.
“Really,” I told him as we bobbed in the water, listening to the small waves crash behind us.
“Fine,” he finally said, then pushed himself back up on his board. “You win. I’ll go. Now c’mon, the towering surf awaits!” He gestured toward the (very flat) ocean and I hopped up on my board next to him.
“You really do suck at this,” I teased him as we started to paddle out farther. “I’m just taking pity on you.”
“We shall see!” he yelled. He paddled faster, just out of my reach, the way he always seemed to be.