I sigh. Fourteen-year-old me thought that seventeen-year-old me would have it all figured out, some great plan for how to tell Liam the truth, some great strategy for dealing with whatever he said, good or bad. Poor, naive fourteen-year-old me. I almost feel sorry for her.
I stand up and take a deep breath, closing my eyes and feeling the sun on my face, listening to the roar of the ocean and the call of the seagulls.
Then I turn around and start walking back toward the hotel.
Sorry, fourteen-year-old me. Seventeen-year-old me is just as confused as you are.
I haven’t walked far when, out of nowhere, I feel someone grab me around the legs.
“You didn’t think you’d get off that easy, did you?” Liam says.
I giggle as he picks me up like a sack of potatoes and throws me over his shoulder. “Put me down!” I cry. “What are you doing?”
He’s running down the beach with me slung over his body, moving easily like I’m as light as a feather.
“We’re doing sword fights,” he explains, placing me back on the sand.
My hair flops into my face, and I push it back, then take a step forward. The blood has all rushed to my head, and it’s making me feel a little dizzy.
“You’re doing what?” I ask, confused.
“We’re having sword fights. You know, in the water?”
“That doesn’t . . . you mean crab fights?” Crab fights make way more sense than sword fights. Crab fights are when a guy takes a girl and puts her on his shoulders, then another couple stands across from them, and the two girls try to push each other off and into the water. Whoever stays on their partner’s shoulders wins. I’ve never done it before, but I saw it on an episode of The Office. It was a really funny episode, where everyone from the office goes to their boss’s house and—wait. If Liam and Miles are going to have a crab fight, does that mean . . . does Liam expect me to get on his shoulders?
“Yeah, crab fights.” Liam leans in toward me. “Miles spotted Skye Walker on the beach, and so that’s what he wants to do now.” He lowers his voice. “This could be a big problem for us, because there are certain areas of her body you might need to avoid.”
I grin. Skye Walker has fake boobs, a present from her parents for graduation, which actually didn’t make any sense since she got her surgery last summer. If it was for graduation, shouldn’t her parents have actually waited until she graduated? But Skye said she didn’t want to spend the summer before college recovering, that she needed time to get used to her new body.
She was actually very open about the whole thing, not like Mila Thompson, who showed up on the first day of school with a brand-new nose and tried to deny she’d had any work done even though it was completely obvious.
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” I say. “I don’t think I can pop her boob.”
“Who said anything about popping it?” Liam asks, aghast. “I just meant she might still be sore there.”
“From, like, a year ago?” I shake my head. “I doubt it. And even if—”
“We’re going to crush you guys!” Miles yells. He’s already waded a few feet into the water, and he kicks up some of the spray. “You’re going down, Marsh!”
Skye’s just standing there on the shore, giggling. I like Skye. I don’t know her that well, but she’s always been nice to me. She hangs out with the popular girls, but she’s low on their totem pole. It’s like she knows they’re ridiculous, but she can’t not hang out with them because she’s so pretty that there’s no way she can’t be popular.
“Hey, Aven,” she says.
“Hi, Skye.”
“This is stupid,” someone calls from the sand.
I turn to look. Jillian Colangelo and Grace Smythe are lying on the beach on their stomachs, their bikinis undone in the back as they tan themselves.
“You’re going to get your hair all wet,” Grace says to Skye.
“So?” Skye says, like she doesn’t understand what the big deal is.
“If you get your hair all wet, then you’ll have to dry it,” Jillian says.
“No, I won’t,” Skye says. “The sun will dry it.”
“Yeah, if you want to look like a frizz head,” Grace mutters.
“What’s your problem?” Skye asks. “You were just saying that you wanted to play!”
“That was when I thought Liam needed a partner,” Grace says. “But I wouldn’t just, like, do it for no reason.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Skye says.
“Whatever.” Grace rolls her eyes and then expertly flips herself over to tan her front. She holds her bathing suit top over her chest as she does so, somehow able to keep everything covered.
“You didn’t tell me you already had a partner,” I say to Liam, trying to keep my voice neutral. Did Liam turn Grace down just so he could be partners with me? Why else would he chase me down the beach when Grace was ready and willing to climb onto his shoulders?
“Sorry,” he says. “You don’t mind, do you? I mean, you know, with Izzy . . .” He trails off.
And then I get it. If he’d gone into the water with Grace, who is arguably one of the prettiest girls in our class, it might have been seen as inappropriate. There’s something really flirty about climbing onto a guy’s shoulders and trying to push another girl around—it seems almost sexual, in an animalistic kind of way.
If Izzy had found out Liam had been splashing around the water with Grace in her string bikini, she wouldn’t have been pleased. But with me, it’s different. I’m safe. I’m nonthreatening. Izzy has never been threatened by me because there’s no need to be—I knew Liam way before she did. If anything was going to happen between us, it would have happened by now.
“Oh,” I say. “No, I mean . . . I don’t mind playing.”
But of course I do. Now that I know I’m just being slotted into this game because I’m seen as nonthreatening, I don’t want to play. But what can I do? If I tell Liam I changed my mind, it’s going to seem really weird.
So I slide out of my shorts and drop them on the sand, then pull my T-shirt over my head. The light-blue tankini I’m wearing underneath seems completely lame compared to the bathing suits the other girls are wearing. Skye’s bikini is held together at the sides by two tiny string bows that look like they’re about two seconds away from coming undone. And the material hardly covers her butt.
It said in the informational packet the school sent out that no one was allowed to bring inappropriate bathing suits. Which is why I bought this stupid tankini! But apparently no one else really cared about what was allowed. Either that or they have a very different idea of what constitutes inappropriate.
Probably both.
“Come on,” Miles says. “We’re going to kill you guys.”
“No need for violence,” Liam says. He’s wading into the ocean, and I follow him, almost gasping as the water hits my shins. It’s freezing.
Oh, well. More incentive not to get pushed off Liam’s shoulders. Not that I’m too worried about it. I outweigh Skye by about twenty-five pounds, and anyone who would stay in the popular group when it obviously makes her miserable probably doesn’t have much of a fighting spirit. So I think I’ve got this.
Once we’re in the water, Miles reaches down and hoists Skye up onto his shoulders.
I look at Liam.
Liam looks at me.
Then he sort of crouches down, and I awkwardly climb onto him.
Oh. My. God.
I am on Liam’s shoulders. I thought it would feel weird, being up here, and scary, because I’m so off the ground, but it doesn’t. Instead, I feel safe. Liam’s grip on my ankles is strong, and his body feels sturdy beneath me. My pulse races.
“Okay, Skye,” Miles instructs. “Get her.”
He starts charging toward us.
When they get within reach, Skye and I just look at each other. “This is awkward,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says, giving me a tiny little smile.
<
br /> “Come on,” Miles whines. “Push each other off.”
“I just . . . it seems kind of mean,” Skye says.
“Yeah,” I agree, dropping my arms slightly. “How am I supposed to—” But I don’t get to finish my sentence, because Skye picks that moment to pounce. She grabs my wrists and starts to try and wrestle me off Liam’s shoulders.
“Hey!” I protest. “That wasn’t fair. I wasn’t ready.”
“You snooze, you lose,” she says gleefully.
“Let go!” I yell, which is more like a reflex than anything I expect is really going to work. Of course she’s not going to let go. The whole point of the game is to hold on.
But surprisingly, she loosens her grip. “Sorry,” she says. “Was I hurting you?”
“You snooze, you lose,” I say, and then I push her as hard as I can. It’s surprisingly ineffective. Her upper body slides back a little bit, but it’s nowhere near enough to knock her off Miles’s shoulders.
“You guys really suck at this,” Miles says.
“Give them a break,” Liam says. “They’re the ones doing all the hard work.”
“Dude, if I was up there, I guaran-fucking-tee you I would have had your ass dumped into the water by now,” Miles says.
“Doubtful,” Liam says. “You might be strong, but you have no real agility. No offense.”
“Oh, none taken,” Miles says. He raises his head so he can look right at Liam, and Skye’s body weight shifts back just a little bit, so that she’s farther back on his shoulders. I take the chance and pounce. But she’s ready. She grabs my arms as I push her, and in a brilliant move, instead of going against me and trying to push me back, she pulls me toward her, using all my momentum to throw me off balance.
“Hold me tight!” Skye screams at Miles, and he does.
A second later, I’m catapulted forward over Liam’s head and into the water. It’s cold, but not as bad as I thought it would be. When I surface, giggling, I can taste the salt water on my lips.
“Told ya,” Miles taunts. “Told ya no one can beat us!”
“Rematch,” Liam says immediately. He turns and looks at me. “Sorry,” he says. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “It’s actually kind of refreshing.”
“We need a rematch,” Liam says again.
“No way,” Miles says, letting his fingertips skim the top of the water. “You lost, fair and square.”
“We did lose fair and square,” Liam says. “That’s why it’s called a rematch.”
“Why would I give you a chance to win when I’m undefeated?” Miles asks. Skye is still on his shoulders, and he spins her around. She squeals in delight. Does she like him? I hope not. He’s so arrogant and jerky. He hasn’t even acknowledged my presence once since I’ve been here, probably because I don’t have fake boobs and/or a skimpy bikini. But that Skye is filled with surprises today, like how she outwitted me at my own game.
“Why would you not want to play again if you’re so good?” Liam counters. “Unless you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Skye says, looking right at me. Her hands are resting under Miles’s chin, and he opens his mouth and nibbles on her fingers. She squeals again.
“I’m not scared, either,” I say, not wanting to be outdone.
“Okay,” Miles agrees. “You’re on.”
I put my hands on Liam’s shoulders so he can bend down and hoist me back up, but before he can, a voice calls to us from the shore.
“Liam! Aven!”
It’s Izzy. She’s standing on the shore, waving at us, her hair loose around her shoulders. She’s changed into a pair of cutoff shorts and a black bandeau bikini top that shows off her toned arms.
“Oh,” Liam says, sounding surprised. “It’s Izzy.”
“I thought she was with her dance team,” I say, hoping I don’t sound annoyed at the interruption. Even though I totally am.
“Come on,” Miles demands. “Are you guys playing or not?”
“Just a second,” Liam says, sounding impatient.
Izzy is wading into the ocean, the bottom of her denim cutoffs turning dark blue in the water. “Hey,” she says, giving Liam a kiss on his lips. “Miss me?”
“Always,” he says, and my heart breaks. It’s the same way it breaks every time he says something like that to her, the kind of tiny little break that doesn’t seem like much when it happens, but adds up to something big over time. It’s like poking yourself over and over again, so lightly that you might not even feel it, until later when you realize you’ve given yourself a big bruise that aches and throbs through the night. That’s how it feels when Izzy and Liam say something nice to each other, or kiss, or hold hands, or any of the thousands of other things you do when you’re in a relationship with someone. It stings a tiny bit in the moment, so slight that I might not even feel it for more than a second. But all of these little moments add up to one big hurt that washes over me later, usually when I’m alone, usually at night, usually when I’m in my room and I have a chance to stop and breathe and think about my day.
“We’re playing sword fight,” I say. “Um, I mean, crab fight.”
Izzy looks at me, standing there with Liam and Miles and Skye. Any other girl would probably think it was a little strange that her boyfriend had another girl up on his shoulders, playing a game that’s actually kind of intimate. But not Izzy.
She just gives a half smile and leans into Liam. “Is that how you got all wet?” she asks me.
“Yes,” I say, suddenly self-conscious about the fact that the three of them look like they could be in an ad for Spring Break, while my hair is dripping all over and I can tell my eyeliner is smudged.
“Are we playing or not?” Miles demands. “Let’s go!”
“Um . . .” Liam looks back and forth between me and Izzy. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do. So I do what I always do when Liam is forced to decide between me and Izzy—I make it easy for him.
“You guys should play,” I say. “I need to get back to my room anyway. I just remembered I have to get something to Mr. Beals for the Student Action Committee.” It’s a lie, of course. There’s nothing to give Mr. Beals for the Student Action Committee, and even if there was, it wouldn’t be urgent.
“Are you sure?” Izzy asks. But she’s already wrapping her arms around Liam, already climbing up his body gracefully. They move together in synch, totally at ease with each other. It makes sense. Once you’ve had sex with someone, climbing onto their shoulders probably isn’t that weird. But still. Isn’t Izzy supposed to be mad at him because she thinks he’s cheating on her?
“I’m sure,” I say.
But they’re not really paying attention to me anymore.
I walk back up the beach a ways to where I left my shorts and tank top. I pick them up and pull them on over my bathing suit, having to tug at them because putting dry clothes on over a wet bathing suit is kind of hard.
I turn around, mostly just to torture myself, and sure enough, they’re already ensconced in their game. Izzy’s laughing as she pushes at Skye, and I watch as Liam holds her tight and Izzy bites her lip in determination. A couple of pushes later, Skye falls into the water.
“You cheated!” Miles yells.
But Liam whoops and slides Izzy off his shoulders and into the water, then scoops her into his arms and kisses her on the lips in celebration.
I turn back around before I see anything else.
It’s another sting, another tiny prick adding to the bigger wound. I ignore it as best I can, which isn’t as hard as you would think. After all, I’m used to it.
I’m halfway to the hotel when my phone buzzes with that email again.
Before graduation, I will . . . tell the truth.
I have to. I have to tell him the truth.
Because all those little hurts, all those little heartbreaks, are starting to become too much to bear.
I’ll do it the very next chance I get. No more waiting. No
more wondering. Just doing.
FIVE
ON THE OTHER HAND, I DEFINITELY COULD just be having a weak moment. I mean, just because that email showed up on this trip doesn’t mean I have to tell Liam while we’re here. All the email says is before graduation. But there’s still time before graduation—a couple of months. A couple of months is a long time. Sixty days. Eight weeks. That’s a lot of hours. Math isn’t my strong suit, otherwise I would figure it out.
The point is, there will be plenty of opportunities to tell him how I feel. Plenty of opportunities to make sure the moment is absolutely perfect. And yes, you would think there would be lots of perfect moments on this trip, since we’re on an amazing vacation in an amazing place. But really, that’s not always how it works. Just because something looks like the perfect moment on the outside doesn’t mean it actually is.
It could be, like, masquerading as one. It’s like a grand gesture. Girls always want guys to make some big, grand gesture for them—flowers, poems, fireworks, hot air balloon rides. But sometimes grand gestures aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. You don’t know if the guy who’s getting you flowers and acting like he loves you is going to be cheating on you the next week.
Which is why it might not be the best idea to tell Liam how I feel on this vacation. I have to wait for the right time, not get caught up in the heat of the moment. The real right time might be later. Much later. Like next week. Or next month.
Of course, Liam and I probably aren’t going to be doing anything different over the next two months than we have been for the past four years. And if I didn’t think any of those moments were the right time to tell him, then what makes me think that any of the moments coming up are going to be the right one?
Sigh. I keep walking down the beach, trying to distract myself from my thoughts, not quite sure what to do or where to go. I’m not really that excited to go back to the hotel. I mean, what would I even do back there? Sit in my room and feel sorry for myself? I have a couple of friends from the Student Action Committee I could text, but hanging out with them doesn’t sound that appealing either.
So I just keep wandering until I come upon a tiny outdoor bar high on the sand, closer to the parking lot than the ocean. It looks like a little tiki hut, with a straw roof and palm trees planted on each side. A bartender is making tropical-looking drinks and serving them to a young couple.