ELEVEN
I went to a small elementary school. That’s where I met Natalie. It was only a few blocks from my house and it was small enough that there was only one teacher per grade. Your clique was the grade you were in. In elementary school, no one cared about money because we were too young to really know better.
Junior high and high school were different. They were much larger campuses, and by that age, money defined your clique. Unless you were exceptionally pretty. Or, in Zackary Henderson’s case, famous on YouTube. He wasn’t rich, but his social media status landed him in the rich crowd. Followers are considered a more valuable currency than cash to a lot of people my age.
I came from the worst part of town and everyone knew it. The kids in my neighborhood who were just as poor as me slowly began to dwindle. A lot of them followed in the same sad footsteps as their parents, turning to drugs. I never felt part of that crowd because I did whatever I could to be the exact opposite of my mother and the people like her.
It didn’t matter at school, though. Natalie was my only friend until I joined the volleyball team as a freshman. A few of the girls on the team accepted me, especially after I became the best one on the team, but most of them resented me. They still treated me like I was less than them. And it wasn’t necessarily typical bullying. No name-calling, or being shoved around in the hallways. I think I might have been too intimidating to some of them to be bullied.
I would have fought back and they knew it.
It was more that I was avoided. Ignored. I was never included in anything. I’m sure a lot of that had to do with the fact that I was one of the few in my school who had no cell phone, no laptop, no home phone. No means of connecting outside of school hours, and that can be socially detrimental for anyone these days. Or maybe that’s just my way of excusing being excluded for the better part of six years.
It’s hard not to grow bitter when you spend so much time alone. It’s especially hard not to grow bitter at class systems and people with money, because the richer they were, the more it seemed I didn’t exist to them.
Which is why being here on this beach with the type of people I’m sure I would have been invisible to in high school is hard for me. I want to believe Sara would have treated me the same as she does now had I known her in high school. The more I get to know her, the less I see her as someone who would be intentionally shitty to anyone.
And Samson. How did he treat the underdogs?
Not everyone who had money was an asshole in my high school, but enough of them were that I think I might have just lumped them all together. Part of me wonders if things would have been different if I would have tried harder. Opened up more. Would I have been accepted?
Maybe the only reason I wasn’t accepted is because I didn’t want to be. It was easier to stay to myself. I had Natalie when I needed her, but she had a cell phone and other friends that kept her busy, so we weren’t inseparable. I can’t even say we were best friends.
I just know that I never did things like this. I never hung out in groups with people. When I was old enough to get a job, I worked as much as I possibly could. So bonfires and cookouts and spending time with people my own age is foreign to me. I’m trying to find a way to be at ease in this crowd, but it’s going to take time. I’ve spent a lot of years becoming the person I am. It’s hard to change who you are in a span of a few days.
There are about eight people around the campfire, but none of them are Samson. He came down and grabbed a burger, but then went back to his house after he ate. The only two I know are Sara and Marcos, but they’re sitting across from me, the fire separating us. I don’t think they know the other people here all that well, either. I heard Marcos ask one of the guys where he’s from.
This must be a beach thing. Hanging out with random people you barely know. Strangers gathering around a fire, asking one another superficial questions until they’re drunk enough to pretend they’ve known each other their whole lives.
I think Sara can tell I’m folding in on myself. She walks over and sits down next to me. Pepper Jack Cheese is lying in the sand next to my chair. Sara looks down at the dog and scratches him on the head.
“Where’d you find this thing?”
“He followed me home earlier.”
“Have you named him yet?”
“Pepper Jack Cheese.”
She looks at me. “Seriously?”
I shrug.
“I kinda like it. We should give him a bath later. We have an outdoor shower on the stilt level.”
“You think your mom would let me keep him?”
“Not in the house, but we could make him a spot outside. She probably won’t even notice, honestly. They’re barely here.”
I’ve noticed that. They both get home late and tend to go to bed soon after. They leave early in the morning. “Why are they gone so much?”
“They both work in Houston. Traffic is terrible, so they eat dinner together in the city on weeknights so they don’t have to fight it. But they take off Fridays during the summer, so they both have three-day weekends.”
“Why do they even bother driving here Monday through Thursday? Isn’t their main house in Houston?”
“My mother would worry about me too much. She’s not as strict as she used to be because I’m almost twenty, but she still wants to know I’m home in bed every night. And she loves the ocean. I think she sleeps better here.”
“Does anyone live in your beach house when it isn’t summer?”
“No, we use it as a rental. We come here for holidays, or a weekend getaway every now and then.” She stops petting Pepper Jack Cheese and looks at me. “Where are you staying when you start classes in August? Are you moving back in with your mother?”
My stomach turns at that question. They all still think I’m going to some community college back in Kentucky. Not to mention I still haven’t told anyone about my mother.
“No. I’ll be—”
Marcos appears and pulls Sara out of her chair before I can finish my sentence. He swoops her up and she squeals and wraps her arms around his neck as he runs her out toward the water. Pepper Jack Cheese stands up and barks because of the commotion.
“It’s okay,” I say, putting my hand on his head. “Lie down.”
He resumes his position in the sand. I stare up at Samson’s house, wondering what he’s doing. Does he have a girl with him? That would explain why he isn’t out here socializing.
I don’t like being out here alone now that Sara and Marcos are in the water. I don’t know any of these other people and they’re really starting to get rowdy. I think I’m the only one not drinking.
I stand up and go for a walk to get away from the group before any of them decide to play spin the bottle or something else just as horrifying. Pepper Jack Cheese follows me.
I’m really starting to like this dog. His loyalty is nice, but his name is way too long. I might just call him P.J.
There’s an abandoned sandcastle a few yards away from the group that’s half destroyed. P.J. runs over to it and starts sniffing around it. I sit down next to the sand castle and start rebuilding one of the walls.
Life is weird. One day you’re staring at your dead mother and a few days later you’re building a sandcastle on the beach by yourself in the dark with a dog named after a cheese.
“It’ll be washed away by the tide in an hour.”
I look up to see Samson standing beside me. I’m extremely relieved to see him here and that makes me feel strange. I’m starting to find an odd comfort in his presence.
“Then you better help me build a retaining wall.”
Samson walks around the sandcastle and sits on the other side of it. He looks at the dog. “He likes you.”
“I fed him. I’m sure if you gave him a burger, he’d follow you around, too.”
Samson leans forward and begins piling sand up on his side of the castle. The sight of it makes me grin. A hot shirtless guy playing in the sand.
I steal glances at him every now and then, impressed by his focus.
“His name is Pepper Jack Cheese,” I say, breaking a stretch of silence.
Samson smiles. “You met Marjorie?”
“How’d you know it was her idea?”
“She has two cats. Their names are Cheddar Cheese and Mozzarella.”
I laugh. “She’s interesting.”
“Yeah, she is.”
The tide pushes closer and some of the water spills into the area where we’re working. Samson stops patting the walls with his hands. “You been in the water yet?”
“No. I’m kind of leery of it.”
“Why?”
“Jellyfish. Sharks. All the things I can’t see beneath the surface.”
Samson laughs. “We hung out on top of a three-story house today. You’re safer in the ocean than you were on that roof.” He stands up and wipes sand from his shorts. “Come on.”
He’s walking into the water, not waiting on me. I look for Marcos and Sara, but they’re a good ways down.
The ocean is massive, so I don’t know why going into it with Samson seems intimate. I stand up and pull off my shorts, then toss them near Pepper Jack Cheese.
“Keep an eye on those,” I say.
I walk into the water. It’s warmer than I thought it would be. Samson is several feet ahead of me. I keep walking, surprised at how far out I have to go before the water even reaches my knees. Samson dives forward into a wave, disappearing under the water.
When the water is finally up to my chest, Samson reappears. He’s two feet in front of me when he pops up out of the water. He brushes his hair back and looks down at me.
“See? Nothing scary.”
He lowers himself until the water is up to his neck. Our knees accidentally touch, but he acts like he doesn’t notice. He makes no move to back away, but I move the slightest bit to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I don’t know him all that well, and I’m not sure I want to give him that idea. He did just have a different girl on his lap the other night. I have no plans to be another lap trophy.
“Did Marjorie give you pecans today?” he asks. I nod and it makes him laugh. “I have so many fucking pecans,” he says. “I just leave them on other people’s porches now.”
“Is that what she does all day? Crack pecans?”
“Pretty much.”
“Where does she get them? She doesn’t even have any trees.”
“I have no idea,” he says. “I don’t know her all that well. I only met her a few months ago. I was walking by her house and she stopped me and asked if I was going to the store anytime soon. I asked what she needed and she told me she needed batteries. I asked her what size and she said, ‘Surprise me.’”
I smile, but it’s not really because of what he said. It’s because I like the way he talks. There’s something about the way his bottom lip moves when he speaks that steals my focus.
Samson’s gaze returns to my face, but he’s not looking at my eyes. I notice him glance at my mouth and then look away again. He swims out a little farther.
The water is already up to my neck. I’m having to use my arms to keep myself in an area where I can touch.
“Sara said you’ve been sick the last few days,” he says.
“I haven’t been feeling well, but it’s more of an emotional illness than a physical one.”
“You homesick?”
I shake my head. “No. Definitely not homesick.” He’s in an uncharacteristically talkative mood, it seems. I take advantage of that. “Where do you go every day? What do you do besides help out old ladies for free?”
“I just try to be invisible,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
Samson looks away from me, over to the full moon balancing right above the edge of the water. “It’s a long explanation. I don’t really feel like long explanations right now.”
Not surprising. He seems to want to stay in the shallow end when it comes to conversations.
“I can’t figure you out,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change at all, but his voice has a tinge of amusement to it when he says, “I didn’t think you wanted to.”
“That’s because I thought I had you figured out. But I already told you I was wrong. You’re layered.”
“Layered?” he repeats. “Like an onion or a cake?”
“Definitely an onion. Your layers are the kind a person has to peel back.”
“Is that what you’re trying to do?”
I shrug. “I have nothing else to do. Maybe I’ll spend my summer peeling back all your layers until you finally answer a question.”
“I answered one. I told you about my necklace.”
I nod. “That’s true, you did give me that.”
“Do you think you’re easy to read?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“You aren’t.”
“Are you trying?”
He holds my stare for a moment. “If you are.”
That response makes my knees feel like anchors. “I have a feeling we won’t get far with each other,” I say. “I like keeping my secrets. I get the feeling you do too.”
He nods. “You won’t get past my first layer, I can promise you that.”
Something tells me I will. “Why are you so private? Is your family famous or something?”
“Or something,” he says.
He keeps moving closer to me. It makes me think this attraction might be mutual. That’s hard for me to wrap my mind around. That a guy as good-looking and rich as him would find me interesting in any way.
It reminds me of how I felt the first time Dakota kissed me. Which is why I back away from Samson. I don’t want him to say or do anything that might make me feel the way Dakota made me feel right after our first kiss.
I never want to feel that again, but I can’t help but wonder if things would be different with Samson. What would he say after we kiss? Would he be as heartless as Dakota was?
We’ve somehow turned now and my back is toward the beach. It’s like we’re moving, but so slowly it isn’t noticeable. There are drops of water on Samson’s bottom lip and I can’t stop staring at them.
Our knees brush again. This time I don’t move away, but the connection only lasts for a second. I feel somewhat deflated when it passes.
I wonder what he feels. Probably not as confused about what he wants as I am.
“What’s your reason for being secretive?” he asks.
I think about that for a moment. “I guess I’ve never had anyone I wanted to tell anything to.”
There’s an understanding in his eyes. He says, “Same,” but it’s almost a whisper. He sinks under the water and disappears. I hear him come up for air behind me a few seconds later. I spin around and he’s even closer to me now. Our legs are definitely touching, but neither of us pulls away.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this—like my blood is zipping through my veins. My interactions with guys have always left me wanting more space between the guy and me. I’m not used to wishing there was no space between me and another person.
“Ask me some questions,” he says. “I probably won’t answer most of them, but I want to know what you want to know about me.”
“Probably more than you’ll give me.”
“Try me.”
“Are you an only child?”
He nods.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Where did you grow up?”
He shakes his head, refusing to answer that one.
“That wasn’t even an intrusive question,” I say.
“If you knew the answer, you’d realize it was.”
He’s right. This is going to be a challenge. But I don’t think he realizes how competitive I can be. I did earn a full ride to Penn State thanks to my commitment to winning.
“Sara said you’re going into the Air Force Academy?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s a family tradition.”
“Ah,” I say. “A morsel. So your father was in the Air Force?”
“Yes. And my grandfather.”
“How is your family so rich? The military doesn’t pay that well.”
“Some people go into the military for the esteem. Not the pay.”
“Do you want to go to the Air Force or are you doing it because it’s expected of you?”
“I want to go.”
“That’s good.”
I don’t know if it’s him or the current, but he’s even closer now. One of my legs is between his knees and my thigh occasionally brushes his. I might be doing it on purpose, which surprises me. Maybe he is too.
“What’s your favorite animal?” I ask.
“Whale.”
“Favorite food?”
“Seafood.”
“Favorite thing to do?”
“Swim.”
I laugh. “These are typical beach rat answers. I’ll never get anywhere.”
“Ask better questions,” he says pointedly.
Another challenge. We stare at each other with heaviness while I think of a question I really want an answer to. “Sara said you don’t do relationships—that you only date girls who are here on vacations. Why is that?”
He doesn’t answer. Another question that’s off limits, I guess. “Okay, too private. I’ll think of an easier question.”
“No, I’m going to answer that one,” he says. “I’m just trying to figure out how.” He lowers himself until the water is level with his chin. I do the same. I like that all we can focus on right now are each other’s eyes. Although his aren’t very telling.
“I don’t trust easily.”
I wasn’t expecting that answer. I was expecting him to say he likes being single, or something equally stereotypical.
“Why? Did you get your heart broken?”
He presses his lips together while he ponders that question. “Yeah,” he says flatly. “Crushed me. Her name was Darya.”
The fact that he said her name out loud causes an unexpected, tiny sliver of jealousy to poke at me from the inside. I want to ask him what happened, but I don’t really want the answer.
“What’s it like?” I ask him.
“Having my heart broken?”
I nod.
He pushes a floating piece of seaweed away from us. “Have you never been in love?”
I laugh. “No. Not even close. I’ve never loved anyone, nor have I ever been loved by anyone.”
“Yes you have,” he says. “Family counts.”
I shake my head again, because even if family counted, my answer would remain the same. My father barely knows me. My mother wasn’t capable of loving me.
I look away from him and stare out at the open water. “I don’t have that kind of family,” I say quietly. “Not a lot of people have mothers like mine. I don’t even remember her hugging me. Not once.” I cut my eyes back to his. “Now that I think about it, I’m not even sure I’ve ever been hugged.”
“How is that possible?”
“I mean, I’ve hugged people as a greeting. A quick hello or a quick goodbye hug. But I’ve never been…I don’t know how to put it.”
“Held?”
I nod. “Yeah. That’s a better description, I guess. I’ve never been held by anyone. I don’t know what that’s like. I try to avoid it, actually. It seems like it would be weird.”
“I guess it depends on who’s holding you.”
My throat feels thick. I swallow and nod in agreement, but say nothing.
“It surprises me that you don’t think your father loves you. He seems like a nice guy.”
“He doesn’t know me. This is the first time I’ve seen him in since I was sixteen. I know more about you than I do about him.”
“That’s not very much.”
“Exactly,” I say, facing him full-on again.
Samson’s knee brushes high up on my inner thighs this time and I’m glad he can’t see anything from my chin down, because my body is covered in chills right now.
“I didn’t think there were many people in the world like me,” he says.
“You think we’re alike?” I want to laugh at that comparison, but there’s not an ounce of humor in his expression.
“I believe we have a lot more in common than you think we do, Beyah.”
“You think you’re as alone in this world as I am?”
He folds his lips together and nods his head, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever seen. I never would have thought someone so well off could have a life as shitty as mine, but I can see it in the way he’s looking at me. Everything about him suddenly seems familiar to me.
He’s right. We are alike, but only in the saddest ways.
My voice comes out in a whisper when I say, “When I first met you on that ferry, I could tell you were damaged.”
There’s a flicker of something in his eyes as he tilts his head to the right. “You think I’m damaged?”
“Yes.”
He moves even closer in the water, but there wasn’t much space left between us to begin with. It’s deliberate, and so much of me is touching so much of him now. “You’re right,” he says quietly, slipping a hand around the back of my left knee. “There’s nothing left of me but a fucking pile of debris.” He pulls me to him, wrapping both my legs around him. That’s all he does, though. He doesn’t try to kiss me. He just connects us together as if that’s enough while our arms keep us both afloat.
I’m swiftly succumbing to him. I don’t know in what way. All of them, maybe. Because right now, I need him to do something else. Anything else. Taste me. Touch me. Drag me under.
We watch each other for a moment and it’s almost like looking into a broken mirror. He leans in slowly, but not toward my mouth. He presses his lips against my shoulder, so gentle it feels like a graze.
I close my eyes and inhale.
I’ve never felt anything so sensual. So perfect.
One of his hands disappears under the water and finds my waist. When I open my eyes, his face is just a couple of inches from mine.
We both look at each other’s mouths for a brief second, and then it’s like fire shoots down my entire leg.
“Fuck!”
Something just stung me.
Something just stung the shit out of me right when I was about to be kissed and if this isn’t my damn luck. “Shit, shit, shit.” I grip Samson’s shoulders. “Something just stung me.”
He shakes his head as if he’s pulling himself out of a trance. He catches up to what just happened. “Jellyfish,” he says. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the shore, but my leg hurts so bad, it’s difficult to walk.
“Oh my God, it hurts.”
“Sara keeps a bottle of vinegar in their outdoor shower. It’ll help the sting.”
When he can tell I’m struggling to keep up, he bends down and scoops me up. I want to enjoy the fact that he’s carrying me, but I can’t enjoy anything.
“Where did it get you?” he asks.
“My right leg.”
When the water is just below his knees, he’s able to walk faster. He rushes me past the fire, toward the outdoor shower on Sara’s stilt level. I hear Sara yell after us. “What happened?”
“Jellyfish!” he yells over his shoulder.
When we reach the shower, there’s barely enough room for both of us inside. He sets me down and I spin around and press my hands against the shower wall. “It got the top of my thigh.”
When he starts to spray the vinegar on my leg, it feels like tiny knives stabbing me in the fleshiest part of my thigh. I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the wooden shower wall. I moan in agony. “Oh, God.”
“Beyah,” Samson says, his voice strained and deep. “Please don’t make that noise.”
I’m in too much pain to dissect that comment. All I feel is pain on top of more pain when the vinegar hits my skin. “Samson, it hurts. Please stop.”
“Not yet,” he says, spraying down my leg to ensure he gets all the sting. “It’ll feel better in a second.”
He’s a liar, I want to die. “No, it hurts. Please stop.”
“I’m almost finished.”
He stops suddenly after saying that, but not by choice. Samson disappears in a confusing flash. I spin around and peek my head out just in time to witness my father punch Samson in the face.
Samson stumbles back and then falls over the concrete ledge of the foundation.
“She said stop, you son of a bitch!” my father yells at him.
Samson scrambles to his feet and backs away from my father. He holds his hands up in defense, but my father goes to hit him again. I grab my father’s arm, but it does little to ease the impact of the second hit.
“Dad, stop!”
Sara appears and I look at her pleadingly for help. She runs over and tries to grab my father’s other arm, but he’s got Samson by the throat now.
“He was helping me!” I yell. “Let go of him!”
This prompts my father to release some of the pressure around Samson’s throat, but he doesn’t let go. Samson has blood running from his nose. I’m sure he could fight back, but he isn’t. He’s just shaking his head, staring at my father wide-eyed. “I wasn’t—she got stung by a jellyfish. I was helping her.”
My father looks over his shoulder, searching for me. When we lock eyes, I nod vigorously. “He’s telling you the truth. He was spraying vinegar on my leg.”
“But I heard you say...” My father closes his eyes when he realizes it truly was a misunderstanding. He exhales deeply. “Shit.” He releases Samson.
There’s blood running all the way down Samson’s neck now.
My father puts his hands on his hips and tries to catch his breath for a few seconds. Then he motions for Samson to follow him. “Come inside,” he mutters. “I think I broke your nose.”