Cross Me Off Your List (8 page)

“And no, we don’t bother to haul it away
because Shark McAllister was going to do that, but he died before
he could,” Miles says. “And I’ll tell you right now, not a damn
person in Horn Island goes against what Shark McAllister wanted,
got it?”

Emily rushes back into the scream fest and
pushes her boyfriend back, reminding him that we’re not from here
and that I was just asking a question. Miles apologizes – more to
Emily than to us – and Noah interjects with a question to change
the subject.

“Are there any piers in Crescent Cove that
you can actually jump off of?” he asks, secretly bringing up item
number ten on my list.

Kale laughs. “There’s only one pier anywhere
around here that you could jump off of without going to jail, and
you’re looking at it,” he says.

Theo stumbles back down toward us, the beer
in his bottle sloshing around with his wobbly steps. “Shark was
going to keep that wood,” he says, looking at the pier. “I don’t
know what the fuck he was going to do with it, but he wanted it
because that was our pier. He always said it was a piece of Horn
Island history.”

We all stand in awkward silence for a while
before Emily asks the obvious question. “You have to jump off a
pier for your list, don’t you?”

“Item number ten,” I reply. “My former friend
said she knew of some places in LA where we could jump. I’m sure
hers were intact, though.”

Theo steps ahead of us. “Well there’s only
one thing left to do. We gotta fucking jump,” he says.

Miles agrees, but Emily pulls him back,
arguing about his sponsorship and how he can’t risk injury. He
concedes, against his will. Kale agrees to stay back with him, but
his reason is simply because he doesn’t want to mangle his
face.

“I’m jumping,” Theo says, forcing his beer
bottle into Kale’s hand.

“Are you sure?” Noah asks. “You seem a
little, you know, drunk.”

Theo shakes his head. “I can’t get drunk
enough,” he says. “Trust me. I can drink myself to death, and I’d
still see the things I’m running from.”

I glance at Miles and Emily, hoping one of
them can talk some sense into him, but there are clearly
circumstances I know nothing about. This time, I’m not about to
ask.

“Alright then,” I say. “Let’s go climb this
broken thing before the sun is completely gone. Has anyone, by
chance, been on this thing since it collapsed?”

Miles shakes his head. “Shark was the last
one,” he says. “It was already prohibited before it went down. But
he was rebellious and all that shit. He did whatever he wanted.
That’s why he was Shark McAllister.”

Shark McAllister. Why does that sound so
freaking familiar? I know I haven’t heard of anyone named Shark or
else I’d remember that one.

“Oh my God,” I say, clicking pieces of the
puzzle together in my head. “Was he a photographer?”

“You know his work?” Miles asks.

I shake my head. “The boating place. And
Drenaline Surf. They had shark photos by some guy. Something
McAllister?”

“Jake,” Theo says. “His name was Jake, but
everyone called him Shark. He built Drenaline Surf. He built that
place from the ground up. Then he died because…things happened. Are
we jumping or not? That sunset won’t last forever.”

“We’re jumping,” I confirm. I empty my
pockets and hand my cell phone to Emily for safekeeping. Noah does
the same.

“I need documentation,” I tell her. Emily
says she’ll film our jump.

With that, Theo and Noah walk with me toward
the pier. Theo offers to go up first, pulling himself up on the
pile of wooden planks. This is so far from safe. We probably won’t
even make it to the edge of the pier to actually jump because the
floor will fall through. We may be joining Shark McAllister on the
other side before this is all over, and the scary part is that I
don’t think Theo cares.

Once the Hooligan is a few steps up, he
reaches back for my hand. His eyes hold a recklessness that only
comes from pain or tragedy, the kind that says he’ll laugh in
Death’s face because he literally has nothing to lose. If he
weren’t so drunk, it’d be incredibly hot. He hauls me up onto the
section of wood, and Noah follows right behind me, not letting me
get more than two steps ahead of him.

Theo walks ahead, making sure what’s left of
the flooring can hold us. Then he motions for us to follow. We walk
single-file along the side, holding on to what used to be the
railing of the pier, until we reach the highest point. Theo crawls
over onto the outer side of the pier and looks over the water.

“This is it,” he says. “Climb over.”

We do exactly as he says. On the other side,
I feel like I’m in that scene from Titanic where Rose is standing
on the back of the ship, about to jump into the freezing cold water
to end all that’s holding her back. Of course, this isn’t a luxury
cruise-liner, and I’m hovering over the wrong ocean. But I get it –
that need to throw yourself into the sea and forget all the things
that are holding you back.

“Okay, we’re really going to do this,” Theo
says. “We’re going to do it for Shark.”

And in that moment, I realize, maybe Theo
needs to throw himself away more than I do. Maybe there are bigger
things that he needs to forget, bigger things holding him back.

“For Shark,” I say. I grab his hand and then
I grab Noah’s.

“Ah, what the hell,” Noah says. “Let’s do it.
Let’s do it for Shark.”

“On three,” Theo says. He tightens his grip
and inhales deeply. “One… two…”

Then on three, we fall from the sky,
plunging toward the dirtiest water on the grossest beach in
California under the light of a blood red sunset. And in those two
seconds between leaving the pier and hitting the water, Theo
screams, “For Sharrrrrrk!” and I swear, I’ve become a part of Horn
Island’s history.

There are much better things to do in
Crescent Cove on a Monday morning than visit the music store. I’m
not sure what those better things actually are, but I’m certain
they exist. I’m even up for a visit back to Horn Island. We hung
out with our newfound friends until late last night when Kale
finally brought us back to the hotel. Noah made a huge deal out of
how we were totally okay without Big Tony hovering over us, even
though our wet clothes said differently. The only real complaint
came from Aralie, who was disappointed that she wasted her night in
Crescent Cove while we hung out with ‘much cooler people.’

My saving grace this morning is that Nat
tagged along. He’ll give me someone to talk to while Noah gets all
musical over things. Isn’t this supposed to be a vacation for him?
A break from all the music and fame and lights and fangirls?

Big Tony stayed behind, since we were just
walking next door, and I’m thankful for that. Strings and Starlight
is pretty much dead, aside from the guy behind the cash register
strumming a guitar. He immediately looks up when we walk in.

“Hey, can I help you?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Noah says. “I’m looking for Jace.
Kale sent me.”

“Ahh. So you’re the boyband guy,” the guy
says. “Jace Hudson. Nice to meet you.”

Noah tells Jace that we’re with him, and then
he ditches us to talk to the clean-cut brunette about drums and
indie bands that I’ve never heard of.

Nat circles the room, pretending to look at
the guitars and amps, but he’s a failure at faking interest in
these things. He finally settles in against the wall and watches
his brother talk with this Jace guy.

“He’s hot,” Nat says, never taking his eyes
off Jace. “I bet he’s one of those nice guy types with a dominant
side. Like he’ll shake your hand and ‘yes sir, yes ma’am’ you in
public, but then you lock the bedroom door, and he throws you on
the bed.”

“Wow,” I say, leaning back and studying the
specimen. “You got all that out of his T-shirt and jeans? You
really know how to read them.”

Nat folds his arms and shoots me this sassy
glare. “You of all people should know better, Miss Fashionista,” he
says. “One, he plays guitar, so you know he’s creative and
passionate. Two, you know he’s good with his hands. And three,
anyone who hangs out with those freaks you met but looks clean cut
like him obviously has a wild side hidden underneath.”

“Damn,” I say, nodding along with him. “I
can’t even dream up a comeback for that one.”

Nat shrugs. “Unfortunately, he’s straighter
than a fifty yard line,” he says. “Sort of looks like the jock type
too. You know, if he wanted to be anyway.”

“Hmm,” I say. “So, who’s hotter? Jace or
Benji.”

Nat rolls his eyes and looks at me like I
just asked if he’d rather eat candy or dirt.

“Oh my God,” Nat says, throwing his hands out
all dramatically. “How can you even compare Mr. Clean Cut Guitarist
to the perfection that is messy haired, voice of an angel, eyes of
the ocean Benji Baccarini?”

I completely crack up and draw the attention
of Noah and Jace. I motion to Noah that we’re going to step
outside. I push through the door, and Nat follows.

“I get it. No one can stand in the same room
as Benji,” I say. Then I face Nat, in all seriousness. “But aren’t
you setting yourself up to get hurt?”

Nat looks away, across the street to The
Strip and the ocean, like he’s hoping a tidal wave will wash in and
take this conversation with it.

“I just call them like I see them,” he says.
He looks me in the eye. “Here’s my theory – No guy in his position,
with that kind of fame and money and power, is going to sit back
and let management deprive him of all the beautiful girls who want
to bang him. Unless, you know, he doesn’t want a
girl
to
bang him.”

For Nat’s sake, I don’t want to agree because
I don’t want to give him false hope. But he’s right – what in the
hell
is up with that? What kind of guy who has everything in
the world rolls over for management? He should be having all the
sex he wants with every pretty girl he wants. Slutty, maybe.
Immoral, sure. But not even being allowed to be photographed with a
girl? No dancing with a girl in a club or sitting too closely to
any girl other than the Branson sisters?

“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” I say,
reminding myself of my mother. “But you’re right. I don’t know why
he lets them run him over that way. No guy in his right mind would
agree to that, even for his career.”

“No
straight
guy,” Nat corrects me.
“He’s bisexual, at best. He’s not straight.”

“Have you asked him about it?” I know better
than to dig, but Noah isn’t going to talk about it, so I have to go
to the Winters brother who will.

Nat shrugs. “I’ve tried, but he dodges the
question, which is a definite sign that he’s gotta be, right? I
mean, refusing to talk about it means something, right?”

His eyes plead with me, like he’s hoping I’ll
magically bring Benji out of whatever closet he’s hiding his
sexuality in, but I can’t speak on something I know nothing about.
For all I know, Benji is playing along with management because
they’re paying him off or promising him a solo career or Saturn
only knows what. There could be all kinds of secret skeletons
hiding in that closet that have absolutely nothing to do with
Benji’s sexuality.

I just shrug and shake my head. “I don’t
know, Nat. I don’t know what it means,” I admit.

Noah bursts through the door of Strings and
Starlight, and we completely shut up about Benji and closets.

“I got us plans for Wednesday night,” he
announces. “Jace’s band is playing – Sapphires and Sunsets, another
S-A-S – and we’re going to see them.”

Number six: See a local band play live.

Back in room 413, I lounge on Noah’s bed
while Nat fixes his hair in the mirror before leaving to go harass
Benji some more. As Nat exits the room, Aralie pushes her way
inside.

“So what’s up for tonight? You losers aren’t
leaving me here watching Jules and Tate play video games again,”
she says before she plops herself down on Nat’s bed. “And I’ll tell
you another damn thing, Noah Winters – you leave me to babysit
Darby again, and I will castrate you.”

Noah ignores her, like he’s heard this speech
a thousand times before. However, if Darby is as band-obsessed as I
think she is, I don’t blame Aralie. She seems to be the most fun
one of the group. I don’t know why Noah doesn’t hang out with her
more – but I want to.

“We’re thinking about crashing a yacht club
party,” I say, pushing myself up. “This dickwad smarted off at us
the other night, and apparently he’s some big shot chiropractor in
the area.”

“Seriously?” Aralie asks. “Where the hell
have you been all of Noah’s life? Or at least since lockdown ended
anyway.”

That’s when I start spilling – the night
club, the Hooligans, the party tonight, and how I can’t shake the
idea of actually crashing it all because of my stupid list. The
more I read off the details from the website hyping the event, the
more I just can’t not do it.

“So let’s do it,” she says, like it’s no big
deal. “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like we don’t
have bail money, and if the paparazzi get wind of it, who cares?
It’ll be bumped off the tabloids in a week.”

I scroll down the screen and realize nothing
in my spring break wardrobe is suitable attire for this yacht club
ordeal. If we’re going to crash this thing, we have to at least
blend in long enough to get onto this yacht in the first place.

“If we’re really doing this tonight, I have
to go shopping,” I say. “We have to look the part.”

Aralie jumps up. “Me too,” she says. “Let’s
go. No boys. I seriously need a girls’ trip that doesn’t involve
Darby or my sister’s Sebastian’s Shadow-slash-Milo drama.”

I have to admit that Aralie has bigger balls
than any of the guys in Spaceships Around Saturn. I haven’t seen
any of their balls, but I know this girl’s are bigger.