Playing With the Boys (2 page)

“You ready, kid?” he asked, patting her gently on the arm. “Is your seat belt fastened?”

She loved when her dad called her “kid.” He wasn’t as amused when she called him Greg.

She simply nodded. “I think so.” She wanted to be brave. She wanted to make this easy for him. She looked out the window, took a deep breath, and braced herself for landing.

 
A bright red convertible raced down the Pacific Coast Highway with Lucy’s dad at the wheel. She knew he was trying to do something special by renting such a cool car, but as she desperately tried to keep her hair out of her face, it felt like more trouble than it was worth. Much like this whole moving-across-the-country thing.

She pushed the offending strands back again, convinced that by the time they reached the house, her hair would just be one giant snarl. She’d probably have to shave her head before the first day of school. That’d be a great way to make new friends—show up bald.

Her dad pointed to the left. “See? Over there? That’s the Santa Monica Pier.” Lucy looked in the direction he was pointing and saw the giant Ferris wheel spinning around and around. She swore she had seen it a million times in movies or on television.

“And look over there,” he added. “That apartment building is built right into the cliff.”

Lucy squinted her eyes and blocked the sun with her hand. Her dad was right. The apartments were built right into the rocks and hovered precariously over the highway.

“Wow,” she said, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could. Her dad was trying. “It’s amazing.” And to be honest, it was—the ocean, the palm trees, the rollerbladers and bikers . . . The beach was packed. She watched as a cute male volleyball player spiked the ball. The opposing player missed it and the cute one celebrated with his female teammate. She jumped on him, tackling him to the ground.

Strange that other people could be having so much fun while she was so miserable.

“Wait until you see our rental place,” her dad said, smiling. “You’re going to love your room.”

Lucy silently nodded and kept her thoughts to herself. It wouldn’t do any good to whine or complain—it would just make a difficult situation harder. She wished she could tell her dad that she didn’t want a new room, that her old one had been perfect. Her mom had let her splatter-paint the walls—a project that had ended in disaster for the carpet and resulted in brand new hardwood floors. After that, Lucy had been allowed to use paint and markers to graffiti her bedroom and make it personal. She’d painted the word
imagine
—her favorite word—on the wall above her bed, and her friends and a bunch of the girls from varsity had written notes and messages on the sliver of the wall next to her closet.

“What up, Slam?” Annie had scrawled on the wall only moments after Lucy had mistakenly run into the closed glass patio door.

Her old room was perfect, so unless
this
room had Orlando Bloom
and
Johnny Depp in it, she didn’t see how it was going to beat what she’d had back in Toledo.

But shortly after they turned left across PCH and pulled into the driveway of their new house, Lucy was prepared to reconsider. Their place was
right on the beach!
She stared in awe as her dad parked in front of the garage; then she hurriedly grabbed her suitcases.

“Forget your bags.” Her dad smiled. “I got ’em. Go check out your room, kid.”

Lucy jumped out of the passenger seat, leaving the door open as she bolted for the house. The front door was ajar, as if the house was expecting them (or the realtor was
that
good). She ran through the house, barely noticing that it was already fully furnished. Whatever. She didn’t care about stainless-steel kitchen appliances or a window the size of the entire living room wall that overlooked the surf. All she cared about was her bedroom.

As soon as she walked in, her jaw dropped. It was hands down the coolest room she’d ever seen. The walls were painted a light yellow, making the room warm and inviting. Straight in front of her, under a huge window, was a queen-size bed that rested on a large wooden platform. It appeared as if the bed were suspended in midair. Covering it was a fluffy red comforter; orange and yellow pillows with tiny circular mirrors were scattered all over it. Momentarily forgetting that she was in a state of mourning, Lucy ran to it and jumped on it. Her body bounced as she landed. She snuggled into the softness of the mattress and burrowed into the pillows. This bed would be perfect for sleeping until noon—something her dad rarely let her do, even in the summertime.

Then, suddenly, she noticed something above her. A loft.

Sitting up to get a better view, she saw that a narrow spiral staircase led up to another level. She jumped off the bed and tore up the staircase to a loft with a huge wooden desk, a giant wooden bookshelf that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, giant red beanbag chairs, and a brand-new white twenty-four-inch iMac on her desk. “So you like it?” her dad asked, walking into the room. He made his way up the spiral staircase into the loft and could tell by her expression that she was surprised. “I thought you would.” He smiled.

She sank back into a beanbag chair as he took a seat at her desk and leaned forward, his brow furrowed. Lucy knew this meant he was going to say something serious.

“I know it’s tough, Luce,” he began. “Moving to a new place, having to make new friends—but we need this, kid.
I
need this. A fresh start, you know?”

Lucy nodded, knowing that as hard as the last few years had been on her, they’d been even more brutal on her dad, who’d had to take care of both Lucy and her mom. Seeing him now, so vulnerable, with tears in his eyes, just broke her heart. She’d only ever seen her dad cry once—in the hospital, when they’d shut down the life support.

She stood up and rushed over, throwing her arms around his neck. She didn’t really care about iMacs or mirrored colored pillows or houses right on the beach. She cared about him. Her dad. And she was determined to do everything she could to help him start over. Besides, if her room was any indication of what lay ahead for her, maybe California wouldn’t be so bad. She just wished her mom were here to see it.

 
Lucy left her room and stepped out onto the deck off of the living room as the sun was beginning to set. She walked down a long set of wooden stairs that wound down to the beach below. It was weird to think that now she was living on the ocean. The vast, endless ocean. Her days of being a big fish in small pond were definitely over.

She glanced down at her watch and saw it was almost six-thirty. She did the math. That meant nine-thirty in Ohio. She supposed Annie would go to bed early since school started tomorrow, so she figured she better call now or risk not getting to talk tonight. Good thing she had unlimited nights and weekends. Thank you, AT&T!

Lucy kicked off her flip-flops, and her feet sank into the sand. About twenty feet out from the deck, she saw a fire pit with a few logs around it. The sight of something this cool should have made her happy, but instead, her heart sank. Annie would have loved this place. She could just hear her voice now.

“No freaking way!” she’d have squealed. “You actually
live
here?” Lucy couldn’t really believe it herself. She grabbed her Razr phone out of her pocket and opened it. She’d begged for a Razr last Christmas, after she’d “accidentally” dropped her old phone—which, FYI, didn’t text—in the toilet.

She was about to hit 2 on her speed dial—Annie’s cell number—when something caught her eye. Something bobbing up and down in the water.

Lucy squinted and looked out to the horizon. She made out a surfer, paddling strongly as a huge wave approached. Right as the water swelled underneath, the surfer popped up perfectly, dropping down the face of the wave, then cutting back and forth inside of it. Lucy watched, awed. Growing up in Ohio, the closest she’d ever been to actual surfing was the third row at the local AMC, watching
Blue Crush
. As the surfer cut toward the beach, Lucy realized that she wasn’t just watching a surfer—she was watching a
girl
.

two

Once on the sand, the girl undid the Velcro strap around her ankle and shook out her dark, slicked-back hair, revealing it to be layered and shoulder-length. She wore small board shorts and a bikini top, and a dark tan emphasized her toned body. Her eyes were dark and soulful, and her face, like Lucy’s, was covered in freckles. She noticed Lucy staring.

“Yeah?” the girl asked, expectantly. “Did you want something?”

Lucy instantly blushed. “Oh, nothing . . .” she stammered. “That was just . . . really, really cool.”

Lucy cringed, instantly hated the sound of her own voice.
Really, really cool?
Lame. Could it have been
more
obvious that she wasn’t from California?

The girl barely smiled. “Thanks.”

“I’m Lucy,” Lucy quickly said. “I just kind of moved here, like, five minutes ago.”

The girl gave Lucy the once-over. “Yeah, you don’t look like you’re from here.” Lucy’s gaze tipped down as she, too, scanned her outfit. Madras shorts with cute slip-on gold flats had been semi-stylish back in Ohio, but Lucy wasn’t exactly a cutting-edge fashionista, often relying on Annie and sometimes even Annie’s older sister, Carrie, for guidance.

The girl sensed Lucy’s self-consciousness.“Don’t worry,” she said, “Looking like you don’t belong here? That’s a good thing.”

Lucy grinned, suddenly relieved. She liked this girl.

“I’m Charlie,” the girl said quickly, as if she wasn’t particularly interested in her own name.

“Charlie,” Lucy repeated. “I’ve never heard that for a girl. That’s really, really . . . cool.”

Ugh! She’d said it again. She made a mental note: No more “really.” No more “cool.”

Charlie sighed. “Not if your last name’s Brown.”

Lucy had to ask. “Well, what’s
your
last name?”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. It became obvious to Lucy that Charlie’s last name
was
Brown.

“I’m sorry. . . .” Lucy cringed, not knowing what to say. Clearly, she’d hit on a sore subject.
God, Charlie Brown? What parent would do that?

Charlie shrugged and grabbed her board. “Whatever. I gotta go.”

Lucy thought fast. She couldn’t just let this girl go without at least trying to make a new friend.

She tentatively called after her. “Um . . . maybe I’ll see you around . . . or something. Meeting you was really, really . . .” She trailed off.

“Cool?” Charlie asked, finishing her thought as she strapped her surfboard to her bike.

Lucy shrugged, embarrassed. “Yeah, I mean . . . you know.”

Charlie gave her a funny look. “Not really.”

She jumped on her bike without a word and took off. And as quickly as Charlie appeared, she was gone, leaving Lucy discouraged . . . and feeling anything but cool.

 
The following Monday, Lucy stood frozen at the doors of her new high school. Not literally, of course, because even at seven-thirty in the morning, it was “seventy and sunny, with the marine layer expected to clear by noon.” At least, that was what the perky weathergirl, who looked as though she belonged on
Days of Our Lives
rather than on the morning news, had chirped for the fifth consecutive day in a row—which was now exactly how many days Lucy had lived in Malibu.

She looked down at her outfit—short, pin-striped shorts, with a flowy empire-waist tank top. It had seemed cute when she picked it out at the Urban Outfitters on the Third Street Promenade, but now it seemed as though too much of her arms and legs were exposed. Having grown four inches in the last two years, from 5’2‘ to 5’6‘, she often felt like a puppy whose feet were too big for its body.

“Knees and knuckles,” her dad jokingly called her.

Now she shook her hair in front of her face, wanting to disappear. It was all supposed to be so different. She should have been back in Toledo, starting her sophomore year at Hillcrest with all her friends—instead, she stood outside a foreign, sprawling campus that sat on a hillside overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Who cared if it was beautiful? She didn’t want beautiful. She wanted home. She wanted her friends ... or if not her friends,
any
friends.

The bell rang. Kids hurried past her, some bumping into her as if she were invisible. Everything blurred together. She could hear a girl’s voice, talking to a friend as she texted. . . .

“And then he was all whatever,” she said breathlessly. “And then I was all
what-EVER!
Can you believe that? I mean,
whatever
.”