Summer Boys (16 page)

Beth pushed her money across the counter and plucked a pink ball from the basket of multicolored golf balls. The girl running the Circus, Circus! kiosk opened the cash register and gave her some change. She had bad hair and thick, outdated glasses and reminded Beth a little of herself in the fifth grade. Only this girl had to be at least sixteen. She talked to herself as she punched numbers into the cash register and separated the bills—they were low words that Beth couldn’t make out.
Things could be worse,
Beth thought to herself. At least she wasn’t working at Circus, Circus!, wearing huge specs, and talking to no one in particular.

She took her club from the counter and walked the few feet to Hole #1, The Giraffe’s Neck. Minigolf was open until 11
P.M.
and it was only 7:45. Beth wondered how many games she could fit in between now and then. She placed her ball on the center dot on the green. She took a second to breathe and get to that peaceful place she went to during lacrosse games, surfing, and badminton. Then she took aim.

But before she could pat the ball forward with her putter, Beth saw George out of the corner of her eye. She jerked the club as she turned and hit her shin rather hard. She let out a small cry of pain.

“Hey,” Bad Hair Girl crooned, wrapping George in a hug as he leaned over the counter of the kiosk. Before Beth’s eyes, they kissed loudly, complete with slurping sound effects.

Beth was too stunned to gasp. But then, she didn’t have to because it wasn’t George. She could see now—it was some other skinny, tall kid. It was Bad Hair Girl’s boyfriend. God, even Bad Hair Girl had a boyfriend.

“Figures,” Beth muttered to herself, turning back to her ball and giving it a tap. It went nowhere near the hole. It struck a wall to the right and bounced back at her, then rolled past her onto the sidewalk. She had to chase it. It raced her to a patch of grass and won. Beth picked it up and started again.

She was through two holes before she figured out that the throbbing in her throat was not an impending cold. It was the sour sting of disappointment. Beth realized she was expecting George to show up. She might as well admit that to herself now, so she could skip the specific disappointment of the minutes passing by and move on to a more general disappointment later, when the night was over. From tomorrow morning on, she could wallow in disappointment on a more cosmic level—once he was gone.

This was the worst game of Beth’s otherwise stellar minigolf career. She took six shots to get the ball in the hole at the Dolphin’s Fin, which was way over par. She was bordering on short-shortswearing-bimbo-caliber skill. She looked over her shoulder several times to make sure no one was close enough behind her to notice how much she was sucking. She thought about marking a
fake score on her card just to make herself feel better. As if that would work.

The final hole was an extra—Hole #19. It was the traditional Clown Face. There was no body, just a huge face and mouth, which opened and closed at irregular intervals. If you managed to get your ball across a little bridge and in between the lips before they snapped shut, you won a ticket for a free game.

Clown Face was Beth’s personal nemesis. Whether she walked away from Circus, Circus! happy or sad often depended on whether or not she made the hole, which she did about thirty-five percent of the time.

She took aim, took the shot, and watched it sail in, hitting the clown’s fluorescent pink epiglottis on the way down. She observed it without the least amount of satisfaction, but with a certain amount of surprise. It wasn’t supposed to be her night. Then she scanned the area of the course one more time, just in case George had shown up while she wasn’t looking.

She walked to the kiosk, where the girl and her boyfriend were talking in low voices by the cash register.

“I got a free game,” Beth said woefully. The girl didn’t bother leaving the kiosk to check Clown Face. She grabbed a ticket out of the cash register door and started writing something on the back.

“I’ll just play now,” Beth corrected her. The girl put the ticket away and smiled at her.

“Sure, just pick another ball.”

“I know.” Just because the girl had a boyfriend, she thought she knew everything. Beth grabbed a green one this time and headed back toward the soda machine. She fished three quarters out of her pocket and dropped them into the slot, hitting the big
square button for the flavor she wanted. She then walked back to Hole #1 and began another game with her new best friends—green ball, golf club, and Mountain Dew.

When Beth got home, the windows of the house were casting squares of light on the grass. She’d played five games, two of which were free, thanks to Hole #19. George never showed up. There had been a group of drunk twenty-somethings killing time, and a lady with a pink hat and yellow glasses who’d played three holes and left. But her best friend didn’t come by to apologize for deserting her.

Opening the screen door, Beth prepared herself to confront George. She’d act casual. She’d pretend she hadn’t noticed that he’d been avoiding her. They could even spend their last couple of hours together pretending everything was normal. And who knew? Maybe to George, things
were
normal. Whether she’d kick his skinny ass if that were the case, she didn’t know.

Her parents were in the living room watching TV. “Hey, guys.” She gave them a little wave as they both looked up from the couch, then continued down the hall. George’s door was open, but his light was off.

“Where’s George?” her dad called to her back.

He wasn’t here.

“I dunno, Dad,” she said, trying to sound as if she couldn’t care less where he was. She couldn’t believe it. It was
unbelievable.
Her temples throbbed. He was still out! On his last night! Without her! She spun around and headed back out the front door.

“I’m gonna go out and look for him. See you later,” she called
out her to her dad in her most normal-sounding voice. But she wasn’t going to go find him. Instead, she walked around the side of the house and then toward the ocean. When she got to the edge of the beach, Beth sat hard on the grass, her legs stretched out in front of her.

He was leaving tomorrow.

She was so anxious, she couldn’t sit still. Beth stood up and paced along the sand. She had to do something with her nervous energy. She walked toward the next house over, to the hammock where Ella liked to lie. She pushed it a few times like a swing, hard, so that it almost flipped. Then she slung one leg over the side and climbed on. She pulled her arms around her chest, and rested her hands on her own shoulders, hugging herself. Then Beth felt all her emotions rush out of her like an avalanche.

The crying came out in little wheezes. Beth scrunched up her lips tight so she wouldn’t sob, but she couldn’t help it. She was doubled over and sobbing like a huge loser. She rubbed the tears off as fast as they came, to hide the evidence from herself that she was actually this upset over George. Her sniffling and the throbbing in her head helped to drown out the sound of footsteps in the grass.

“Beth.”

“Oh my God,” Beth shot straight up, sending the hammock swinging forward so that it almost dumped her onto the grass. Her reflexes were good enough to keep her on, but not by much. She stared up at George as he got closer and farther away and closer again, until he reached out a hand and stopped the swinging.

“Are you okay?” he asked, rather softly.

She rubbed at her face, wondering if there were still any more
tears left on her cheeks. “Yeah,” she answered while trying not to sniffle. “You just scared me.”

“Scoot over,” George said. Beth stayed where she was but he sank down next to her and pushed her with his body so that they were hip to hip, half sitting, half lying crosswise on the hammock. He didn’t say anything and Beth just stared ahead, dazed.

“Why are you crying?” George finally asked, point-blank.

Beth took a deep breath. “I’ve got a raging case of PMS.”

George offered her a pained smile. “Right.” He got only slightly less phobic than most guys when it came to periods.

“What, you don’t think I’m girly enough to get PMS?” Immediately, Beth was back to being angry. Her feelings could be turned on and off like a light switch.

George dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sure you are.”

Beth snapped her lips shut. What was
that
supposed to mean? George continued, “I don’t think that’s why you’re crying, though. I think you’re crying because I’ve been such an asshole.”

Beth kept her mouth shut and listened to her friend explain.

George rubbed his fingers along the crisscrossing rope between his knees. “Maybe that sounds cocky. That you’d be crying because of me.”

Beth didn’t say another word.

“Look, I don’t blame you if you hate me. I came home tonight after I thought you’d be asleep. But your dad said you’d gone out to look for me, and that made me feel like a bigger asshole than I already did.” He cleared his throat. “Which is hard.”

Beth wrapped her arms around herself again. “You waited until you thought I was asleep.” She was so incredibly angry.

“I was just freaked out.” He clasped his fingers together and cleared his throat again. “I’ve been really scared.”

Beth watched George’s eyebrows lift in his worried way. They moved down and up with the beat of his thoughts. It made it easy to feel for him. Beth wanted to know what he was scared of, but she didn’t feel like even asking him any questions. Finally, he spoke again.

“I’m really sorry about what…I…did…last night.”

A sigh made its way out of Beth’s trembling body. She could feel the tears creeping back out again from where they’d been hiding. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I really am, Beth.”

He didn’t seem to realize how hurtful his “sorry” was. “Sorry” he’d kissed her? George was looking at her with his big, apologetic eyes, as if being forgiven was the most important thing in the world. Beth wanted him to not be sorry. And at the same time, she wanted him to be sorrier. She felt all screwed up.

“If you’re gonna apologize, why don’t you say you’re sorry for making me feel like I don’t matter anymore,” she said, letting her tears fall. “That’s what you should really feel sorry for.”

George moved closer to her and put his arm around her. “What do you mean? You matter.”

“Not since Cara.”

“Cara?”

Beth nodded and sniffed.

George tightened his grip around her shoulders. “Cara’s nothing compared to you. She’s just some girl I met this summer.” Beth shook her head, mostly to herself. “Oh shit, Beth. Cara?” His
voice had the awed tone of a person discovering some vast secret. “I made you feel that way?”

Beth shrugged. The whole conversation was becoming humiliating.

“Beth, you’re my best friend,” he whispered, close to her ear.

She waited for a long time before she said, “Still?”

George pinched her shoulder. “Yes, you idiot. What the hell?”

Beth couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her lips. She felt like a three-year-old being bribed with candy. With a gentle motion, George sank back sideways onto the hammock and pulled her with him, so that they were both lying there scrunched up against each other.

Beth felt a huge weight lifting off her chest. Suddenly, lying next to him felt comfortable again. They could be Beth and George, best friends again. She sank into his body and let out a deep breath.

They lay in silence for a long time. The minutes ran by and they didn’t move, until it had to be almost midnight. Beth felt herself nodding off to sleep but she didn’t want to get up and go inside. She wanted to stay with George as long as possible, so she didn’t move a muscle.

She was already half dreaming when George brushed her arm and said, “Do you know you have really soft elbows?”

It barely registered before she sank into sleep.

Beth opened her eyes, surprised to see that it was still dark. She felt like she’d slept for hours and that it should be morning. She wondered if her parents were up and worried about where she and George might be. Trying not to wake George, she
shifted to look over her shoulder toward the house, and breathed a sigh of relief. All of the windows were dark. Clearly everyone had already gone to sleep.

As she shifted back down beside George’s body, she felt him stir. Not so much because he moved, but because she was so close to him she could feel his breath, and the pattern had changed. She let his breaths land on her cheek, and then gently turned over to look at him. He was staring back at her.

Her skin went prickly, right away. George reached out his hand and touched her arm, her back, her face. The whole world seemed to slow to the rhythm of his breathing. There were only inches between their mouths and then, before Beth knew it, their mouths were touching—lightly, almost teasingly. George very softly pressed his lips against Beth’s. He kissed just her upper lip, then rubbed his cheek against hers. Beth rubbed back. It felt playful and warm. Slowly, George traced the shape of Beth’s mouth with his finger, then pulled her in close and kissed her fully, as he had the night before. But this time, kissing George didn’t feel surreal or crazy. It just felt right.

Finally, he pushed back to look at her. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Beth said.

“Good.” He kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her back. When George pulled away, he stroked her hair. “Bethy,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Beth couldn’t help but smile. “So what took you so long?” she whispered back.

“Me?” She could see George’s familiar, lopsided grin in the darkness. “I was waiting for
you.
”

Beth just laughed and rested her head against his chest, listen
ing to his heartbeat. His arms were still around her. They were quiet for a moment, and then George spoke quietly, his lips brushing her ear.

“This is perfect. This is the way it should be.”

“I know,” Beth murmured. “Can we just stay like this forever?”

“Sounds like a plan.” George’s lips tickled her ear again.

Beth stretched like a cat, feeling deliciously aware of every part of her body. She could see it now, like a backward vision. Like she could predict the past. She could see all the things George had done that showed her how he felt. She’d just been too caught up in her own drama to realize it.