My breathing calms, and my heartbeat slows again as she pushes stray hair out of her face but makes no move to leave the shower yet.
I lean back, both arms resting on the sides of the tub and her leaning against the wall, her legs up and her Vans hanging over the side of the tub.
“Why don’t you want to smile?” I ask her.
She doesn’t ask for anything—doesn’t seem to want anything. She acted like it didn’t hurt her yesterday when Kaleb excluded her.
I reach out, grazing my thumb over the skin between her eyebrows. “The wrinkles are always up here,” I tell her and then move my hand down to the corner of her mouth where her laugh lines should be. “But not here.”
She looks over at me. The water spills around us, and I spot drops streaming down her face and catching between her lips. Lips that are full and pink and look like gum, soft and chewable.
On reflex, I clench my teeth.
“Noah!” My father pounds on the door.
But I barely blink, unable to stop looking at her. Her wet legs, the water gliding down the sliver of chest visible, because of the lost button on my shirt…
Tiernan holds my eyes. “Noah’s not in here,” she calls out.
And I grin. Reaching out, I tickle her neck, and she tries to bite me before I pull away, laughing under my breath.
My father’s footsteps fall away, and I’m not sure if he believes Tiernan or not, but at least he’s backing off.
Hopefully, Remi is on her way, too. I used to feel bad about trying to get girls out of my house after we were done, but I can’t muster the effort to care.
It’s not Remi’s fault, though. I know that. She’s just a reminder of how cheaply my time is spent.
Tiernan digs behind her and brings up my beer bottle, which I lost at some point.
She raises her eyebrows at me.
“We’re going fishing,” I tell her. “It’s day-drinking day.”
And I snatch it out of her hand, feeling that it’s still half-full before I take a swig.
She shakes her head, but I spot the smile in her eyes.
We’re quiet for a few seconds, and I kind of feel like she doesn’t want to go out there, either.
“I love the beach,” she finally murmurs.
I shoot my eyes up to her.
“In L.A,” she clarifies, not looking at me. “It was my only favorite thing, I think.”
Oh, right. I asked her about her life in California.
She glances at me, a smile peeking out. “I can see you there,” she muses.
Damn right, you can. I fit in everywhere.
She pauses as she stares off. “When I was fourteen, I was obsessed with oldies music. I don’t know why.”
I listen, liking having someone to talk to in the house.
She continues, “I found out that Surf City, U.S.A. was actually Huntington Beach, California. So one rainy morning, I took my father’s ’47 Ford Woody,” she laughed a little, “—the only thing he owned that I loved—and I drove to Surf City. My parents were still in bed, and I was on spring break from school. I had never taken one of his cars. I didn’t even have a license yet. I just grabbed a backpack stuffed with books and… drove.”
She drops her eyes, something I can’t read creasing her brow. I narrow my gaze as I watch her absently fiddle with the hem of my shirt that she wears.
Something happened that day.
When she speaks again, her voice is almost a whisper. “It was still early when I got there. I sat down on the beach, watching the morning waves roll in.” A wistful look fills her eyes. “It was so beautiful. People love looking at the ocean at sunrise or sunset, but I love looking at it right before the sun is up or right after sundown.” A glint of excitement lights up her gray eyes as she looks over at me. “Everything is so calm, and the water has this blue-gray hue, like storm clouds. An ocean of storm clouds,” she muses. “The sounds of the waves are like a metronome through your body. The rain tapping your shoulders. The infinite horizon and the dream of just going and losing yourself somewhere out there. No one’s there. It’s peaceful.”
A solemn look comes over her, and I hold my beer in both hands, watching her.
“After a while,” she continues, “I finally stood up, lifted up my backpack, and strapped it on. It was so heavy with books, my knees almost buckled.”
She swallows.
“But I stood strong,” she mumbles. “And walked into the water.”
I tighten my hand around the bottle. Walked into the…
“I walked until the water came up to my waist,” she says quietly, staring off. “And then up to my shoulders.”