“And you’re such a good person, too. I mean, you worked your whole life to go to college, and now here you are, putting it all on hold to find your brothers. Coming to live in a strange place with a bunch of lowlifes like us.”
“You’re not lowlifes,” I say quickly.
Pete nods. “Maybe not. Maybe now that you’re here—”
“Me?”
“I can’t explain it. You bring—I don’t know—a different energy to this place. Kensie feels different with you here.”
“Different how?”
Pete shakes his head, and he doesn’t look at me when he says, “Different better.” We’re silent for a beat, and then he adds, “I don’t know, Wendy, I just really like having you around.”
“I like being around,” I say, the words thick in my throat. “Around you, I mean.”
I feel like I’ve known Pete my whole life, and yet I feel like nothing that’s happened in the past several days and weeks even resembles what my life has been up to now.
Pete smiles. “You’re getting pretty good out there,” he says, gesturing to the water.
“I fall a lot more than I stand,” I say automatically. I still spend most days tumbling off my board instead of balancing on top of it. But I keep going. Usually, by the end of the day, when the sun starts to fall from the sky, I manage to stand and take at least one wave all the way back to the beach. I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of anything; not getting into Stanford, not my SAT scores, not even when I finally trained Nana to sit and stay.
Pete shakes his head. “There you go,” he says, sliding closer to me, as graceful and quick on solid ground as he is on water. “Selling yourself short again.”
I can feel his breath on my bare shoulder and I shiver with longing, forcing myself not to lean into him, even though the pull to be closer to him feels impossible to resist, a force beyond me, like gravity. No, I tell myself firmly.
“I’m so sorry, Wendy,” he says, and it’s not the same kind of sorry that I’ve been hearing for so many months. First, they were sorry that my brothers ran away, then they were sorry that they’d died. I’m sorry for your loss, that’s what they would say, and I would think it was such an odd turn of phrase. As though my brothers had just been misplaced and I didn’t know where to find them. Now, I think that it’s a lot closer to the truth than any of those well-wishers could have imagined.
But Pete’s I’m sorry sounds different. It’s weighted with something deep and heavy; I remember the way he told me I had to be light on the surfboard, the way I had to leave my troubles behind on the beach before I took to the water. If Pete tried to take a wave now, hard as it is to imagine, I can’t help thinking that he’d fall, head over feet, tumbling into the waves.
“What for?” I ask.
He pauses before he answers, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what he means. Finally, he says, “I shouldn’t have kissed you that night.” He leans so close that I can feel the heat from his skin against mine. “Belle and I…” He shakes his head again, looking down, so that his curls fall across his forehead and brush my shoulder. “I love that girl. I really do. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone hurting her. Even if that someone was me. Especially if it was me.”
I nod as though I understand, but I’m more confused than ever. He’s telling me that he loves her while sitting so close to me?
“But I’m not—I haven’t been—maybe I never was—you know what I mean?”
“No,” I say honestly, “I really don’t.”
“I don’t love her like that. I don’t feel that way about her. You know, the way I feel about—about you.”
I exhale a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, and Pete’s lips are hovering above mine before my chest has had a chance to empty.
His arms snake around my waist and pull me close. I let myself lie down beside him, and the rock feels as warm and soft as a plush bed with satin sheets. The sound of the ocean is drowned out by the sound of Pete’s breath, the warmth of his touch, the heat of his skin.
He pauses as his mouth comes close to mine, almost as though he’s asking my permission. I move my head just the slightest bit, an infinitesimal nod.
And then he kisses me.
Music from one of Jas’s parties drifts down from his house above us. A low beat, as though someone in the distance is banging an enormous drum. A rhythm so deep, I can feel it vibrating through the rocks below us. Together, Pete and I watch the waves in the moonlight as we wait for sleep, the beat of the bass humming through the rocks so that it looks like the water is dancing.
“Do you ever get scared out there, on the water?”
Pete shakes his head. “Nah.”
“But what about—”
“Waves that hold you down? Rocks that cut you open? Sharks that’ll eat you alive?”
“Yeah,” I say, closing my eyes and trying not to think about the beat-up surfboards the police left on our dining room table months ago.
Pete shrugs. “It’s hard to explain. It’s not like I don’t know about those things, not like I don’t think about them, but—I don’t know. They just can’t keep me out of the ocean. I respect the waves, the rocks, the sharks. Did you know sharks have been on this planet longer than trees?”
The fact sounds impossible. “Really?”
“Yeah. And the ocean, the rocks—they’re even older.”
“Doesn’t that make you feel small? Surrounded by all those ancient dangers?”
Pete shakes his head. “No,” he says, “it makes me feel…” He pauses, as if searching for the words. “Some of us have only ever found home when we’re on the water. Some of us are always waiting to take the next wave.”
I roll over so that Pete curls around my back, places his arm beneath my neck. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so comfortable. I close my eyes and let the surf fill my ears like a lullaby. My eyes are still closed when Pete’s lips find mine once more.
Later, when Pete leads the way back up to the house on the cliffs, I look up at the sky and make a wish on the second star I see.
18
Pete slides the back door open without dropping my hand. As we step inside, he pulls me close for another kiss, and he doesn’t let go as he backs us toward the stairs. My torso is flat against his; I stand up on my tiptoes to press my mouth against his. I don’t think I’ve ever stood this close to another person before.
Suddenly, Belle’s voice fills the room. “You kids sure stayed out late.” She’s sitting on the couch in the center of the room, her eyes glassy in the moonlight.
I nearly fall down, but Pete holds me steady. I’m completely still when I see something on her lap—and realize it’s my notebook.
“What are you doing with that?” I ask, peeling myself away from Pete to grab the book from her. But Belle bounces up from the couch and dances out of my reach.
“Oh, boys!” she shouts, her voice echoing off the empty walls and bare floors. “I need to tell you something.”
“Belle, what are you doing?” Pete says softly, but Belle ignores him and keeps shouting for the boys to come downstairs.
Hughie, Matt, and the rest of Pete’s crew pad sleepily down the stairs.
“What gives, Belle?” Hughie says. “I was dead asleep.”
“I thought you’d want to know what your girl Wendy is really doing here.”
“Belle,” Pete says sharply. His hazel eyes flash green with anger. I look from Pete to Belle desperately.
“Belle, please don’t,” I plead, hating my voice for sounding so weak.