I forced a smile in return. I hoped this Violet chick was cool, that she and Preston really hit it off. Part of that was selfish, like maybe if he had a girlfriend too then everything would go back to normal with him and Parvati. I had never really been that interested in making friends, but now that I had some, I didn’t want to choose between them. “I’ve got stuff for barbecuing. You want to head down to the beach and have a hot dog or four before you head off?”
Preston shook his head. “Nah, I don’t want to run into the Jacobsens. I lost on the UCLA game, and Jonas will be looking to collect. Besides, it should only be four hours to Vegas. I’m hoping to get there by eleven or so.”
“Does this chick live with her mom?” I asked.
“She’s a little bit older. Has her own place.”
I nodded, again wondering if Violet was a stripper or a showgirl. Preston’s parents would absolutely die. “Why didn’t you go last night?”
“Dad wanted to parade me around at some holiday brunch thing today,” Preston said. “Besides, this way if Vio turns out to be crazy I don’t have to make excuses for not staying a second night. I’ll be home late tomorrow, in time for school on Monday.”
He popped the locks to the BMW and pulled out his designer tent. It was beige with blue cloth trim and had a detachable rain fly and gear overhang. “Here,” he said.
I glanced up at the sky. “I don’t think I’ll need it.”
“Take it just in case.”
I shrugged but went ahead and loaded Preston’s tent and sleeping bag into my trunk. “You really did think of everything, didn’t you?”
“You can’t be too prepared,” he said. “You want help carrying stuff down to the beach?”
“Nah, I got it covered.”
“All right. Be safe.” Preston thumped his fist twice against his chest and then hopped back in his BMW, waving as he peeled out of the parking lot in a cloud of gravel dust.
I watched him leave and then grabbed my frame pack out of the backseat. I debated for a second, but then I bungee-corded my own sleeping bag and tent to the bottom of the pack. Pres’s stuff was nicer, but I had never pitched his tent before. I camped all the time with my own gear and could easily set up my tent in the dark. Weaving my way back and forth down a series of switchbacks, I made it to the beach just as the tide started going out.
I hiked through the shallow surf until I found an area of dry sand and dropped my gear near one of the fire pits that lined the beach. I threaded the flexible rods through the rigging of my tent and staked it deep into the sand. Then I searched the beach until I found a handful of dry driftwood pieces. I arranged them into a wobbly pyramid. At the base I shook a small pile of Aztec Dust, an easy-to-light kindling that my parents carried at the shop. Using my body to block the wind, I struck a waterproof match and lowered it gently onto the kindling. The match went out. It took a couple more tries, but eventually the kindling flared up and the nearest piece of driftwood caught fire. When the whole pyramid was safely ablaze, I jabbed a stick through one of the hot dogs and held it over the flames.
I downed half the package and threw the leftover hot dogs out on the beach for the birds to eat. Then I crawled inside the tent and nestled down in my sleeping bag. My rain fly had gotten lost last summer, so there was nothing but sheer nylon above my head. The night had turned clear; not even the whisper of a cloud lingered in the sky.
I thought about Preston’s comments about really knowing people. Something had to be going on with his family. Hopefully this Violet chick could mellow him out the way Parvati did me. Again, I wished I could text her. No, screw that. I wished she could be next to me, looking up at the same night sky. She would love this: the wind off the water, the occasional shriek of a gull or a raven outside the tent, the sky glittering like diamonds on black velvet.
I closed my eyes and imagined her curled against me, my lips relaxing into a smile. I had no idea what she saw in me most of the time, but maybe weird girls just have weird taste. Or maybe she was my cosmic reward for surviving my crap childhood and emerging as a mostly decent guy.
SEVEN
December 4th
SUN FILTERED THROUGH THE NYLON the next morning. The breeze blew snarls of seaweed up against the side of my tent. I unzipped the flap just far enough to peek through. High tide was coming again. I must have slept a long time. I checked my phone; it was almost 10:00 a.m.
Yawning, I rubbed my eyes and then rolled up my sleeping bag. Crawling out of the tent, I turned my face to avoid being pelted with clouds of sand that the wind had loosened. I pulled up the stakes and stuffed my tent inside its nylon carrying bag. As I headed up to my car for my board, I rattled off a quick text message to Preston. He didn’t answer. Knowing him, he had probably just gone to sleep.
I tossed my camping gear in the trunk and unhooked my surfboard from the top of my car. As I made my way back down to the beach, I could see the Jacobsen brothers out at the lineup where the waves were breaking. The twins, Jasper and Jared, were seniors with me. Their older brother, Jonas, worked at a seafood restaurant just down the street from my parents’ shop. He was also Vista P’s unofficial bookie. Jasper waved as I started to paddle out, which was surprising. I didn’t think any of the brothers liked me. I was a sellout who made money teaching tourists to surf. The Jacobsens thought of the ocean as their private play area. They didn’t want to share their waves with outsiders.
Giving the brothers a wide berth, I sat on my board and let my feet dangle into the water, watching each of the Jacobsens ride a wave into the shore. By the time Jared cruised to a stop in the shallow surf, Jonas was already paddling back to the lineup.
“You gonna ride?” he hollered over at me. “Or are you just here to fangirl for us?”
“Funny.” I dropped down to my belly and felt the water pitch and roll beneath me. I heard the wave before I felt it. The roaring filled my ears and I paddled as fast as I could, popping up into a crouch at just the right moment.
I leaned into the wind, cutting left and then right across the shoulder of the wave as the water carried me to the shore. Jared and Jasper were on the beach, watching my approach.
“Not bad,” Jared said. “Where’s your douchebag friend Preston today?”
Did I mention the Jacobsens were the only kids at Vista Palisades who didn’t like Preston? That’s because a few years ago Senator DeWitt helped green-light a deal for Covington Construction to build a small resort on the last pristine strip of Vista Palisades Beach. The hotel couldn’t deny access to the public, but its existence meant more people in the water and more trash on the sand. It did kind of suck, but it wasn’t like Preston had personally brokered the deal.
“He’s not a douchebag,” I said.
“Sure he’s not.” Jared snorted. He turned toward the ocean. “Race you back out there.”