“Give me guacamole or give me death,” Emery says firmly. She’s never met Juliana, she hasn’t seen me in months, yet she fits in without any stumbles or hesitation–the way, to be honest, I wish I could.
Cassie’s eyes flick back and forth. Whenever her lips part to jump in, the banter rushes on, leaving no room for her. It’s strange to be part of a conversation that gallops along without her participation, without her dictating the ebb and flow of it.
The wind carries over the conversation taking place behind us. “Those refs at the Ponquogue game were on crack,” someone says.
“I don’t think it’s fair when you’re playing against all Mexicans,” Always Late Nick says. “I bet their whole team is illegals.”
“Seriously,” his friend says. “My cousin Tommy, he’s like the only white guy on the team. He says that Ponquogue’s gonna have to build an extension on the high school because there are so fucking many of them.”
“They should take some of ours,” Always Late Nick says.
Cassie’s eyes go wide.
Emery chokes on her drink.
Juliana’s ponytail whips against me.
I’m the one whose mouth opens. “What does that have to do with anything? Maybe your team just sucks.”
“Excuse me?” Always Late Nick’s dopey, drunk grin is gone.
Now that I have the floor, and apparently the soapbox, I can’t stop. Half a Thermos of Cassie’s magic will do that to a girl. “By the way, ‘all Mexicans’ is a gross generalization. How about Salvadorans, Guatemalans, Hondurans–”
Every other conversation has ceased. Drinks hang suspended in people’s hands. The only sounds are the wood crackling beneath fire and the waves, quiet yet relentless.
Then a hand yanks my forearm. As always.
Cassie pulls me to a thin patch of rocks. The salt air masks the smell of alcohol from the party but not from her breath. “You can’t say that kind of stuff here, Savannah.”
“He’s being an idiot.”
“I know.” Her eyes dart back to the crowd at the fire. Heads are bent together and eyes glance toward us. Nobody makes a move to follow.
“Is Cascade Hopeswell actually abiding by someone else’s set of rules?” I say a little too loudly.
Her eyes turn cold. Pissed. “Remember what I told you about Marcos and the party? Sometimes it’s better to keep your opinions to yourself.”
“I thought we were among friends,” I say, reflecting back on my one-line exchanges with the rest of the South Cross Beach summer employees. Deep and meaningful, they weren’t. “Emery’s my friend,” I add belatedly, if winding up at the same party together and calling me out on my unresponsiveness counts as friendship.
“How real of a friend is she when she didn’t even visit after your surgery?” Cassie wedges her beer into the sand. “None of those girls did. Who was there? Me.”
She’s right.
Up by the fire, Emery and Juliana are joined by Music Man Mark and his girlfriend. Even Soft Pretzel Stephanie has roamed into the mix. Emery says something that makes their shoulders shake with laughter. Making friends, as I’ve tried and failed to do. My former teammate’s laugh travels, loud and clear and free of stress.
Cassie’s gaze follows mine. “Remember what I said before. I’m the only one who’s got your back.”
I SETTLE BACK into my spot next to the pillar, leaning my head back and letting the alcohol turn my memory to mush so I don’t have to consider why Cassie thinks I should hold back from correcting assholes.
“Hey, Savannah.”
I don’t turn. I don’t look. I do my damnedest to ignore the smell of coconuts and cotton. I’m about zero and twenty with human interaction tonight.
He settles in next to me and just like when we changed my tire, the air is immediately warmer, the wind softer.
“What are you doing here?” I say to the rippling waves. “You didn’t work at the beach.”
“Juliana invited me.” He runs a hand through his curls. “Said you and Cassie would be here.”
“Cassie told me you punched a guy.” There is absolutely no thought before I say this. It slips straight out, plunks into the conversation like a stone dropped in water.
Our shoulders brush together. “Yeah, I did. It wasn’t the greatest decision, but someone had to take a stand.”
I keep my eyes on the water and try to keep my focus off the tingles I feel from his close proximity and the headiness of the smoke and the alcohol. “What happened?”
A long sigh. He drops his voice so that I have to tilt my head to hear. “A bunch of assholes from the Galway Beach soccer team showed up. They talked shit to Andreas, he of course decided to give it right back to them because he can’t shut up, and people started pushing each other.” He pauses, turns to face me all the way. He’s backlit by the fire. “I went to yank Andreas out of there and one of them clocked me in the face, so I went after him.”
“Did you really need to take a stand?” I think of Cassie’s face as she pulled me away from the fire.
He nudges my chin so that I have to look at him. “He’s my best friend. I’m not gonna let him get shredded by guys who weigh a hundred pounds more than him just because he runs his mouth.”
When he says it like this, I can imagine it. Defending Andreas’s honor. Defending Ponquogue soccer. I almost smile.
“You’re one to talk about taking a stand,” he says. “I got here when you were yelling at that guy.”
I wave my hand to preemptively shoo away the rest of the sentence. Already been chastised by Cass, thanks. I don’t need round two. “Let’s forget about–”
“Thank you.”
Up this close, I see the dark stubble lining his jaw. When I reach out to touch it, he inhales sharply. It’s rough as sandpaper beneath my fingers. Neither of us pulls away. He’s close enough that I could just tip forward and then…then what? Would he catch me? Would he lean forward too and meet me halfway?
Marcos clears his throat. I feel the vibration all the way up to his jaw. “Speaking of best friends,” he says, “why did Cassie take you away like that?”
My fingers freeze.